"The spirit of the holiday, whether it be Chanukah, Christmas, or what have you is a noble and satisfying one. You and I agree that to give and love but once a year is close to the ridiculous -- We, at least, know the happiness of Christmas all year ‘round…”

“As the top man in the Navy, you should know about the very special gift that the U.S. Navy gave to my family…”

Background information and commentary by Andrew Carroll: Christmas and other holidays can be particularly difficult for servicemen and women stationed overseas. Thoughts of the celebrations they are missing and the loved ones they will not see for months to come can understandably exacerbate feelings of loneliness and homesickness. One of the most poignant letters I have ever read on the subject was by a twenty-two-year-old soldier named Sid Diamond, who was fighting in the Pacific in December 1944. On Christmas Day, itself, Sid wrote a letter to his fiancée Estelle Spero, lamenting their separation during the war. Tragically, it would be one of the last letters that Diamond would send; he was killed several months later in the Philippines. (This letter was first published in its entirety in WAR LETTERS, and Estelle would later edit her own book of Sid’s correspondence, AN ALCOVE IN THE HEART, and I cannot recommend this book more highly. Sid is one of the greatest letter-writers I have ever encountered, and Estelle’s book captures his sense of humor, compassion, courage, and wisdom. He was a true American hero. For more information, please see: www.AlcoveintheHeart.com.)

December 25, 1944

Darling,

Christmas occasions thoughts of warmth, of friendship of giving -- It says so in all the papers!! -- The spirit of the holiday, whether it be Chanukah, Christmas, or what have you is a noble and satisfying one. You and I agree that to give and love but once a year is close to the ridiculous -- We, at least, know the happiness of Christmas all year ‘round….

Don’t mind the overdose of sentimentalism -- Maybe it’s the night – the radio which moans “Little Town of Bethlehem” -- Perhaps the carols the men sing -- or the quiet tropical night with the cool breeze and twinkling stars -- or the remoteness of home -- the loneliness of the moment -- Yes today we had a community of thought. All the men -- together -- in a community of homesickness -- Do not think harshly -- or scoff at our childishness -- We have so little -- so little else but dreams --

It is difficult at present to be the cold, the practical. -- Even more is it hard to be humorous or laugh -- to joke -- I cannot say where we are, what we are doing, what we will do -- There’s been so much between us unsaid and undone -- So much of our lives missed --

‘Stelle, for my part in this denial, I beg forgiveness. For my part in being such a fool, such a child -- will you understand? That I have contributed to your unhappiness -- again – I humbly request you try and be patient with me -- I would like to fill the air with plans, dreams, hopes -- But -- ‘Stelle -- -- all there is, is a choking in the chest -- Every once in awhile, a guy gets himself overcome by despair; despondency overwhelms him. -- It is so-oo long -- so very very long.

I love you, darling -- whatever happens -- be happy -- that’s my only request -- get everything we would have liked -- fill your life -- (er -- only keep my little niche open -- so if I ever get home -- I’ll know there’s one place waiting for me -- my corner of the world -- Let it be a small alcove in your heart -- put a comfortable chair there and always keep a warm fire glowing -- Because if I come home in any recognizable form, I’ll head directly for that chair -- That’s where I belong -- that’s my home -- with you --)

Stelle, it’s not weakness, it’s not softness -- it’s a fact -- I need you!! -- I need you!! I need you!!

Enough of this -- I love you -- “extensively”

Your,
Sid

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Background information and commentary by Andrew Carroll: THE UGLY AMERICAN, published in 1958 by William Lederer and Eugene Burdick, is a fictionalized account of the two men's experiences working in Southeast Asia. Although the book focuses primarily on the deficiencies of America's foreign aid program at the time, it is memorable for its accounts of Americans acting in a boorish and insensitive manner toward the citizens of their host country. While traveling in France almost fifteen years later, however, Lederer witnessed an incident involving an American sailor that touched him so deeply he sent a letter to the Chief of Naval Operations in Washington, D.C, Admiral David L. McDonald. This letter, which I included in an earlier book I edited titled LETTERS OF A NATION, is printed below in its entirety.

Admiral David L. McDonald, USN
Chief of Naval Operations
Washington, D.C.

Dear Admiral McDonald,

Eighteen people asked me to write this letter to you.

Last year at Christmas time, my wife, three boys and I were in France, on our way from Paris to Nice. For five wretched days everything had gone wrong. Our hotels were "tourist traps," our rented car broke down; we were all restless and irritable in the crowded car. On Christmas Eve, when we checked into our hotel in Nice, there was no Christmas spirit in our hearts.

It was raining and cold when we went out to eat. We found a drab little restaurant shoddily decorated for the holiday. Only five tables were occupied. There were two German couples, two French families, and an American sailor, by himself. In the corner a piano player listlessly played Christmas music.

I was too tired and miserable to leave. I noticed that the other customers were eating in stony silence. The only person who seemed happy was the American sailor. While eating, he was writing a letter, and a half-smile lighted his face.

My wife ordered our meal in French. The waiter brought us the wrong thing. I scolded my wife for being stupid. The boys defended her, and I felt even worse.

Then, at the table with the French family on our left, the father slapped one of his children for some minor infraction, and the boy began to cry.

On our right, the German wife began berating her husband.

All of us were interrupted by an unpleasant blast of cold air. Through the front door came an old flower woman. She wore a dripping, tattered overcoat, and shuffled in on wet, rundown shoes. She went from one table to the other.

"Flowers, monsieur? Only one franc."

No one bought any.

Wearily she sat down at a table between the sailor and us. To the waiter she said, "A bowl of soup. I haven't sold a flower all afternoon." To the piano player she said hoarsely, "Can you imagine, Joseph, soup on Christmas Eve?"

He pointed to his empty "tipping plate."

The young sailor finished his meal and got up to leave. Putting on his coat, he walked over to the flower woman's table.

"Happy Christmas," he said, smiling and picking out two corsages. "How much are they?"

"Two francs, monsieur."

Pressing one of the small corsages flat, he put it into the letter he had written, then handed the woman a 20-franc note.

"I don't have change, Monsieur," she said. "I'll get some from the waiter."

"No, ma'am," said the sailor, leaning over and kissing the ancient cheek. "This is my Christmas present to you."

Then he came to our table, holding the other corsage in front of him. "Sir," he said to me, "may I have permission to present these flowers to your beautiful daughter?"

In one quick motion he gave my wife the corsage, wished us a Merry Christmas and departed.

Everyone had stopped eating. Everyone had been watching the sailor. Everyone was silent.

A few seconds later Christmas exploded throughout the restaurant like a bomb.

The old flower woman jumped up, waving the 20-franc note, shouted to the piano player, "Joseph, my Christmas present! And you shall have half so you can have a feast too."

The piano player began to belt out Good King Wencelaus, beating the keys with magic hands.

My wife waved her corsage in time to the music. She appeared 20 years younger. She began to sing, and our three sons joined her, bellowing with enthusiasm.

"Gut! Gut!" shouted the Germans. They began singing in German.

The waiter embraced the flower woman. Waving their arms, they sang in French.

The Frenchman who had slapped the boy beat rhythm with his fork against a bottle. The lad climbed on his lap, singing in a youthful soprano.

A few hours earlier 18 persons had been spending a miserable evening. It ended up being the happiest, the very best Christmas Eve, they had ever experienced.

This, Admiral McDonald, is what I am writing you about. As the top man in the Navy, you should know about the very special gift that the U.S. Navy gave to my family, to me and to the other people in that French restaurant. Because your young sailor had Christmas spirit in his soul, he released the love and joy that had been smothered within us by anger and disappointment. He gave us Christmas.

Thank you, Sir, very much.
Merry Christmas,
Bill Lederer

To all of our troops in Iraq, Afghanistan, and around the world, we wish every one of you a safe and Merry Christmas, and please know that our thoughts and prayers are with you and your families.