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We stood in line, stomping our feet on the hard-packed snow, huddling
together as we tried to ward off the sharp cold of the morning. Between my too short coat
and knee socks, my thin legs showed signs of chapping from the wind whipping about.
Norma and Freddie were with me, and Norma, always the optimist, chattered excitedly
while Freddie, believing every word she said, grinned from ear to ear as the anticipation
of seeing Santa grew.
As we drew closer to the triple doors of the funeral home garage, fear
gripped me. It was mostly fear of the unknown. I'd seen the large black hearse pulling in
and out of the garage, and I knew that behind those velvet curtains, death rode. But, the
sound of Santa's Ho-Ho-Ho coming from the garage kept me in the line and moving.
I'd never seen Santa before, but according to everyone, he knew every bad thing I'd
done. I could hear his echo coming from the garage, and I envisioned the Santa I'd seen
on the Coca Cola signs at the corner grocery, his cheerful, rosy face smiling down at me.
Finally, as I stepped into the garage, I could see Santa seated at a long table, reaching
across to shake the cold hands of the other urchins in line ahead of me. Boxes of candy
lined a shelf behind him, and on a shelf above the candy were several dolls, trucks and
games, all to be given to the lucky ones with the correct numbers on their candy boxes.
Norma squealed with delight, "Oh, I hope I get a doll." I shrugged, not permitting myself
the joy of that hope. She placed her hands in a prayerful position as we inched forward.
Finally, I stood before Santa. He took my hand, and gave a big "Ho, Ho, Ho, and
what's your name little girl?" My voice barely squeaked out an answer. He took a box of
candy from behind him, looked at the number and gave another big "Ho, Ho, Ho." Before
I knew what had happened, the biggest and prettiest doll had been placed in my arms. I
could hear Norma�s joyful laughter as I left the garage, but I didn't look back to see if she
had won a prize. Instead, I pointed towards home, walking in a stiff legged gait. The other
children called to me with hope in their voices. I slipped the doll under my
arm as though she didn't really matter and ignored the inquiries about how many prizes
were left.
Once inside the house, I sat the doll on a chair next to the heating stove that glowed red
from the hot coals inside. Even before removing my coat or warming my hands, I bent
over my doll, whispering, "Victoria, you are so beautiful." I smoothed her hair and pulled
her white dress in pretty folds over her limp legs.
"I'll be right back," I called to her as I raced to put my candy in the toy cabinet that
Norma and I shared. By the time I returned, that beautiful doll had horrible blisters all
over her face from the heat of the stove. I fought back the tears as Mother scolded me
for my carelessness. Then I took Victoria in my arms. Her blisters were still soft, so I
pushed each one until it popped, leaving pock marks all over her face. With each push
the pain welled up inside me, and the tears streamed down my face.
I�m thankful for this memory and the kindness of Harold Beanblossom, the owner of
the funeral home, who played the role of Santa for all of the children that lived in the
valley, just west of Indianapolis, on a cold December morning in 1939.
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