Americana Music Reviews

 

Christmas 1957
by Michael Johnson

Earliest Christmas memory? That's easy. 1957We lived in a little duplex on Bonita Street in Dallas, next door to Larry Whattley and his mom. Daddy worked for Johnson & Johnson, the baby powder people, and we were what most would consider "poor." I have some of his check stubs from that time, and one week, during which he worked 55 hours, his take-home pay was $54. He did an amazing job of supporting a wife and two kids with that $54!

We had already made our annual pilgrimage to the big Sears-Roebuck store on Ross Avenue. What a great place! An entire floor dedicated to TOYS! We rarely actually BOUGHT anything, but our family spent many Saturday mornings at that store. Besides, they had ESCALATORS! Cheap entertainment -- but it worked.

I don't remember ever really doing the "list" thing. Oh, I'd spend countless hours studying that Sears-Roebuck Christmas catalog, zeroing in on specific items and imagining how much better life would be if I only had THAT. But as far as submitting a list of desired presents, I just don't remember ever doing it. Maybe it was fear of failure -- I don't know.

Anyway, it's Christmas Eve, 1957. We've got our tree decorated, complete with those big ol' lights that have burned down so many houses. Our trees were always sort of pitiful looking when Daddy brought them home. They were usually about 6 feet tall, with about one branch per foot! They made Charlie Brown's tree look full! But, we'd wrap it in those big lights, find places to hang our ornaments, and Mamma would smooth the whole thing over with tons of those tinsel icicles until it was a big, shiny-hairy looking mass of light. I loved those trees. Anyway, my older sister and I would just wait, trying to not seem anxious. WHY did we have to wait until the next day? WHY couldn't he just stop here FIRST one year?

Luckily, Mamma and Daddy were as anxious as we were, and though every year they would vow to wait until Christmas morning, they NEVER made it. They always came up with some elaborate explanation of why Santa had been here early. Christmas Eve 1957 found them at their devious best.

As the evening wore on, the anticipation proved too much for us, and we started to feel sorry for ourselves. In the midst of our moping, Daddy jumped up out of his chair and yelled, "What was that!?"

Mama jumped up and looked at my sister and me very sternly and said, "I TOLD y'all you should go to bed! Now he's here and won't be able to stop because you're still up!"

I was terrified! What had we done? My sister, who up to that moment had assured me that there was no Santa Claus, stood there slack-jawed and bug-eyed.

"Quick! Go out on the front porch and wait till I come to get you!" yelled Daddy.

We did. At first we just sort of huddled in one corner of the porch, hoping to not be detected. We heard lots of noise coming from inside. Braver, I started working my way over to the window. Damn those curtains! But there was just a little crack there at the edge through which I could see. My expression was enough to cause my sister to yell, "What's WRONG?" She pushed me out of the way so that she could see inside. Once again, she stood slack-jawed and bug-eyed. "SEE! I TOLD you there was really a Santa Claus, you big-fat LIAR!" I yelled, and was immediately stricken with terror. I prayed that HE hadn't heard me. SANTA CLAUS WAS IN OUR LIVING ROOM!

I don't know how long they made us wait. I was in shock. When they finally came to get us, I walked in to that living room and saw one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. There underneath that hairy, glimmering tree sat the BEST tricycle ever built. There was also a huge farm play set (you know, the ones with the big metal barn and all the plastic animals that cost $300 in antique shops) and about a million plastic soldiers. I'm sure my sister got something, but I never noticed.

I was never the same after that night. I don't know how they did it. We never talked about it. Even today, exactly 44 years later, I'm just not quite sure. Maybe...

Contact Michael Johnson at rockzilla-at-rockzilla.net

 
Read Rockzilla's Guestbook
Sign Rockzilla's... Guestbook