It Was a Different Time
A Christmas Story, Part Two
It always seemed gray, like the sun forgot to bring joy and hope to December. It fit the times. Almost every house on Oakdale Avenue had a Gold Star Banner in the window of their front door. At the school across the street, Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, I learned Polish, Latin, and English from the nuns. We learned Christmas hymns and prayed for the soldiers in either Polish or Latin. My brother, Pete, was still in the War, in the belly of a bomber as the turret gunner. You were automatically retired if you survived twenty-five missions. My brother flew sixty-six missions out of England – three tours of duty. He said that they would cry as they were loading the B-17s knowing that they would soon be dropping the bombs on children.
It was a different time.
Little Petey DeSantis returned from the War just before Christmastime. His brother did not. Ever. They lived next door to my grandmother about five blocks away. (My grandmother is another story! She was a bootlegger.) Petey was industrious. He immediately started selling potato chips to various stores and out of the trunk of his car. It was the first time I ever had potato chips, and it was Lays. I still love them to this day. Every time I eat Lays Chips, I think back to Petey selling those little bags for two or three pennies each. That was a lot of money to me – more than a candy bar. It was such a treat, especially in those days. Petey eventually went from the car to his own little corner store, always selling Lays Potato Chips. I lost track of him over the years.
My brother Pete and Little Petey never talked about the War. It just wasn’t done. I don’t think it was out of stoicism. It was life-changing, life-ending. They talked and cried enough while they were serving. And, everyone knew they were heroes. My brother came back with every military honor and citation one can receive. There was no need to talk about it.
It was a different time.
It Was a Different Time is a historical retelling, re-imagining of my mother’s words. My mother was born during The Great Depression and was in first grade as the United States entered World War II. She has an acute memory of those times. This is the final piece of a series published this December. They all relate to the video containing my rendition of John Prine’s “I Remember Everything.”
Catch me on the radio dial every Saturday afternoon 4-5pm EST with Crooked Road Songs on WICN 90.5 fm, locally in Central Massachusetts, and globally at wicn.org.