A Monument to the Ghosts of a Sad Christmas Eve

It is Christmas Eve, and Angelo Michael Jenco is 18 again. Although now in the twilight of his life, Jenco returns to the past every Dec. 24, a day forever trapped in 1944, when he was a young soldier.

On that day, Jenco and his buddies--none of them yet tested in combat--were packed inside two troop ships crossing the English Channel to help stop the German army in what became known as the Battle of the Bulge.

More than 2,000 of Jenco’s comrades from the 66th Infantry Division never faced the Nazis in the battle that military historians have called the U.S. Army’s finest hour. With the sinking of their ship--the Leopoldville--by a German U-boat, they became casualties in a sea disaster that was secret for half a century.

Military commanders at the time believed that acknowledging the casualties would give a morale boost to the Nazis.

Jenco, a 72-year-old retired real estate salesman, has designed his own memorial to honor the men lost that day 54 years ago. Altogether, 802 men died, including those listed as missing in action; 722 were wounded and another 712 were saved from the freezing water.

Erected in the garage of his modest Costa Mesa home, Jenco’s memorial consists of the names of the 2,236 men who were aboard the Leopoldville that night. The casualty list, which he obtained from recently declassified government documents, is stapled to pieces of plywood. Part of Jenco’s uniform, complete with battle ribbons, is also on display, as is his Bronze Star.

Jenco is inviting the public to visit his memorial at 1933 Meyer Place in Costa Mesa today between noon and 5:55 p.m., the time the Leopoldville was torpedoed.

“People talk about a merry Christmas. But I haven’t had a merry Christmas in 54 years,” Jenco said. “I think of my buddies who died that Christmas Eve. That’s what Christmas means to me. It’s a time to cry and remember.”

The Leopoldville carried the division’s 262nd and 264th regiments. Jenco, assigned to the 263rd, was aboard the British ship Cheshire, which was sailing alongside and arrived at Cherbourg, France.

Jenco remembers the men wishing each other a merry Christmas and singing carols as they boarded the troop ships at the Plymouth, England, docks. Friends promised to look each other up later that night, when they were scheduled to arrive in France.

“We were going to be together for Christmas, eat dinner at the mess hall before we were shipped to the front,” said Jenco.

The memories and the hurt they generate are still as powerful as in 1944, he said, especially the memory of James “Chick” Falci, a childhood friend from Buffalo, N.Y.

Obeying orders meant that Jenco could not tell Falci’s parents how their son died, or even that he was dead at all.

Incredibly, little was known about the Leopoldville, which sank within sight of the French coast, until recently. By stamping many documents “secret,” U.S. Army and Pentagon officials succeeded in obscuring details of the disaster.

Pentagon officials familiar with the Leopoldville case could not be reached. But much of the story is told in documents that Jenco obtained from the National Archives after they were declassified about five years ago.

An order on Jan. 5, 1945, from Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower’s headquarters directed that no notification to next of kin be made by casualty officers. Records show, however, that there was disagreement over whether the sinking should be acknowledged.

A document dated Jan. 6, 1945, shows that Eisenhower’s public relations officers were urging him to approve the release of information. “It would be advisable from public relations viewpoint that such loss be made public as soon as possible,” said the memo.

However, it appeared that Eisenhower had already agreed with an earlier staff recommendation against releasing any information. Releasing details about the Leopoldville would give the enemy a morale boost, said a Jan. 6, 1945, memo. “To admit the extent of such marked success as Leopoldville would be a great encouragement to U-boat fleet,” the document said.

Jenco, who spent more than $500 obtaining documents from the government, cried as he pored over them.

“The mothers of those listed as missing in action spent all their remaining years with a glimmer of hope that their sons would return home one day,” he said. “All of us knew they weren’t coming home, but we were ordered not to discuss it.”

But with declassification of the documents, “the truth is out. I want my buddies to get the recognition and honor they deserve.”