[Congressional Record Volume 140, Number 39 (Wednesday, April 13, 1994)]
[Senate]
[Page S]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Printing Office [www.gpo.gov]


[Congressional Record: April 13, 1994]
From the Congressional Record Online via GPO Access [wais.access.gpo.gov]

 
                              HOLIDAY PAST

  Mr. DOLE. Mr. President, just this week an article which appeared in 
the Philadelphia Inquirer last December came to my attention.
  It's an article written by Joseph P. Barrett, a World War II veteran 
who served with the 47th Anti-Aircraft Battalion. In his article, Mr. 
Barrett writes about his train ride back to Camp Davis, NC after 
spending Christmas 1943 with his family.
  On the way back to Camp Davis, Mr. Barrett's train stopped for a 
short while here in Washington. Mr. Barrett remembers fondly his brief 
visit to the Capital City during the war. I thought it fitting that as 
we commemorate the 50th anniversary of World War II, that we take a 
moment to reflect on this short glimpse of life on the homefront in 
1943. Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the text of the 
article be inserted into the Record.
  There being no objection, the article was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

            [From the Philadelphia Inquirer, Dec. 26, 1993]

                  Former G.I. Reflects on Holiday Past

                         (By Joseph P. Barrett)

       The New York-to-Washington passenger train, packed to the 
     doors, rolled slowly into the North Philadelphia Station of 
     the Pennsylvania Railroad. The platform was already crowded 
     with servicemen trying to catch a train back to camp on this 
     late afternoon of Christmas 1943, 50 years ago.
       A disappointed sigh rose from the G.I.s and their loved 
     ones when they realized that not all would be able to board 
     the train. Fortunately, the doors of one of the cars stopped 
     right in front of me and I was one of the lucky ones to 
     squeeze in.
       There was not a single inch of floor space that did not 
     have a foot on it. The aisles and doorways were belly button 
     to buttocks. Some sat on upturned suitcases, while servicemen 
     climbed up on the luggage rack and immediately went to sleep. 
     The men's and ladies' rooms were likewise packed. A piece of 
     luck was to be able to sit on the sink or commode.
       It seemed like ages since I had gotten the pass at Camp 
     Davis, N.C., where my outfit, the 47th Antiaircraft 
     Battalion, was preparing to go fight in the invasion of 
     France the following June.
       There was a lot of pushing and shoving around the battery 
     headquarters, where everyone wanted a pass. Every G.I. wanted 
     to go home for Christmas. Suddenly it was discovered that 
     some of our Jewish comrades had put in for the passes.
       A near-riot ensued.
       ``You guys killed Christ,'' some hollered loudly. ``Now you 
     want to celebrate His birthday.''
       The Jewish guys quietly withdrew their requests and settled 
     for going home on New Year's Day. I felt bad because many of 
     these men were my friends from the time we were sworn in on 
     the day after Christmas 1942. They came from Strawberry 
     Mansion, a Jewish enclave, about 10 blocks west of 22d Street 
     and Lehigh Avenue, where I lived in Swampoodle, an Irish 
     neighborhood in North Philadelphia.


                            christmas dinner

       On Christmas Day I had gone to Mass with my parents at St. 
     Columba's, then returned home to have breakfast and sit 
     around with the family. Neighbors came by to wish me well. My 
     mother, Mary E. Barrett, served an early turkey dinner to 
     make sure I made the train.
       When the train reached Washington, Union Station was 
     jammed. So I walked the streets of the city and ate the two 
     turkey sandwiches prepared by my mother, and an orange and 
     apple given to me by my next door neighbor, Ellen Sweigard.
       I found a U.S.O. club. It was like a big hotel. I asked if 
     I could sleep there until 1 a.m. and a dignified lady took me 
     up to the ninth floor, sat me in a Morris chair and pinned a 
     piece of paper on the chair which said simply, ``Awaken at 1 
     a.m.''
       It seemed that I was just asleep when another lady, more 
     dignified than the first, gently shook me awake. I later 
     learned that these ladies were wives of senators, congressmen 
     and high government officials who spent their Christmas 
     serving servicemen at the U.S.O. This was the kind of total 
     commitment that the war inspired.
       Union Station was still jammed when I returned to board the 
     train down to North Carolina. They refused to allow us to go 
     to the train level, but I spotted another G.I. climbing a 
     small wall, so I went over the wall after him. We found 
     ourselves on an empty section of the platform at the end of 
     the train.


                           the `jim crow car'

       Right in front of us was a ``Jim Crow Car.'' This was 
     reserved for what we then called ``colored folk.'' All the 
     seats were taken, but there was plenty of floor space. So I 
     crawled in between the backs of two seats, spread a newspaper 
     on the floor and went to sleep. It was 4 a.m.
       The white passengers sat on soft leather seats but the 
     blacks had only wooden seats covered with a hard, strawlike 
     material. The car needed a paint job and was very dismal.
       These passenger cars were relics of the early railroads of 
     the 19th century. The notion of separate but equal, which was 
     the law of the land down South, was a fraud.
       I got back to camp in time for chow at 6 p.m., 12 hours 
     late. This was the first food I had since eating the turkey 
     sandwiches over 12 hours ago.
       But it was still a great Christmas.
       Unforgettable.

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