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A Bonners Ferry Christmas, 1955 |
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December 14, 2016 |
By Mike Ashby
We youth of the 1950s certainly looked forward
to Christmas as much as any kid does today. For
the month preceding Christmas break, our
classrooms were decorated with red and green
paper chains. Cut-out angels flitted about the
room, suspended from the ceiling with strings.
Everyone made paper snowflakes to paste on the
windows and there was always a Christmas tree in
every room, decorated with whatever the students
could make, either at home or at school.
Each child would draw a name out of a hat, then
purchase for that person a small gift. We were
limited to one dollar each, so a lot of thought
had to go into that gift-giving. Often gifts for
our classmates included pencils, crayons, or
maybe an ink pen. A small balsa-wood airplane
then was only ten cents so that was a popular
gift item.
Seems to me an occasional squirt gun or maybe a
small slingshot would find their way into the
classroom, too, but those gifts were confiscated
until after school.
A few of us would bring a small gift for the
teacher. A bottle of my dad’s supply of cheap
wine he hid in the garage made its way to the
teacher one year, much to my father’s chagrin.
Our Sunday school classes started prepping for
the annual Christmas pageant shortly after
Thanksgiving. For my posse, this meant no end of
entertainment. Having to wear a huge worn-out
towel, carry some limb made to look like a staff
and then pretend to ride a stick camel was just
plain funny.
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A much
younger Mike Ashby, age 10. |
Seldom, if ever, would everyone remember their
parts so most of the program was done “ad lib.”
By 7 p.m. on the night of the pageant, the
church would be filled with parents,
grandparents and other assorted adults.
Sometimes a strong odor of booze could be
detected floating about the audience, but that
just contributed to the merriment.
The lights would dim, a star would suddenly be
lit, and the affair would begin. Little baby
Jesus would be added to the homemade cradle.
Since this cradle would have a bit of straw in
it, one or two of the wise men would always try
to feed some of that straw to their stick
camels, which made for some guffaws from the
audience.
Words to carols were often changed to get a
laugh, specifically “We Three Kings of Orient
Are” who were “smoking a rubber cigar.” Most
parents were usually seated at the back of the
church, cringing somewhat at their child’s
antics.
After the program ended, we youth were rewarded
with sacks of peanuts, oranges, candy canes and
maybe a small Bible. Some of the adults with the
boozy breath would tell us how much they enjoyed
our efforts, swaying back and forth over us as
if a wind were blowing them. A few of us would
be chided on the way home for our actions during
the pageant. “How could you embarrass me so
much?” was a common complaint I heard.
Once Christmas break started, we were free every
day to sleigh ride on Stone’s hill, build snow
forts or just sit in the house and watch the
snowflakes drift past the street lights. There
was always snow in those days and lots of it.
Once the snow got deep, it was always fun to
burrow through it somewhat like a huge gopher.
Tossing a cat into four feet of powder would
provide a few giggles, too.
In mid-December, my father would bring home a
Christmas tree and stick it in the living room.
Decorating was a rather tedious affair, and Dad
was the only one allowed to put on the Christmas
lights.
A very popular tree light in those days was the
bubble light. These were wee little glass bulbs
filled with colored fluid. Once the things were
plugged in, the fluid would get hot and begin to
bubble.
They had to be installed perfectly to keep from
starting the tree on fire when they got hot, so
my father would spend hours trying to get each
light to stand up straight and not tip over.
After the lights were in place, it was on to the
ornaments. Since all ornaments in those days
were made of fragile glass, a small boy was more
a threat than a help when hanging them on the
tree.
I was usually assigned the job of hanging the
“tinsel” or “icicles.”
This stuff looked like tinfoil cut into very
long, narrow strips. It was supposed to give the
effect of icicles dripping from the tree and
reflect the glow from the bubble lights. Since a
ten-year-old boy does not have much
comprehension of the theory of proportionate
amounts, the tree often ended up looking like a
seven-foot tall roll of tinfoil.
My mother would always insist on saving this
tinsel stuff every year, so getting it off the
tree was always a time-consuming process,
especially if the 10-year-old had been left to
his own devices when putting it on the tree.
Making a trip into Spokane from Bonners Ferry in
the mid 50s was a journey only for the intrepid.
The highway from Bonners to Coeur d’ Alene was a
narrow, winding two-lane affair, with numerous
one-lane bridges.
Meeting an oncoming semi and deciding whether to
“goose” the car and get across that narrow
bridge first or stop for the truck was often a
call drivers had to make.
Since my dad seldom drove in heavy traffic, once
we reached Spokane, he would park at the very
first parking garage he found and we walked
everywhere the rest of the day.
Arriving in downtown Spokane, a world of beauty
and displays of Christmas awaited us.
As a small boy, I was a touch baffled by how
many stores Santa was in. Just to be on the safe
side, I crawled onto Santa’s lap at each store
we went into, repeating my list and occasionally
giving those greasy Santas a written record of
my demands.
The two main stores we visited were the Bon
Marche and the Crescent. They were high-end
department stores with amazing amounts of stuff.
Their multiple floors were connected by
escalators and elevators with human operators at
the controls. Their sidewalk window displays
would cause most people passing by to just stop
and gawk.
There were elves, Frosty the Snowman, electric
trains running everywhere, reindeer, Santa’s
sleigh, Alvin and the Chipmunks, music being
piped outside to the passersby and multiple
Christmas trees, all beautifully trimmed and
lighted.
These window displays were always more works of
art than marketing tools. I remember the one
window display at the Crescent stretched almost
for one whole city block and then continued
about halfway down the next block.
A kid could spend well over an hour gazing at
all the displays in those windows.
For a young boy, the third floor of the Bon was
literally heaven. Every possible toy made was
there, all within reach of a short little guy.
Most of the adults would simply deposit their
kids on that floor and leave them.
We sort of referred to ourselves as “toy
orphans.”
I spent many a happy hour on that floor, mostly
redoing my Christmas list and making tracks back
down to the resident Santa to present him with
my revised wishes.
Perhaps the highlight of a trip to Spokane for
me was lunch at the Woolworth’s lunch counter. A
malted milk shake was .25 cents, a banana split
was .39 cents, a baked ham and cheese toasted
three-decker sandwich was .60 cents and for
dessert, a piece of apple pie was .15 cents. For
two bucks a kid could really get his tummy full.
On Christmas Eve, I would be sent to bed early.
I was admonished to “Go to sleep, Santy won’t
show up if you’re awake, you know.”
Well, maybe my parents thought he would not show
up, but I know I heard the bugger a few times
when I was little.
Later I learned that Santa had hired my folks to
put the toys under the tree. I figured that one
out when I found crumbs in their bed the next
morning that matched the cookies they had left
out for Santa.
We opened presents on Christmas morning, which
was always fun, but just a touch low-keyed.
Since I was the only child, most of the presents
under the tree were mine. I had several uncles
and aunts that really doted on me. As a
consequence, I would receive some rather
high-end articles of clothing: Pendleton coats
and shirts, western boots, cowboy shirts -- just
nice stuff. Toys were limited, sad to say. I
remember getting a wind-up tank one year, games
like Pick-Up Sticks or Dominoes, just things an
only child could play with by himself.
After the morning of opening, I would dash
outside and make tracks to my friend Gary’s
house. We would spend a few minutes comparing
gifts and throw a few snowballs at each other
before I would head back home.
The balance of the day would be spent watching
my folks sacked out on the couch or chair while
I dinked around with the tank or tried on all
the new clothes.
One Christmas, however, my dad really out-did
himself for me. I was 12 years old that year
when he gave me a .22 rifle. That rifle would
later prove to almost be the death of me, but
that’s another story.
Once Christmas was officially over, I remember
being a bit sad as I watched the tree being
thrown over the bank behind the house with a few
clinging strands of tinsel flapping in the
breeze.
Christmas was fun in the ’50 s, no doubt, and as
an adult I have continued several of the
traditions of my childhood with my own family.
But the greatest joys and the best memories of
all are from the Christmases when our five kids
were here at home.
My prayer is that each of my adult children will
take a moment to recall their Christmas memories
of long ago and share them with their own
children. Nothing warms the heart like hearing a
child giggle as he hears about his dad’s antics
when he was a kid.
MERRY CHRISTMAS! |
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