December 15 (part 1)

Christmas Eve 1935

By Done Schaubert

The twilight deepened, and smoke struggled to rise through the softly falling snow that spiraled slowly from dark chimneys almost hidden by the white, cottony fluff covering the rooftops. Light, escaping through the stained glass windows of St. Francis Church on the corner of Whitney and Orange Streets, cast colored bands across the snow-covered streets.

Strains of “Silent Night” drifted through the neighborhood from the final rehearsal before Midnight Mass, a Mass that would usher in Christmas 1935 in my hometown of Rochester, New York.

I can still hear that beautiful melody, and fifty-four years later, I can still imagine colored band of light stretching across the snow-blanketed streets, the snowflakes falling through the light turning all the colors of the rainbow.

I remembered how my boots made crunchy sounding footprints in the new snow. My newspaper deliveries were now almost finished – one more stop, then home for Christmas Eve! How I had looked forward to this day! How different this delivery would be; besides newspapers, I had sixty calendars to present to sixty customers. I hoped they would remember my faithful services and tip generously. It was the depression, and times were tough; any extra money would be needed at home.

My dad, like millions of other unemployed, took those bleak times in stride. Each morning he was up and gone before we five kids came down for breakfast. He might find work for a day or, if lucky, two, maybe three days. Such luck, however, was hard to come by. Still, with Dad’s persistence, my three or four dollars a week from the paper route, and Mom’s scrimping, we survived. And some generous tips would make our Christmas a little merrier, maybe even put a few more gifts under the tree and a turkey on the table!

The snowfall covered my sled’s tracks quickly; the few passers-by looked out of white darkness like huge wound-up toy snowmen. One more delivery!

My mackinaw pockets were heavy with silver coins; there were even two one dollar bills buried among the change. The box one my sled was loaded with presents given to me by customers glad of the service.

In the thirties, it was the custom to give gifts at Christmas to the mailman, the milkman, the garbage man, and of course, the paper boy. These gifts were usually something handmade, something simple – a scarf, a hat, home-baked cookies, nuts, or oranges. I looked forward to sharing these goodies with my brothers and sisters.

Before I was aware of the time passing, I found myself in front of a large gray building. Over a set of massive doors, hung a large, black sign with gold lettering, partially obscured by the accumulated snow. But I knew the sign well: Jacob Straussner Dry Goods. Inside the glass windows that loomed on each side of the doors appeared a veritable treasure-trove of gifts; a feast for the eyes of a young boy intent upon shopping for Christmas.

In the dim light supplied by weak bulbs overhead, I gazed at all the possible gifts for mom and dad, my brothers and sisters. In the left window, I peered at men’s dress shirts and ties, sweaters, and gloves, shoes and socks. There were women’s dresses and aprons and hats. In the right window, a serious-looking teddy bear, sitting next to a child’s play set of enameled tin dishes, stared at me. Checker boards, paint sets, tops harmonicas, and a jack knife, competed for my attention; I stared long at the jack knife, for purely selfish reasons.

Pulling myself away from the windows, I lifted the box cover piled high with snow, and from among my gifts, took out the last paper and calendar. My last delivery; this was the one I had waited for all day.

Now, for some serious shopping! I opened the door and the tell-tale bell rang overhead. Mr. Straussner appeared quickly, popping up like one of his jack-in-the-box men. He was small and gnome-like, with large eyes peering out through glasses that sat on unusually large ears. When he smiled, a lone gold tooth shone like a beacon through the gloom of his dimly-lit store. I wished him a Merry Christmas as I handed him his paper and calendar; seconds later, one more dollar bill joined the other two in the depths of my mackinaw.

Excitedly, I prowled the store looking for gifts, Mr. Straussner followed close behind. Call it remarkable coincidence, but every gift I purchased seemed to be on sale that afternoon.

With my business completed and another “Merry Christmas” to Mr. Straussner, I opened the massive door and stepped out into the storm. Five more blocks and I would be home. Behind me, in the snow-covered box, were gifts for the entire family, and in my weighted pockets was a special gift for mom and dad, a gift that would ease their worries for a few days.

It was with more than a little pride that I walked into our home on Campbell Street that Christmas Eve, many years ago.