The love of a caring family: A 1941 Christmas story

By John Dwyer
Posted 12/25/24

 

 

Cherished Christmas memories can be triggered on a bright and balmy summer day!

On such a Port Townsend day, my son and I were sorting through some boxes which held the …

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The love of a caring family: A 1941 Christmas story

Posted

 

 

Cherished Christmas memories can be triggered on a bright and balmy summer day!

On such a Port Townsend day, my son and I were sorting through some boxes which held the personal effects of my late brother. My brother was a collector who mixed both special and mundane memories in the same cardboard box. We were in the middle of sorting out a few boxes of his mixed memories, when my son walked over to me and said, “Dad, look at this!” He handed me a faded printed sheet of paper on the top which was printed, “Christmas Menu, December 25, 1941.” Under the date was printed, “USS Pennsylvania, At Sea.” Immediately. a flood of memories drifted through my mind. 

Christmas Day 1941 is a day I will never forget.

My dad had retired from the U.S. Navy in the early 1930s. He and my mother had then married and had five children, of which I was the oldest. In late 1940, or early 1941. He was called back to active duty as the world was approaching World War II. He was assigned, as a Chief Signalman, to the USS Pennsylvania. The Pennsylvania then sailed to Hawaii and he suddenty disappeared from my life.

A very caring and loving father, he spent a lot of time with me. I miss him greatly. At six years of age I couldn’t understand why he left. I thought about him often. 

On Dec. 7, 1941, I remember I was playing in the street with my brother and a neighbor boy, when my mother called me into the house we rented in San Pedro, California. She told me she had just heard on the radio that Pearl Harbor, in Hawaii, had been bombed and that we were at war. I didn’t understand war but sensed, from my mother’s reactions, that it was very serious. We learned, days later, that the USS Pennsylvania, in dry dock, was bombed, it had survived — as had my father. 

The days leading up to Christmas that year were very somber. My mother decorated the house and attempted to create a joyous atmosphere, but I missed my dad’s company. It just didn’t seem like Christmas without him. Sadness prevailed. 

Late Christmas morning, I heard a knock on our front door. My mother opened the door and standing there were my mother’s two sisters, one of her brothers and a cousin. Their arms were filled with brightly colored Christmas presents  and their faces with joyous smiles. I didn’t know they were coming and was very surprised.

When they came into the house, their enthusiasm filled the room. It seemed even the Christmas tree lights were brighter. We children began excitedly opening our presents. To this day I remember how fascinated I was with a particular mechanical toy that my aunts had given me. My sadness had turned to delight. The rest of the afternoon was filled with family joy and happiness.

That joy returned in 1945 when my dad safely returned from the war. 

Today at Christmas time. I usually travel to Huntington Beach to visit my son and daughter and their families. While there, on a cool and clear winter day, I inevitably leave my son’s festively decorated house and walk the three blocks to the beach to enjoy the magnificent sunsets. On my walk, I always stop and look across the twelve or so miles of blue, rippled Pacific Ocean to find the bluffs of the Palos Verdes Peninsula. It is on those bluffs that the city of San Pedro is located. As I stand there looking, my thoughts travel back to that house on 18th Street, and to Christmas Day in 1941, when a little boy’s sadness was turned to joy by the surprise of a loving family. 

John Dwyer is a writer based in Port Townsend.