MERRY CHRISTMAS 2004

A Very Special Christmas - 1968

By Ken Thompson

     One of the best memories I have of my childhood in Brooklyn is the Christmas season and going with my Mom to buy our Christmas tree.

     My mother was a pro at evaluating trees, criticizing their attributes and, negotiating price. It was not uncommon for us to visit ten sellers and spend five hours getting our tree. For her it was not just buying a tree but a process and expedition that came with the season. While my sister and I would bemoan the weather and the time spent we knew it was all part of a once-a-year event and were pleased to participate.

     She would locate a tree she liked and would ask the manager to hold it for a little while. With one tree in her pocket, so to speak, she would go to another grocery or hardware store to see what might be available and what might be a better deal… all the while having us tag along.

     Once a tree worthy of our home was selected, my job was to go back to each of the stores holding a tree for us and tell them that we decided to buy elsewhere. I didn’t like this part but it was part of the process. Most of the vendors were okay with freeing up the tree though some would offer to cut their price to make the sale.

     My sister and I were brought along to learn and to carry the ultimately selected tree back to our apartment. My parents never owned a car so having kids or one of those drag-behind grocery carts was essential. Kids were the better solution for carting a tree.

     As a smart Brooklyn yute I learned well and prided myself on my own Christmas tree buying skills. When I got to be an older teenager, I was entrusted to go by myself to buy the tree. No matter how well I did, even after telling my Mom that I paid less for the tree than I actually did, the tree was never quite as good as she and my sister could have gotten. They wouldn’t have me return or exchange it but they would let me know that they could have done better… with a smile. This yearly lesson helped me better refine my skills and was all part of growing up in "my" Brooklyn.

     After I was married, the annual Christmas outing to buy the perfect(!) tree was more fun than ever. My wife didn’t have hardly any of the refined skills of Christmas tree evaluation and acquisition, and saw the outing as an event that was interesting but which took her away from more important and pressing seasonal chores.

     In all honesty she was right but I saw Christmas tree buying as a demonstration of my manly skills that (here I beat my chest with both hands) showed that I was the provider and head of the house and home. She knew my sensitive side and allowed me to harbor such thoughts to protect my delicate and fragile ego.

     Those first three years in our small attic apartment were simply and absolutely happy. Each year our Christmas tree was so small that we set it upon a small snack table but decorated it to the hilt. The hung balls were always blue and green and the strung lights were blue and green, all to match the color décor of our living room which was blue and green. I loved those Christmases for lots of reasons.

     1968 would be different though. In the spring our daughter was born and I would in no way tolerate her being traumatized by a teeny tree decorated in two complementary colors, no matter how fashionable. OUR daughter would be greeted by ALL the colors of lights and balls and tinsel and decorations. Besides she was entitled to a real tree the size of the one at Rockefeller Center no matter what. There was no way she was going to grow up with and experience Christmas tree-envy.

     Having been raise to be an accomplished arborist in the narrow specialty of pre-cut, Brooklyn marketed, Christmas trees; I was ready, oh boy was I ready, for the challenge. None of the local stores on Forster Avenue or Coney Island Avenue could possibly have a tree worthy of my daughter’s first Christmas.

     I decided that the Brooklyn Terminal Markets were the best place to shop and that a Thursday night, before a weekend rush was the best time. I chose December 12 as the date for our expedition reasoning that a tree bought then would still be very fresh on the 25th and that the 12th was early enough that there would still be an excellent selection.

     I presented my plan to my wife and she looked at me incredulously, probably in wonder of the quality of man she had married. Her protests of taking the baby out at night, in the cold night air, in an area of “who-knows-what” made no dent on me and in a move that I now see as self protection on her part, she agreed to go.

     With us all bundled up, we headed to the markets with WNEW starting to play Christmas tunes once in awhile on the car radio.

     At the market there were crowds of families wrestling with trees. Obviously my superior brain waves had not been adequately contained in my skull and had been intercepted by other Brooklyn denizens who saw it as a simply marvelous idea.

     After I drove around awhile, I spotted a display of trees off the beaten path that assured me that my tree would be just waiting for me there. The three of us got out of our Chevy Corvair, in to the cold, blustery night, to head for OUR tree. As we walked along I could hear venders barking deals; “Any tree $4. Buy ‘em so I can go home,” and my wife saying, “This one looks cute, let’s buy it, I'm freezing.”

     I would have none of it… I was on a mission.

     At Sonny Delladro Produce Company, way in the back of the market, I could see that I could make a steal of a deal. Sonny was standing by a blazing, sparking fire in an old oil drum counting a wad of bills. As I approached I said, “Hey, you mind we look around?” I could see I had startled him and caused him to lose count. He glanced over at me and said, “Sure, but hurry up, I wanna close and go home.”

     Again, my wife, Joanne’s comments of “This one looks good,” were ignored. As I turned to inspect the array, I said to myself, “I’ve been buying trees for years, this is gonna be sooooooo easy.”

     After going from tree to tree, grabbing the trunk, shaking it, stamping it on the ground to see the needled drop, and looking for bare spots and overall shape; while all the time ignoring my wife’s protestations that the trees were too big, I found the tree I wanted.

     I walked it over to Sonny and said, “How much for this one?” Without him even looking up he said, “That sure is a beauty.” Then as he looked up he said, “5 bucks.” I immediately came back with, “Too much. I’ll give you 4.”

     He looked at me again with a wise eye; “You pick out the best tree and you want me to give it away?"

     “Okay, four-fifty.”

     “Can’t do. Hey, that’s the tree I was saving for my sister, Annette, and her three kids. Her husband left her in August and this’ill be a hard Christmas for them. She asked me to hold that tree.”

     My wife spoke up and said, “The tree’s too big. Get a smaller one. Let his sister have it.”

     Both Sonny and I looked at her and I asked, rhetorically; “Whatta women know about Christmas trees?” If my Mom was there she would have thrashed me good for that.

     I tried to save the day by saying; “Okay I’ll give you the 5.”

     Sonny knew I had the best tree and countered with, “You’re killin’ me. That’s my sister, Annette’s, tree and her kids were looking forward to it being in their home out in Bensonhoist.”

     I was driving a hard bargain and knew we were matching wits. I came back again, “Okay five-fifty or I walk.”

     I was serious. I wasn't going to be taken advantage of. I was willing to walk to make my point. It was a matter of pride.

     Again, we ignored the protest that the tree was too big.

     “Okay, it’s yours for 6 but you gotta buy a wreath for a buck so I can at least make something. Do you want me to tie it on your car?”

     “Naw, I was a boy scout, (another slight lie) I can do it.”

     After I paid the $7, I grabbed our tree and wreath, and headed to our car. Twice as we passed the other vendors I could hear them snicker and say, “Looks like he bought Annette’s tree.” I knew they were just jealous so I simply smiled back at them.

     Inside the car, with the tree lashed to the roof with a combination of once-in-a-lifetime knots, the air was EXTREMELY chilly. All I could hear was, “Listen to me… IT’S TOO BIG!”

     I knew she was wrong and would get over it as soon as she saw how wonderful it looked in our living room. I turned up the radio and started to sing along with Deckta Alls.

     The drive along Glenwood Road was nice and easy… though still very chilly inside the car. As I made a right onto Ocean Avenue I saw the strangest sight that sent shivers up my spine… in my rearview mirror, there was my beautiful Christmas tree sliding off the back of my car.

     I immediately pulled over and started to get out of the car to retrieve my tree. Little did I know that a Christmas tree, before Christmas, in the road is a kinda sport… how much of it can you run over and mangle without looking as if you did it on purpose.

     My wife’s screams to me to protect myself so that she wouldn’t be a widow for Christmas rang in my ears as did all the beeping car horns and shouts of very unseasonal greetings. Some of the “drive over the tree” players were very good. After scooping up my wounded tree I returned to the car and opened the passenger side window and jammed the base of the tree through and into the back seat where my wife was now holding a very loudly crying seven month old.

     “Just hold on to it while I drive the rest of the way.”

     There was no answer though I could feel the tree was securely held.

     The rest of the ride to our apartment, with four feet of tree sticking out the window, was in silence other that for the crying of the baby. It was definitely un-nerving.

     After I parked, my wife took our baby and headed to our apartment, still in silence.

     I was smart enough to not confront the situation and just put on my humble and forgivable demeanor.

     Joanne fed the baby and put her in her crib. In silence, I brought in the tree. As she watched I tried to put the trunk into the tree-stand we owned but it wouldn’t fit. I knew I could save the situation by showing how beautiful the tree was in the room. As I raised the tree the top branches scraped against the ceiling and the bottom branches were smooshed against the side walls.

     Not looking at her, I said, “Sure is a big tree.”

     Her voice in a low tone, only the slightest bit accusatory but with some stoic acceptance, said, “I told you. Let’s go to bed, we can work on it tomorrow.”

     I told her; “I’ll be in later. Let me try a few things.”

Having always lived in an apartment, my collection of tools was limited to those contained in a small metal box my Mom and Dad gave me when I married. The contents consisted of two screw drivers, a small hammer, an adjustable wrench, a small needle-nose pliers, a blunt-nose pliers, and a small jar of nails, screws and nuts. Up to this point in my life I could see no need for any other tools. At I looked at my tree I realized that all the tools were for repairing and not at all for constructing or lumberjack work. Nowhere in the toolbox was a saw of any type.

     While I worked with what I had, I made no real progress and finally went to bed at 1am.

In the morning, the tree looked even bigger and there seemed to billions of displaced pine needles on the floor. While it looked terrible, it sure smelled nice. My wife never mentioned the tree or the prior evening. As I was leaving she kissed me and said that we would work on the tree in the evening, when I got home, and over the weekend. That was okay with me.

     All during the day my thoughts wandered back to the tree and how I might salvage the situation. It was a long day with no solutions evident.

     When I came home that evening I saw my father-in-law’s car parked near our house and assumed he had made an unscheduled visit to see his grand-daughter. It was not uncommon.

     As I reached my apartment I could hear him talking with my wife. It went something like this:

(He)     "It sure is a big tree."

(She)    "Yes it is. He’s so proud of it."

(He)     "It fills the room. There is hardly any space for anything else."

(She)    "It’ll only be up for Christmas. It’s just a couple of weeks."

(He)     "Did it cost a lot? Trees are going for about $4 on Fifth Avenue."

(She)    "He’s been buying trees for years. He did the best deal and they threw in a wreath."

(He)     "It sure is a big tree."

(She)    "Yes it is."

     At this point I was pretty angry and hurt figuring that they were mocking me and my efforts. I opened the door and walked in with my “stern face” on.

     Having my father-in-law say, “Hi, that sure is a helluva tree you got,” didn’t help the situation.

     As I peered past them all I could say was, “Yes it is. It sure is a beauty.” I paused, changed to a grinning face, leaned over and kissed my wife and told her I loved her. I again looked at the tree and then turned to her Dad and asked, “How about a small scotch to warm you. I'll have one with you.”

     We sat and talked for fifteen minutes or so and then he left to return home.

     Almost before the door was closed, I took Joanne’s hand and walked to the living room to look at the tree together. I turned and asked; “What happened… and don’t tell me Christmas elves did this?”

     She smiled and said, “After you left this morning, I spoke with Mrs. Morin, across the street, and asked where I might locate a handyman for some work around our apartment. She suggested Mr. Hall, the super in the apartment house on the corner.

     “We bundled up and I walked over and located him. I told him we had gotten a too-large Christmas tree and asked if he could do some trimming for us. I told him I could pay him $5 and he agreed. I figured that would be cheaper than you having a tools buying spree at Sears. Then we went and bought the largest tree stand I could find.

     “When he came over and saw the tree he smiled. He got it all cut, trimmed, setup, and cleaned up in no time. I guess it is easy when you have the right tools and know what you are doing.

     “When I went to pay him, he said that it was pretty easy and said $3 would be enough. We argued a little and settled on $3 for his work and another $2 so he could buy a Santa gift for his daughters.

     “It seemed to be money well spent. Isn’t it perfect and so beautiful?”

     I agreed with her and she then asked if I would start stringing the lights on it after dinner.

     I hugged her and held her and wondered how I could be this lucky.

     I was a wonderful Christmas though my daughter seemed less interested in the decorated tree than putting colored wrapping papers in her mouth.


[end] © Copyright by Ken Thompson - 2004.