Sam's Box

The year was 1942 and my older brother, Sam, had just turned 18. My Mom and Dad drove him to the recruiting station to sign up for the Marines after he received his draft notice in the mail a couple of days after his birthday. My Dad shook his hand and told him to be careful and not volunteer for anything. Then he told him how proud he was of him and that he loved him. My Mom kept hugging him and kissing him. In between, she would wipe her tears from her cheeks. Me and my younger sister kind of stood back out of the way until Sam came over and gave both of us hugs and told us he would see us soon.

A couple of days later, Sam arrived at Parris Island, South Carolina for Marine Corps boot camp. One of the first things they do is make you write a letter home to your family so they know you arrived on the island safely. The next thing they do is shave your head. Then you get your uniforms, boots, and any gear you might need during your twelve weeks of training. Before you’re turned over to the drill instructors for training, they give you a plain brown paper box that measured twenty-four inches square. In that box, you were supposed to put anything and everything that you brought with you to the island. That meant your shoes, socks, pants, shirts, underclothes, books, wallet, pictures and anything else you thought you might need, went in the box.

After the box was filled with your belongings, you sealed it up with clear cellophane tape and wrote your name, rank, and address in the upper left corner and you put the name and address of your next-of-kin in the middle of the top of the box. Then a couple of Marines collected the boxes and stored them in a warehouse. In the event you were killed in action, your personal belongings would be sent home. Otherwise, you could pick them up when you got back from overseas. Many recruits paid out of pocket to have the boxes mailed home immediately so there was less risk of them getting lost. Not our Sam. He figured they would be safe right where they were.

If the war isn’t over, we won’t send another son. We will move to Canada.

Sam finished boot camp without any problems. He even graduated as something called the Honor Private and they made him a Private First Class. He got his orders to report directly to the 1st Marine Division where he would be trained as an infantryman and if he was lucky, he might get to train on machine guns. We know this because he sent us several letters during boot camp. His infantry training only lasted five weeks before his unit was sent overseas to fight on an island called Guadalcanal. I think this was the first couple of weeks of August of 1942. I could tell in his last letter home he was nervous about going overseas.

Sam wasn’t nervous about going to war so much as he was nervous about having to ride in one of those big old Naval warships. He had been told that the Navy made all the Marines stay below deck while they going across the Pacific Ocean, a trip that could take a couple of weeks. He didn’t know if he could handle being cooped up inside a ship with a bunch of other guys that long. Anyways, I guess it doesn’t matter. We never got another letter from Sam. Mom and Dad watched the news every day and I would listen to it from my bedroom. I could hear the battles in the South Pacific were horrible, especially the battle on Guadalcanal. Every night I would listen to my Mom cry herself to sleep. I was two years away from turning old to be drafted and I overheard Mom and Dad talking late one night.

“If this damn war isn’t over before he turns of age, we are moving to Canada!”, I heard my Mom tell my Dad.

There was a long pause followed by, “Honey, I can’t predict what the future may bring, but I hope it brings our Sam home to us safe and sound. I agree. If the war isn’t over, we won’t send another son. We will move to Canada.”

A few weeks passed and word came out that we had defeated the Japanese on Guadalcanal and the Americans were now in control of the island, but at a great cost of American lives. We had still not received any word from Sam. One afternoon, the postman arrived with a large brown paper box address to Mom and Dad. The handwriting was Sam’s and the return address was from Parris Island, S. C. I took the box and put it on the dining room table and waited for them to get home.

When Mom and Dad arrived home and saw the package and saw it was in Sam’s handwriting, they were relieved. Their first thoughts were Sam was okay and was back in the States. Mom opened the box and found it contained the last clothes she had seen her son wear on the day he had departed for boot camp. The box also contained his wallet which held $23, his driver’s license, a school identification card, and photos of us and a couple of girls that Sam had been sweet on during high school. There were no letters of explanation, nothing. I’ll never forget my mom holding Sam’s shirt to her face to see if she could still “smell” her son. My Dad tried to make light of the situation by explaining that maybe Sam would be coming home soon and had sent some of his personal belongings ahead by post.

Then there was a knock at the door. Dad opened the door and was greeted by two Marines dressed in their bright dress blue uniforms and wearing their white hats. One of them held a red book and a blue box in his hand. Both of them had a solemn look on their faces.

The older Marine asked, “Are you Sam’s Dad?”, and my Dad nodded in the affirmative. The younger Marine followed up with,

“May we come in for a moment?”

I’ll never forget my mom holding Sam’s shirt to her face to see if she could still “smell” her son.

Dad invited both Marines in and Mom brought them coffee before they all sat at the dining room table. The older Marine explained they had served with Sam on Guadalcanal and during the last day of the fiercest battle, Sam was shot and killed by a Japanese sniper. They went on to explain that Sam fought with utmost bravery and honor in the highest tradition of the United States Marines and had been awarded a Purple Heart and the Silver Star for his actions. The two Marines stayed for dinner and explained everything they could about what they knew about Sam and before they left, everyone was in tears.

As the two Marines stood to leave, the older one asked what the brown paper box was about and my Dad said he wasn’t sure because it arrived only this afternoon and it contained Sam’s stuff that he had with him on the day he reported to boot camp. The Older Marine, a Master Gunnery Sergeant, apologized and explained that the box should not have been sent out until after they had received notice of Sam’s death.

A lot of years passed since that night and my Mom and Dad have long since gone to heaven. My little sister and I were left with the duty of going through their belongings before emptying their home and putting it on the market. In a closet, tucked away in a spare room, that if memory serves me right, may have been Sam’s room at one time, I found the box. It was still in the same shape it was the day we received it. We opened it expecting to find Sam’s rotten clothing, but instead, we found mementos of Sam’s childhood that included photos, drawings, report cards, etc. That only a Mom would save. On top of all the mementos lay Sam’s silver star and purple heart along with the citations.