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^toni Period 3 Creative Writing Class Period 6 Creative Writing Class and the Southwords Staff
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HiirpK Volume 5, No. 6
Maine Township High School South, Park Ridge, III. December 20, 1968
by Bill Silberman
¥ "De firs' Christmas? Why, I sho 'nuff think ah kin tell you 'bout that! (Though, ah can't rightly claim dat ah was dere) Dat was "roun 'bout a trillion years ago — give or take a few. Course, de time don' really matter—'sfar as ah kin see. Hit's de story what's importan'. "Now, dey was a place back den called Nazarith. and in Nazarith dey was a gal de name o' Virginia Mary who dun was de wifemate o' dis carpenner called Joseph. Now one day while Mary was 'jes sittin 'round doin' what she alius did, dis angel called Gabriel walks right up to her an' sez, "Virginia Mary, you is gwine haf de Lord's chile!' O' course, Virginia Mary was a mite skepical at firs', but angels is powerful folks f condradict, son. Well, Gabe went on an' on 'bout how de chile was gwine be called Jesus an' how he was gwine be de Missiah an' all and Virginia Mary — Well, ah guess dat she was jes' 'bout de most happies' gal in de world! Now keep all dis in mind, 'cuz hit's 'portant later on in de story. "Anyway, a tiny time later de king, a feller by de name
Panes
o' Augustus C. Zar, dun declared dat every buddy was gwine be taxed and dat everone had best hightail it to dere hometown t' pay de tax. Joseph an' Virginia Mary, now, dey had t' git t' a liddle town o' Bethleeham for de tax. Dis was a mite unfair in dat Virginia Mary was pert near ready t' haf de Lord's chile. Dey made it to Bethleeham, though. and dey went t' de inn, thinkin' dat Virginia Mary could haf de chile there. Well the innkeeperl he didn't see dat noways— 'cuz de rooms was all filled up wid people who was waitin' to pay de tax. O' course, de innkeep could see dat Joseph dun did haf hisself a problem, so he sed dat dey could spen' de night in de barn. Well, dat was gwine be 'jes fine, Joseph sed, and de baby Jesus was born in de haystacks. "Now you kin 'magine dat hit ain't everyday dat a Missiah is horned — no sir—dis here was sumpin' special. Why, afore Joseph could say "Boo!', dere was a whole mess o' kings an' sich truck — all comin' to see dat chile. And dere was a bunch o' shepherders back a
by Debbie Verlench
iced-paned windows stcire moodily at sad multi-coloured lights blinking pink-shadowed images upon lace-printed snow.
piece who was watchin' dere sheep when dey was infrupted by de angel o' de Lord. De shepherders shook an' shook when dey sawed hit, but de angel said not to worry 'cuz he brought good news — news dat de Chrise chile was horned. De shepherders, o 'course, wanted t' see dis close up, so de Lord lit up a gian' star t' lead dem
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to Bethleeham. Well, when dey got dere, dey sho 'nuff new dat he was de Missiah and dat dere savior was horned. An dem shepherders was so thankful dat dey jes' knelt right down an' sed 'Glory t' God in de highes', an' on Earth peace, goodwill t'wards men!' Now, ah can't think o' a bedder way t' say Merry Christmas, kin you?"
by Karen Cloud
^
Why is it that men should Why is it that friendship is die on this, the birth of the rooted even deeper at this time? King of Men? Why is it that writing ChristWhy is it that there has to be mas cards for hours is a pleaswar in the season of peace? ure and not a drudgery? Why is it that people who haven't uttered a single word to Why is it that the gift cheapyou all year suddenly smile, and est in cost yet abounding with greet you with "Merry Christ- warmth is the one most remembered? Why IS It that people who why is it that at the mention can least afford it are the ones ^f "Santa", even the rowdiest who do not consider high cost ^hild becomes a model youngwhen giving a gift? ster? Why ii. it that the spirit of Why is it that the glimmer in giving happiness to others less a child's eyes cannot be extinfortunate suddenly blooms at guished at Christmas? Christmas? ViTiy is it that it always manWhy is it that singing Christ- ages to snow on Christmas Eve? mas carols for hours — for charity — makes one feel wonder- Why is a walk in the freshly fallen snow something on Christful inside? mas Eve? Why is it that stores set up Christmas displays two weeks Why do I enjoy Midnight Mass before Halloween? more than any other service in the year? Why is it that a family becomes a solid, constructive, lov- In essence then. Why do I enjoy Christmas? ing unit at Christmas?
CLndtmad idt by Cathy Mabrey
"But I want a puppy for Christmas," Jim whined. "Nothing else, just a little puppy." "But don't you see? Your mom doesn't want you to have a dog in the house. You won't ever feed it or take care of it, or take it for a walk, or do anything with it except keep it in the house. Mom will have to clean up the mess, nurse it when it gets sick, and take care of it all the time. And what will it do when you're in school and she's at work?" "Maybe it'll find some friends. It could play with them." "But you can't leave a dog outside all day. How would you like it if I locked the doors and went away, and you couldn't get into the house? And maybe the police would come around and pick the puppy up and take it away." "No, I guess I wouldn't want any of that to happen to my puppy." "What kind of dog would you want?" "What kind could I have?" "Would you be happy with a full-grown dog, or do you want a puppy? Remember, a puppy is just like a baby; you'll have to treat it real gently." "I think I want a puppy. That way you can teach it to do tricks and junk." She laughed, "But you also have to teach a puppy to tell you when it wants to go out.
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and not to do his 'business' on the carpet, and junk." "Don't you want me to have a puppy? Don't you think it would be a good idea?" "Of course I think it's a good idea. But where am I gonna find a puppy for you? Do you have any ideas?" "I don't know. Maybe Midnight will have her puppies. Maybe you could buy one at a pet shop. Maybe you could pick one up off the street. Maybe you could have one follow you • home. . . But if you gave me ing, Jim wasn't quite happy with a puppy for Christmas I would all the presents he got. They be real good. I would take real were mostly clothes, and this good care of it, and I would nev- year he didn't want clothes. He er hurt it, and I would feed it wanted a dog. and walk it an. . . ." He got over to Laura's house "Never mind the pep talk. about 2 p.m. Hoping against I'll see if I can find one for hope that she had what he wantyou." ed, he got more and more exAnd she did. She looked all cited. over for puppies that would be house trained by Christmas. When he got there, his presBut she couldn't find any. There ent was under the tree. It was a mutt, but she didn't like wasn't a puppy or anything even the looks of it; there was a col- resembling a puppy. It was a lie, but it would get too big for small flat box, and he didn't Jim's house, and anyway, she have too much interest in its knew his mother wouldn't like a contents. collie in the house when she "Laura, I wanted a puppy," was away at work. he sulked. As usual, on Christmas morn"Honey, 1 did the best I could.
OnS,now by Sarah Penny
Silent
Snowflakes. . . Driving snow. . . Translucent sheets of crystal. . . ed Swirling, whirling-dervish. Nature's brush. Dawn's light Pliable—awaiting the master waits for morning as Nature sculptor: wind. works her mystical magic of a Snowdrifts. . . winter's eve. Drifting snow. . . Haunted wigwams of the cold. . . Miniature mountains attired in A Year's Death white. . . Ice encased branches tingling by Kathy Steinberger with frost. When winter Comes to the sky Snowbanks. . . Settled snow. . . And the trees try to hide Furrier for clothed pines. . . Their naked branches, My eyes begin to water but Milliner for fence and dwelling. . . Not for long; Blanket of white relief on an An icicle shimmers with the Blue like the depths of an ocean. embattled world.
S^troh
by Wendy Munster
Sparkling lace is silently swaying earthward under tlie glow of a frosted moon. Spring's rapidly rushing brook has ceased its graceful beating and lies by Kathy Steinberger sheltered beneath a soft blanket of silken flakes. A thin curl Branches crack. . . of silver smoke rises from an A pussywillow hangs from isolated cottage into the sky's Its deadend refuge. Embarrassed stars fade in mis- infinite sable beauty, while outside a faint wind twirls through ty carriages trees bewildered as to where it Like worried Cinderellas. A frozen blade of grass ques- should frolic next. Beneath a barren elm the minute tracks of tions a sparrow are lightly brushed The reality of from sight by soft strokes of The sun.
First Cold
Can't you just be happy with what you got?" "But I wanted a puppy. . . ." He opened the small package with his name. While he was occupied, Laura went into her bedroom. When he turned around he saw her holding a tiny beagle in her arms. His eyes lit up; he knew it was for him. She commented to her mother later that night, "Would you believe that at 19 years old, Jim could get so excited about a puppy? You'd think he was only nine!"
THEFORGOTTENGIFT
Sehold, I stand at the door and knock...
by Jim Liptrap
KJuer the iKlver
by Sarah Penny
and
JhrouahT
Although daylight still lingered, the neon signs of Chicago flashed their commercial X-mas messages. "Short of cash? Next year, put your dollars in an X-mas savings account. By Jingo!" "Fly Rooftop airlines. Santa says 'It's a dear.' " "Whatever happened to the Christ in Christmas?" moaned SaUy to her mother as their car sped down the Kennedy Expressway. "How are kids supposed to learn the real meaning of Christmas if all they ever hear is 'gimme, gimme, gimme; money, toys, and candy? It makes me sick." The Kennedy merged with the Dan Ryan; the Dan Ryan, with the skyway. Soon they were traveling the Indiana "Tollway, on the way to her grandparents' house in Michigan. They approached the first tollway station. West Point. A sign strung between eight reindeer proclaimed, "the Indiana Toll-
the
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way wishes you a Merry X-mas." "1 can see it all now, the Gary Steelworks belching red and green smoke in honor of the Xmas spirit," Sally commented. "Everything is so commercialized. The grocery store really made me mad. selling Christmas cards, with a picture of a tipsy Santa, and the inscription, 'Hope everything is jMerry merry 1' I guess they wanted to include New Year's, too." Snow began to flutter down. Little tufts of grass peered timidly above the drifting snrfw. An unwanted paper cup skidded across the road. The t i r e s hummed the miles away, creating a drowsy drone. Sally flicked on the radio. '. . .And now Ex-Em-Ay-Es radio in Chicago presents Matt Carol's pop version of 'It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.' " "Good grief! You can't es-
cape the modem materialism of Christmas anywhere!" groaned Sally, and promptly snapped off the radio. They lapsed into silence. Holy silence. Charley Finley's ranch was bedecked with the X-mas spirit. A sign attached to the lightening rods above the barn read, "Merry Christmas from the Oakland A's." Santa and his reindeer, stymied in their flight over the swimming pool, were strung between a light pole and the bath house. "Santa needs Rooftop airlines!" laughed Sally. They exited the tollway at LaPorte. The snow had really begun to fly. It failed, however, to obscure from vision, the "Farmer Friday's Fabulous Fir Trees " sign and its sequel, "You just missed Farmer Friday's Fabulous Fir Trees." "I think the true Christmas spirit got buried in the snow," (CONTINUED ON PAGE 5)
9Sriant '9
rJLcCLCG
''y Wendy Monster
Bits of lace so fair and white, Intricate designs from a distant height Swirl through the sky then softly light Under the shimmering silver stars of a winter's night. A gust of wind lifts the flakes up high And sends them soaring through the sky. They frolic on the dancing breeze Then settle to earth on arching trees. Tomorrow when the dawn has come Their merry travels will be done. As melted raindrops they shall fly Back to glacial clouds which frame the sky.
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anae 9'
by Karen Sundberg
As time goes on I think of what I've not yet done. Though my past has not been marked by too many wasted Moments, I know I could have made my time more Precious by living each second with an acute awareness Of Ufe and those about me. But. then New Years is close, so I'll re.solve To amend myself next year. Of What do I dream? I Am not so easily Changed! A full Life needs Time.
.
<C0NT1NUED FROM PAGE 4)
Sally commented glumly. "I'm so glad we bought the new tree balls for Grandma and Grandpa!" "They might not even have a tree. You know, it's hard for them to go out in the cold and snow," came the reply from her mother. "But, knowing Grandma, I'm sure she tried." Sally was confident. They branched off the main freeway onto the Red Arrow Highway, a sparsely traveled road. What a .shame to ruin the unblemished snow with car tracks! The sand dunes by the
highway were frosted white. As they neared their destination, sights became more familiar. Soon they entered the city limits, and passed through to the other side, in order to get to the farm. Sherman's Dairy Bar rose in solitude, a cold specter of the busy summer days of cones and shakes. The drive-in windows were opaque with frost. Snow, which gained velocity as it blew across the prairie was driven with gusto into the yellow brick. The building was rendered a frozen hulk of ice.
er from the road box, and bounded into the house. "I've got a tree." Grandma smiled at her grand-daughter. "It's on the back porch. We searched all morning for the perfect one to cut, and finally found this one down by Maple Grove." After dinner, Sally began to decorate the tree, which traditionally stood in the corner of the room. Her grandfather sat in his red chair, intermittently watching the activity, nodding in approval, offering advice, and dozing. The new balls flashed and -Arriving at the farm, Sally sparkled, reflecting the light retrieved the evening newspap- from the bulbs. Suspended ici-
cles glistened. Tinsel ropes linked the old and new. In the window, candles flickered. Sally's grandmother bustled into the room as they prepared to go to Christmas Eve services. She stopped in awe as her eyes lit on the Christmas tree. Tradition, touched by youth, had renewed the meaning of Christmas. "Ohhhhâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;" Sally stepped outside into the nippy air. Her eyes were drawn upward. Millions of stars twinkled in the clear, midnight sky. "Merry Christmas," she whispered softly.
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by Chip Evans well, old boy, i figure it's time to catsup dispenser shoot off a letter to you. seeing as you are fast becoming another bearded hippie in my mug shot book of friends . . . I mean, we have to get together and scratch each other's itches for a while, agreed? with that you will hear my $.59 cold pizza, rotten band-aid lecture on what we're doing, i mean, i'vc known you a long time now, ricky, and we've been philospphers, screamers, and nuts together, we've gotten to know each other so well, old buddy, that we've stop putting on . . . haven't we? you can pacific ocean see what i am, ricky, and i think i can pretty well put
on my old tinted glasses and rip up that stupid tradition and being the original submarine Illook into you, too. so, i linois fisherman writers, we'd think we better just do that, buy ourselves a present, i'd friend, and come to some an- buy me one and you'd buy you swers, i don't mean we have one. then, two days before Christmas we'd call each other to make laws for everything, up and scream in the key of you know that, i just think we c, "merry Christmas." ought to figure out what we're doing, i mean, Christmas is we weren't coming up soon and how am i trying to be sacreligious or anygoing to give me anything if i thing 'cause we figured out that don't know me? do you remem- Christmas is just a feeling like ber when we figured that out, a hand on burnt toast, it can rick? you know, that Christ- come anytime and be as good mas present thing where you or bad as you want it to be. . mortgage house, car, and wife you've gotta kinda make it what in order not to leave anybody off you want 'cause it's only a feelyour list? and how the hospital ing like. .sees you 'cause you're ready to so, what kill yourself 'cause you can't i'm getting at, ricky, is this think of anything to get agnes. Christmas is going to be hard, we sure figured that out, didn't i mean for us to call . even last we, rick? you and me, we'd year when you were at yonder
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sunny California college we managed . . . but this year i don't think it's possible, right? i mean, you're not getting acquitted, right? and if those twelve ice cream cone jurors give ya the axe, then i figure you'll be in before our big day. i mean, there's no chance for a call in jail and that way you can't get yourself a present, that kinda wrecks it, right? so, ricky that's why i'm writing, i figured that if they shovel dump ya into the metal then it's time we broke contact, kay? so, this Christmas i'll dial r-i-c-k-y and yell "merry Christmas", but you won't hear, pretend, kay? and this time around, i'm breaking the contract, rick, i think i'll give ya something. my love . . . . kay?
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Christmas was nearing in Chicago and commercialism was at its very best and goodwill at its very worst. State Street was lined with phoney-bearded Santa's, clanging away with their tinseled bells—hoping for sizable donations, but getting the usual pennies, nickels, dimes sort of thing. The Loop was jammed to the limits of its capacity on this December 24—Christmas Eve. "Where is the spirit of Christm a s ? " I wondered as I trotted briskly to work from the train station. I knew well why the city had been nicknamed "The Windy City." Some words from a song by Lou Rawls rushed through my mind. "The wind, the all mighty Hawk—really sock'n it to you." It was sock'n it to the city this morning, all right. It tore at my scarf, whistled up and under my coat only to be met by its tail that was rushing down my neck. It lifted my skirt and licked my knees with an icy tongue. I wondered why all these stupid people had come down here in this weather. I arrived at work—cursing every Christmas decoration I saw. People were rushing around, trying to keep warm. I was jostled, pushed, and shoved through the door. "It was a good thing the door pushed inward," I thought, "or else I would most likely be decked out in the true spirit of Christmas—red." The clock blared out the fact that I was late. I hurried and changed into my immaculate blue uniform. I took a deep breath and walked over to report to the floor manager. "'Where do you want me to work?" I asked. Inside I was desperately praying: Oh please don't put me behind Candy, please. I can't take another day there." "I need you behind candy." I lost the rest of what he said as my mind uttered all the oaths I could conjure up. I took my place behind the counter, unlocked the register, and put on my paper-mache smile and got ready for the first customer. I saw her approaching—old, fat, and decidedly picky. "Good morning ma'm; can I help
^
L^ount
you?" "I want two pounds of the Christmas mix you have advertised." Oh, no. "I'm sorry, we're all out. . ." "It was advertised. I have it right here in the paper Christmas Mix: 39 cents a pound." "Yes, I know, we just didn't expect such an overwhelming response." "You stores are all alike. . ." I hurried over to wait upon a thin sharp-nosed spinster looking at the cookies. "Can I help you?" "Are these cookies fresh?" Oh brother! "Yes, we just got them yesterday." I lied. "They look like the same cookies you had here a week ago!" That figures. "Oh, no. ma'm. You see they're the same cookies, but these are different because they're not the same cookies. . ." My voice trailed off. I figured I wasn't making a good case for the limp-looking cookies. Oh, to be back in the safe office—where I usually worked unless we were exceptionally busy, like today. I had been victimized, I decided, as I measured out the lady's cookies. It was all a plot! As I rang up her money a thousand voices seemed to yell, "Hey miss, I was next!" I decided to work down the line. As the line grew longer, my temper grew shorter. A man in a brown suit wanted a pound of chocolate covered peanuts, "and oh, could I change that to a half a pound of chocolate peanuts and mix it with a half a pound of raisins?" A lady waddled up. (Did 1 say lady?) in a pink mini-skirt. She wondered through red painted lips, "Would I be so kind as to tell her where the belts were?" "Second floor—there's an escalator right over there." Her beady eyes under blacked eyebrows looked suspiciously at the candy. "Are those—no they couldn't be—chocolate covered raisins? I've looked all over town for them." She looked expectantly at ray face. Well ma'am, you couldn't have looked very far, everyone has them. I turned back in as she was saying, "I'll take—no—
by Debbie Verlench
I'll come back later, well, maybe I will. . ." I left her to wait on a group of school girls. I noticed her vampire-red mouth had dropped open. The floor man came over and said I could go to lunch: Glory Hallelujah. The rush after lunch was even worse. "Can I help you, sir?" I asked a stooped and gnarled man. "Bag a peanuts." "What Idnd, sir?" I knew what would happen, so I mentally plugged my ears. "I SAID I WANTED A BAG OF PEANUTS—WHATS THE MATTER WITH YOU GIRL? ARE YOU DEAF OR SOMETHING?" Ignoring the startled glances around me, I gave him a bag of Spanish peanuts. Naturally he had to re-weigh them to make sure he was getting his money's worth. As I rang the sale up, I noticed a stealthy movement on my side. An elderly matron had slipped a handful of candy bars in her purse. "I'm sorry, ma'am. All candy has in be paid for here at the candy counter." "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." "The candy you borrowed and put in your purse. "
"Are you accusing me of. . . ? " "Not at all. If you'll just pay for it here." "Well, I never.. Where's the manager?" "COUNTER 8 " I yeUed. The floor man hurried over. "What's wrong?" I heard him mentally add "now." "This lady," That's all the further 1 got. She had pulled the candy out of her purse and thrown it at me. "Well I never," she said. "Never have I met anyone.. .Well, I will just do my . shopping at Woolworths. I never liked Kresge's anyhow." I just looked at the floor man, he looked at me. He told me to • go take my break now. I took it—plus fifteen minutes extra. The after-my-break-rush was worse than ever. My paper mache smile had long since cracked and shattered. I mimicked each customer in my mind unmercifully. I became aware of the tinseled Santa Claus bells. They harmonized with my jangling nerves. Clang, Clang, Clang. "Yes, what can I do for you? ' "I'm sorry little boy, we don't sell penny candy. No you have to buy at least ten cents worth. But I told you, you can't buy just one malted milk ball. All right, here, where's your . penny?" Each customer was worse
than the last. It never occurred to me that my face frowmed - more and more. The afternoon wore on. I took fiendish pleasure in yelling "Counter 8" whenever anything went wrong. / The weary floor man would hurry over. I would explain the situation to him and then leave it in his hands. The warning bell sounded that the store was about to close. The crowd had thinned out. A tired looking woman with six happily jabbering children smiled wanly at me. "Yes?" Evidently 1 had said it more sharply than I had intended. The children had stopped their playfulness to look at me. "I'm sorry. Can I help you?" She looked at me hesitantly. "If you're not too busy, could " I please have six half-pound bags of Spanish peanuts?" The children were deathly still. I felt the color suffuse into my face. "Of course it's not
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too much trouble." I filled each bag with a pound instead of a half pound. Angerily I told rayself, "Surely I can afford to pay for the extra three pounds." The lady noticed. I went into an elaborate explanation of how we had lowered the price of a pound of peanuts to that of a half pound so they wouldn't get stale over the holiday." I believe she saw through me. She smiled. I handed each child his bag. I noticed that even though their clothes were thin and much mended, they were happy. Each child was so excited about a bag of peanuts. As I gave the last package to the littlest girl, her black hair braided into numerous braids, she clasped the peanuts to her chest and whispered with shining eyes, "Thank you." I saw very clearly where all the Christmas Spirit came from. It came from the heart.
I'^'^roblem
Success only blesses a few individuals, such as Vic Delaney. It was that "certain something" about him—money, and plenty of it. Further down Fifth Avenue was one of his forty-two weight reducing centers. As usual there was a big crowd in front of it. Vic's success depended upon these crowds but something was wrong. Normally the people were attracted by Tammy, a very shapely employee who demonstrated the practices of weight reducing exercises in the front window. Vic had to laugh. Imagine the hundreds of fat old ladies who ccnsistantly doled out their money in hopes of looking like Tammy, he thought. Still realizing that his income depended on such ladies, he was thankful that he was in America, "Land of the Overfed," and in recognition, threw a reveranl bow to God. Then Vic began to think. It was Tammy's day off. What was drawing the crowd, anyway? Could it have been an accident? Vic had to know. He made his way through the crowd for the doorway. It had vanished—gone and out-ofsight. In front of him was the reason—the backside of a five hundred pound plus man,
'Look what I found in our butler's closet!'
by Craig Wilson
apparently stuck in the doorway. Inside the building, people were pushing him trying to get him out. Outside the people were trying to push him in. He was really stuck! Vic stepped back, "Stand aside, folks, give me some room," he shouted. The people followed instructions as Vic took another step back, took a deep breath, and rushed the awesome figure. Shoving the backside of a five hundred (wund hunk of flab was a hard task. Vic soon found that out as he rebounded off the figure and landed in the street. However, the force of the blow was enough to loosen the hunk from the doorway, and the abnormally wide man walked in the building. "I guess you came here to lose weight. You've come to the right place." Vic looked the figure over, "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" The man remained standing, because he didn't want to risk getting stuck in a chair. He was annoyingly jolly. "As a matter of fact, I did come here to lose weight, and I must lose it before the Winter season. The Missus has been giving me too much home cook-
ing. Up where I live you have to have a little bit of fat for the Winter, but my condition got out of hand, you understand," the man chuckled. He was quite a sight, from his scuffed black boots to his big red nose. He had malted white hair and a woolly white beard. "Do you drink much alcohol?" was Vic's immediate question regarding the nose. "It gets cold where I live. My face is just weathered." "I'm sorry, I forgot to ask your name." "Just call me S.C." "O.K. Mr. S.C, just where do you want to lose weight? Do you want bigger biceps, stronger legs . . . "I could use the extra muscles, but all I really want is to lose enough so I can fit in chimneys this year. You knowhow it is." "Sure I know how it is. What is this anyway, some kind of fraternity initiation. I know what you're leading up to. I suppose you're going to tell me you're Santa Claus. Let me tell you something. You could lose twenty pounds easy just by cutting off that ridiculous beard. Looking at that nose of
yours, I'd still say you're a wino. I wiU kindly ask you to leave my office!" Vic was obviously disgusted with the man, who tried to look like Santa i'laus. The man left without even saying good-bye. Luckily, there was a back door to the office wide enough to fit him. Vic sat down to think about his strategic maneuver. After all, he had to put a stop to such "pranks" the college students pulled. The door opened, only this time Vic recognized the familiar figure of Tammy. She had a rather horrified look. "I just saw Santa Claus walk out of your back door. The poor man explained how you ruthlessly threw him out of your office, when all he wanted was to lose some weight. Vic, how could you?" she whined. Vic could only laugh. "Tammy, don't you know that Santa Claus is only for little children. Did he tell you why he wanted to lose weight?" Tammy started to cry, "Yes, he did, and when I asked him how he could deliver presents without getting down the chimneys, he told me he couldn't and walked away with a rather bitter 'Ho. Ho, Ho.' "
eJjeaif
S^anta
by Meredith Nichols DEAR SANTA CLAUS. . . The last lime I was at the youth center, we were having a hard time with the kids. They were excited about Christmas for the first time. This year they would be receiving presents, sing Christmas carols, and go to a Christmas service at the church. I was helping out with the eight and nine year olds. We were to give the committee some vague idea as to the gifts that would be appropriate for our age group. We decided to assemble them in one corner of the recreation hall and ask them to write a letter to Santa Claus in care of his helper who would attend the party. (Santa's helper would come, we told the kids, just in case they recognized the social worker who had volunteered to play the part). I told them that I would deliver the letters to Santa's helper of the south side of Chicago, and he would "see what he could do". It was too bad, but we just couldn't raise their hopes too high. Here are a few of the letters:
Dear Santa Clawss, You should see my jackette! you think you could fix it? If you can't maybe a baseball mit would sure be nise. Love, Joseph
(^icaud Dear Santa Claus, Could you bring a Bible along for my Gram? She used to like to sit by the raditer (radiator) and read one but it's gone now. She could read it to me and then at Sunday school I'd no the verse and show those wise guys. Love, Margret Dear Santa Claus, You could close down a few bars and get some bran-new shoes which are thik for Charlie because he is almost bare feet. He's not very big, so get little shoes. I could sure use a football. Love, Tony Dear Snna Cluss, don't bodter. I can tak ker of my sef jes fin. And ef i wan ana thig I can stil it wit my beg brodder ani wa. Doug o k , r w > . . . . •"
T decided to write one myself; Dear Santa Claus, See what you can do.
(^nrldtmad Christmas Eve. last two.
Just like the
Dear santa Claus, Could you get me a turkey leg? Only this year it was differTher wasn' one left on Thanks ent. This was the Christmas givingday. Also maybe a doll. that Sue's husband, Tony, was xxxxx. Laura supposed to be home. Dear Santa Clause, Please try to get a doll with black hair and black skin like mine. Then she would try to be just like my Ma's new baby. I asked around, and there really is such a thing. Love, Sadie Dear Santa Clause, Make Dad stay home for all day and maybe Ma will laugh. And be sure he is sobber. And I want please a jim shoe and a basketball. Love, Dan P.S. I wiU share the basketbaU, onest.
She had known since she got his letter three days ago that he wouldn't be home. His release date from the Marines was December 23, but he wouldn't be able to get a helicopter lift out of Viet Nam until the 29th. In his letter he told her this, teasingly commenting that she had better not meet "the plane he had at first planned to catch. ^ _, . „ , ,.j „ On Christmas Eve she didn t bother to defrost the turkey. She threw out the bread crusts she had been saving for the dressing, and froze her freshly baked nut bread.
by Chris Hahn
Spirit To keep from ;'ettiug too bored, she decorated her Christmas Tree and wrapped Tony's presents. Sitting alone on the floor next to her tree, she made a toast, "To the 'Christmas Spirit' of those fink Marine lieu tenants that kept my Tony from coming home." But she couldn't drink the wine after ihat. At midnight, when she had her hair in rollers and cold cream on her face, she heard a knock at the front door of the apartment. Expecting her brother, the cold cream came off — she wouldn't dare answer the door with it on because he would tease her.
by Cathy Mabrey
She was swooped off her feet by the marine she had married. •Tony . . . Oh my God! Tony . . . Oh Honey!" "They made room on the last 'copter for me," he explained, just as excited and happy as his wife. The tears were streaming down her cheeks as she hugged her husband for the first time in fifteen months, and she silently thanked those finky Marine lieutenants for their Christmas spirit. . \\\Q
AwaitlPlQ ^
by Kathy Steinberger The knock was repeated, and The winter is white with wild .^e rushed to the door, still wipfury; • ^^ ^.^eam off. Snow has fallen. Silence hushes the wind. She unlocked the door and opened it. "Brian, why. . . ." While the earth awaits the esBut she didn't finish. cape of spring.