Once upon a time, when I was a child, celebrating the
Christmas season was very different.
Back in those days, people did not decorate their houses
with lights and inflatables for Halloween. A single jack-o-lantern with a
candle in it (yes, a real candle with a flame) on the front step or in the
front window was all the decoration any house would have, if they chose to
decorate. Lights were strictly for
Christmas.
There were no inflatable turkeys on front lawns to indicate
Thanksgiving.
And Christmas decorations definitely did not make an
appearance in stores in August!
No, in my day – as my grandmother would have put it –
Christmas decorations began going up in the shopping centers in the last two
weeks of November, to be in place by Black Friday, when the Christmas shopping
season officially began, and not on people’s houses until the weekend of
Thanksgiving, at the earliest.
Even Black Friday has changed meaning somewhat. Whereas when
I was a child, the day after Thanksgiving was the day stores hoped to finally be “in the black,”
that is, finally showing a profit for the year, it now is more akin to being a
black day of kill-or-be-killed trying to get a parking space in any mall or
restaurant parking lot.
Stores, in an effort to outdo one another, hold pseudo-Black
Fridays in September, October, and in some cases, in a “Christmas in July”
sale.
There are those who no longer hold Thanksgiving sacred as an
American Holiday for family and friends. They drag their employees away from
the family meal to work on what should be a holiday, all for financial gain
over their competitors.
None of this would work if there weren’t those who gobble
the turkey early so they can be first in line at the tradition-scoffing stores
to buy up everything they see, needed or not. Thanksgiving has become, for
some, a glut not of food, but of consumerism.
In recent years, the internet has come to the aid of those
who hate crowds and lines, and created an alternative to Black Friday called
something like “Cyber Monday.” It usually happens the Monday after
Thanksgiving, and provides discounts on consumer items for sale on the internet.
With offers like Amazon Prime, which offer next day delivery in some cases, it
saves time, frustration and physical confrontations with someone who wants the
last of the same item you do.
But I remember a time when Thanksgiving was a time to visit relatives.
Thanksgiving dinner at Grandmom’s was often a feature of the kick-off to the
Christmas season. I can still remember the food smells at Grandmom’s and the
feel of plastic slip-covers against my skin because visiting Grandmom and
Grandpop required wearing one’s Sunday best.
One Thanksgiving in particular sticks in my memory. It’s the
only one I remember going to the Philadelphia Thanksgiving Day Parade, the
event that welcomed Santa Claus into the area.
I was perhaps three or four. There was snow – yes, snow in
November, which was common then – and I stood on a snow pile provided by the
plows that had cleared the road.
I was nice and warm in my dress coat – it was red – with
matching leggings and hat. My feet in dress shoes were ensconced in white
rubber boots that were meant to have shoes inside them. Beneath the coat, of
course, was a dress that had a poufy petticoat beneath.
We watched the parade go by, and then went to our
grandparents’ house in South Philadelphia.
While at their house, once we were warmed up and
sufficiently fussed over, we kids often went for a walk with Grandpop and Dad
while Mother and Grandmom finished the preparations for dinner. We usually went around the corner to visit my
father’s Aunt Marion and her family, and then to the corner bar to visit his
cousin, Jack.
Dinner at Grandmom’s sometimes included an aunt and uncle
with children in tow as well. But it was always best manners, please and
thank-you, and not complaining about anything at the table. My grandmother’s
home-made mashed potatoes were my favorite, lumps and all.
If we’d gone to Aunt Marion’s before dinner, we went down
the street to the next block after dinner to visit my mother’s Aunt Mary, and
my mother’s cousin, Janey May. Aunt Mary died when I was very young, but I
remember her making a fuss, as if we were the most wonderful children every
created. She was the happiest adult I ever knew.
The other holiday tradition our family adhered to was the
“Annual Trip” into Philadelphia at Christmas time. Being good Catholics, we
children all attended Catholic school. December 8, Feast of the Immaculate
Conception, was the last school holiday before Christmas. That was our day in
the city.
Once rush hour was over and train fares were cheaper
(off-peak), my mother, brothers and I, all dressed in our good clothes and
dress coats, would walk the few blocks down the main road to the train station.
Back then, one did not “go out” in play
clothes or casual coats. I recall once or twice being in the stroller on the
way there.
The trip to the city was more pleasant than the one home
because we were in a no-smoking car. When we came home with Dad, we were in the
airless smoking car so he could have his cigarettes. That and the fact that we
were tired by then made for a less happy return ride.
As we approached the city, my brothers would point out the
window and say, “Look, there’s Billy Penn,” referring to the statue of
Pennsylvania’s founder atop City Hall, which could be seen from the station
before the terminus. As a preschooler, I had no idea what they were looking at,
and thought they said “Billy the Penguin.” I didn’t want to be thought stupid –
Rob always said I was – so I pretended I could see him, too. I spent my day
wandering around staring up at the sky, not because I was a country bumpkin in
the city, but because I was looking for the floating penguin in the sky.
Once in the city, we were on a mission. The first stop was
Gimbels. That was where the “real” Santa Clause was (hadn’t we seen him get out
of the sleigh and climb the fire truck ladder into the 8th floor
window at Gimbels on Thanksgiving?). Along the long line for our turn with the
Jolly Elf, were animated Christmas scenes and decorations.
When we finally reached Santa’s lap, we had our picture taken
with him, and told him what we wanted for Christmas.
After the Santa line we strolled down Market Street, taking
in the decorations in the various windows of Lit Brothers and Strawbridge and
Clothier. We entered each of those stores in search of new outfits and Stride
Rite shoes. Unlike children today, we did not pick clothes from the racks and
have tantrums if Mother didn’t like our choices. No, we stood patiently or not,
waiting for my mother to pick out two or three outfits and then asking us which
one of those we wanted. That was our freedom of choice.
Usually, we had clothes picked out by lunch time, and only
shoes or a new coat, if necessary, in the wings for the afternoon. Lunch was
usually at Horn and Hardart’s automat.
I loved the
automat. First of all, there was usually a blind man sitting outside with a tin
cup and pencils. One of the highlights of my day was being allowed to put money
in his cup. While it was only a dime or a quarter, his response was always the
same, “Thank you. God bless you.”
I never took a pencil because I didn’t know I was allowed
to. But I didn’t need the pencil, anyway.
Once inside the automat, we would decide what we wanted,
then put our coins in the slot to open the glass door. Behind the door was our
meal. Mine was usually a beef pot pie.
After lunch, we would walk farther down Market Street to Broad Street. City hall was
at that intersection, and the John Wanamaker store was across Market just
before City Hall. Into Wanamaker’s we would go. The final items we needed would
be purchased there. My AAA shoes in whatever size I currently wore would be
either black patent leather, or, a couple of times when I was allowed to be
particularly elegant, black velvet.
Once my brothers and I had our shoes, and my mother had
shoes or occasionally a new dress, we would go to the main hall of the store,
where the eagle was.
People who were getting together in Philadelphia frequently
used the phrase, “Meet me at the eagle.” The eagle was a bronze statue created
by a German sculptor. The centerpiece of the store, it was, actually, in the
center of the store. A wall opposite was the site of the Christmas display.
Wanamaker’s was famous for its organ. An organist played
music while people shopped. Alas, those days are gone, although the organ is
still there, and the store is now owned by Macy’s.
But in those days, as is still true today, every day between
Black Friday and New Year’s Day, at 2, 4 and 6 pm a light show animation would
play on the wall while the organist played and someone narrated the story that
was appearing like magic before our eyes. I think we usually saw the 4 pm show,
crushed by all of the other people jockeying for position to see it at its
best.
After the light show, we would make our way back down Market
Street to 12th and walk down 12th to Callowhill, where my
father worked. We spent some time having a fuss made over us by my dad’s boss
and others with whom he worked. Then it was off to dinner.
That day out was one of the few in the year when we actually
ate out. And on that evening, it was at a restaurant rather than a diner. We
went to Wanamaker’s again to the Crystal Room, an elegant restaurant on one of
the upper floors, back when there was an elevator operator to take people to
the desired floor.
In addition to the tables and waiters, there was a silver
tree decorated with lights and Christmas ornaments. There were wrapped packages
under it. It was in a cordoned off corner, and it shocked me when I saw
children climbing around the tree. Having had “the talk,” (“We’re going out.
You’re to be on your best behavior. If I have to speak to you while we’re out, just wait till you get home.”) I
assumed all children were given the same directions. I couldn’t imagine what
horrors awaited these children when they got home.
Once dinner was over, we went back up Market Street to
Reading Terminal for our train home. When we arrived at our station, we didn’t
have to walk back home, because Dad had the car parked at the station, and the
tired little teddy bears were able to ride in comfort.
What a shame children today miss the wonders we experienced.
