When I was growing up in that mythical land known as New York City, the Vietnam War was at its bloodiest, and had been escalated beyond anyone’s imagination. But every year they called for a Christmas cease-fire, which was of course, broken several times by both sides. When remains clear in my mind is that on Dec. 24, the news anchor would always declare that “it is already Christmas Day in Vietnam.” In my mind, I couldn’t figure that one out. How could it be Christmas Day in Vietnam, when we still had to wait until tomorrow here in NY?

A Christmas cease-fire is a rather double-edged sword. Christmas is supposed to be the time of peace and good will towards our fellow man (okay, I’m using the wrong word and not being politically correct). So in that vein, guns should be laid down on Christmas Day, and all men and women join hands and realize that we belong to the universal brotherhood/sisterhood–one giant family. But on the other hand, if it is possible to stop fighting on Christmas Day, then why resume a war? Why go back to killing, maiming and destroying? If you can stop for Christmas, well, then it is possible to stop, period.

The Christmas Truce of 1914

The most famous Christmas cease-fire occurred in 1914, just five months after World War I got into full swing. Ten million men would eventually die in that war, and an untold number of civilians. But during that first Christmas, English, Belgian, French and German soldiers, covered in mud and living in lice-infested trenches in Flanders, spontaneously laid down their arms, sang Christmas carols together, and even played soccer. They shared food, tobacco and souvenirs such as uniform buttons.

Whatever caused these men to snub their nose at the folly of war and decide to be friends. Well, as in many wars, conflict begins at the top. These young European men bore no animosity towards eachother, and hadn’t particularly wanted to go to war. But the first world war was a prime example of arrogance out of control, overinflated egos, and no clear cut reason for such a massive conflict. Unlike the second world war, where there were “designated bad guys,” the first one was the fault of all nations who took part in it. The heads of state and the generals fired blind patriotism into the young recruits, and sent them off to kill and be killed, all in the name of–nothing.

The Christmas cease-fire infuriated the generals. They wanted to instill hatred, not brotherly love. If it was up to the soldiers, the war probably would have ended right there on the Western front. But like most wars, those that instigate it are usually far out of harm’s way. And so the generals forced the war to continue, which it did for another four years.

The 1914 armistice began with a tentative cease fire, and ended with both sides singing carols together, the climax being “Silent Night”, in German and English. As one German soldier said, “It was a day of peace in war. It is only a pity that it was not a decisive peace.”

Wars have been fought since recorded human civilization. Right at this moment, a number of absolutely senseless wars are being fought. Iraq is probably the biggest folly that comes immediately to mind, but there are ongoing wars in the Congo and the Sudan which have left millions dead. Chechnya and Afghanistan, still hot spots.

But as the men on the Western Front nearly 100 years ago proved, it is possible to stop a war. We all just have to be willing to do so.

Yet another Christmas conspiracy, and this one involves Santa. The famous poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas or A Visit From St. Nicholas” has always been accredited to Clement Clarke Moore. It was believed that he wrote it in 1822 for his two daughters, Margaret and Charity, and later anonymously published it in the Troy, NY Sentinel on December 23, 1823.

However, Don Foster, in his book “Author Unknown: On the Trail of Anonymous” has demonstrated that Moore is not the author. Foster concluded that it was most probably written by Major Henry Livingston Jr (1748-1828), a soldier who fought in the Revolutionary War, and then went on to be a farmer, surveyor and Justice of the Peace in civilian life. And yes, he was also a writer of some note, with his work appearing in many of the prestigious journals of his day. But for whatever reason, Livingston published most of his poems and prose, anonymously or under the pseudonym of R. T. His most famous poem (now that his authorship has been determined) is considered to be Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas, commonly known as ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.

So now that we got the author straight, here it is:

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes — how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!”