After passing this on to a fellow employee (LHS) today, I decided to share it with others.....after all, the day is very special to the very young...at heart or in age.
The year is 1947. I'm the ripe old age of 3...barely...12/22 birthday.
Earlier that year I had done a major no-no and paid a life-long price for it. In our backyard in Washington, D.C., we had a large crabapple tree. It was beautiful, flowery, in the spring, but otherwise a PITA....early leaf-drop, crabapple drop/rot that drew bees and other creepy/crawlies. When I was two, Dad had built for me a sandbox and put pure white sand....special...into it. To protect it from the crabapple poopies, it was covered with an oil cloth. Four bricks held the cloth down on the two sandbox seat boards. I had been told to NEVER remove the bricks by myself to play in the sandbox....my hands were too small to hold the heavy bricks properly.
Well, to heck with that....I tried the brick removal one day in late summer...dropped the brick on my bare foot...crushed it (the left foot)...developed osteomylitis (infection of the bone marrow)....got regular/multiple shots of a 'new' drug, penicillin, in an effort to avoid amputation of the foot. Wore a cast for the better part of a year. (As of today, the left foot is 1/4" shorter than the right....but I digress.)
So we come to Christmas 1947. Age 3.
Mom and Dad, after a visit to F.A.O. Schwarz of Washington (no longer there....only in New York city), wanted me to have a wooden push-train, a Skaneateles, made in Skaneateles, N.Y., as my 'big' Christmas gift from Santa. The set they wanted was not currently at the store....it would be ordered...delivery SHOULD be before Christmas!
But, of course, for whatever reasons, the set never came. Mom told me in later years that she was near hysterical at the thought I might not have my train that Christmas.
So, fast forward to Christmas eve. No train. She went to the Tenley (Northwest D. C.) post office station that served our area. She talked with the postmaster, explaining the dilemma/crisis, imploring him to check the packages in the receiving area to see whether it might have arrived. No such luck.
Mom said that she cried during dinner that evening. Dad...ever stoic...had resigned himself to consoling his only son on Christmas morning...so he adds to this story.
Mom recalled it was about 9 PM that evening. There was a knock at the door. It was the Tenley postmaster.
He held the package in his hands. A last bulk delivery had been made at the Tenley depot at the end of the day. Remembering Mom's visit, he went through the packages...found the treasured gift...drove to our house and dropped it off at the end of his day (They must have had longer hours back then!!)
Ah, well, NO ONE could tell Mom that there wasn't a Santa Claus, an angel, a providential Lord,....an uncaring postal service...that year.
So, say what you will about the U.S. Postal Service. It may seem more distant and 'face-less' nowadays. But, in 1947, it had a heart as big as all Christmas!
That was the Christmas eve that lives forever in memory. Is this a special night? Well, duh!!.....
Merry Christmas to all.....and to all, a good night!!
KD
BTW...I still have THAT train....and all my other trains ever given to me. Am I into this hobby? Well, duh........!
