[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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