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Faded PhotographBob Henderson, St. Petersburg Times
Clair Miller and his crew picked up a new B-24 at California's March Field on Christmas Eve, 1943, and prepared to fly to England. But they decided to have "one more hamburger" before heading out for the distant land of fish and chips.
As the airmen sat in a local restaurant, a beautiful young waitress approached. "I understand you're going to England," she said to Miller. Then she told him that her fiancé, an aviation gunner like Miller, was stationed there.
The woman said she was waiting for him to provide an address so she could send him a picture of herself. "You might run into him," she told Miller hopefully. "Would you take it?"
Miller knew it was unlikely he'd ever see her fiancé. But he didn't want to disappoint the woman. He took the picture and placed it in his wallet. Later he realized he hadn't even asked the man's name. Then it was on to Europe and the war.
On August 9, 1944, Miller's plane was shot down, and he was forced to parachute to an island off the coast of Holland. Captured by the Nazis, he spent the next nine months as a prisoner of war.
It was on Christmas Eve that someone told him a 19-year-old American prisoner down the hall was badly depressed and possibly suicidal. Miller decided to pay the man a visit.
To break the ice, he mentioned the POW band he'd started, with the help of the Red Cross. The young man, he learned, played the saxophone. The two began to exchange details about their families. Was he married, the kid asked. "Yeah, since '38," responded Miller.
"Have you got her picture?" the soldier asked. So Miller reached for his wallet, and pulled out a photograph of his wife.
"She's beautiful!" the young man responded. Then he noticed that a second picture had fallen out, and an expression of wonder crossed his face. "Where did you get that?" Miller told the story of the waitress at the California hamburger stand.
"That's my fiancée," the incredulous man said. Miller kept his promise to the beautiful girl back home and turned the picture over to its rightful owner.
The men stayed in touch briefly, and then went their separate ways for the remaining months of the war. Miller and his wife settled in Florida. And what became of the young man who had thought to end his life? He married the woman in the photo.
Vintage Holiday
Ed Koper in Chicken Soup for the Christian Soul
I was incredibly proud of my nine-year-old daughter, Emily. Determined to buy a mountain bike, she'd been saving her allowance all year, as well as doing small jobs around the neighborhood to earn extra money.
By Thanksgiving, she had accumulated only $49. Teasingly, I said, "You know you can have your pick from my bicycle collection."
"Thanks, Daddy. But your bikes are so old."
She was right. All my girls' bikes were 1950s models. "Vintage," yes, but not the kind a kid today would likely choose.
As Christmas approached, Emily and I went bike shopping. Still short of her goal, she picked out several less-expensive models for which she might settle. As we left one store, she noticed a Salvation Army volunteer standing next to a big red kettle, exuberantly ringing his bell. "Can we give something, Daddy?" she asked.
"Sorry, Em," I replied, "I'm out of change."
Throughout December, Emily continued to work hard. Then one day, she made a startling announcement.
"You know all the money I've been saving?" she said hesitantly. "I'm going to give it to the poor people."
"That's very kind," my wife, Diane, said. "But you've been saving all year. Maybe you could give some of it."
Emily shook her head.
So one cold morning before Christmas, with little fanfare, Emily handed her total savings of $58 to a grateful Salvation Army volunteer.
Moved by Emily's selflessness, I decided to donate one of my vintage bicycles to a car dealer who was col- lecting used bikes for poor children. As I selected a shiny model from my collection, however, it seemed as if a second bike took on a glow. Should I donate two? No, one would be enough.
But as I got to my car, I couldn't shake the feeling that I should give a second bike. I turned around.
When I later delivered the bikes, the car dealer said casually, "You're making two kids very happy, sir. Here are your tickets."
"Tickets?" I asked.
"Yes. For each bicycle donated, we're giving away one chance to win a new men's 21-speed bike."
Why wasn't I surprised when that second ticket proved to be the winner? And why wasn't I surprised when the shop owner happily substituted a gorgeous girls' mountain bike for the one advertised?
Coincidence? Maybe. I like to think it was God's way of rewarding a little girl for a sacrifice beyond her years -- while giving her dad a lesson in the process.
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