Rockin’ Christmas

The Christmas Rock
Shauna McGuiness

As Christmas draws nearer, I am reminded of holidays past. I think about my grandmother's famous rice dish (delicious, unless she uses low-fat cheese – then it's actually kind of gross), my brother (who brought nothing but a very large beer for himself one year, complete with foil wrapping paper and bow) and lovely sister, and  hundreds of gifts – some which are still in use today, and some which have retired into the world of yard sales and thrift store donations. Most of all, I allow myself the luxury of remembering people who once shared our warm family gatherings, but who are no longer with us. My beloved grandfather is one of those people.

In early December of 2000 (a year earlier we were all dreading the collapse of the internet and possibly the planet; this year, Jesus' birthday was a much calmer event), I was in a hazy state of panic, because I couldn't think of a thing to put under the tree for my grandfather. Grampy was never one of those people who "already have everything", but rather one of those people who didn't want anything. I don't know if he was trying to make things easier for us, but his request (or rather, lack thereof) threw the entire family into a tizzy.  Every year. What to get for the man who wants nothing? I pestered and cajoled, until he finally caved and said, "Fine, then. Get me a rock."

A rock.

Lucky for him, I knew of just the rock. I quickly did a web search (in 2000 it was still cool to call it "the web") and typed up an email to a man who didn't know me from Adam, but whom I hoped would respond. Soon. Like, that day. Christmas was only two weeks away and Grampy still had squat.

Dear Colonel Ackman,

Please take a moment to review this email – I know you take care of far more pressing matters each day, but I am working on limited time and would love to have just a moment of  yours.

My grandfather, Major Paul A. Weakland, loved the military and was not only a decorated soldier, but is an exceptional human being. He was stationed in Fort Hunter Liggett, in the 1960's, fell in love with it, and more than forty years later continues to bring his grandchildren (of which I am one) to visit every year. We have camped, stayed at the Hacienda, and roomed at the Officer's Quarters. He taught his children, grandchildren, and various neighbor children to shoot firearms, swim, and respect nature on the base – not to mention the hundreds of times that we visited the mission and the surrounding property. When we were very young, we often pretended that we were in the Army and came dressed head to toe in camouflage!

Here is where I begin to sound a bit strange:  Sometime during his station, my grandfather ended up in the Indians with a private and a jeep. He found a rock there, that looks like God put a paint can down on it. It has a white circle on the top, with what looks like white paint running down the sides. He liked the rock so much that he and the private loaded it into the jeep and brought it back to his quarters. The rock was too heavy to bring home, so he had to leave it behind. It still sits, nearly fifty years later, across the parking lot from the Fort Hunter Ligget PX and the movie theater, by the road (it sits in the cactus and rock display). Whenever he brings us for a visit (we are nearly all adults, now) we still stop by to take a look at The Rock on our way home, and he laughs to see it standing there after so many years.

My grandfather is going to be eighty years old in the coming months and has begun to talk about how he won't be able to make the trip to Fort Hunter Liggett, very much longer. My brother, sister, and I would very much like to show him how much he means to us and how much we appreciate all he has taught us – by bringing that rock home to him, for Christmas. We didn't think it would be wise to steal from a military property, so I am writing to ask for clearance to pick it up in time for the holidays.

Please let me know how I can obtain permission to bring this piece of our family history home.

With utmost respect,

Shauna McGuiness

Four days later, I received his response:

Ms. McGuiness,

I have attempted to contact you by phone several times, but I have failed.

Your request to take possession of this rock is approved.  We did discuss the wisdom of granting this request, we do not want to be in the business of providing the public large mementos, of any kind, of the post. However, your grandfather's service to this post and the Army, his continuing interest in both Ft Hunter Liggett and the Army can move even the most hard core.

I ask that you contact [name and phone number]. You will need to schedule a time to make contact with them and identify the rock. You will need to ensure you have the means to safely transport it. Once the rock is identified it becomes your possession and you become responsible for transfer to your vehicle, and you become responsible for anything that may occur. Ensure you have the means to secure the rock for transport. We are not adverse to assisting you, but this is under your direction, since the rock becomes yours and the means of transport is yours. We are not sure which rock you refer to, so please ensure you have an understanding of the weight of this object and what will be required to make safe transfer and transport.

I salute your love and respect for your grandfather. Under normal circumstances such a request would not be granted, but the love of a granddaughter for a man of service cannot be ignored.

Respectfully,  LTC Stephen M. Ackman


Three days later, my husband, my sister, and I left our home in the dark of early morning to make the two hour drive to the base. We arrived as the sun became a pinkish purple smear in the sky, still dotted with stars. Showing our I.D. cards to the uniformed man huddled in the guard shack at the entrance, we were cleared for admittance.  

Passing olive green tanks and Humvees, we finally reached our destination. The Rock. Surrounded by dirt and cacti, it was part of a flower box of sorts on the outskirts of the PX/movie theater parking lot.  It was there, as it had been for decades: round white paint splotch on the top. A tractor rolled up next to us and a giant, friendly man, named George, helped us load the heavy gift into the bed of our El Camino (where it lived until Christmas eve – we probably didn't get the best gas mileage for the following week and a half). The rear of the car was considerably lower, as we thanked him and drove away.

December 24th arrived. My siblings met my husband and I at Grampy and Lulu's house at midnight. It was very much a cloak and dagger affair (in hindsight, we were probably very lucky that my grandfather didn't hear us and come out with a BB gun to order us off his property). That rock was so heavy that it almost didn't make it out of the truck bed, onto the dolly that we brought. It took all four of us to hoist it, and it still threw my poor hubby's back out(he managed to limp through the rest of our Top Secret assignment, thank goodness).  Rolling and dumping The Rock into the front yard, we admired our handiwork and promised to reconvene in the morning.

Hours later, we all giggled as we passed our surprise on the way to the front door, trying not to look in its direction. We also made sure to push our grandparents into the house, as we kissed and hugged and wished a "Merry Christmas." Grampy was dressed for the day, in red pants and an impossibly shiny green shirt – complete with Christmas tie. When everyone finally arrived, we lead him out into the yard.  

Of course, he was confused. "What're we doing out here?" Then he saw it. It was as if he was being reunited with a long lost friend. No:  A long lost love. "My ROCK!" He bellowed in unhidden glee. He knelt to touch the spot where God's paint can had once been. "My rock...", tears came to his eyes and he ran a shaky hand through white hair.

"You said to get you a rock for Christmas." I kissed him on the cheek.

"Well, you got me just what I wanted."  

How often can someone say that and really, truly mean it?

Grampy visited Ft. Hunter Liggett in the spring and visited Lieutenant Stephen Ackman, bringing a photo that he asked me to find for him online, so he could ask for an autograph. He got one. It reads:  

Major (ret) Weakland,

I am so glad that the rock is where it belongs – with those who know and love it. May it energize your memories and those of your family of Fort Hunter Liggett – visit us often!

LTC Steve Ackman