It was a fleeting moment, but to a dying 12-year-old girl and a room full of adults, a department store Santa was transformed into a real live Santa Claus.
It happened one night before Christmas, 1973.
I was there and experienced the old man”s transformation at the little girl”s house. I saw with my own eyes the 12 year old”s beatific smile of joy as she visited with Santa Claus. Her glow washed over me and engulfed the entire room. She believed!
There”s not supposed to be a Santa Claus.
He”s only real to small children. But I was in his presence that night. Magic happened between the frail, dying child and the old man to make him real. Call it whatever you want, but a room full of adults, including a burly, no nonsense cop felt his presence too.
I was a reporter on a small town California newspaper. One of my jobs at Christmas was to read Dear Santa letters that children sent to the newspaper. Most children asked for toys. Sometimes a request was for a gift for a baby brother or sister.
During my 14-year newspaper career, I read many such letters. But that year, one letter stood out.
It was from two younger sisters of the 12-year-old girl. The young writers didn”t ask for presents for themselves. Instead, they asked Santa to bring gifts for their sister. Since this was unusual, I smelled a story.
Luckily for me a parent had written a return address and the family”s last name on the envelope. This allowed me to check out the letter. A phone call confirmed that the letter”s authors were real and yes, their mother said, they did have an older sister. She also said she knew that her younger children had written to Santa Claus asking him to bring presents for their older sister. She said the older sister was dying, but was hesitant to discuss the child”s condition further.
I was to learn from the father that she had an inoperable brain tumor. The mother stressed that the older sister did not know she was dying. She said the two younger children were aware of the seriousness of their sister”s condition and asked for the gifts so she could have the best Christmas ever.
I explained I would like the family”s permission to write a story around the unusual Christmas letter. She said she would have to discuss this with her husband and if he agreed, it would be fine with her.
The father, after some persuasion, agreed to let me write a story but with the condition that the story, not in any way, reveal the family”s identity. He also gave me permission to contact the child”s doctor to verify her condition. A telephone call to the doctor confirmed that the 12-year-old did suffer from an inoperable brain tumor and had only a short time to live.
I really wanted to write a story about the unselfish letter to Santa and the dying girl but for the life of me, I could not figure out how to do it without revealing the family”s identity. Worse, I feared the dying girl could inadvertently learn of the terrible secret that her family was mercifully keeping from her.
After weighing my desire for a story against the family”s request for anonymity I decided not to write it. But I had to do something. I couldn”t just walk away from it. I had written about merchants donating food and gifts to needy families during Christmases past, so I sought donations from merchants at a local mall. I called the mall, asked for a chemistry set and other gifts the dying girl”s siblings asked for. After assuring the merchants of the legitimacy of my request, the gifts were generously provided. I even got permission to borrow a department store Santa to deliver presents. A gentle mannered, elderly neighbor, also a salesman in a department store turned out to be my Santa.
I called the family to arrange for Santa”s visit. They were thrilled and gave permission. The visit was scheduled for the night before Christmas.
Now I had to figure out how to deliver Santa Claus to the family”s house in a style suitable to Old Saint Nick. One problem, it doesn”t snow in that part of California. So a sleigh pulled by reindeer was out of the question. Besides, I had no idea where to find one. But because of my news beat with the local police department, I obtained the services of a burly cop and his squad car complete with red lights and siren to replace a sleigh and eight reindeer.
On Christmas Eve a department store Santa, a reporter and a cop knocked on a very sick little girl”s front door. The door opened and lying full length on the couch was the most beautiful, surprised and big eyed 12 year old I had ever seen. She had dark, doe eyes. Her voice was small, sweet and excited and she had eyes only for the white bearded man in the red suit. Everyone else in the room, mother, father, an aunt and uncle, burly cop, two siblings and this reporter had eyes only for the frail figure on the couch. Her face glowed with a smile that warmed the room with the soft, pure light of innocence. The old man gently sat down next to the girl on the couch, softly saying her name. He opened a big bag and started to hand her the presents he”d brought.
Suddenly as if by magic, the old man sitting beside the little girl was transformed into Santa Claus. She believed it and we all saw it. We all felt it. Time stood still. Nothing existed outside of that living room. The girl spoke about her presents, communicating in a way that only a child can when speaking to a very special person. ?This can”t be real,” I remembered thinking. Yet it was happening before my eyes. We all felt the spirit of Santa Claus.
After a period of time, reality inevitably intruded. The moment had become too poignant even for Santa who, beginning to tear up had to take his leave. But he kept his composure long enough to be rewarded with a beautiful smile and warm hug from the ecstatically happy but frail little girl.
As we drove away in the squad car, we all were awe struck about what we had just experienced. We gushed with amazement all the way back to the police station.
After Christmas, I went to the mall and thanked the merchants for the donated gifts.
The story ends here. Shortly after that memorable night, I left the newspaper and moved to another town. I later wrote to the family to ask about the little girl. Mercifully for me, I think, the letter wasn”t answered. I”ve experienced many things in my life, but that one night before Christmas I was privileged to stand in the presence of Santa Claus.
