Christmastime Memories
Traditions to Cherish
LIVING IN an apartment house in Queens, New York, in the 1940s left us with two problems at Christmastime: no chimney, and a front door that required a key or a buzz-in. OK, so Santa would use his Christmas magic to get in. (We believed anything Dad told us in those days.) But we had no fireplace to hang our stockings from, and landlords didn’t like holes in the walls, so we couldn’t even tack them up.
Dad told us that if we put our stockings side by side on a chair near the tree, Santa would see them and be sure to fill them with goodies: apples, oranges, nuts, a hankie and the like. Tucked way down in the toe, you might find a dime, or even a quarter!
The picture shows my brother George and me, ages 5 and 8, visiting the bearded one at the W. T. Grant five-and-dime store on Myrtle Avenue in 1949. My little brother was a bit nervous, so I was told to hold onto his shoulders.
Right around the time I was born, on Dec. 21, 1941, my dad bought me a pair of Christmas booties. Every year after that, those booties were the first decoration on our Christmas tree.
When I got married in 1963, my parents gave Bob and me the booties. To this day, they’re the first thing we put on our tree.
When our first grandson was born, I got him a pair of booties. Now the tradition continues with his parents each Christmas.
—Barbara Schmitt Py, Sewell, New Jersey
Pluto Under Quarantine
IN 1948, as a boy of 9, I contracted scarlet fever and was confined to my house in Waukegan, Illinois, for six weeks.
The doctor told my parents that anything I touched during my illness would have to be discarded when I was well.
Each day, I faced the dilemma of deciding which toy to play with, knowing it would be lost when I got better.
My folks knew that I dearly wanted the Pluto stuffed dog that I had seen on a Christmas trip to Chicago four months before I got sick. They decided to surprise me with the dog, knowing the decision I face when they brought the toy home.
But I couldn’t resist. I wanted to snuggle Pluto and I did, whereupon we immediately bonded.
When the doctor gave me a clean bill of health, I prepared to say goodbye to my new best friend. But my mother didn’t have the heart to discard my pal. Instead, she carefully placed him in our old wringer washer and gave him a thorough cleansing. When he was dry, my beloved stuffed dog was returned to me.
Pluto was missing his eyes, which fell victim to the washer, but that just made me love him all the more.
—Skip Kulle, Seattle, Washington
POINTING IT OUT
This little girl made sure Santa knew which stocking to fill. “This 1959 photograph of me is from my third Christmas Eve,” says Renée Austin of Birch-runville, Pennsylvania. “My mother and I lived in an apartment located on Hunting Park Avenue in the Juniata section of Philadelphia. Those were halcyon days!”
