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When as a
Junior High student in Las Cruces, New Mexico, boys were assigned to
"shop" classes and girls to "home ec[onomics]" " (a
term for learning housewife duties).
At the beginning of the semester, classes were formed. By alphabet,
boys were told the hours of shop, girls the school kitchen. Rives was
close to the last of the list. Near the last "r", I was
abruptly told that the shop class was full. The sentence was study hall
for me. Enough spaces were available for girls, "home ec[onomics]"
had 3 extra. No alphabet problem there. The principal had a solution
for 3 of us, boys. "Would you like to do home economics instead of
study hall"? Each of us snorted. That's sissy stuff.
We would be demolished on the playground. My choice was easy.
I loved girls. Me, an only boy, learning to boil water, bake, and
sew with 28 girls! An easy choice.
Never would one know that these skills, learned in Junior High, would be a
great asset in World War II's worst battle.
On Christmas eve, "B" Company, 702nd Tank Battalion, had stopped an
arm of the German's advance through Luxembourg. The orders were,
"hold the position", let nothing through on this major supply
route. It was always an army custom for a big festive meal to be served
on Christmas day, but my tank crew knew there was little chance turkey and
trimmings would get to us through snow and ice on Christmas. We were in
Niederfulen, where we had moved into houses abandoned by the civilians who
feared the German army. It was a warm, comfortable family home,
everything left intact after abandonment. Our tank was positioned in
the front yard where we had good observation of the road, forward and
backward. At night, the crew would take one-hour shifts, out in the
bitter cold, standing in the tank turret, listening and watching for the
enemy.
When my turn came at midnight, reluctantly I left a warm sleeping bag, and
went into the zero cold to take my sentry assignment. The sky was
beautiful. Bright stars everywhere. No clouds, perfect
visibility. My first shivering thought was - - this is the same as the
night the shepherds in the field were told by the angels that a great event
was taking place in Bethlehem. The cold was not so bitter. The
stars gave off some warmth. There is still beauty left on earth.
The next morning, Christmas day, our 5-man crew got up to face a breakfast of
cold C-Rations. Grumbling, they agreed that this Christmas day, away
from family, friends, and home was going to be a sad one.
Worst of all C-Rations for today's festive meal.
I noticed when we took over the house that the kitchen had supplies the
family left behind. Flour, canned cherries, lard, sugar. I told
the crew that we were at least going to have Cherry Pie for Christmas.
They laughed and guffawed at this unreachable miracle. Nothing
was coming from the Company kitchen. They can't get through.
"We are going to have Cherry Pie, I'm going to bake it, and there is
something else. Did you notice those
2 geese out in the backyard? Catch one, behead it, pull of the
feathers, the oven works, and we will have baked goose for dinner".
They did, and I did, and a semester of Home Economics in Junior High paid
off. A festive Christmas meal.
The epilogue - - the Company kitchen managed to get a Jeep through with ice
cream they had liberated. Cherry Pie a la Mode.
It was a Merry, Merry Christmas.
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