Nort Platte Canteen, Nebraska, 1943

I recently had an interesting exchange with a friend, Annette, regarding the North Platte Canteen during World War II.
(photo courtesy of Union Pacific Railroad)

––––––––––––– email to me from Annette –––––––
Bill

My dad (who lives in Tulia, TX) is a WWII and Korean vet. In 1942, he had the privilege of stopping at the North Platte Canteen, and he remembers it to this day. This is a letter he wrote recently to one of his shipmates (whose numbers are fewer and fewer each year). I got him the book, “Once Upon A Town” by Bob Greene, about the North Platte Canteen and read it before I gave it to him, of course -- ha! What those people in that town did was AMAZING, in ANY day and time. I'm not even from Nebraska, and it made me proud. They met EVERY SINGLE troop train that came through there from Christmas 1941 to the end of the war and greeted the soldiers with food, drink, music and love. There was no public funding involved, and remember, it was a time of rationing. Daddy included the forward from the book with his note.

––––––––––––– Letter from Annette’s father to friend –––––––
Dear Richard,

I had mentioned to my family, probably more than once, of an unexpected and wonderful experience that I had during a long-ago train trip from San Diego to Chicago. It was late September 1942 and I was en route to the Navy Signal School at the University of Chicago. Apparently my daughter Annette remembered my story, because a couple of years ago she gave me a book, “Once Upon A Town,” that had recently been published, telling about the remarkable North Platte Canteen.
North Platte, Nebraska, is a small isolated town located along the railroad tracks in the western part of the state. The kindness, support and hospitality offered by the folks who met every troop train from Christmas 1941 to the end of the war had to be unique in American history! Food, drinks, magazine, music, etc. were free to over 6,000,000 troops during that time; and NOTHING was paid for by state, local or federal governments. President Roosevelt heard about the Canteen and sent $5.00 so he could be a part of it.

I am sending a couple of review pages from the book cover. If the book is in your library, check it out. If any of you fellows passed through North Platte, the book is well worth the cost.
I’m also sending a check to help with the newsletter expense.
Smitty

[Editor’s Note: The book is “Once Upon A Town” by Bob Greene. Mr. Greene is a syndicated columnist for the Chicago Tribune.]
The country itself at times seems to have gone away. At least a country in which neighbors would join together for five straight years, every day and every night, just so they cold provide kindness and companionship to people they had never met. In a lot of ways, it is a country that many of us seem always to be searching for. I wasn’t at all certain what I would find when I got to North Platte. But the people from the Canteen – the people who came there on their own time to run it, the people who hurriedly ran inside to savor it, on their way to war – will soon all be gone. I wanted to get to North Platte before it was too late.

––––––––––––– email to Annette from me –––––––
Annette

I don’t think that “country itself” is totally gone though, I think it is still here, just not quite so visible. Think about our town, David City. People like you who sing for free to raise funds for worthwhile causes. Doctor Kaufmann who stands on corners for Katrina victims and the homeless. Think of the community fund raiser soup suppers, burger feeds, etc. for worthwhile causes like the ball fields, or playground equipment. When I pass the schools on virtually any given night there are cars parked around them showing parental support for everything from sports to drama to music.

I think the thing that has changed is that more people are working so many hours just to support our need for expensive toys that few have the energy or time to do much more. No one is home any more to hold down the fort and keep home life manageable either. I also think our justifiable skepticism of government has grown from the days of Nixon onward to a point where we now suspect the motive of almost every initiative put forth from Washington. This is exceeded only the greediness of big business who offer slave wages to the majority of their workers while the top executives skim off wages of 400 times what the hourly workers get. Of course the press likes to add fuel to the fire too.

So, while the efforts and sacrifices of the “great generation” were phenomenal, I don’t think we can discount the daily small battles that today’s families endure and then still get involved in our town and schools, etc.

Bill

My Ishmael

I am reading Daniel Quinn's "My Ishmael", the third of his books I've read. I find his material eye opening, scary, and frustrating at the same time. It is so easy to hide from the truths he reveals – the not so subtle clues to the exponential path we are following. The obvious is so scary that I’m afraid to look. It’s like being a child again, peeking through my fingers at a horror movie. What’s going to happen? What can I do about it?

I have a friend, John, who is an avowed anarchist. Fortunately he is a tame one. He is committed to leaving a small footprint as he lives. He built his earth-bermed house from stacked cordwood. He grows and hunts much of his food, and watches his tiny black-and-white tv under dimly-lit, solar powered candelabras. John turned me on to Ishmael several years ago. I admire John. He lives his beliefs. But John gets angry when he has had too much wine … others, “the takers” are destroying this planet he says. I feel like a taker.

Two years ago the damage to John’s left hip from years of disciplined running finally caught up to him. The pain became too much to bear. He had the hip replaced. The recovery hobbled him for most of the Spring and Summer. His garden work was difficult. His harvests suffered. But this year was better, until early Autumn. His right hip was replaced December 2nd. Is he now a bionic anarchist taker? Thank God for medicare.