Posted on 12/06/2019 8:31:30 AM PST by Dr. Zzyzx
The Weary World Rejoices Christmas 2019
Disc Jockey Seth Foster was in a dark mood for someone who was in the middle of Christmas Eve 1945. Earlier, he had drawn the short straw at the staff meeting, and as a result, he’d been assigned to man the radio station until it went off the air at midnight.
Radio station KOMA, (1520 on the radio dial), was nestled on the 24th floor of the Biltmore Hotel in downtown Oklahoma City. Because of its location in the middle of the vast American Prairie, and because it had a clear-channel license to broadcast at a power of 50,000 watts, KOMA had a reach of over a million square miles. Occasionally, the station manager would even receive letters from folks in Finland that had become fans of their programming.
Knowing that he was sending Christmas music to thousands of listeners throughout a large part of the world did nothing toward cheering Seth up. He knew that all his family was gathering for a Christmas Eve dinner at seven o’clock, and he was stuck here in a studio by himself earning a measly forty-cents an hour--just a dime more than minimum wage, and barely enough to cover his expenses and debts each week. The more he thought, the more sullen he became.
He was jolted out of his misery-wallowing reverie by a loud tapping on the glass panel next to the outside door. Through the studio glass he could see a slender young soldier in uniform, waiting at the door, cap in hand. Seth grudgingly arose, mumbling to himself, and answered the door.
"Good evening sir," the soldier said, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could buy a radio ad."
"Sorry son," Seth said gruffly, "the office is closed and I'm here spinning records by myself. I can't help you." As he spoke he began to slowly close the door, but the soldier held it. "Please sir, let me explain." When Seth saw the intensity in the soldier's eyes, he relaxed a little. "Well... it won't do you any good, but you might as well sit down for a minute while I start another record." He stepped into the studio and put on Julie Garland singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.
Once the song was playing, Seth, without even a hint of a smile, turned back to the soldier. “Okay son, tell me your story."
"Sir, I and a million other men are trying to get home from the war for Christmas. I'm not going to make it. Our rail cars got sidelined in Chicago and we got sent to Oklahoma City instead of Omaha. I'm from North Dakota and have to wait two days before my train heads that direction. I want to let my father and mother know that I'm okay.
“I started fighting when I landed on Omaha Beach on June 6th last year, and I stopped fighting after we liberated Buchenwald Concentration Camp this past April. We've been burying bodies and cleaning up ever since. The last letter I was able to send home was five weeks ago. I told my parents I hoped to be home for Christmas. But with this mix-up, as I say, I'm not going to make it. Ships and trains have been hustling us along so fast I haven't even been able to send a telegram--probably couldn't have sent one anyway with so many other soldiers out there trying to do the same thing as me. So now, just when I have a little break, the Western Union office down in the lobby has already closed up shop for the holiday. As a matter of fact, this station's about the only thing operating in the whole city, besides the restaurants and bars."
"Tell me about it," Seth scoffed.
The soldier went on, "My folks don't have a telephone or electricity in their home, but they do have a battery-powered radio. I know they'll have it on tonight while they decorate the tree. I thought maybe I could buy a radio ad and send them a message."
"Well son, that's a pretty tall order. Radio ads on this station don't go for nothing you know. A sixty- second ad would cost you upwards of seventeen bucks, and as I said at the start, all the office people are gone--as you can see. I just spin the discs. It's not something..."
The soldier cut him off. "I've stuffed some K-rations in my suitcase, so I've got food enough to make it home. What I've got in my pocket is a twenty-dollar bill--it's actually all I've got. I know it seems like a lot of money to spend on something like this, but honestly, it would be worth it to me. What do you say we do seventeen dollars to the station for the ad and three dollars to you for your trouble? I just want to wish my parents a merry Christmas and let them know I'm okay." He laid the twenty-dollar bill on the table and slid it toward Seth. Seth gazed at the soldier for a moment then dropped his head in thought. Three dollars was almost as much as he could make in a full shift here. Maybe he could get himself something nice a little later to make up for the misery of sitting here on Christmas Eve. He raised his head and pulled the money to his side of the desk. He said, "Okay son, you've got yourself a deal. You understand that once this airs, there'll be no refunds, right?"
"Yes sir," said the soldier.
Seth continued, "I just hope Old Man Griffin is at some party and doesn't hear what I'm about to do. He's the owner of this joint, and if he's in the wrong mood I'll be out of a job before the sun rises on Christmas morning. We’ll do this: I just got a new record in by Vaughn Monroe called, Let it Snow. Let’s give it a try. I’ll cue it up and then we’ll get you on the air when it's done."
He got the record going and settled the soldier into the studio with a pair of headphones and a microphone. "I'll give you a thumbs-up when it's time for you to start talking," he said. The soldier nodded and the song ended. Seth flipped a switch and said, "And now, for a paid radio advertisement," emphasizing the word "paid" just in case Mr. Griffin was listening. He gave the soldier the signal.
The soldier leaned forward and began: "This is a message for Olaf and Hannah Engersen of Wahpeton, North Dakota. This is your son Corporal Daniel Engersen. Merry Christmas! I’ll be home by New Year’s Eve." Seth nodded and cued up another record, but was surprised when the soldier started to sing. His voice was a high, clear tenor and was as close to angelic as Seth had ever heard.
O holy night, the stars are brightly shining, It is the night of the dear Savior’s birth; Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 'Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth...
In Seth's mind flashed a vision of thousands of boys like Daniel Engersen, from the wheat fields and the corn fields and the oil fields of America. He saw them dumped out of landing craft into the waves at Omaha Beach, a hundred yards from the golden sands of the shore. He saw clumps of them dropping face-first and lifeless into the churning surf before they ever took a step forward--these boys who knew no more about France than the fact that in better days they had eaten French fries, French toast, and French's mustard. There they were, willingly scrambling forward into the jaws of death to deliver a people whom they’d never seen, from the clutches of an evil monster. The soldier sang on:
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn; Fall on your knees, Oh hear the angel voices! O night Divine, O night when Christ was born. O night, O holy night, O night divine.
When the soldier finished he leaned back in the chair. Seth sat silent for a moment, almost dazed. He had just witnessed something sacred. That song—that carol—that hymn, had danced at the speed of light across the ionosphere and the starlit heavens from Oklahoma City to Amarillo to Santa Fe, Billings, Salt Lake City, and Tucson.
For families with their boys already safely home, it brought burst of joy. For families whose boys would never come home, it brought tears and a whisper of comfort, knowing that one day, because of that glorious night nearly two millennia earlier, they would see their sons in the flesh once more. And in a small house on the edge of a snowy field of wheat stubble in Wahpeton, North Dakota, it brought a kneeling prayer of thanks around the family table.
Seth was suddenly stricken with the realization that for the first time in nearly a decade, virtually the entire weary world DID have a reason to rejoice. The ghouls who had starved, beaten, tortured and murdered men, women and children across two hemispheres had been subdued and compelled to surrender. And this boy was part of the reason why. "Boy." No, that was the wrong word. Seth had been thinking of him as a boy because he couldn't have been much over twenty years old, and yet this "boy", because of the horrors he had endured, was far more of a man than Seth would ever be.
Seth flipped a switch to start another record, then rose slowly from his chair and stood at attention. He saluted the young man. "From the bottom of my heart, son—er--Corporal Engersen, I thank you. That was one of the finest Christmas gifts I've ever received. Thank you for your service to the people of this world. May God bless you and your family forever for what you have done." He lowered his salute and with his index finger, slid the twenty-dollar bill back across the desk to its previous owner and said, "Merry Christmas, Sir."
very sweet
Omaha Beach is definitely worth your time.
In Tucson, as a teen, used to listen to KOMA at night - very good signal into the Valley.
If I were the DJ I would have told him to bring every Soldier back for a quick one minute message to home. I may have gotten fired but public outcry over the firing could possibly get me reinstated.
If not, it would have been worth it.
Everything that appears dark and discouraging is insignificant when compared to this reality. Your story is a small reminder, thanks.
My best friend went there last December. Both of our grandfathers were on that beach on D-Day. My friend brought me back a bag of sand from there.
True? It may as well be. Troops always suffer terribly. They are mostly just kids but they don’t stay that way for long on the surface. We have seen though that under the hard shell they have to develop they still have young hearts.
To this young man getting home for Christmas was urgent. It always was for me when my folks were alive but I’ve given our children some slack. Make it home when you can. We will be so happy to see you anytime.
You harden off a little when you finally understand that the blows of life are nothing personal. They just happen and you have to survive them just like everyone else.
I’ve never been able to sing “I’ll be home For Christmas” past the first few lines before I cry. Same with many hymns.
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