"War is over...if you want it"

"...And so this is Christmas
War is over
And what have we done
If you want it
Another year over
War is over
And a new one just begun
If you want it
And so this is Christmas
War is over
For black and for white
If you want it
For yellow and red ones
War is over
Let's stop all the fight
If you want it
A very merry Christmas
War is over
And a happy New year
If you want it
Let's hope it's a good one
War is over
Without any fear
Now..."
- John Lennon & Yoko Ono

December, 1971...I was standing at the counter of the Spinning Wheel Diner watching snow gently falling outside the large plate glass windows beyond the red vinyl booths and small juke boxes at the end of each table.  The counter was empty, the coffee was fresh and I was lost in thought.  John Lennon's "Happy Christmas...War is Over" was playing for the umpteenth time on the speakers from each jukebox, as a pale blue convertible VW bug slid into one of the parking spaces closest to the stairs leading to the front entry. 

The sleigh bells hanging from the front door handle jangled, announcing the arrival of a new customer and I straightened my pink polyester apron neatly over my crisp white uniform and readied a smile.  It would be good to have someone to wait on during the storm.  He walked through the door and I would have noticed his limp even without the richly burnished, hand-carved cane at his side.  He wore an olive green army jacket, worn blue jeans, a black turtleneck sweater.  His limp made the sound of his heavy boots on the black and white linoleum floor sound like steel brushes on a snare drum.  But is was the sadness in his eyes that I noticed first. 

He looked like a broken G.I. Joe doll...handsome, cold, and somehow disjointed and out of place in his own skin.  He took a seat on one of the red vinyl and chrome stools at the far end of the counter and when I asked him if I could bring him a cup of coffee he nodded without saying more than a perfunctory "thank you, yes." 

He seemed lost in his own thoughts and I left him staring into the quilted chrome behind the counter and went about my busy work of filling salt and pepper shakers at each booth while the storm picked up its intensity outside. 

After his eighth cup of coffee and a piece of cherry pie, I asked him if he lived nearby, or was he just passing through.  The diner was on a busy highway and we had a lot of travelers at that time of year who stopped in for coffee to stay awake during long drives.  He told me that he had just been discharged from the army after a stay at Walter Reed army hospital following a severe injury that had gotten him airlifted out of a Vietnamese jungle in the middle of the night.  It had left him "shaken and crippled...maimed for life."  He explained that he had grown up and gone to high school in the area, but that while he was in Viet Nam his parents had moved to Florida.  He didn't know anyone in Florida, so he came "home" to the last place he knew before the war.  But all of his friends had moved on and he wasn't sure where he belonged.

We talked until well after my shift ended at midnight and then he offered to drive me home.  I explained that my dad would be coming to pick me up as soon as I called him, but, "thank you anyway."  He got up from the stool and made his way slowly out to the now completely snow-encrusted little car, backing out of the parking space before inching his way onto the highway.  I watched until his taillights disappeared in the heavily falling snow and wondered what he had seen during those months-turned-into-years in Viet Nam that had made his eyes seem ancient and sad.

I would learn over the next few weeks all about the horrors of war as his visits to the diner became nightly, and his visits to our already crowded home coincided with my nights off.  My mother plied him with questions and meatloaf and my dad grew to enjoy his quiet company...or at least I think he did...he never kicked him out, and smiled when he played Fur Elise and Clair de Lune on our old piano by the front door...that said alot.

One Sunday afternoon he asked if I would like to drive into "the City" and see the Christmas decorations and windows on Park Avenue.  Since I had voluntarily missed my school's Christmas dance that weekend so that my younger sister could go and wear the one and only dressy dress we owned between us, my parents said that I could if we took the train instead of driving and he agreed.  Walking through Times Square, Central Park, and down Fifth Avenue was magical until we came across a billboard that said, "War is over...if you want it - Happy Christmas from John & Yoko."  My friend gripped my arm and we stood perfectly still in the middle of the sidewalk.  An electric surge of hope pulsed through us both.  And for a moment I thought I saw the sadness and pain leave his eyes. 



This is the moment I relive each time I hear this song.  My friend and I remained close until one day he decided...quite out of the blue and without discussion or emotional justification...that I should marry him, move to the Maine woods, build a cabin, carve wooden animals and make toys in order to escape the material trappings of American capitalism.  I was still young, eager to make a difference through the promise of politics and "one man, one vote," had an education to pursue and dreams to fulfill. 

He would marry someone else a few months later and move to Maine. 

I wonder how he feels 27 years later about Christmas, war, politics and America. I wonder what he thinks of each time he hears this song.  

I still think about a boy with ancient, sad eyes and a burnished cane who came out of the snow one winter's evening and changed the way I looked at the world...and the way I listened to a song.

"And so this is Christmas
And what have you done..."

This year...I think we've done something...and we may just see the promised "War is over...if you want it" fulfilled...I think we've made it clear that we "want it....now".

with hope for "peace on earth, goodwill to men,"
Kate