The Marvel
Trees
The Christmases I remember most as a kid in New Jersey are the ones that began
late at night on Christmas Eve when the snow was on the ground and all the
stores had closed. We waited for them to close because we knew that their
outdoor Christmas tree stands would be closed too. Then we would leave and go
downtown, and that's when the marvel began.
My mother never went with us; it was always
me and my father. She used to say it was too cold and she'd remind us as we put
on our coats that we wanted a big one and a full one. I knew that was no problem
though; it would be both by the time my father got through.
There wasn't much money then. My father had
two jobs; one at the Gas Works and one at home each night and on the weekends
when he fixed neighbors' cars. I would hold the flashlight for him and hand him
tools, like a nurse does with a surgeon, until we both got too cold to stay out
in the yard anymore.
"Come on, Wimp (that was my nickname
then), let's go," and we were off.
My father would take the car beyond
its usual path to downtown and start at the end of Potter Street where the
Texaco gas station used to be.
Then he'd stop at each place that had sold Christmas trees. And each place was
about the same; the trees that didn't sell were still there, lined up in
front of the store window, all leaning against a rope, and each with a price tag
hanging from one of the upper branches so the people did not have to lean over
to see how much it was. Of course, when we got there the trees were all over the
place. Some were still standing in front of the window, some leaning over on
each other, and most just scattered around on the sidewalk.
My father would stop the car at each place
and I would approach the trees. He would just sit behind the wheel watching me
through the frosted
window. Without saying a word, I would hold each tree up so he could see
it. He didn't say anything either; he'd just study it for a while and then shake
his head and I'd go on to the next one. At that time of night on Christmas Eve
there were no shapely trees left. We went on like that until he nodded
yes. And that was it; I'd put the tree in the car and then I'd collect an armful
of broken branches that were always lying about. I'd put them into the car too,
and then we'd leave. I didn't think about it until years later, but we never
took anything but a tree and some branches. There were always tree stands
(wood and metal) that we could have taken, and sometimes some wreathes that the
shopkeeper had left hanging on pegs. But we never touched them. We just
got our tree and branches and left. Then the marvel began to take shape.
The branches I gathered were very important.
As I said before, at that time on Christmas Eve there were never any really good
trees left. All of
them had a bad side, a large gap somewhere or crooked branches. But it really
didn't make much difference for as soon as we got home and showed what we had to
my mother my father and I would take everything into the cellar. He would take
off his coat, put the tree into an old wooden stand he had made a number of
years before and then study it. He'd stand in one place, then another, turn the
tree, adjust the stand, then straighten it up and move it again. He never said
much when he was doing this. He'd just walk around it, stop, look at it then do
it again. After a few minutes he'd get his drill (it was a hand drill in those
days). With just his eye and no measures taken he would drill a hole in the
trunk and then take one of the branches I had gathered and put it in the hole
(usually after whittling it down a bit so the fit was tight). And he'd do that
until the bad side, the gap, and the crooked branches disappeared. It was
marvelous. When he finished, the tree looked just like the ones in the Sears
Roebuck catalogue. Then we'd take it upstairs and decorate it. Sometimes he
would wait until the morning to decorate it. It depended a lot on how cold it
was and how many branches he had to insert.
I haven't had a tree like that since I left
home. My dad's gone now, but not the marvel. I feel it every time I see a
boy pulling a tree out of
the pile and turning it to see how it looks. If he only knew what he could do
with it with the right father and a cellar like the one I had.
Bill Schafer
Boppananny@aol.com
Judge Schafer's Web Site = http://hometown.aol.com/boppananny/index.html