Dear
Admiral McDonald,
This letter is a year
late. Nevertheless, it's important that you
receive it.
Eighteen people have asked me to be sure to write to you.
Last year, at Christmas time, my wife, three boys and I were in France,
on our
way from Paris to Nice. For five wretched days everything had gone wrong. Our hotels were
'tourist traps;' our rented car broke down; we
were irritable and restless. On Christmas Eve, when we checked into a
hotel in
Nice, there was no Christmas spirit in our hearts. It was cold and
raining when
we went out to eat. We found a drab little cafe, shoddily decorated for
the
holiday.
Only five tables in the restaurant were occupied. There were two German
couples,
two French families and an American sailor by himself. In the corner a
piano
player listlessly clamoured away. I was too stubborn, too tired and
miserable to
leave. I looked around and noticed that the other customers were eating
in
stony silence. The only person who seemed happy was the American
sailor; He was
writing a letter and smiling to himself. My wife ordered our meal in
French. The
waiter brought us the wrong thing.
I scolded my wife, she began to cry, and the boys defended her. Then on
my left,
at the table of one French family, the father slapped one of his
children for
some minor fault; the boy cried. On our right, the German wife berated
her
husband.
All of us were suddenly interrupted by an unpleasant blast of cold air.
Through
the door came an old French flower woman. She wore a dripping, tattered
overcoat, and shuffled in on wet, run-down shoes. Carrying her basket
of roses
she went from table to table. “Flowers?” No one bought any, and wearily
she
sat at a table between the sailor and us.
To the waiter she said:
“Bowl of soup. I haven't sold a flower the whole afternoon. “ To the
piano
player she said hoarsely: “Can you imagine, Joseph ordering only a bowl
of
soup on Christmas Eve ?!”
Joseph pointed to his empty tipping plate. The young sailor finished
his meal,
and got up to leave. Putting on his coat, he walked over to the flower
woman's
table.
“Happy Christmas,” he said smiling, and picking out two roses he said:
“How much are these?“
“Two francs, Monsieur.”
Pressing one of the flowers into the letter he had written, he handed
the woman
a 20 - franc note.
“I’ll have to get some change, Monsieur.” she said.
“No ma'am,” said the sailor, kissing the ancient cheek. “This is my
Christmas present to you.“
Straightening up, he came to our table, holding the other rose in front
of him.
“Sir,” he said to me, ”may I present this to your beautiful daughter?”
In one quick motion he gave the rose to my wife, wished us a Merry
Christmas and
departed. Everyone had stopped eating. Everyone had been watching the
sailor.
Everyone was sitting in thoughtful silence.
A few seconds later, Christmas exploded through the restaurant like a
bomb. The
old flower woman jumped up waving her 20-franc note. Hobbling out into
the
middle of the room she did a jig, shouting to the piano player:
With sudden enthusiasm the piano player began to play “Good King
Wenceslas,”
beating the keys with magic hands, nodding his head to the rhythm. My
wife waved
her rose in time to the music. She was radiant, looking twenty years
younger.
The tears had left her eyes. She began to sing and our three sons
joined in,
bellowing loudly. The Germans jumped on the chairs and began singing.
The waiter
embraced the flower woman. Waving their arms, they sang in French. The
French
man who had slapped the boy beat a rhythm with his fork against a
bottle and the
lad climbed on his lap. The owner of the restaurant started the First
Noel, and
we all joined in, half of us crying as we sang. People crowded in from
the
street until many were standing. The walls shook as hands and feet kept
time to
the rousing Yuletide carols.
A few hours before eighteen people had been spending a miserable
evening in a
shoddy restaurant. It ended up being their happiest Christmas Eve ever.
This,
Admiral McDonald, is what I'm writing you about. As top man in the navy
you
should know about the very special gift that the U.S. Navy gave to my
family,
and to me and to other people in that French restaurant. Because your young sailor
had Christmas spirit in his soul, he released
the love and joy that had been smothered within us. He gave us
Christmas.
Thank you sir, very much.
