December • 2009 • NEWSLETTER

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Dear ##firstname[Friend]##,

Our Christmas-themed December newsletter includes some holiday stories that are not your typical tree-trimming variety. Here’s hoping you enjoy them, along with the vintage postcards, poem, trivia and a melancholy look back on long-ago love.

Please take note that the immense popularity of last year’s vintage railway excursions has prompted our sister company World Wide Country Tours to offer a repeat of its Colorado adventure (I can vouch for the spectacular scenery) and a new California trip. Check them out below.

As always, feel free to forward our newsletter on to a friend or family member. If this newsletter was forwarded to you and you’d like a monthly copy of your own, just use this link to sign up yourself. For now, take a break from the rush of holiday preparations for a bit of reminiscing.

—John Burlingham at Reminisce

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In this issue:

• A Rock ’n’ Roll Christmas
• The Wondrous Thunder Stick
• Old-time Postcard Greetings
• Christmas in the 1940s
• Poem: Memories on a Mother’s Christmas Tree
• Over the Back Fence
• Time Capsule Trivia
• A Thought to Remember

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A Rock ’n’ Roll Christmas

By John Dawson
Gold Bar, Washington

In the spring of 1965, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, four of my friends and I did what a lot of young men were doing back then. We got together and started a singing group.

Gus and Mane played guitars, Bob sang baritone, I sang bass and Jack, who had a voice almost equaling that of Smokey Robinson, was our lead.

By autumn of that year, we had many rehearsals under our belts and a name: The Complications. One night as we rehearsed at Gus’ house, his uncle said he was impressed with what he heard. He noted that he’d talk with a record producer he knew in New York about giving us an audition when he got back to the city. You can imagine how excited we were, but weeks went by with no word from the uncle.

One evening in early December, Gus received a call from his uncle. He had, indeed, chatted with the producer, who wanted to hear us and felt the best forum might just be to observe us performing in front of a live audience.

The producer’s daughter was confined to a children’s hospital at that time, and he asked us if we’d be willing to perform in the Christmas program there. We were elated, so we were booked Christmas Eve at Shore Memorial Hospital in Pleasantville, New Jersey.

When we arrived to set up, the local high school drill team was performing. We watched the young patients in the audience, and their disinterest was rather disheartening. We noticed a few of the kids looking us up and down and whispering, “Who are these guys?” and “What are they gonna do?”

We had rehearsed only two song-and-dance routines to perform. It was our turn, and as we started our first song, the kids screamed and hollered, “Now this is more like it!”

The energy we could feel from those children was phenomenal. We went on to perform every song-and-dance routine we knew, and if I started to feel tired, all I had to do was look at those smiling faces to get energized all over again.

I recall seeing kids banging to the beat on the floor with their crutches and canes, beating on the sides of their wheelchairs or rocking to and fro in their hospital beds.

There was one kid in front, lying on his stomach in a steel bed with casts on both legs attached to traction devices. He was moving so wildly that the weights were bouncing up and down in rhythm.

Two nurses tried unsuccessfully to control the boy, finally just throwing their hands up in the air. They later told us it was the first time they had seen him show any energy since being admitted, and they just decided to “glue” him back together after the show.

After we finished, we stood on stage waving at the kids as the hospital staff wheeled them out of the auditorium. We later visited each of the wards and got to meet and chat with some of them. To see those smiling faces and sparkling eyes was uplifting beyond words.

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The Wondrous Thunder Stick

By Robert Montz
Brunswick, Ohio

Robert Montz, holding the storied tree limb in 1977.

View larger image

I had three sons in the Cub Scouts and later the Boy Scouts in the 1950s and ’60s, and I held several positions in scouting myself during those 16 years. One was on the commissioner’s staff, and at one of our meetings, I noticed a piece of wood that looked like it was turned on a lathe.

The owner told me it was a piece of limb from southern Ohio. He said the vines grew up to the tree limbs and tightened so much that some limbs tried to overcome the vines, creating an unusual shape in the limbs. I told him if the wood was 30 inches or longer, it would make a great walking stick.

Some months later, my father stopped by our house and said a man dropped off a piece of branch for me—it was the same as I had seen. I pried the vines out, took off the bark and cleaned it. When it dried, I varnished it and carved our Scouts troop number, 244, on it.

The boys called it my “thunder stick” because every time we went camping, it rained or snowed. Our troop became known as “The Rainmakers.”

One Christmas Eve, the weatherman on the radio said there was no chance of a white Christmas. My sons brought me my thunder stick and said, “Dad, make it snow for Christmas.”

We went out to the front yard and I pointed the bottom of the stick skyward and asked for a white Christmas.

The boys woke up early Christmas morning and excitedly told us it had snowed.

My oldest son turned on the radio, and the weatherman was saying, “Merry Christmas.” He added that he did not know why it snowed, but we do indeed have a white Christmas. We all shared a good laugh and a festive Christmas.

On another occasion, just after my youngest son was married, he called and said his wife didn’t believe in my thunder stick. She told him to call me and tell me to make it snow on her birthday in February.

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Old-time Postcard Greetings

The artistry of these vintage postcards is meant to get you in the mood for a festive Christmas season.

Click on image for larger version.

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Christmas in the 1940s

By Sue Glasco
Marion, Illinois

Daddy always loved Christmas, and when December came, he was ready to celebrate.

He would praise and enjoy every colored light on our street, and he was proud when he could afford a string of outside lights to line the top of our porch. For the center of the display, he made a wooden star and put a blue light in each of its five points.

He busied himself arranging visits from Santa Claus and creating bags of treats for the children at the school, where he was principal, and for Sunday school, where he was the superintendent.

On the first Saturday in December, he would take his 1937 Ford and use the scarce, rationed, World War II gasoline to drive to his farm. There in the woods by the bluffs, he would cut down the two biggest cedar trees that he could find and tie them onto the car’s trunk.

Back home in the basement, he made platforms out of two crossed boards nailed to the tree trunks. The school tree would later be decorated with ancient red ropes and ornaments created by the students. We would decorate our tree on Sunday afternoon as soon as the dinner dishes were done.

Daddy would carry up the aromatic, freshly cut tree with its attached platform and sit it in the corner of the living room, filling the house with the scent of cedar. From the darkness of a deep closet at the end of the house’s middle hallway, Mother would dig out the large worn cardboard box filled with tree lights and decorations.

First, the piece of ragged white cotton—still flecked with a brown bit or two of cedar needles from previous years—was placed to hide the platform.

Boxed ornaments would be unwrapped from their yellowing tissue, but before hanging the ornaments, Daddy had to put on the lights. His yearly battle with twisted and tangled strings of lights brings a smile to my face even today.

He was not as enthusiastic about putting them away after the season, because the unwinding and checking for burned-out bulbs was always a frustrating chore for him, with Mother gladly offering sympathy and advice.

Finally, the lights were ready and Daddy would carefully wind them around the tree and turn them on for our first round of “oohs” and “ahs.” We could then attach the ornaments. The last two to be put on the tree were Daddy’s favorites, two little birds with silvery tails that slid out from their glass bodies.

We completed the tree by carefully adding the icicles, which were saved every year. No one was allowed to just pitch icicles on any which way; we had to put them on one at a time, making certain each hung neatly down the way a real icicle would.

Although the icicles grew shorter each year, they were the final touch that allowed us to stand in awe and admire our artistic masterpiece.

We’d then declare it was the prettiest tree we had ever had. It was an annual compliment repeated throughout the season when we turned on the lights in the darkened room and enjoyed the beauty and aroma of our family tree.

We three children counted our scant saved-up allowance, trying to decide what to give each other for presents. I remember having only a nickel left once to buy Daddy’s present—a pencil.

Placed under the tree, the presents occupied our spare moments as we tried to figure out what could be in them. We could shake them, but neither peeking nor tearing paper was considered a fair tactic. On Christmas Eve, we each unwrapped one present, but the rest waited until morning.

After we played with our presents all morning, Mother made us a delicious Christmas dinner in the dining room, where we ate only on special occasions.

Our celebrations also included programs at school and church, as well as decorations on the town square. The observances seem simple now, but with Daddy’s and Mother’s participation, they were all our hearts desired.

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Over the Back Fence

John Pritchard of Huntington, West Virginia, calls this reflective piece of his “Sunday Mornings.” I trust that many of us can relate to his story.

For me, lazy Sunday mornings are meant for hot coffee, headlines and puzzles. So while scanning the pages in search of the most recent crossword, a picture made memories come into focus—days I thought long buried. It was an announcement for the 50th wedding anniversary celebration of the girl who got away and her husband.

Long forgotten days of white buck shoes, ducktail haircuts, crinolines, saddle shoes and poodle skirts crystallized in my mind. Our high school days were filled with dates, dances and drive-ins. Most of my high school milestones were shared with her: my first real kiss, first prom and first car (a 1939 Chevy with stick shift).

Some country roads may still have ruts where I somehow managed to turn Sunday afternoon drives into long walks to find a farmer with a team of horses to pull us out. I found I was much better at finding lonely parking spots in the city parks.

I was away at college when my first experience with rejection arrived, a “Dear John” via the U.S. Postal Service. I rushed back to my hometown and waited one night with her parents for her to return from a date. She was kind but firm; space was required.

The next semester, I transferred back to the university in our hometown, certain that I could win her back. As you can tell from my opening lines, I failed.

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Memories on a Mother’s Christmas Tree

By Jeff Walsh
Orland Park, Illinois

She watched her Christmas tree as it spun around,
She noticed that an ornament had fallen to the ground.
As she picked it up to hang it back on the tree,
Tears came to her eyes with a jolted memory.

Here is Jimmy’s picture, when he was in first grade,
And here is Linda’s popcorn string, the first one that she made.
Oh, Uncle Ralph and Sue, when they stayed for a while,
Gave to me this card that read, “Glad we made you smile.”

This candy cane from the little neighbor boy, who’s now so far away,
All grown up and married, and now living in Tampa Bay,
The manger and the wise men, sitting under the tree,
The camels, cows and reindeer my husband gave to me.

Looking up at that music bell, I just can’t help but laugh,
‘Cuz right below that music bell is Grandpa’s photograph.
He brightened up our Christmastime each and every year
By telling jokes and singing songs and spreading Christmas cheer.

Each Christmas I’d buy an ornament that has a date on it,
To see how time goes by and things change a little bit.
The Christmas lights they blink, the garland sparkles and shines,
The boxes full of presents are what’s on the children’s minds.

The thing that stands the tallest on top of the tree,
It’s white with radiant beauty, it means so much to me.
It reminds me of love, watching over my family,
It’s the angel above, my Grandma’s gift to me.
These are the memories on a mother’s Christmas tree.

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Time Capsule Trivia

From the decades spanning the 1920s to the 1960s, try to guess what year these historic events took place. Click the link below for the answer, but no peeking!

1. The Japanese claim their troops in Manchuria are fired upon near Beijing and use this as an excuse to invade China; all major Chinese cities are captured by the end of the year.

2. The world is in collective shock when word of the crash and burning of the famed dirigible Hindenburg (LZ-129) is spread by extraordinary radio reports, newspaper photographs and newsreel film. Thirty-six people lose their lives in the crash near Lakehurst Naval Air Station in Manchester, New Jersey.
   

3. Transportation gets a big lift with the opening of the 1.7-mile Golden Gate Bridge, connecting San Francisco with Marin County, and the 1.5-mile Lincoln Tunnel, connecting Weehawken, New Jersey, with New York City’s Manhattan area.
   

4. Amelia Earhart attempts the first around-the-world-at-the-equator flight with copilot Frederick Noonan, but their plane is lost between New Guinea and Howland Island.
   

5. Books published this year include Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind, A.J. Cronin’s The Citadel and John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men.
   

6. The film Shall We Dance spawns such musical hits as the title song and They Can’t Take That Away from Me along with Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off and They All Laughed.

Click here for the answer to Time Capsule Trivia.

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A Thought to Remember

Don’t ever slam a door; you might want to go back.

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