Dog Tags & Paper Hearts

What a Soldier Thinks

• Don • Season 1 • Episode 33

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They do not want their families to have a dictatorship, a bloody, killing, savage, conquering form of government. Those boys died fighting for freedom and for those things and those people who are so very near and dear to them. Welcome to Dog Tags and Paper Hearts, a chronicle of my grandfather's letters home during his time in the service. I'm your host, Don Friega, and in each episode we'll travel back to a time when swing bands ruled the airwaves, ration books shaped the dinner table, and handwritten letters carried love across oceans. Join me as we uncover the stories, sounds, and surprises of an era defined by courage, change, and a touch of romance. From the battlefront to the home front. On today's episode, Sitting on Santa's lap and toyland. So pull up a chair, grab a nice plate of cookies, and let's rewind the clock together. Because the 1940s weren't just about war and worry, they were about hope, humor, and heart. This is Dog Tags and Paper Hearts. A couple of news items from the front on the day this letter was written, December 27, 1944. In military news, much the same as in the past few days. Allied forces launched strong counteroffenses against German positions in the Ardennes, signaling a possible turning point in the Battle of the Bulge. The siege holds at Bastogne, as the 101st Airborne Division continues its stubborn defense despite harsh winter weather, limited supplies, and ongoing German assaults. Allied Air Forces hammer German supply lines, fighting continues across Belgium and Luxembourg, and the U.S. and Filipino troops advance on Leyte, tightening their grip on the island and reducing remaining Japanese strongholds. Back home, war production continues to surge, and officials in Washington continue to express cautious optimism. And as always, during this harsh winter, those conditions, snow, severe cold, and limited visibility, are hampering both Allied and Axis operations, making logistics and troop movement increasingly difficult. And in other news, I looked through the paper from Johnny's hometown on this date in history. I found an interesting op-ed called What a Soldier Thinks. This is from the Royal Oak Tribune, December 27, 1944. What a Soldier Thinks. To the editor, it has been ages since I have written you, and frankly I should at this moment be writing my wife and family. However, my mood this evening is in a state of wonder as to some of the things that are occurring on the home front. These items have become somewhat of a concern to me, and more than likely a concern of many other members of the armed forces. Actually and truthfully, my heart aches to read such things, which in part are as follows one. Strikes. 2. Complaints of the articles which are becoming scarce at home. 3. People leaving war jobs in order to procure a job which may prove of more security in post-war days. 4. People who purchase war savings bonds on one day and on the following day cash them in. To begin with, the above disturbances in my mind do not of course apply to all. In fact, they only apply to a small minority. Yet, through the actions of this minority, the fighting men of yours and my country are the ones who really suffer. Practically every day I receive a paper, and though being a small one, it gives some of the more important news. Practically daily I read of such items as heretofore mentioned. Stop for a moment to consider what such things mean to those of us at the front. Simply it means this one, that those people who are out on strike are depriving the boys of the strict necessities of war equipment, the same items that are saving our American way of life and our democracy. Two, that some people at home are actually regretting the fact that over there the boys are receiving the home front cigarette ration or some other similar item. Three, people who are leaving war plants to secure for themselves a job which presumably will afford them a better post-war future. They fail to consider that unless we on the front receive the necessary war materials, the post-war future will not arrive for many years. Further, they fail to realize that the longer the war lasts, the fewer of us that will return. Four, the people who are continually cashing their war bonds are certainly taking money away from our government, the money needed so badly to finance our true and complete victory. It hurts my feelings to see where the commanding general of the European Theater of Operations has to beg the people back home to buy war bonds and to further increase their production of vital necessities. Two, it is discreditable to my way of thinking that the President of the United States must inform the people that in some cases lives of the American soldiers have been lost because of the rationing of shells to men in Europe. This simply means that someone back home is indirectly aiding in the killing of perhaps their own sons, brothers, or friends. Reports are as of November 7, 1944, that Army casualties alone have been 88,245 killed, 254,283 wounded, 56,442 missing. Every day that the war continues, these figures continue to mount. The lives of these men are very dear to them. They care not to die but have done it doing a job for the safety of those at home. They do not want their families to have a dictatorship, a bloody, killing, savage, conquering form of government. Those boys died fighting for freedom and for those things and those people who are so very near and dear to them. This war is, in plain words, very hellish. The hardships that are necessary for us to undergo are tremendous. There is absolutely no pleasure in having artillery hit within a few yards of you to be shot at with small arms, nor is it pleasant to dig a foxhole and sleep, if you can, in it together with a few inches of rain and mud while you lay there shivering and wishing for a warmer place. A can of cold hash for breakfast, dinner, and supper is far from appetizing. Yet that is what the boys eat, because they are unable to heat and eat a better or warmer meal. But still none of them complain. Why? Because they have a job to do, one in which they must not and definitely will not fail. What would you people back home think and what would happen if your sons, your brothers, or husbands were to lay down their arms and say, To hell with this war? Unless we get fifty two dollars per month rather than fifty, we refuse to fight. Put yourselves in our position. Does this minority who are hurting us by their action really feel justified? We need your full and utmost cooperation. We need every bit of equipment, clothing, etc. that you can produce, even if you have to work fifteen hours per day. It is fully necessary that you folks back home buy war bonds and keep them rather than cash them in a few days later. If any of the people belonging to this minority class which I speak of feel that they are being mistreated, deprived, overworked, or are being unfairly treated, just stop for a second and think how much better off you are than the boys who are being killed or injured for your life. You must further realize that you are not being shot at. The United States Army is the best and finest equipped army in the world. Let's keep it this way, if you think anything of us or of your country. We need more supplies and are leaning on your shoulders anticipating that you will not let us down. What is your answer? Do not answer in words, but rather in actions. Personally, I am very gratified for what cooperation the home folks are giving us. Frankly, it is not enough, due primarily to the selfish and inconsiderate minority. We ask not for sympathy, but merely full cooperation. God bless each and every one of you. Corporal Russell J. Cameron. P.S. If you happen to know of anybody who personally complains to you about no cigarettes, let me know, and I will send them mine. And now the letter. Wednesday, december twenty seventh, nineteen forty four. My dearest Mary, hello, sweetheart, how are you, dear? One hundred percent okay, I'll bet. That's good. If you're wondering about how this letter looks, well, we're out in a field problem and I have about an hour, so excuse it, please. Honey, it did me a world of good to hear your voice on Christmas Eve. I waited eleven hours to talk to you, and it was worth every minute of it, just to hear you say hello and know that you still love me. Oh golly, Mrs. Mutt, if it were only possible for me to talk to you or see you every day, it would be heaven on earth to me. I can't begin to tell you how I felt when I hung up the receiver. A mixture of happiness and sadness. Glad to talk to you once more after so long a time and so damn blue when I had to say goodbye. It was like having to shut off a little bit of my life. I think if there hadn't been such a large gang of fellows around, I would have burst out crying. As it was, I could hardly see for the tears in my eyes. I'm so damn lonely for you, darling. I want to see you and hold you and just tell you how much I love you. I just can't live without you, dear. Life would be an empty shell if there wasn't any you for me to love. I miss you so. I got two letters from you today, the nineteenth and twenty second. Golly, you sure do lead a busy life, and I can't quite picture old George being dead. Hard to believe, but I guess it's just as well for him that he passed on the way he did. I doubt very much that he suffered any. It's about the best way for him. And to even matters up, Amy had a baby boy. Well, what do you know? Some people have all the luck. But you know I'm only kidding, I wouldn't trade off any of my girls for any twenty or thirty boys. It was a pretty raw deal that they tried to pull off on you. How they expected you to help them the way they wanted you to is beyond me. Under different circumstances, it might have been sensible for you to help them. I think you did all you possibly could. I also think that you handled Ray the best way. There was no reason for them to think that you would take care of the whole damn outfit. Don't get yourself too deeply involved with them, and I think you will be better off. I'm glad to hear that the children had a chance to see Santa. That's one of the high points in their lives, and I wouldn't want them to miss it. You might know that Sherry wouldn't be afraid of the old gent. She's as friendly as a pup, and after all, with all that she has heard of him, she probably wanted to see if his whiskers were real. Did she pull them? I wouldn't be surprised. Susie, though, is a little bashful, isn't she? How did she act the second time? Any better? By next year she ought to be well up on him and as anxious to see him as anyone. Maybe by that time I can take them all, including Eva, down to see him. I can't think of anything I would rather do. It must have been nice taking them through Toyland. I can remember myself going down. Everything I saw I wanted, and I know that our kids are no different. I wish I could buy them everything they want. Maybe someday we can do that. Next Christmas might see me home, and that will be the best Christmas I'll ever spend. But how did you fare this time? Get anything nice? What was it? It couldn't have been half as nice as the things you sent me. Golly, I got a real kick out of it when I opened all those packages. And you guessed right on everything. My toothpaste has got about one squeeze left in it, and the shaving cream won't last out a week. I'm not so heavy on the thread, but no doubt I'll be needing it shortly. My clothes are getting a little worn now, and you did get me a lighter too, didn't you? You think of everything, sweetheart. And handkerchiefs. If you could see the way I go through 'em, you'd know how much I needed them. And those lovely, lovely socks. Honey, they're worth a million bucks a pair down here, and I wouldn't sell them for two million. I've got one pair on now, and my feet are as warm as toast. You get a great pig kiss for them. Smack! Altogether, dear, I had the nicest Christmas of anyone in the barracks, and you were the one who made it possible. I love you to death. As for the cupcakes and fudge, well, dear, as much as I got of the cakes were good. I couldn't duck them out of sight quick enough, and whiz away they went. I managed to save enough to tease my appetite, and the fudge lasted me until today. I've got the last two pieces in my pocket right now, and I'll be eating it tonight. Very, very tasty. Hello again, darling. This is the next day, Thursday. Holy cow, what a night. I saw every last inch of Texas last night, and if I ever see it under the same conditions again, well, I'm not going to commit myself. It happened like this. Each squad had a separate night problem as a combat patrol. I attached myself to the first squad as a scout. The squad leader was an 18-year-old Chicago boy as nutty as they come. We had to use night compasses and follow an exact direction. This cocky leader didn't even bother to check his compass direction against a master, but instead just called the squad out ahead of schedule and off we went. The rest of the patrol had a rough idea of the way we were supposed to go, and we hadn't traveled 100 yards before we all clamored for a halt and a change of direction. The leader argued, but we overrode him. So he takes another reading. I don't know if you understand anything about compasses, but the needle is highly sensitive and it has to be kept away from all steel or iron. So what does he do? He rests the compass on his rifle barrel. Ye gods! That did screw it up, but we didn't know until too late. That needle just wandered all over the map, and he just picked a direction and gave us the signal to march on and on and on and on. We weren't supposed to go more than a mile, but by the time we finally tied that guy down, we were about three miles off our course, raining like hell and not a familiar landmark in sight. As a scout, I had a general idea of the way we had come, but no use. The squad leader has complete control over the squad, so to save arguments, we all decided to let him hang himself. We set off at right angles to our route in the hopes of hitting a road. We did, the wrong one. Instead of taking us to our assembly area, we ended up about six miles away, so cross country we went. Perhaps you've heard that Texas is quite flat. It is, for about a space of two feet between the hills. And what hills? Straight up, straight down, rocky, slipping, and covered with brush and thorns. We crawled up, slid down, leaped from rock to rock, and considered ourselves damn lucky not to have broken our necks. I forgot to mention, we started out at 7 p.m. By 10 30 we were 12 miles away from our assembly point, but on the right road. How do I know? I ran into the CO of Company A, and he bawled hell out of us and told us to get our asses on the way, which we did with gusto. As long as I was headed in the right direction, I didn't give a damn how far off we were, just to get back to the barracks on a hot shower. We had walked about four miles when beep beep, along comes our company truck. Honey, never before have I seen so welcome a sight. They picked us up and drove us to our assembly area, only about an hour late. Our sergeant was on hand to give us a welcoming speech as we expected. My ears will never regain their original shape. He cussed us out in every language from Alaskan to South Pacific. Of course he threw in a few English words once in a while to make us understand, but even so we got the drift. To make sure we didn't get lost again, he told us we would have to clean barracks for the rest of the week. Oh well, everybody gets lost once in a while, and last night was our night, so this letter is constantly being interrupted. I'm taking every single minute I can to write it. Right now it's 10 p.m. Thursday night. I started this about 12.30 p.m. Wednesday. You're probably wondering why I didn't write on Monday or Tuesday. Well, Monday being Christmas, I was so doggone low I just had to do something to take my mind off the bum situation we are in. I started a couple of letters, but they were so full of gripes that I knew they would make you feel worse, so I tore them up and took a bus ride to North Camp Hood and back. Twenty cents round trip to see the same thing I see every day. Nothing different at all. It took about six hours of the afternoon, and did pass the time away. Well, I thought that on Tuesday I could think a little straighter. I was right, but it did me no good. They pulled a fast one on us, and our new schedules for the rest of our period won't have us back in the barracks any sooner than 9 p.m. any night. We thought they were giving us a two and a half day vacation, but we have to make up all the time we lost plus. The good old army deal, I call it. I'd rather not have any time off if I'd known that. Well, anyway, it was 10 30 p.m. Tuesday night before we pulled in. All we did is sit in classrooms and listen to lectures that we had heard before. I was hopping mad, but nothing could be done about it, so the letters may get fewer and farther between. I don't want you to get the idea that I don't want to write to you. It's just that there won't be any too much spare time. We had a pretty good dinner on Monday, turkey, dressing, sweets, mashed spuds, stuffed celery, olives, pickles, beets, beans, mince pie, cake, ice cream, nuts, fruit, and candy, and they even gave us all a packet of cigarettes, some fun. The sergeants all had their wives come to camp for dinner and they ate with us. They'd been telling us how beautiful their wives were, and we were prepared for something outstanding. What a shock! I've seen better faces at the south end of a horse going north, and that's no lie. They don't come anywhere close to you, dear. In fact, I haven't seen a woman yet that I could even start to compare with you. So you needn't worry about me going astray while I'm here. And even if they did have all the beauties in camp, I wouldn't give them a second look. Honey, it's now twelve noon Friday, so I'm going to sign off and mail this letter, or it will never be sent. Okay, I'll write the second installment later. Goodbye for now, sweetheart. Remember that I love you more than anything in the world. All my love, Johnny. A couple of notes from today's letter. Children seeing Santa. When did this start? What follows is a slightly abridged version of an article that appears on the website Romper, originally written by Samantha Darby. Going to see Santa at your local department store or mall is a childhood rite of passage. With the tiny candy canes, telling Santa you've kept your room clean all year long, and taking a picture right after you explain in implicit detail which polypocket set you want. It's a must for any kid. But no matter how lovable of a guy Santa is, the whole tradition begs the question, why do we let kids sit on Santa's lap? The tradition doesn't have exact origins. According to history.com, in 1841, thousands of children headed to a Philadelphia store to see a life-size model of Santa Claus, leading stores to believe that if they could offer shoppers a peek at a real life Santa Claus, they would get even more shopping traffic. The first person to dress as Santa, according to The Enterprise, was a man named James Edgar, who donned the infamous Santa Claus suit in 1890 in his own store to make children shopping happy. He is considered the very first apartment store Santa Claus. But the tradition of sitting on Santa's lap? There's not a lot of information about how this facet of the Christmas season began. Did one Santa suggest that a child sit on his lap to share his wish list? Did a child take it upon himself to climb up? Or was this an action egged on by parents? Nobody's 100% sure. But the one thing that's come across many minds is why parents let their children sit on Santa's lap at all. Isn't it a way to force your child into physical contact with, for all intents and purposes, a stranger? Apparently a lot of people think so. According to parenting, some countries have considered complete bans on sitting on Santa's lap, and Baby Center has noted that some believe it is a violation of children's rights. So why is it even a thing? Because Santa is a beloved character for a lot of children. The difference between letting your child sit on Santa's lap and forcing them to is a big one. Your child gets to decide. Parents let their children sit in Santa's lap because they know their children love it. Christmas is a time of magic and warmth and innocence. You let your little one climb into Santa's lap because they are just way too excited about the toys Santa will bring them and about meeting the magical man. According to Mental Floss, background checks are a big deal for a lot of Santa Claus employers. So if safety is a concern, it's okay to do some research. But really, the bottom line is that if your kid is super happy to see Santa and wants to climb into their lap, there's nothing wrong with it. If your kid just wants to stand next to Santa, no Santa Claus is going to deny them that right or a picture. Mentalfloss also noted that Santa's hate a crying kid photo too. They are there to make your little one happy. And if your little one isn't happy, then is it even worth it? We let our kids sit on Santa's lap because it's a sweet moment to capture between a little one who fully believes in Santa and the big jolly guy himself. But the magic word is let and not force. Also in today's letter, Johnny talks about taking the girls to Toyland. In the 1940s, Toyland at J.L. Hudson's department store in Detroit was a beloved holiday destination and one of the most memorable features of the downtown flagship store. Each year, during the Christmas season, the 12th floor was transformed into a whimsical wonderland devoted entirely to toys and holiday displays. Toyland was filled with rows upon rows of model trains, dolls, mechanical tin toys, and games, all arranged under festive decorations. The space was lavishly decorated with tinsel, garlands, and colorful lights, creating an atmosphere of enchantment that rivaled any child's dream. Animated window displays and mechanical figures often greeted visitors, setting the tone before they even reached the floor itself. A major attraction was Santa Claus headquarters, where children could visit Santa, share their Christmas wishes, and sometimes receive small gifts or candy canes. Waiting lines wound through elaborate winter scenes with moving reindeer, elves, and snow-covered cottages. For many Detroit families, a visit to Toyland was an annual tradition, marking the start of the holiday season. Toyland at Hudson's embodied the golden age of department store spectacle, when retail spaces served not just as shopping venues, but as community landmarks and holiday experiences that drew crowds from all across Michigan. The top song in the U.S. on this date, December 27, 1944, was Don't Fence Me In by Bing Crosby and the Andrew Sisters. Since I've covered this song in a past episode, I'm gonna dig deep to bring you a song that may not have been a huge hit at the time, but has a legacy as one of the defining jazz hits of 1944. That song is Artistry and Rhythm by Stan Kenton. Artistry and Rhythm is one of the defining statements of Stan. Kenton's musical vision, and one of the most unusual hits to come out of the big band era. Composed around 1941 and first recorded in 1943, artistry and rhythm functions less like a typical swing tune and more like a concert piece for jazz orchestra. It's a layered orchestration with heavy emphasis on trumpets and trombones, creating a powerful, almost architectural sound. This structure varies from popular music of the day, trading the melody and solos format for something with shifting textures, and layering modern classical music influences in with more traditional swing-era jazz. This reflects Kenton's larger ambition to elevate jazz into something closer to serious art music. In fact, the piece helped define what would later be called progressive jazz, a movement that pushed beyond traditional swing into more experimental territory, and Kenton's orchestration style, thick brass chords layered in waves, has often been described as a precursor to the later wall of sound ideas in popular music. Now this divided audiences. Those that loved it saw the piece as visionary, ambitious, ahead of its time, while those that hated it felt it was bombastic, cold, and overly calculated. And here's where things get interesting. It wasn't a conventional hit, but it became far more influential over time. When first released in 1944, it was not a major success, and in fact, another track from the same session charted better. However, artistry and rhythm endured. It has been reissued many times and has eventually sold over a million copies cumulatively. It's gained recognition as a landmark recording, and it's also become Kenton's signature theme closely associated with his orchestra's identity. By the mid to late 1940s, the artistry and rhythm band itself reached a peak of popularity, playing major venues and achieving strong commercial success. It stands as a reminder that innovation doesn't always look like success at first. Sometimes it takes decades for the audiences to catch up. Thank you for listening to Dog Tags and Paper Hearts. You can find links to information contained within this episode in the show notes. I've also provided a link to my Spotify playlist of number one songs during the course of this correspondence. That playlist is also titled Dog Tags and Paper Hearts. Please keep the feedback coming by emailing me at Dog Tags Paper Hearts, that's all one word, at gmail.com. And most importantly, if you have a story from World War II that you're willing to share on this podcast, please drop me a line and we can make that happen. Until next time,