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My search for Christmas
Sure, love is the spirit of Christmas. But when you're lonely . . . very, very lonely, where do you go to find love? On the street? In a skating rink? That's where I looked, and I was lucky . . .
The Christmas I was seventeen started as the loneliest I'd ever known. I was stationed in Groton, Connecticut, with the Coast Guard. On Christmas morning we awakened in our clapboard barracks and looked out to the snow-white landscape — and all of us guys who didn't get furloughs moaned. We ached to be home. Christmas isn't Christmas away from home. It's going to church with your loved ones, spending the afternoon
with your family, basking in the warm spirit of a holy and heartfelt holiday, exchanging gifts, hearing the laughter of young children and smelling the tantalizing aromas of turkey and muffins and pie in the kitchen.
To tell the truth, the poor Coast Guard outfit tried to give us a Christmas feeling, but it just didn't come off. They put a tinseled pine tree in the mess hall with a scene depicting the Nativity under it. hung ribboned
by
Tab Hunter
as told to George Christy
wreaths on the walls, arranged potted poinsettias on each table and served us the works — roast turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes, plum pudding, bowls of nuts, candy and oranges.
But no matter how hard they tried, there you are with a couple of hundred long-faced, homesick guys, all wishing they were with their sweethearts, wives or friends; and although you have a joy of Christinas somewhere in your (Continued on page 14) 23