Who remembers the popular Christmas song of the 1940s and 1950s, All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth?
Two front teeth. Some kids were so easy to please, weren’t they? Most, however, hoped for a bit more than filling the gap in the middle of their grin when the holiday neared. Christmas meant Santa Claus was coming—with a bulging sack of toys, full to the brim—and that was surely a reason to smile!
Dreams whirled through the imaginations of youngsters—visions of “sugar plums,” red wagons, bouncy balls, and yo-yos. And Raggedy Ann dolls, tinkertoys, roller skates, and puzzles. And Jack-in-the-boxes. And Lincoln Logs and erector sets. And, of course, “a pony.”
Boys imagined the excitement of racing through their neighborhood, downhill and through back alleys, on a shiny, new scooter. They could almost feel the grip of rubber on the handlebar as they kicked off in their mind, rolling faster and faster!
They could hear the “vroooooooom, vroooooooom” of matchbox cars driving across their mother’s hardwood kitchen floor through grooved-lane “roads” in the wooden planks. And they could see themselves wearing the new cowboy suit Santa would surely bring—a suit complete with hat and boots, badge and chaps, and a pistol in the holster. Oh, the thrill of being sheriff of the entire household, upholding the law of the West while shouting “giddy up” and “yee haw” from the top of a playroom rocking horse, swinging a length of rope to lasso the family dog! Nearly every 10-year-old boy wanted to be just like Davy Crockett. Or Hopalong Cassidy riding his horse, Topper. Or Roy Rogers riding Trigger. Surely, there were more cowboys wearing fringed, leather vests firing cap guns in American backyards between 1930 and 1960 than you could have found on the entire frontier of the 1800s. “Howdy, partner!” was as familiar of a greeting between elementary school boys as “Hey! Do you want to play?”
Pig-tailed girls could sense their maternal instincts as they thought about caring for a china dolly with a delicate, painted face and blinking eyes staring upward, lifelike. Visions of cradles and baby buggies danced through their heads. And tea sets, too.
They imagined what song would chime from the opened lid of a hand-wound jewelry box, a tiny ballerina figurine twirling circles within, or what words Chatty Cathy would speak when they pulled on her string. Would they be “please brush my hair” or “tell me a story”?
Some kiddies even sent Santa the catalog and page number for each item on their list. So helpful! Boys and girls thumbed through thick “wish books” which were delivered to family mailboxes by Sears and Roebuck, Montgomery Ward, and J.C. Penney. Others made sure to include specific instructions for what not to bring—especially socks and underwear. They were fearful that valuable space in their stocking would be used for items they would surely receive from Grandma or Aunt Mabel.
Letters to the North Pole, with misspelled words and all, would often address more than the subject of gift giving. Some letters were inquisitive: Do you stuff pillows in your tummy? Why don’t you ever change your clothes? Will you please find my daddy a job like yours so he only has to work one day a year? Who brought you presents when you were a kid? Are you friends with the Easter Bunny? When you asked me if I was good, did you mean that day, or, like all year?
Other letters tried to confess less-than-perfect behavior in barely-readable scrawl: I tried to be good, but I have five older brothers. Young boys wrestled with the temptation to be naughty before the ink on their letter to Santa had time to dry.
Some letters included bribes: I’ll leave you a bottle of my daddy’s whiskey if you bring me what I want.
Letters included concern for Santa’s health, as well: I am not giving you any cookies because you are too fat already.
Santa. Christmas wouldn’t be the same without him, would it? Nor would it be the same without the humorous and heartwarming letters delivered to him annually with wishes for everything from baseball bats that “only hit homeruns” to new siblings: Dear Santa, Last year I asked you for a baby brother; this year I want you to take him back.
Santa’s unique character possessed, and still does, the ability to simultaneously create in a child’s mind the emotions of apprehension and overwhelming joy. Santa represents authority—and yet he represents friendship and familiarity at the same time. He is magical, and yet real enough to touch—at least once a year. And this encounter usually happened at the local department store in days past. (The first commercial Santa appeared in Philadelphia in 1841.)
It was one thing to hear about Santa and the North Pole, with its gigantic candy cane rising upward from snowy banks, marking the location of the fabled kingdom, but it was quite another when jolly old St. Nick showed up in person—right in front of your eyes! The sight of Santa Claus sitting squarely in front of you—waiting to ask “What would you like for Christmas this year?”—filled some boys and girls with unbridled excitement, and others with anxiousness and unease, especially toddlers and waddlers who were visibly nervous about making the acquaintance of the white-bearded, red-suited Mr. Claus for the first time.
Many of the presents requested at these annual chats were decided upon on the very day children walked through the crowded aisles of the store’s toy department with their parents on their way to see Kris Kringle, or as they passed decorated windows filled with elaborate displays. Wonder was awakened in the eyes of boys and girls who stood on tippy-toes as they watched locomotive train engines, puffing real smoke, chug past windows and into tunnels, re-emerging further down. What a thrill!
It was a time when merchandise lining store shelves was American-made, constructed with craftsmanship and care by hardworking fathers who carried metal lunch boxes to factories down the street. It was a time when there was pride in doing a job well—“an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.” Quality—it meant something. So did the words “Made in the U.S.A.”
Tinkertoys were manufactured in Evanston, Illinois, and Red Ranger cowboy outfits came from Wyandotte, Michigan. Erector sets were manufactured by the A. C. Gilbert Company in New Haven, Connecticut, and Lincoln Logs were produced in Chicago by Frank Lloyd Wright’s son, John, who invented them. If you purchased a puzzle with interlocking pieces it probably came from the Built Rite Toy Company in Lafayette, Indiana, or from the Warren Paper Products Company located in the same city.
Santa Claus left presents under a tree decorated with tinsel from the National Tinsel Manufacturing Company in Manitowoc, Wisconsin, and with Shiney Brite ornaments produced in Hoboken, New Jersey.
Santa. His visitation on Christmas Eve was marked by cookie crumbs and missing milk. And it all started with a visit to his lap!
Wee ones lined up in front of Santa’s throne, waiting expectantly as they inched forward where they would whisper, in a faintly audible voice, their secret wish for a paper doll or a puppet into the waiting ear of the one who had the power to grant it. One by one, children were invited, beckoned for a personal meeting to discuss this very important matter of present requests. Santa wanted to hear about each hoped-for toy firsthand. Children were careful not to ask for too much (but not too little either), in fear that Santa might think them selfish and put their name on the “naughty” list.
There could be other moments of mischief in the lively scene as youngsters who had visited Santa repeatedly in the past—especially boys—became curious enough, and brave enough, to sneak a quick tug at his beard to test its authenticity. Ahh, the opposing forces of naughty and nice were always at work! And Santa Claus was very interested in finding out which of these two had gotten the best of each child during the preceding year.
No, visiting Mr. Claus was not all fun and games! There was always this small matter of business that needed to be covered first—the annual behavior check. Lads and lasses collected their thoughts, waiting for the inevitable—and all-important—question: “Have you been a good boy or girl?” An uncomfortable pause, and a bit of squirming, usually followed. Very few youngsters approached Santa with the assured posture of being quite certain that their name had been pre-recorded on the “nice” list.
The question was a tricky one because there was no fooling Santa. After all, “he sees you when you’re sleeping, and he knows when you’re awake,” right? But how good was good enough?
There was often a noticeable change in behavior prior to visiting Santa, notably an increase in a child’s willingness to do chores, in hopes of gaining a spot on the “nice” list. This extra effort always seemed to work. It proved to be just enough to grant relief and happiness to every boy and girl returning from the lap with smiles on their face. “See, Mom!” they announced. “I was good!”
Yes, Santa’s shiny, black boots would be coming down the chimney yet again, and little ones were left wondering how he managed to fit his rotund body down the narrow shaft year after year, and back up again, without so much as a grunt to wake the slumbering family. Santa must be magic for he was the size—and shape—of, well, his sack full of toys! He existed in a child’s mind as surely as they did. Children believed in Santa and the North Pole, while their parents knew he lived more certainly in hearts and minds. Yes, Santa was real—even if he only existed in the form of someone who loved you dearly.
As Christmas neared, boys and girls also thought on the gifts they would give, not just receive. They made sure Mom and Dad would have something special to open on the gladdest day of the year, too. These were special presents, as they usually had more to do with the creative use of craft supplies than they did with saving a week’s worth of allowance money. Finger-painted handprints and handwritten poems on construction paper decorated kitchen walls after the holidays, along with hand-drawn crayon pictures and paint-by-number artwork. Presents made in school were smuggled home, hidden in book-bags, undetected, and stowed secretly beneath beds to lie in wait for Christmas morning when they would be taken out of hiding, the creator proudly exclaiming, “I made this myself!”
Other presents were sometimes made possible by a healthy collection of pennies, safely stored in a piggy bank all year long. These wee “life-savings” were then carried in change purses to the local five-and-dime store, like F. W. Woolworth or Ben Franklin, where a new hankie for mother might be chosen or a small bottle of Old Spice aftershave for Daddy.
Many old-fashioned Christmases were not as well-funded as those of today, especially during the lean years of the Great Depression, but they were no less merry, to be sure. Fathers would find a way to provide—even through another jobless year. Bread lines stretched for blocks, and soup kitchens helped to put a little warm nourishment in cold bellies. Men stood in long lines for food, and in longer lines for employment, when the depression was at its worst. Families learned from necessity how to make a few meager dollars stretch to afford a simple holiday.
Parents “made do” during these years of prolonged economic downturn when there was little more to give than their love, and offered their sons and daughters as exciting of a Christmas morning as possible with inexpensive toys and homemade gifts. Fathers’ weathered hands carved toy-chests from scraps of lumber. Doll-houses were painstakingly constructed with tools on a basement workbench. Lamp-lit windows told of parents crafting homemade gifts late into the long hours of the night after their children were bedded down, sound asleep.
Mothers kept busy during this period of time, too, with their own handiwork. A new dolly for Christmas, quite possibly, could have been an impossible wish to grant, but there still could be a new dress for the old dolly. Or a stuffed teddy bear with button eyes, stitched by hand from leftover fabric. Every house had a sewing machine and a mother who knew how to use it. Pin cushions, spools of colored thread, and needles could be found in homes as surely as bread and milk. Christmas dresses were sewn from Butterick and Simplicity patterns carefully pinned to fabric pieces. Oh, what Mom couldn’t create with a couple of yards of cloth—or from a ball of brightly-colored yarn!
Who among us can’t remember a pair of slippers—or a hat—crocheted by our grandmother during these simpler times? Or a sweater knitted by a favorite aunt who loved us very much—even if it was in our least favorite color? Or an afghan blanket made of “granny squares” fastened together with a crochet hook?
Often, these presents without price tags were the most heartfelt of all, and brought with them a sense of love and togetherness that material gains could not provide. These handmade gifts represented a personal investment of time by the giver, and you didn’t need to worry about “batteries not included” or “assembly required.” Truly, it was a period when many people thought of a gift as something you made, not necessarily as something you bought.
No one knew the slogan “shop till you drop” because it didn’t exist. Nor did plastic gift cards. Or purchases made on maxed-out credit cards.
No one handed you a gift certificate and told you, “Go buy what you want.” Times were different.
If you purchased a gift, you shopped in a building, not from a computer screen. (And stores weren’t crowded, wall-to-wall, with people on December 26th asking for directions to the Refund-and-Exchange counter.)
Christmas. In days past, it meant a father sawing wood and a mother threading her needle, creating meaningful memories, despite an inability to provide store-bought items which sometimes had to remain on the shelves, unaffordable.
It was a time when there may not have been a lot of presents under the tree, but that didn’t mean you didn’t have gifts—even if your eyes couldn’t see them. Gifts included love, family, devotion—and time. Time was a gift that was given not only at Christmas, but every day of the year; and you came to realize that the best things in life aren’t wrapped inside pretty boxes with bows on top—they’re held in your heart instead of your hand. It was a period in our nation’s history when treasure was measured in terms of something that had nothing to do with money.
These financially-difficult years taught those who lived through them the value of thrift—and deferred gratification. People knew the satisfaction of sweat on their brow. These, too, were gifts—and they arrived unwrapped.
In the absence of high-tech physical entertainment, children came up with all sorts of creative ideas for free fun and enjoyment. There were hopscotch and marbles. And jumping rope. Checkerboards sat between excited players shouting, “King me!” Paper airplanes soared, and so did homemade kites! Pirate hats made from folded newspapers decorated the heads of three-foot-tall buccaneers. Boys and girls could be entertained by just about anything they could cut from a piece of paper!
And who could forget “Red Rover, Red Rover, Let Walter Come Over” and “Red Light, Green Light, Hope to See the Ghost Tonight”?
Little fingers created alligators and bunny rabbits made of shadows, hopping along white walls, while vivid imaginations outside saw giraffes, not clouds, float across blue skies. At night, you knew how to locate the Big Dipper, as well as a firefly.
And there was always time for a game of cards—“Go Fish” or “Crazy Eights.” There was hardly an idle moment because a game of tag was usually just around the corner—or a baseball game. Batter up! You could dream you were Joe DioMaggio, Lou Gehrig, or Babe Ruth playing under bright stadium lights for the whole game! Boys and girls had hopes as large as life, but they also displayed a contentedness between the dreaming and the coming true.
Yesterday. It included tackle boxes and fishing poles. And hammocks and porch swings. And tree houses and tire swings. And gratitude for the simplest things.
The 1950s came to a close with voices echoing “Ride ‘em, cowboy!” and “All, aboard!” These were quickly replaced with other phrases like “Blast off!” as the 1960s inspired in little ones big dreams of daring space exploration. These words can almost be deemed symbolic of the period since the changing times seemed to ignite the “launch” of a faster-paced society, leaving simple, old-fashioned Christmases to be cherished in the memories of those who experienced them.
There was real magic to be found in those moments, shared as a family and long remembered. Time would pass, and the children would grow older. And as those children inevitably made the transition into adulthood, their Christmas wish lists changed, as well. There were no longer desires for dolls and baseball mitts, but rather hopes of replicating the feelings of Christmases past, to re-live the subtle moments of happiness and offer their own touch of magic into the lives of a new generation of children which completed the now-larger family. And so the cycle of Christmas continued, as certain as the returning seasons, tradition passing through the changing years, and decades, and generations.
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