Licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Derivatives must be credited to Nebraska Stories of Humanity, made available non-commercially, and distributed under the same terms. Requests for permission for commercial publication or other use should be emailed to the project team.
NAVY
Canteen
Back in 1943, at the height of World War II, the Vocational Agriculture instructor in my hometown had a really bright idea. He was also sponsor of the Future Farmer's of America Chapter. He suggested our chapter of the F.F.A. serve at the North Platte Canteen. For those not familiar with the North Platte Canteen, groups of people, mostly women, met and served every train carrying service personnel through the duration of the war. They served coffee, tea, milk, fried chicken, eggs, cookies, sandwiches, fruit, birthday cakes, writing paper, pencils, magazines and cigarettes, all free, to anyone in uniform. The F.F.A., at that time an all male group of high school students, accepted the challenge. Although if the truth were known, the mother's did most of the preparation, but the boys did meet and serve the food to the service men and women. Most of the mothers had served at the Canteen previously. I was a thirteen year old high school sophomore with a love affair with the war. These service men, Army, Navy and Marines (before the Air Force was a separate branch) were all heroes to me. They still are.
I idolized every one. My siblings, like myself were too young, but I did have cousins and uncles in the service. After we had served one train, I was passing out some cards, which we had printed that stated, "Today you have been served by the Gothenburg, Nebraska Future Farmers of America". After passing out a number of cards a soldier came back to tell me, he had been in the F.F.A. when he was in high school in Indiana. Some time later I was still passing out cards, when a soldier took one and said, "Thanks Jack." I turned immediately to see whom this soldier was who knew me. He grinned and said, "Good guess wasn't it?"
Not being allowed to eat any of the food we brought for the canteen, we boys took turns going over to a close hamburger stand. After we had received our hamburgers, we noticed catsup and mustard on the counter, so we used them, whereupon, the owner really took us to task. He said the condiments were for the service personnel who were risking their lives for young punks like us. He shamed me so badly that to this day, I feel a twinge of guilt when I use catsup or mustard.
The Gothenburg F.F.A. proudly served twice in the North Platte Canteen, and some of us were secretly hoping the war would last long enough for us to go. Strangely enough six and one-half years later, I left from that same railroad station in route for overseas duty in the armed forces, during the Korean War, as did many of those who served in the Canteen that day. The train depot is gone. There is just a memorial in remembrance of the Canteen. I wonder sometimes if the ghosts of some of those who passed through that canteen in route all over the world, might sit in that memorial, sharing a cup of coffee, remembering the people who served, the people who served.