Christmas didn’t come early to the Baker Orphanage on 12th
Street during the Great Depression. It hadn’t come at all during the three
years I’d lived there. Freddie was the oldest, he'd had been there the longest,
and he said that he didn’t remember a Christmas Tree or even a special meal.
I guessed that most folks were too busy being hungry
themselves to worry about a couple dozen kids, but I didn’t figure that Santa
Claus was one of them. It seemed to me that he was too fat and too jolly to be
hungry. Mabel had a book about Santa Claus that she’d brought with her after
smallpox took her parents. Santa had plenty of food and mountains of candy.
I asked to read it the December when I was ten. She
carefully removed the old newspapers she kept the book wrapped in. “You can,
Max, but wash your hands. Don’t take it outside. Don’t believe everything you
read. The book says that Santa brings presents to every child in the world on
Christmas Eve. He doesn’t, at least not to kids like us.”
I read it twice. It wasn’t right that Santa didn’t bring us
stuff. We needed Christmas worse than anyone I knew. The rest of the kids at
Baum Elementary wore new clothes every January. New bicycles were on the bike
racks and new gloves and bats were on the playgrounds. I decided that enough
was enough.
It was the week after Thanksgiving, not that I had anything
to be thankful for and I recruited two other orphans who were members of our
secret club, the Baker House Irregulars. Mabel had told us about Sherlock
Holmes and the kids who helped him, the Baker Street Irregulars. Eight of us
who were nine and ten years old adopted the name and swore great oaths to
protect each other. Besides Mabel and me, there were three other boys and three
girls, Danny, Ray, Dolores, Janey, Bobby, and Audrey. So far, the only thing
we’d done was to convince the older kids that if they picked on one of us, they
had to deal with all of us.
Anyway, Danny, Bobby, and I confronted Carl Richardson after
school by the bike rack. “Carl, that’s a nice Schwinn bicycle. Where’d you get
it?”
“None of your beeswax, Max, but I got it for Christmas last
year. Got a catcher’s mitt, too. Just what I wanted.”
“So, how did Santa Clause know what you wanted?”
“Easy, Stupido. You go down to Bamberger’s Department Store.
Santa works there on weekends. You sit on his lap, tell him what you want, and
if you’ve been good, he leaves it under your Christmas tree. Easy peasy!”
Danny’s eyes lit up for a moment, but then he asked, “Carl,
what if we don’t have a Christmas tree?”
“Everyone has a Christmas tree. Now leave me alone. I'm late
for piano practice.’
I called a meeting that night after lights-out at the
orphanage. The eight of us gathered in the workroom. No one would ever think
that kids would hide in a workroom. I told the Irregulars what we’d learned
from Carl.
Bobby said, “This isn’t going to be that hard. We'll sneak
out on Saturday and go to Bamberger’s. We’ll tell Santa what we want for
Christmas. I figure the reason we don’t get no presents is because we haven’t
been asking for them.”
Dolores shook her head. “You said he leaves presents under a
Christmas tree. We don’t have a tree.”
“We can ask Santa for a tree or we can make our own. The
boys can cut down a little tree and we can make ornaments out of paper and tin
cans.” Mabel replied.
“Good plan,” I said. “Saturday morning we’ll get up early
and finish our chores. We’ll tell the staff, especially that nosey Miss Blaine,
that we’re going to the park. It’s only a half mile from Bamberger’s. If we
hurry, we can tell Santa what we want and be back in time for lunch.”
Saturday morning came and the Baker House Irregulars were up
at dawn, sweeping, washing, dusting, and picking up trash. Miss Blaine was
suspicious of our newly found commitment to cleanliness, but she decided not to
question a good thing. Right at ten o’clock, Audrey, the youngest Irregular,
said, “Miss Blaine, we’ve finished the chores. May we go to the playground at
Redbud Park. We’ll be back for lunch.
Miss Blaine, harried by her responsibilities, wasn’t averse
to having a group of children out from underfoot for a couple of hours. She
shifted the crying infant she held from one arm to the other and wrinkled her
nose at the smell.
“Certainly. Don’t fight with the other children and don’t be
late for lunch. Mable, change this diaper and put her in her crib. Max, you’re
the oldest and you’re in charge. I don’t want to hear about any problems. You
don’t want me to get the paddle.”
I said, “Yes, Miss Blain. I mean no, Miss Blain. No
problems. We’ll be good.”
Mabel took the baby from Miss Blain. “Max, wait for me by
the sidewalk. I’ll hurry.” She hurried upstairs to the infants’ room and the
rest of us trooped out the door and waited on the sidewalk.
The morning was off to a good start, but things went downhill
after that. It was one of the worst days of my life, and growing up in a
small-town orphanage was a life filled with bad days. My first memory of that
morning was how cold I was. The north wind carried the first bluster of winter.
None of us wore good coats and there weren’t two mittens to share amongst us. I
stamped my feet to keep warm. I hoped it didn’t rain because the soles of my
oversized shoes were mostly newspaper I’d stuffed inside. Hand-me-down clothes
are often threadbare and mine were no exception. We all faced away from the
wind like cattle and huddled like sheep to keep warm.
Mable came soon enough. Janey asked, “What’s the baby’s
name?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. There’s no point. You know
that, unlike us, infants get adopted right away. The baby could be in a home
with a Christmas tree before we have lunch.”
“That’s not fair,” complained Bobby,
I just shook my head. “Bobby, you know things don’t have to
be fair.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have to like it.”
“No, you don’t, but you do have to live with it.”
I’d swear that it was uphill and into the wind all the way
to Bamberger’s and back. I know that isn’t possible, but my ears burned, and my
nose ran. I kept my hands in my armpits to keep them warm.
We walked in the front door of the department store and
luxuriated in the heat. My fingers and toes still tingle remembering how good
it felt. Mabel pointed to a sign with an arrow. It said Santa. She didn’t have
to say a word. We followed her down aisles festooned with more clothing, toys,
appliances, and tools that I thought existed in the whole world.
Santa was seated on a throne and behind him were a million
bicycles. A red rope looped between candy canes and four people dressed like
elves directed traffic. We joined the line behind the other children.
When it came Mabel’s turn, an elf said, “I don’t see your
parents. Where are they?”
“They’re not here. I came with my friends.”
“I’m sorry, young lady, but no one may see Santa Claus
unless they’re accompanied by a parent.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m an orphan. Please, I just
want to see Santa.”
“Again, I’m sorry. Store policy, you understand. I’ll be
fired if I let you through. Have an adult from the orphanage come with you.”
Mabel crossed her arms. “I’m not moving until I talk to
Santa.”
The rest of us crossed our arms defiantly. The elf yelled
for security. I knew it wouldn’t end well and it didn’t. Worst day ever.
Four men arrived quickly. The elf explained the problem. A
man said, “You kids can walk to the door, or we can carry you, but either way
you’re leaving. Children your age aren’t even allowed in the store without
adult supervision.”
There’s defiant and there’s stupid. I didn’t see any reason
to get thrown out and then get paddled at the orphanage. “Mabel, let’s go.
We’ll ask Miss Blain to come back with us.”
“She won’t. You know that, Max.”
“She probably won’t, but we aren’t going to win this. Let’s
just go.”
She nodded, held her head up, and led the rest of us toward
the door. I looked back. Santa was busy talking to a little girl. I don’t think
he ever knew we were there. Audry and Bobby cried on the way to the orphanage.
The store had called Miss Blain, and she was standing on the front porch with
her paddle in hand. Like I said, worst day ever.
A couple of weeks later, Ray sat down at breakfast. “I’m
mad. I’ve thought about it and I’m mad. We may be second-class citizens, but
that doesn’t mean people should treat us that way. Just because we wear old
worn-out clothes doesn’t make us bad people. We need Santa more than any other
kids in town. If we don’t do something about it, it means that they’re right to
treat us that way.”
Bobby swallowed a bite of overcooked powdered eggs. “Yeah,
so what are we gonna do?”
“If we can’t have Santa, no one can. We’re gonna kidnap him.
If we don’t get Christmas, nobody gets Christmas.”
“How are we gonna do that?” said Audrey. He’s an adult and
we’re kids. We’ll just get in trouble again.”
“I’ve got a plan. The city parks the rubbish carts just down
the street from Bamberger’s. We’ll steal a cart. We’ll wait outside the
department store until it closes. When Santa comes out, we distract him, push
him in the cart, and wheel him off. Eight of us can hold him down and tie him
up. We’ll hide him in the barn, tell him what we want for Christmas, and won’t
let him loose until he promises.”
I chugged the pretend orange juice. “Ray, that has to be the
stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. I’m in. Let’s do it.”
***
December 24th and the Baker House Irregulars had a mission.
We snuck out right after dark and braved the cold. Bobby and Janey went to get
an empty rubbish cart. Dolores and Bobby fetched ropes from the barn and the
rest of us went straight to Bamberger’s to wait for Santa.
The eight of us were hiding together when the security guard
unlocked the door and Santa walked out. Santa said, “Have a good night, Jimmy.
I need to be on my way. I’ve got reindeer to feed and a sleigh to load. I need
to start delivering presents.”
Jimmy laughed, “Sure thing. Don’t forget me. I need a new
percolator and a couple of pounds of coffee.”
Santa nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
We put our plan into action. Delores sat on the sidewalk
with a broken doll in her hands. She cried. Santa stopped and said, “What’s the
matter, honey?”
She held up the doll, the body in one hand and the one-eyed
head in the other. “She hurts.”
“Where are your parents?”
Delores cried louder, stood, and shoved the pieces at Santa.
He did what most people would have done, he took them.
Delores wrapped her arms around his knees, I jumped on his
back and pulled his stocking hat down over his face. Ray wheeled the garbage
cart in front of him. Delores moved away and I dropped off his back. It took
six of us to lift and dump him head-first into the cart. All eight of us
wheeled the cart down the street.
Santa’s feet kicked in the air for the first few minutes,
but then they stopped. Janey whispered, “He’s stopped fighting. Did we kill
him?”
Mabel snorted. “You can’t kill Santa Clause. He’s magic.”
The lights were out at the orphanage when we wheeled Santa
into the barn. We lit three candles and tied Santa’s feet so that he couldn’t
run. We tipped the cart onto its side and dragged him out. The girls sat on him
while Bobby and Ray tied his hands. We propped him up. Ray said, “Don’t yell.
If you yell, we’ll stuff a rag in your mouth.”
Santa smirked. “To what do I owe the honor.”
“This is a kidnapping,” said Mabel. “We’re holding Christmas
hostage. You have to pay a ransom.”
Santa didn’t even try to free himself. “What ransom?”
“We’re orphans. They wouldn’t let us talk to you at the
store because we don’t have parents. We know that if we don’t tell you what we
want for Christmas, then we don’t get a Christmas. The ransom is that we’re
gonna tell you what we want and you’re gonna promise to bring it to us. Deal.”
“I could lie and say deal, but I’m just a department store
Santa.”
“You saying that you’re not really Santa Claus.”
“Not exactly. Every man who dresses as Santa Claus and keeps
Christmas in his heart is a real Santa.”
Ray held a candle near Santa’s face. ‘You’re the only Santa
we’ve got. Listen, the first thing we want is a Christmas tree. I want a
bicycle, a good one, a Schwinn.”
Audry went next. Santa patiently listened to each of us. His
appearance changed as he listened. His eyes were brighter. His beard sparkled
like it was covered with glitter and his cheeks grew redder.
I went last and wished for new shoes and a bicycle. Then I
said, “There are another dozen kids at the Baker House. They deserve Christmas
too. I don’t know what they want, but the real Santa will know. Bring them presents
and bring something for Miss Blain. She’d be nicer if she was happier.”
“And what if I can’t bring presents to everyone?”
I was afraid he’d say something like that. “Well, in that
case, don’t bring me anything. Bring presents for the other kids.”
“My goodness, an unselfish wish for Christmas. That changes
things. It’s time for you to let me go. Christmas is waiting and whether I’m
the real Santa Claus or only his helper, I can’t give anyone presents if I’m
tied up inside a barn.”
Mabel crossed her arms. “We’ve done everything we can.
They’ll probably lock us up tomorrow but let him go.”
Santa quivered and the ropes fell away. He looked different.
His eyes twinkled like stars, and his beard became neater, better combed, and
it glittered in the light. He stood up straight. His red felt suit became
velvet and the cotton cuffs and accents changed to ermine fur. His buttons and
belt buckle were no longer badly painted celluloid, they were polished brass.
His worn boots were polished so brightly that I could see the candlelight
dancing in them.
He laughed. “I’m starting late. You’ve delayed me. I assume
that the eight you are willing to help me make up for the lost time.”
Mabel spoke in a whisper. “You’re different. Are you the
real Santa Claus? What happened to the Santa from Bamberger’s?”
“Like he said, young lady. Every man who dresses as Santa
can be the real Santa if his heart is in the right place. Max’s wish was the
crowning touch, and here I am. Are you going to help me or not?”
We not only agreed to help, we begged to do so. Audry
whined, “There’s no sleigh.”
Santa waved at the garbage cart and the air filled with
sparkling dust. A beautiful sleigh stood where the garbage cart had been. “I’ve
got a sleigh. What I don’t have is reindeer. I need eight reindeer and there
are eight of you. Are you willing to be my reindeer for one Christmas Eve?”
Janey asked, “Will I remember being a reindeer? Will it
hurt"”
“Yes. Dear, for the rest of your life, and no, no it won't
hurt.”
“Yes, please. What do I have to do?”
“Once you’ve become reindeer, you’ll pull my sleigh. I’ll
magically attach the harnesses and reins. I’ll use the reins to tell you what
to do.”
Bobby stood in front of the sleigh. “I’ve never been a
reindeer. I don’t know how to obey commands from reins.”
Santa laughed again and this time it was a full belly laugh.
“Donkeys and oxen can learn how to pull a cart. You look smarter than a donkey.
You’ll be fine. Okay, now, everyone join Bobby in front of the sleigh.”
Quicker than it takes to say it, we were reindeer. The world
was different. The smell of an owl’s nest with two owlets exploded in my nose.
The other reindeer each had its distinct scent. Mabel smelled in charge and
Audry smelled afraid. Santa smelled like cinnamon, cloves, and vanilla, with a
hint of Prince Edward pipe tobacco.
It was quiet and noisy at the same time. The impatient
shuffling steps from my fellow reindeer rang on the floor as clear as a church
bell. Santa’s velvet suit slithered when he raised or lowered his arms. Mice
scampered inside the walls. I sniffed the sleigh, and it didn’t smell like the
garbage cart, it smelled like cookies fresh from the oven. I liked being a
reindeer.
I turned my head to talk to Mabel, but I couldn't speak. The
best I could muster was a neigh, a whinny, and then a snort. Mabel snorted
back.
Santa hopped in the sleigh, snapped his fingers, and the
interconnected harnesses comfortably attached us to each other and the sleigh.
The harness was black leather and trimmed with hundreds of small gold jingle
bells. We were harnessed two by two. Santa wiggled the reins gently and said,
“Showtime! Out the door and into the sky. We’ve got places to go.”
A quick gust of wind swirled through the barn, the candles
went out and the door popped open. My feet were in the air before I was
outside. I never touched the ground again until morning.
I never got over that night. I loved to fly. It’s the reason
that I joined the Army Air Corps right at the end of World War Two. So did
Mabel. I flew fighters and Mabel became a WASP. She delivered aircraft all over
Europe, but women weren’t allowed to fly missions. One Christmas Eve, I was
shot down near Antwerp. She stole a Grumman Hellcat, flew it across the English
Channel, and landed it on a dirt road. I have no idea how she found me, but she
did. That’s a story for another time. She likes to tell it to our three kids on
Christmas mornings.
It was only one night, but it seemed to last forever. We
made an amazingly quick tour of the United States. Niagara Falls was beautiful,
and Washington DC was brighter than a sack of new pennies. Santa brought us in
low enough over New Orleans that we could hear the music from the French
Quarter. Those people never sleep.
We circled Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower. Paris gleamed in
the moonlight. Germany was busy, smoke billowed from the factories, and the
trains rushed from town to town. Santa did a splash and dash on the Danube. We
flew so low that the sled’s runners and our feet just touched the top of the
river. Beautiful.
We didn’t land anywhere, and Santa didn’t go from door to
door, well I should say that he didn’t go from chimney to chimney. Every few
minutes, another sleigh and another Santa flew up from the ground. Our Santa
and the new Santa greeted each other and then our Santa tossed a sack to the
new Santa. The sack grew bigger before it landed in the other sled. No matter
how fast we flew, Santa never missed a toss.
He lit his pipe, puffed a couple of times, and said, “Maxie,
I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if I’m the real Santa Claus, then
who are all these other men dressed like me riding in other reindeer-driven
sleighs? Well, Maxie, the world is a big place, and it gets bigger every year.
Three hundred years ago, I could do this by myself. Remember when the Bamberger
Santa, he’s actually Mr. Campbell from the hardware department, said, ‘Everyman
who wears the suit and has Christmas in his heart can be the real Santa.’
That’s mostly true, but not every one of them every year. I choose the ones I
need and deputize them, you might say. Like the eight of you, they’re my
helpers for the night. Only some of them will remember being Santa Claus, but
even those who don’t will remember it as the best Christmas they’ve ever had. I
think of them as subordinate Clauses.”
I snorted twice and chuffed once. “Take it easy,” Santa chuckled.
“I promised you that you’d remember tonight, and you will. Now, full speed,
please. Russia is waiting.”
The night was an endless stream of glistening minarets,
sparkling mosques, castles, hovels, stair-stepped pagodas, temples, city
streets, and country roads. A fleet of outrigger canoes raced us in Polynesia
for a few brief seconds as we island-hopped across the Pacific. Santa
sped under the almost completed Golden Gate Bridge in San Franciso, met three
more subordinate Clauses over Chicago, and then said, “That’s the last stop.
Only a few minutes to dawn and you need to be in bed before Miss Blain wakes up.”
I shook my head and said neigh. Santa laughed. “Maxie,
Christmas comes when it comes, ready or not, and it ends when it ends. The
night is over. Thank you for your help and Merry Christmas.”
Suddenly I wasn’t a reindeer anymore. I was Max, the orphan,
and I was falling. I’d had falling dreams before and always woke up just before
I hit the ground. This one ended the same way and I jerked myself upright with
my fists clenched. I was in my bed in the boy’s dormitory at the orphanage. It
was cold and the soft pinkish–gray light of dawn dimly lit the room through the
frost-covered windows.
I was upset, thinking my Christmas Eve adventure had only
been a dream. I glanced around and everyone was still asleep except Bobby, Ray,
and Danny. Danny had tears in his eyes. He mumbled, “Did I just dream about
being a reindeer and helping Santa Claus?”
Mabel answered from the open doorway. “No, it was real.
Look!” She opened her hand, and she held a small gold jingle bell.
I unclenched my fists. I had a jingle bell in one hand. All
of us did. The bells were heavy.
“Tree,” said Bobby. “There has to be a tree.”
The eight of us tiptoed downstairs. No reason to wake up
Miss Blain until we had to.
The big front room was the same as it always was. No tree
and no presents, but Miss Blain was already up. She held the front door open.
Mr. Campbell and two other men carried the Christmas tree from Bamberger’s into
the orphanage. “Merry Christmas, kids. We didn’t need the tree after Christmas
Eve, and I asked Mr. Bamberger if I could bring it here. Where should we put
it?”
Mabel ran to the picture window and shouted, “Here, please
put it here. When people go by, they’ll see that we have a Christmas tree.”
Mr. Campbell smiled and said, “That’s not all. It was a slow
Christmas season. The truck is filled with bicycles, gloves, dolls, toys,
sweaters, shoes, and maybe a ton of Christmas candy. You’d be doing me a favor
if I could leave it all here. If that’s okay, you can help unload the truck
while I get the tree set up.”
He didn’t have to tell us twice. We were out the door like a
herd of hungry reindeer.
Christmas was wonderful. Miss Blain was cheerful, and she
let Mabel take charge of passing out the presents. It turned out that there was
exactly the right amount of everything for every child at the orphanage to get
exactly what they wanted.
Mr. Campbell stayed almost all day with us. He assembled
bicycles, played catch, and taught the young boys how to spin a top and shoot
marbles. He and Miss Blain kept sneaking little glances at each other. Maybe
Miss Blain would get what she wanted for Christmas too.
Before noon, Mabel handed out the last doll and gave
Freddie, the oldest orphan, the last pair of shoes, which were exactly the
right size.
Mr. Campbell took a final sip of coffee and stood up. “I’m
completely tuckered out. I need to get the truck back to the store and there’s
a garbage cart in the yard. Any idea how that got there?”
I answered for all of us. “No sir, but we’ll push it back to
where it belongs.”
“Thank you. There’s nothing like doing good deeds,
especially on Christmas.”
“We should thank you. We didn’t think we’d be getting any
Christmas. Santa Claus gets really busy.”
Mabel started to speak, but all that came out was a neigh
and a chuff. Audry whinnied and so did Ray.
Mr. Campbell smiled and winked at me. He reached into one
pocket, took out a single gold jingle bell, and held it out. “I think this fell
off the Christmas tree. You’re right about one thing. Santa’s a busy man. It’s
good when folks can pitch in and help him out. Good help can be hard to find.”
I reached into my pocket, took out my gold jingle bell, and
showed it to Mr. Campbell. I winked back at him. “Yes, sir. Sometimes it’s hard
to find good help. Merry Christmas.”
Robert Allen
Lupton
https://robertallenlupton.blogspot.com
Robert Allen Lupton is retired and lives in
New Mexico. He has three novels, seven short story collections, and three
edited anthologies available in print and audio versions. Over 2000 of his
Edgar Rice Burroughs themed drabbles and articles are located on erbzine.com
Posts
