Yes, there is a Santa Claus, and he’s at Kaufmann’s Department Store in
downtown Pittsburgh. He is the real
Santa Claus. The others you see are just helping him. This was my firm belief that
I passed on to my brothers, Dave (6) and Bill (3).
It’s December 1941, and although the United States is at war
following the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, my brothers and I were looking
forward to Christmas and our annual trip to see Santa. I was staunch in my
belief and had convinced Dave and Bill that we were going to see the real Santa, who held sway on the 8th
floor of Kaufmann’s downtown store. The experience and wisdom of my 8 years
gave me the assurance of making such a bold statement.
Grandma and Mom gathered the three of us as we walked to the
87 Ardmore trolley, which stopped right in front of our house on Franklin
Avenue in Wilkinsburg. Half an hour or so later we were on Fifth Avenue and
heading for Kaufmann’s, guided by the view of the famous clock on the corner of
the store. Walking into the store, we
were dazed by the sights, sounds and aromas of the various counters welcoming
us into a lively fairyland of Christmas music, the buzz of shoppers’ voices,
the smell of fresh-baked cookies, and people moving quickly through the aisles
as they approached their next destinations.
Although the first floor was fantastic in its own way, it
revealed no interest for us. We had a more important goal—going to visit Santa
Claus and whispering our Christmas wishes into his ear. As we approached the
bank of elevators, I began feeling excited and a bit tense and edgy. Would we
need to stand in a long line? Should I stand when I talked to Santa, or sit on
his lap? Part of me felt “too old” to sit on Santa’s lap, although I still sat
on Grandma’s lap. Walking onto the elevator, we were greeted by the uniformed
elevator operator who made sure the adults on the elevator did not crowd us.
When we arrived at our destination floor, the operator told
us to be sure to behave for Santa. I responded with a bashful smile. Walking
off the elevator we entered a wonderland at least ten times more delightful
than the glory of the first floor. Subdued lighting, oodles of decorated
Christmas trees, elves in red and green elf garb, and toys galore—an overwhelming
feast for all my senses. Mom took us to the back of the line, and told me to watch
Dave and Bill as we waited our turns. She then joined Grandma behind the rope
where other adults were standing. As we
stood in line awaiting our turn to talk to Santa, I whispered to Dave and Bill
that they could go ahead of me. I probably told them that, as the youngest,
Bill should go first and I would go last. Even then I was bossy with them.
After Dave and Bill talked to Santa, my turn finally arrived
and I was standing in front of Santa and voicing my requests for Christmas
gifts. The toy I remember asking for—and
receiving—that Christmas was a “doll that walks.” Mom was somewhat surprised as
I had never expressed any interest in playing with dolls. I did play with that
doll, which I named Nanette.
After the “stomach-dropping” descent of the elevator to the
main floor, we walked around the outside of the store to see the Christmas
windows. That was a favorite part of our Christmas tradition of going to
Kaufmann’s to see Santa. The windows held animated scenes of people and
animals, toys, ice skating, Santa’s workshop. Every year it was something
different and always exciting to children and adults alike. Traveling home on
the trolley, I replayed in my mind all that had happened that December day,
storing up the memories for later recall.
Two Christmases later, I learned who the “real” Santa is. Mom
and Dad sort of led me to “discover” that truth for myself. Part of the allure
of that truth was that I became a Santa’s helper to assist with Christmas Eve
preparations after Dave and Bill had gone to bed. Since I was a very
responsible child from an early age, Mom played into my strengths at the same
time she was helping me appreciate being part of the “real” Santa.
As a parent, I approached Christmas
and Santa traditions as I had experienced them. I also recognized the love and
wisdom my mother had used in helping me learn truths in a way appropriate for
my age and personality.
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