So, in sum, World War II, and the problems, the sadness, the sacrifices it brought…it meant that Christmas could be, well, problematic at times (much less so than today).
Due to rationing, for example, one of the favorite toys of American children in the 1940s-Lionel’s electric trains-were hard to find. The metals needed to make the train cars were not available. So, in 1943 Lionel put out a substitute—with the train cars made of cardboard! The cost? $0.79 cents a car.
Pajamas, cribs, playpens, cologne, handbags, and gloves filled out the hard-to-find list. (Thread and cloth were rationed, too.)
There was a shortage of alcoholic beverages in the United States during the war. Those who produced alcohol quit making the stuff needed for whiskey or bourbon, and instead concentrated on producing industrial alcohol, needed for war materials. So, when in 1943 a Washington DC liquor store advertised that it had come into a shipment of 8000 bottles of rye, bourbon, and Scotch in time for the holidays, a large crowd gathered outside the store late at night, and waited for 10 hours in the cold for its opening in the morning.
In Montgomery, Alabama, booze was so scarce that citizens there were allowed to buy only 1 pint of liquor per week, or two bottles of wine.
With sugar and some fruits rationed, jellied cranberries, a great favorite for Christmas dinners at that time, was almost impossible to make.
Just in time for Christmas 1942, the Office of Price Administration announced that the 30 million pairs of nylon pantyhose, about to be released in time for holiday sales, would be the last release until the end of the war.
And yet, as we have shown, Americans were determined to rejoice in the holiday, and celebrate it, anyway. And they did. A war wasn’t going to stop them. A writer for TIME magazine reported in late December 1942 that the singing of traditional Christmas carols, the hugs, the handshakes, had been more fervent that year than usual. “It would take more than a year of global war,” he wrote, “to dim out American good will.”
Some farming communities had plenty of food. Farmers, after all, could grow and raise as much food as possible, and the government encouraged them to do so. One mother, writing to her son overseas at Christmas, described a holiday dinner at church as “lovely…Baked chicken, fried chicken, country ham, dressing, salads, cakes, everything you could think of and want. Pretty tree and gifts for everyone.” Nor had she and the community forgotten him—she noted that the local Jaycees were about to send him a Christmas box full of candy.
In New York City at Christmas 1943, the store at Saks Fifth Avenue stayed open late into the evening three nights in a row in order to fill the customer demand. Macy’s had to hire 11,000 extra employees to keep up with the rush. In Chicago, shoppers waited in line for 25 minutes just to get in the door of Carson Pirie Scott’s. In Dallas, sales were up nearly 150% over the previous year. An America-watcher for the British embassy reported to London that America was now a wartime land of higher wages and “general boom atmosphere. Volume of sales (almost 60% above 1923-29 levels) of consumer goods to vast mobs of eager purchasers this Christmas has broken all records.”
And still…there were those magical moments, when the Christmas spirit, as always, shone through. Take for example a bus depot in Albert Lea, Minnesota, on Christmas Eve 1941. This was a little over two weeks after Pearl Harbor. The war had just begun, but most knew it would be a long one. The depot was full of servicemen and women, with holiday passes, all eager to get home to northern Minnesota. Many knew it would be their last Christmas together with their families for some time.
When the bus finally arrived, though, there were problems. All the seats appeared to be taken. The bus driver told all those waiting that there was no room. They would have to wait for the next bus, which might mean they wouldn’t make it home in time for Christmas. But wait—suddenly voices from the passengers on the bus became audible. Let them get on, they said. We’ll make room. If nothing else, they can sit on our laps.
And so they did. Everyone waiting in that depot was able to board the bus. Soon all were heading towards their homes, singing Christmas carols, sharing candy and cookies, and wishing a Merry Christmas to each person getting off at his stop. A rider on that bus recalled later that she could never remember feeling a greater sense of peace, fellowship, and contentment.
Many wartime couples chose Christmas time to get married. It was often the only time a man in the service could get any leave. One young couple made a quick decision to get married; and so they would do so in Long Beach, California at 1:30 a.m. in a church, before a surprised congregation full of strangers which had just finished midnight mass. It was the only church they could get on such short notice; it was the only time they could get. The bride’s wedding gown was a bridesmaid’s dress she’d worn to another wedding some months before; her flower was a gardenia purchased minutes before from a street vendor.
They were married for over 40 years.
On Christmas Eve 1942, in Gary, Indiana, a young woman named Anne and her aunt attended Christmas Eve services at their local church, as usual. It was snowing, and cold, but there was no bus service that night. So they walked home. As they approached a street corner, they saw two marines in uniform, obviously with no place to go. The marines politely wished them a Merry Christmas. They talked. And so Anne invited the two marines to their home for Christmas Eve dinner. They stayed until 4 a.m. A good time was had by all, and two men serving Uncle Sam didn’t have to spend the holidays alone.
But then, why wouldn’t these two women engage in this act of kindness? It was Christmas.
As the big guy in the red suit and white beard, who specializes after all in acts of kindness at Christmas, would say: happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
