By Seán C. Malone and John Sweetman
As very young children, Christmas was always an exciting and wondrous time, but not for the same reasons that adults experienced. We were totally taken in by the family and church gatherings. Religious rituals, stories, and experiences were just taken for granted. We did have the eminently logical questions that 4- and 5-year-olds ask: “Were the wise men really smart? “Where is the guiding star now?” “Why do camels have those lumpy backs?”
“Mom! What is ‘frankincense’?” She answered, “It’s kind of a perfume!” “You mean that smelly stuff grandma puts on her wrists?” Exasperated, she would reply, “Something like that, now go feed the dog!“
And the answers would be mysterious adult answers that we would accept with childish aplomb. Until adult patience wore out and the answer would be, “Here! Lick these beater blades!” Mom usually was making cookies, cakes, and whatever, always with lots of sugar frosting or whipped cream. That would shut up the questions for a while from my sister and I. We were not much more than a year apart, so we were natural partners in any mischief or crime, while our younger brother was too young to be other than a nuisance.
While we accepted all the Christmas stories of the Christ child, the angels, the wise men and such, the Santa Claus issue filled us with doubt, and my sister and I were not so sure.
We had been taken to the Bon Marché to shop and visit Santa. On the way from Coleman Dock, however, we saw all kinds of “Santas” on the street corners. We stood in line to see Santa who was perched on a large chair and took kids upon his lap. It turns out this was just a subtle interrogation technique, as when I finally got on his lap, the first thing he asked me was, “Have you been good?”
This turned out to be my first use of the concept of “plausible” deniability, as I stuttered lamely, “Well, mostly.” I had been somewhat unfairly accused of licking the frosting off some cookies, but in my defense, I was merely sharing with my little brother and our dog. I remembered that the week before I’d gotten in trouble for taking apart a clock to see what made it tick, and my sister and I had licked the top cream off a milk bottle.
In those days, we had milk delivery and the glass bottles were delivered in early morning to our outside porch. The night had been cold and the freezing weather had pushed a cylinder of cream up the neck of the bottle. My sister and I scooped the cream up and cleverly put the little round cardboard cap back on. None of this fooled mom, so we were in trouble. I don’t know what my sister told mom, but she was a lot more experienced in the “plausible deniability” concept than I was.
Later that night, my sister and I put our heads together and compared notes: “He smelled like Grampa.” “I don’t think he had a real beard! How do we know he was the real Santa?” The “smelling like” part meant that Santa smelled like cigars, and maybe a touch of “Old Overholt” rye whiskey.
We opened gifts on Christmas Eve. Grampa opened a box and said, “Look what Santa gave me!” It was a box of “Juan de Fuca” cigars. I piped up and said, “I thought Santa was coming tonight! Did we miss him? And I thought he brought presents for kids!”
Gramma rose to his defense! “Santa has lots of helpers and Grampa is a kid, too! He’s just older than you two!”
My sister and I took that statement under considered advisement, and after some quiet conference, stated we wanted to wait up for Santa. It was decided that we could sit in a large chair and wait for Santa, but we had to put out a plate of cookies and some milk, as Santa might be hungry after his nights’ work.
We settled down in the chair and read a book, but one thing led to another, so we got up to check the stockings hung on the fireplace mantel. Empty. Then we looked up the fireplace skeptically: “How is he going to come down this? It’s dirty and he was pretty fat!”
We had to pass the table with the cookies and milk set out. “Just a little nibble won’t be noticed.” After several checks of the situation, we found that there were no more cookies, and the milk was gone. No replacement cookies were on hand.
“What can we do now?” After a bit of discussion, one of us came up with a brilliant alternative plan. “I know! Santa likes cigars!” So, we pilfered one of Grampa’s cigars and put it on the plate.
Next morning found us both in our beds. We got up and rushed downstairs, and sure enough! Our stockings were filled, and I had an “Erector Set” under the tree and my sister and brother had things also! The cigar was gone.
My sister and I conferred and agreed. “Santa likes cigars!” That fact was to be our secret. We still could not resolve the multiple Santa mystery, but agreed to “wait ‘till next year” to try again to catch Santa at work.
