Wiltz, Christmas 1944 - i

Wiltz, Luxembourg

There was a lull. No one would have said the sudden silence was anywhere near the peace-on-earth promise of Christmas, and while it would have been nice had German troops determined to take a holiday, no one thought that's what was in the cards. 

But there was a lull. Six months of brutal mud-slogging fighting had brought Allied forces off Normandy beaches, through eastern France, all the way to a wild liberation party in gay Paris. Hitler was withdrawing slowly from his dream of empire, pulling back from Holland, Belgium, and little Luxembourg, a nation no bigger than most Siouxland counties. Most believed the end was near.

There was a lull, a December lull, and a place like Wiltz, Luxembourg, a touristy little burg at the edge of Ardennes forest, became for a moment at least a fair haven for battle-weary GIs getting some much-needed R and R.

There was a lull, and Luxembourg bathed in freedom. People could speak French again and not risk punishment--bonjour returned, Heil Hitler vanished. In 1942, Wiltz had orchestrated a national strike against German military conscription, the entire country shut down until, in typical Nazi fashion, 21 local instigators were executed to bring the angry populace back in line. Two long years later, hundreds of men emerged from hiding places where they'd successfully eluded a Wehrmacht draft. After four long years, the fascist yoke was lifted.

Once again Luxembourg had done it--stayed independent, and because they did, they took great joy in their national motto: Mir wëlle bleiwen wat mir sin--"We wish to remain what we are," not German, not French, not anything other than Luxembourgian.  

There was a lull, and it was December, 1944, and the whole town, along with the GIs they were hosting, was thrilled. Cpl. Harry Stutz, "a tireless optimist," his buddies say, had an idea he passed along to others, an idea he'd come up with after visiting a local man who'd been part of the underground, and whose niece, a little seven-year-old, came by and grabbed Cpl. Stutz's heart right out of his chest. 

He'd been thinking, he told some others, that after four years of misery, the Luxembourgians--especially the children--needed some holiday joy. "It's the kids I really feel sorry for," he'd told a buddy named Brookins. He was recruiting. "Maybe we should throw a little party," he said, "--you know, for the kids."

"There's a war going on, and you're talking about a party?" Brookins just laughed.

"A Christmas party, a St. Nick party," Stutz told him. 

Brookins looked at him strangely. "You're Jewish," Brookins said.

"And we're at war," Stutz told him. "I'll speak to the rabbi when it's over."