Archives: Whose Birthday Is It, Anyway? #9 |
Christmas in SMALLTOWN
In the late 1930s when the GREAT DEPRESSION had waned, Henry and Erma, with Billy, 10, and daughter Sara, 6, moved from a very large city in the east to SMALLTOWN, ILL., population 958.
Henry was hired to tend the boilers and generators at SMALLTOWN's coal fired electric plant. He was experienced but BIG CITY had installed new generators and automatic coal stokers and hired two graduate engineers to run the plant and "didn't need common laborers anymore."
"Guess they didn't need men with common sense either," complained Erma.
"Now, Erma," said Henry, "they're just modernizing and I'm NOT an engineer. We'll be alright."
And it WAS alright, as long as Henry worked 10-12 hours a day at odd jobs.
They were exited (except for Billy) as they planned the move to SMALLTOWN, ILL. . . the new job, cleaner air, friendly, small town folks.
Billy, the shy one, said, "What if the people don't like us? Maybe I won't have anyone to play with."
His mother replied, "Of course there will be children to play with and as for friendliness, why Papa's been told that all through the depression, all the folks pitched in and helped each other every way they could. The banker, the lawyer, Ford garage keeper, the men from the creamer - they all worked together on weekends and evenings to help with roofing, painting, fixing fences. Yes, even tending the electric plant boiler. It's friendly alright."
Well, the family had been in town five months and NO one had come to visit. No one invited them. No other children lived on their block. Erma and the children were noticeably sad. Henry worked so hard that he didn't notice and Erma asked Sara and Billy not to talk to Papa about their sadness.
Papa worked four shifts, all by himself. Four hours on, two off for lunch and nap, four on, two off, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. He shoveled coal to fill the fire pot, turned up the generators for the daily "draw," greased the generator bearings, shoveled coal, home for lunch, quick nap. Didn't seem like a happy life but Henry whistled most of the time. He was SO happy for steady work. . . and BOY, was it STEADY!! Papa always came home covered with coal dust, but somehow in a few minutes in the wash room, he always came into the house clean.
Mama's furniture was a bit threadbare, but the house was always spotless. She made clothes for the children out of old clothes sent by their BIG CITY friends.
Three days before Christmas, Billy and Sara came home from school to find Mama crying. Sara ran to Mama, put her arms around her and Mama just sobbed all the more. Billy asked what was wrong and Sara, still hugging Mama, waved Billy away, told him to fix some tea.
Finally, in Sara's arms and sipping hot tea, Mama, with no more sobbing left, said, "I'm sorry children, it's just that I thought we'd have so many friends and we have none. If I go out to hang up clothes and wave at a neighbor, they wave back but hurry into their house. The townsmen never ask Papa to any of their doings. School children never come to play. It's not at all as friendly as BIG town, back east."
Sara, the comforter, said, "Mama, don't cry, we can all be our own best friends. I know, let's make a big, big batch of cookies and ask Papa to bring cider. Let's have a friendship party - just us!" Mama laughed through her tears, dried her eyes and said, "Why not?" Why, before they knew it, they must have had a hundred cookies - sugar, molasses and peanut butter cookies and gingerbread men - in one stage or another.
Billy's job was to clean - lick off - the batter spoons and to sample each batch as they came out of the old black MAJESTIC range.
Billy was sent to the power plant to ask Papa to bring some cider when he came home for his next two hour break. Sara, looking at the mountain of cookies, had a sudden idea. She excused herself to her bedroom and busily set about printing notes on small pieces of paper. Folding each one neatly, she put them in her coat pocket and asked, "Mama, may I go out and play for a little?"
"Of course," her mother replied. "But don't go too far."
Sara put on her boots, the ones with the inner-tube patch on the right boot, and hurried to each house on the block. At each door, when someone came, she handed them a note, which read, "We invite the pleasure of your company at 1013 Willow Street TONIGHT 7:00 CLOCK. COOKIES AND CIDER... Erma Rothman." Sara excitedly asked each one, "Can you come?" They all seemed to have excuses, but said, "We'll see." Sara took that as a positive note and went home, skipping in the snow and happily singing "Away in a Manger."
Billy was back from Papa's plant and Sara, taking charge said, "Billy, clean the front steps and walk. Someone might come."
"Aw, no one ever comes."
"All the same," Sara said and stamped her foot. Billy cleaned the steps.
At 1017 Willow Street. . . "Charles, imagine, the wife of the coal plant man asked us for cookies and cider." He responded, "They're probably made with coal flour, HAW HAW. Tell 'er we're busy."
And at 1022 Willow. . . "Hey, Millie, that little girl up the street invited us for cookies and cider. You should have seen her - patched boot, mittens with toes of old socks sewn over the ends of them. You don't want to go do you?"
"I don't think so." That's the way it went.
At 1015 Willow, Earline Stowers, on the phone with Ethel Bates. . ."Ethel, did the little girl invite you for cookies?"
"Yes, but I'm not going. We don't know them and my Ben says every time the man comes home, he's always black as the ace of spades. Bet their home is a pit!"
"I s'pose they get kind of lonely. She SEEMS nice. . . always waves. But I never know what to say. Maybe I should go."
"Well, I'm not. I'm too busy wrapping presents."
Sara could hardly contain herself as 7:00 neared, but as the time passed, 7:30 came and still no one had come.
Papa had come home for his lunch and nap, brought the cider and already returned to the plant.
Sara, tears welling up, turned away from Mama and asked: "May I go out for a little?"
"Yes, but bundle up. It's getting cold."
In her patched mittens and boots, she went door to door again. At 1022 Willow, the man, in his suspendered pants and woolen undershirt, said, "Yes?"
"You didn't come for cookies and cider. My mama says you're not friendly and I don't think you're very nice to make my Mama cry. Now, you get some clothes on and you come for cookies - THERE!" she wheeled around and off the porch.
Sara went to 1017 with much the same message. "You said, 'We'll see' but I bet you didn't even plan to come. You people on this street made Mama cry and my Mama is the BEST Mama ever. You should come and make her happy again."
She went back home quietly to her room.
Soon, phones on Willow Street were ringing. Earline called Ethel.
"You know, the little girl was right, I haven't been very friendly."
"Well, if you feel that strongly, I'll go if you will," Ethel said. "I'll talk Ben into it too." Soon, several neighbors arrived at the same time - about 8:15 p.m. Burly Ben, as they walked up to the house, said, "Let's carol them!"
"What'll we sing?"
"How about 'Joy to the World?'"
They sang with gusto and Sara ran to the window.
"Mama, Mama, there're people outside. They're singing to us."
Mama put aside her sewing, went to the door and started crying all over. She was so happy.
"Come in, come in, please," she said. "We have some cookies and cider. Come in out of the cold."
Soon others from the street came along too, found places to sit, had cookies and cider, and everyone chatted.
When Sara, Billy and Mama made yet another trip to the kitchen for more cookies, Mama said, "Can you imagine, all those people coming to sing for us. And isn't it lucky you suggested making cookies. How embarrassed we'd be. My."
One of the ladies stood, held up her cider cup and said, "A toast to our new neighbor, the Rothman's, whose offer of friendship out-shines the rest of us on Willow Street by the strength of 1000 light bulbs."
"Yeah," Burly Ben spoke up. "The light bulbs that light up because a terrific guy works about 24 hours a day to keep them burning."
Just then Papa came in, after cleaning up in the wash room. Was he ever surprised to see all the folks in the living room.
Billy cried, "Papa, Papa, is something wrong? You are home so early."
"No," said Papa. "The Mayor that runs the hardware store came down and told me to take the rest of the night off. He'll fire the boiler 'till morning, so I could be with you kids and Mama for a while."
The men shook hands with Papa and one said, "I'm really glad you invited us, Mrs. Rothman."
"But I didn. . ." Sara nudging her arm and Mama didn't finish.
They ate, drank and sang. Sara nudged Mama a couple of times until Mama said, "Yes Sara, what is it?"
"I want to read a story."
Everyone quieted and Sara began: "Long ago in a far away land, a little baby was born with the horses. Of course, HE wasn't a horse. His Mama was a real Mama. Her name was Mary and his Papas were Joseph and Papa God. The baby was named Jesus because God told his Mama to name him Jesus. They said God anointed the Baby. I guess they put some kind of oil on him or something that made him special.
"Anyway, Jesus grew up and made everybody else special - all they had to do was do like Mama says, just to pray and say, 'Jesus, I'm sorry for being bad part of the time. I want to be as good as you want me to be.'" Sara sighed, then hurriedly, as if reading, said, "And Jesus said to give the people cookies and cider. There, that's the end!"
The lady from 1020 Willow said, "I never heard the Christmas Story told any better. And I think my husband has something for you, Sara." He brought forth, wrapped in newspaper, a bright red cloth winter coat and said, "This belongs to our daughter who is now in college. I'm sure it fits you better." Sara looked at Papa. He nodded. She put it on and twirled around and around. She was SO happy.
The same man gave Billy a small green tin car. But Billy, so shy, hung his head and Papa said to the man, "Billy thanks you mightily. Don't you, Billy?" "Yes'm," replied Billy, who grabbed the car and ran to another room to play.
The next door lady told Erma she had been so touched by Sara's note and return visit. She expressed her shame, as did others. Erma looked quizzically at Sara, beginning to understand why the neighbors had come. All the women hugged Erma and complimented her on her spic-n-span house. When they had all left, Mama cried again, only this time it was happy crying.
How do I know about this story? I'm 67 years old and folks still call me Billy.
Dean Chapman, a member of First United Methodist Church, Sioux City, Iowa, is a fun-loving poet and writer.
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This page last updated 20 October 2012
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