I’m among millions of people participating in Dry January, a whole month’s abstinence from alcohol. I’m about one-third of the way through (and will be halfway through when this issue hits newsstands), and it hasn’t been so bad. Of course, my hardest abstinence from alcohol was during my deployment in Afghanistan. The Afghan desert is very dry, in more ways than one.
My friend, retired Air Force Col. Don White, also once had a rough time with military liquor rules. In 1953, he and his wife, Margaret, along with their two-year-old daughter and baby son, were returning from White’s station in Japan aboard a U.S. Navy troop transport ship packed with soldiers returning from the Korean War. Before boarding, he and some of his fellow Air Force officers purchased a few bottles of whiskey, which was forbidden aboard the ship.
Because White and his family were traveling together, they were assigned to their own berth: a tiny, windowless cabin packed with two bunk beds and a crib completely filling the space between them. To the left of the door was one upright steel storage cabinet.
It was on the top shelf of this locker that White carefully stored his two precious bottles of Canadian Club. He wrapped them in a towel to prevent them from breaking or even making a clinking racket aboard the pitching ship. There was nothing he could do, however, to help his wife deal with the rolling ship. She was seasick almost as soon as the ship left port and remained so throughout the journey.
One day, White’s daughter sat on one top bunk eating an apple, Mrs. White sat on the opposite bottom bunk, vomiting into a bag again, and baby White, “crying like a mad cat” in his crib, took the opportunity to fill his diaper. Don White got up to clean his son, but White men being vigorous, the screaming baby began kicking the mess all over his father and the room.
“Daddy,” his daughter said. “I don’t feel so good.” She began pre-vomiting convulsions. White had nothing into which the girl might throw up, so he instinctively placed his hands in front of her mouth, just in time to catch a wad of chew-up apple bits.
That’s when a knock came on the door.
“Come in,” White said.
A Navy lieutenant stood out in the corridor. “Lt. White,” he said sharply. “We heard you Air Force people brought liquor on board. I’m under orders to search your room.”
White had enlisted in the Army Air Corps as soon as he graduated high school in 1946, eager to do his part in the busy postwar effort. He served with honor, flying missions in the Korean War, and he was a pilot at the dawn of the Air Force and the Cold War. He’s a brave man, a great American, and I’ve shared columns about how he never backed down from a mission.
But on that day, surrounded by that mess, White didn’t have much fight left in him.
“Sure,” he laughed. “You come on in and have yourself a good search.”
The Navy officer stepped inside the tiny room, a mere 6 feet from the baby’s mess. He looked at the sick ladies. Then, he made the mistake of taking a breath. At once, he cringed, nearly sick himself.
“Buddy, if you got any whiskey in here,” the Navy officer said, “you need it.”
He left, closing the door.
My friends, even though 2021 might be off to a rough start, I pray things will only get better for you and yours. If you face worry or despair, or even if you’re only suffering through a Dry January, just be grateful that you’re not as miserable as the Whites were on their way home in 1953.
*Some names and call signs in this story may have been changed due to operational security or privacy concerns.
Trent Reedy served as a combat engineer in the Iowa National Guard from 1999 to 2005, including a tour of duty in Afghanistan.
