My Worst Christmas

A savage blizzard was lashing the Statue of Liberty as our troop ship crawled out of New York Harbor. Even though the Korean War was over and Vietnam hadn’t heated up, Cold War warriors in Washington had decided that the cause of American freedom depended on tearing several thousand draftees from our homes at Christmas time.

I had just spent about two months of basic training and beyond on the wind-swept wastes of Ft. Leonard  Wood in Missouri, but instead of enjoying the holidays with friends and family over the holidays, I had orders to move on. It could have been worse. I could be on my way to the wintry mountains of Korea like most of my mates who had just “graduated” from personnel school to be clerks in Uncle Sam’s far-flung Army empire.

I stood in the bitter cold of my base and awaited the reading of our orders. My name was called. I braced for the word” “Korea.” Instead I heard “Panama.” A tropical paradise far to the south, where no war raged and I wouldn’t need my cold-weather gear. Why the gods of war chose me I have no idea. Perhaps the same ones that drafted me instead of my twin brother, Bruce. The draft skipped him. Still, the thought of spending Christmas on a troop ship with a couple of thousand strangers instead of at home and hearth was depressing. I slung my duffel bag over the hammock that would serve as my ship bed and looked for my buddy, Max. Max was one of those people who can come out on top of any situation.