‘Dear Santa’

1964 promised to be a golden Christmas

Story by Steve A. Maze

Even though it has been more than three decades, it doesn’t seem that long ago that I assisted my daughter with her annual letter to Santa.

I couldn’t help but chuckle as we assembled her wish list each December. I wasn’t laughing at the huge number of items she was requesting from Santa. It was because her Santa note reminded me of a letter I mailed to St. Nick when I was a kid going back to the late 1950s.

My mother usually helped me with my Santa letter. Unfortunately, she always cut the length of my wish list down to three items before personally mailing the letter to the North Pole.

I made up my mind that the Christmas of 1964 would be different.

Lois Lyons, my second grade teacher, had done a good job of teaching me to read and write the year before, so I decided I could send a letter to the Jolly Ole Elf without Mother’s help.

To put my plan into action, I first had to secretively find the Sears-Roebuck catalog. Then I leafed through the pages and began writing up my wish list.

It wasn’t long before I filled up five full sheets of notebook paper intended for schoolwork. But I reasoned the paper was being used for educational purposes – after all, I did a lot of adding while totaling up the items on the list.

I was especially careful not to forget the most desperately needed items from my list: baseball uniform, complete cowboy outfit with boots and hat, basketball goal, pup tent, sleeping bag, walkie talkies, Swiss Army knife, pool table, ping pong table and a bicycle.

I knew mother wouldn’t be happy unless I asked for some clothes, so I listed a variety of those as well – some like the other kids wore to school, not the ones Santa normally brought me.

In my humble opinion, I had been especially good that year, so I felt justified in asking for a few “surprises,” such as a microscope, telescope, baseball cards, a little cash

and other miscellaneous items.

With the list finally completed, I stuffed it into a plain white envelope. The flap would not fold completely over the bulging envelope, so I pulled it over as far as it would go and taped it.

Then I scrawled Santa’s name and “North Pole” on the front of the envelope. Not wanting Kris Kringle to deliver my bounty to another kid by mistake, I added my name and return address to the upper left hand corner of the envelope.

Even at my young age, I knew the post office would not deliver a letter without a stamp. It seemed I had seen some postage stamps in the kitchen junk drawer, so I sneaked off to see if I could find one.

All I found were some Gold Bond trading stamps – similar to S&H Green Stamps – that grocery stores once gave shoppers. I figured a stamp was a stamp, so I stuck one on the upper right corner of the envelope.

Recalling that Mother sometimes put two stamps on thick envelopes, I licked another Gold Bond stamp and stuck it beside the first one. Better safe than sorry.

I slipped out of the house and placed the letter in our mailbox. I even raised the flag so the mailman would pick up and deliver my unedited list on time. Now, all I had to do was wait for the “big day.” To my surprise it came the next morning … but it wasn’t Christmas.

When the phone rang, Mother answered it. I tried but couldn’t hear who she was talking to. It didn’t sound good, though. “Yes,” she affirmed, “I have a son named Steve.” A slight smile grew on her face as the conversation continued. “What kind of stamp?” Mumble, crackle. Mumble, crackle.

“How many pages?”

Mumble, crackle. Mumble, crackle.

“What ? The longest Santa letter you have ever received?”

Mother turned and looked at me, phone to her ear, and burst into hysterics.

My face grew redder with each passing moment until it matched St. Nick’s Christmas suit.

The gig was up.

Someone at the North Pole had ratted me out.

So everything on my list got whacked out but three measly items. To top if off, the only “surprise” I got that Christmas was a telephone call, this one from some idiot at the post office who identified himself as one of Santa’s elves.

I hadn’t been that embarrassed since I tried to cure a headache by taking one of my mother’s birth control pills that I found hidden in the junk drawer with the Gold Bond stamps. But that’s another story.