CHRISTMAS 1953

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There was a time when the world was good and happy people lived upon it. It was a time of hope and inspiration and tomorrow came with new promises. The people anxiously awaited Christmas for the opportunity to be even better and more generous. But that was long ago, midway through the century past when that special Christmas came upon us in 1953.

RANDALL STUBBS

Of all the moments of my youth, none are more fixed in my memory than that winter of long ago. It was that year that brought what some now call the “blizzard of the century” and it came with bone chilling night winds that attacked us no matter how many blankets we piled upon us. The pastures were frozen and long, thick needles of ice hung from the eaves of our house. The narrow, serpentine creek that crossed our land lost it current to thick ice layers and the limbs of the stout willow were crisp and fragile. The world was bleak and silent and even birds abandoned the scene.

It wasn’t the “blizzard of the century,” of course. There were others that had been worse and others to come that would be far more potent. But to the farmers of our area, the blizzard of that year isolated us on our lands as we waited for the Illinois Highway Department snowplows to arrive.

I was seven that year and Becky was five. I was in second grade and my sister had started kindergarten. But there was no school at the time. I best remember that the roads had deep drifts and had become too icy for the school bus to risk. Classes were suspended and we celebrated our freedom from studies but were disheartened to be confined to the house.

Grandpa Stubbs lived with us in those days. Our grandma had died the winter before and our father brought him home not long after the funeral and he spent the rest of his life with us. Before that, Becky had her own room but when grandpa came, her bed was put in my room and we shared the space as best we could. It was not difficult because Becky was always orderly and well organized. We managed to keep our toys and other belongings well separated and the arrangement was never a problem.

Our farm was situated on the old Brennan Highway just outside of Markham, Illinois. The land that was ours is now a sea of roofs as factories consumed it all like a patterned virus. Even the old creek was dammed off and eliminated to create space for more construction. But in those days it was 360 acres of fertile soil that produced a rotation of corn and wheat by the skilled hands of our father and Grandpa Stubbs. In the lower section of the farm there was always hay for baling and to feed the stock in the hard times of winter. I still remember riding on the side bench of the old baler and shoving wire through the slots of wooden blocks. I clearly recall feeling the shafts of hay sticking to my sweaty skin. But all that came much later, long after that winter of ’53.

Only eight years before, our father had returned from the war in Europe. I was born nine months later. He never spoke of his experiences but I was told that he was in the fierce Battle of Ardennes. I have since read much about that German offensive and came to understand how such memories are best closeted within the mind and dealt with in silence. If anyone mentioned the war or asked about his experiences, Dad could always artfully divert the subject. I remember seeing his uniform stored in moth balls in a chest in the attic that also contained a small metal box with his ribbons and medals.

To all the people of Markham, he was known as Ted but grandpa called him Theodore. Our great-great-grandfather who fought in the Civil War with the 10th Illinois Infantry had been named Theodore Stubbs and grandpa was always very proud of that heritage. It was that first Theodore Stubbs who had taken a homestead of 160 acres that had been offered to Union Army veterans. All that was required was the fill out the proper paperwork, construct a structure with a minimum measurement of 12 X 14 and live on the land for five years and plant crops. That early pioneer Stubbs complied with all the regulations and constructed the house where we then lived. It was said that his neighbors on each side of the land were also veterans who soon learned that they were not farmers and abandoned their homesteads. By some manner, Theodore Stubbs gained possession of their land as well. Many years later 120 acres were lost to the construction of the Brennan Highway and the farm was reduced to the 360 acres we had always known. That was basically the story of the land that later passed through generations until it was ours.

Our father was a tall, lean man with broad shoulders and big hands accustomed to the hardest labors. He never talked much but always did his best to get along with everyone even when it brought the scorn of our mother. Dad simply was one of those people who never learned to say, “no,” but what I best remember of our father was his ability to move quietly through his life harming no one and being always faithful to his word.

Our mother, Miriam Stubbs, was the practical one of the family. I cannot resurrect the vision of her without seeing her with her hands planted on her hips and an expression of exasperation on her face. That was how she lived most of her married life, always perplexed by the schemes and dreams of her husband and his father.

She was of strong Austrian stock, her mother having immigrated as a young woman a half a century earlier. Each spring and fall, we made the trip to Grandma Grandma Mischa’s home on Balston Street in Chicago and we would hear about the wonder years in Vienna when the beauty of music and inherent culture reigned over the threat of war and Christmas was always advertised with mountains of snow and frosted windows. We would also visit with Aunt Norma, Mother’s sister, who was Grandma’s constant companion but never smiled and my father said that she had been weaned on a pickle.

Our mother was the typical farm wife of those times. She cooked constantly, washed clothes and dishes, hung out the laundry to dry, ironed and tended to the general welfare of all those who lived under our roof. She was tireless, or so we thought in those days and kept Spartan hours to complete all that needed to be done each day. If I set aside all bias, I admit that she was an extraordinary beauty with flaming red hair and brilliant blue eyes. The curve of her lips was classic and her movements always suggestive of extreme femininity. Even today, I sometimes show the old photo album to my kids and they remark how beautiful was their grandmother. They remember her as the elderly lady who spent most of her life in the kitchen and who made hot chocolate on winter days. To Becky and me, the memory of her will always be that of the wonderful woman who held our hands on the way to the school bus and kissed our foreheads in front of our friends. She was the one who governed bath times and homework, meal times and nutrition, fun times and recreation. She found time for everything and not long ago Becky told me something I will always remember. She told me that one day when she was about ten, she watched how hard our mother worked and decided that she never wanted to grow up and be a woman.

“You will love it,” our mother told her. “To you the things I do are work. But to me each thing shows someone how much I love them.”

A few years ago Becky went upstairs to take Mom some hot tea and found her in the rocking chair, her crochet basket and needles in her hands and a half finished table cloth draped to the floor. She had passed away doing something that would show someone how much she loved them.

Our house was a skeletal two-story frame structure built in 1867. It had a cellar that we were never permitted to explore and we never saw it no matter how old we were. Becky and I invented tales of haunting and of demented souls imprisoned there but the truth was that copperheads were often found in the fields and Mom feared that a next might be down there. On the lower level of the house was the large kitchen that was connected to the living room and three adjoining rooms that were used as a dining room, a type of studio and a room that was where Mom had her sewing machine, embroidery equipment and a rocking chair. Upstairs were three bedrooms assigned to our parents, grandpa and Becky and I. The bathroom was an outhouse with three holes and noxious odors, complete with a quarter moon cut onto the door by some jovial ancestor years before.

A large barn stood behind the house and on one side was a chicken coop and on the other was the well house where an ancient pump with a long handle that would be ice cold on winter nights and pain your hands because you needed to pump eight or ten times before the water started to flow. Water was carried to the house in buckets and that was the most dreaded chore of the household.

What made the winter special, however, was what happened in early December. It was undoubtedly one of the most difficult times of our family history and a heavy gloom hung around the house as the adults grew solemn and quiet and we could not understand why.

The problem centered around a man named Norman Keats. The Keats Famly owned the First State Bank of Markham and Norman had convinced the farmers of the area returning from the war to take advantage of special loans offered to veterans at low interest. It had been difficulties for men to return to civilian life and financing the first crop was a true hardship. The loans seemed to be a blessing but several years later the bank was threatening to foreclose on many of them, our father included. That fall had brought a series of heavy rains and flooding to the area and much of the crops were lost. The widespread destruction of crops caused the price of corn and wheat to soar but without a product to place on the market, farmers could not exploit the situation or meet their obligations to the bank. Our father had gone to speak to Norman Keats and promised him a large payment with the next harvest but Keats would not negotiate and it became clear that his interest was in obtaining prime farmlands, not in collections.

A series of notices had arrived from the bank, first advising that payments were due and later demanding them within a specific time period. At last, the letters were threatening and told openly of foreclosure. Four farms away from our land, the Schultz Family was forced from the farm that had been in their family for generations and they moved to Chicago to search for work and a new beginning. But these were not city folk and we knew that they would suffer away from the scenes that characterized their lives and represented all their dreams and labors. Our parents feared the same would happen to us but as children, we were oblivious to all such things and sheltered from what was happening by three adults who loved us more than we ever knew.

I remember leaving our room one night for a glass of water and before descending the stairs hearing our parents’ voices below. Evidently, our father had returned to the bank asking permission to free part of the land from the loan so that it could be sold to satisfy the debt. Keats had refused and our father was furious. He and grandpa had gone to the Grange meeting that evening and had told the gathering of the unwillingness of Keats to cooperate with anyone. Other farmers were in agreement but no one could think of a solution to the problem. Peeking through the opening of the banister posts, I saw my mother sobbing in the corner of the room, her legs folded beneath her in the large easy chair. It was then I realized that there was a serious problem and I was afraid and confused but held to the faith that my parents and grandpa would solve it and life would resume to Aunt Normal. I later learned that the bank had foreclosed on the Pearson Farm that we passed on our way to school each day and they had been notified that they had sixty days to vacate the premises. Mary Pearson was my mother’s best friend.

When I was older and investigated the events of those times, I came to understand the dynamics of the problem and to appreciate the frustration of the people. Some of the farmers sold their equipment to make payment on their loan but then had to contract outsiders to plant and harvest, reducing their income to the point that later payments were defaulted. In other cases the loan had included tractors, balers, harvesters and threshers. None could be sold since they represented part of the collateral to the bank. No matter what ideas the farmers conceived, Keats appeared to always be a step ahead of them.

When thinking back to those times, I now recognize that those times must have been especially difficult for my father. Grandpa Stubbs, after all, had survived the Great Depression of the 1930s and kept the farm intact. One generation later, with the farm in the control of his son, the threat of losing it all was real and imminent. Dad’s ability to manage the farm was never mentioned or questioned, of course, but there must have been some sense of guilt haunting him. The Stubbs Family, however, had always been one of strong unity, each member dedicated completely to the other and sharing a special, sheltering love for their children.

Now that I have children of my own, I appreciate the efforts our parents and grandpa made to protect us from the hardships that were plaguing our home. My wife and I did the same thing in those times of troubles and desperation. How difficult it must have been for them to want us insulated from the consuming problems but also to be faced with the knowledge that if the bank foreclosed, we would have to be told.

More incredible was that in spite of the pressures of their days, our parents were never short tempered with our frivolities or expressed their inner torments in any form of scolding or harsh remarks. Always they remained patient and dealt with us as loving parents wanting the best for us. I can now only imagine how difficult that must have been.

I said nothing to Becky about what I had heard but the idea of losing the farm invaded my thoughts and dreams with a special terror that only children know. I had lived all of my life on that land as had my father before me. Grandpa had lived most of his life there but moved to a small house several years before when he and grandma decided that our parents needed their privacy. As I said, our family had lived there since 1867 and the thought that it could be lost haunted my thoughts.

Like any piece of history, the telling differs by the telling of the person involved. My memories are framed within the references of a young child and I was sheltered from the realities known to the adults around me. So it was that years ago I asked each to tell the tale as it best appeared to them. Grandpa is gone now and one year after Dad died, Mom followed him. But two decades ago they all cooperated in the telling of the story of the winter we all remembered so well.

MIRIAM STUBBS

Our son, Randall, has asked me to write what I remember. I have to start by saying that Ted Stubbs is the most loving man I have ever known and from the beginning I knew I could never love another. He was always so considerate and caring that I could not help love him even though his schemes for adding to our annual income often drove me to the brink of desperation. Ted was a bit gullible and his friend, Hoody Taylor, knew how to manipulate him into any scheme.

Hoody Taylor owned the only furniture store in Markham. He had inherited it from his father and immediately brought in the Retro designs from Scandinavian furniture makers. People came to his display windows not to marvel at the merchandise but to laugh with the idea that it would ever be accepted by a farming community. Sales at the Taylor Furniture Company dropped drastically and within months it was nearing bankruptcy. The steady hand of Mrs. Taylor, Hoody’s mother, restored the inventory of the store to a state of practicality and the crisis was somehow avoided.

No one ever knew why he was called Hoody. His true name was Wilson Taylor, allegedly named after Woodrow Wilson. But my husband had known Hoody since kindergarten and together they had created a variety of projects that would surely make them millionaires. The first I remember was a couple years after we married when Ted and Hoody decided to go into the worm business. Their plan was to harvest fishing worms in a long series of wooden boxes filled with moist soil and then to package them and open outlets along the Des Plaines River for sales to fishermen. The wooden boxes had to have constant shade so our barn was soon converted into the worm harvesting industry that produced zero sales. Finally Ted dejectedly dragged the boxes behind the tractor down to the creek where they were dumped. To this day there is an incredible over population of worms at that part of the creek.

Later came the Chinchillas. At that time there was a get-rich-quick scheme concerning raising Chinchillas for the fur industry. Everyone thought they were among the first to learn of this booming industry but within a few years the Chinchilla population quickly outgrew their demand. By that time Ted and Hoody and about two hundred of the little beasts and I was demanding that they be evicted from our land as soon as possible. Hoody went to Chicago to speak with some potential buyers but in the end the sad reality settled onto them and the Chinchillas were given as a gift to another breeder in a nearby county. By that time we were several hundred dollars poorer and the entrepreneurs licked their wounds and started thinking of their next adventure into the business world.

It was mid-December, I remember, when Hoody entered our driveway in the furniture store delivery truck. There was very little traffic on Brennan Highway in those days because of the blizzard and continued snowfall, so we were surprised to see him. Ted and his father had just finished breakfast and I stepped in front of them as they went toward the door.

“Don’t you let him talk you into anything,” I warned Ted with a pointed finger. “Nothing, do you understand?”

Ted agreed as he pulled on his mackinaw and went to the truck where they talked awhile before coming to the back door of the house where the kitchen was located. I watched them from the kitchen window, suspecting that something was being concocted that would eventually make our lives even more difficult.

“If you’ve come to repossess my washer, I’ll never speak to you again,” I said as a greeting to Hoody.

He pulled me into a hefty hug and asked me how I could think such a thing and with the tone of his words, I knew he was planning something.

We had settled over coffee at the table and Hoody was running his finger over the design on the oil cloth, waiting for Ted to break the news. Randall and Becky had come downstairs and joyfully settled on the lap of their “Uncle Hoody.” I never understood he great attraction Hoody held to children except that he was very much like one of them.

“Hoody wants to know if he can store something in the barn,” Ted said at last.

“Worms?” I asked bitterly. “Chinchillas?”

Hoody appeared nervous and lowered the kids from his lap, saying, “Why don’t you go play now, okay?” With that Randall scampered back up the stairs, pulling Becky by the hand. Grandpa Stubbs recognized that something was going to be said that the children should not hear, so he went with them.

“A sleigh,” said Hoody suddenly.

“A sleigh?” I repeated, holding my hands out to measure a child’s sleigh.

Hoody continued with a lowered voice. “It’s a Santa Claus sleigh,” he informed me.

“A Santa Claus sleigh,” I repeated again as not believing what I was hearing.

“I bought it at an auction at Soldier’s Field. The Bears used it in the halftime show last year.”

“Okay,” I responded, “why?”

“The parade, Miriam, the Christmas parade! Aren’t you tired of Ferguson’s Hardware winning the best float year after year? This is Taylor’s Furniture’s year! Imagine a real sized Santa Sleigh with Santa and the big bag of toys and being pulled by six reindeer!”

“Reindeer?” I asked and immediately Ted echoed, “Reindeer?”

“Oh, that’s the other thing,” said Hoody. “I’ll need to use your back pasture. But it’ll only be for a couple of weeks!”

“For the reindeer?” I asked with an incredulous tone.

“I’m renting them,” said Hoody excitedly. “There’s a guy by Blue Island who has six on his farm and he rents them out at Christmas time.”

I nodded slowly. “And you want to put them in our back pasture.”

“Yeah,” he continued, “no one could see them from the highway. This all has to be top secret, you know? I don’t want Ferguson getting wind of it. I’ll bring the forage for them and everything, all I need is a little space in the barn and use of the pasture for a few days. Please, Miriam? Please?”

I sipped of my coffee and examined Ted’s reaction. “Look, Hoody,” I began, “we have two kids up there who believe in Santa Claus. Having a sleigh in the barn and reindeer in the pasture isn’t going to do much to keep them believing.”

“They can’t go outside much anyway,” he argued. “With the weather the way it is, they’re mostly inside, right?”

I couldn’t argue with that point and only fixed my eyes on Ted, making him nervous in knowing that I was expecting him to answer.

“Well, if it’s only a few days,” said Ted and my immediate impulse was to put my hands around this throat.

“Okay,” I said forcefully, “but the sleigh will be brought at night when the kids are asleep. The same thing with the reindeer and you’ll be totally responsible for them.”

“You’ve got a deal,” said Hoody happily, knowing that he had won again.

The sleigh was brought that same night and I went to the kid´s room to be certain they were asleep before permitting Ted and Grandpa Stubbs to exit the house and open the barn. I pulled on my coat and lifted the hood over my head and followed them to where the furniture truck was backed into the double doors.

I have to admit that the sleigh was incredibly elaborate with exquisitely carved panels and created from excellent carpentry. It was much larger than I had expected. Cherry red with gold embossed trim, it represented what everyone thought of as Santa’s sleigh and I could understand why Hoody thought it would be a great float in the Christmas Parade.

Markham always had a holiday parade with most of the local merchants participating in one way or another. The highlight, however, was the judging of the floats and Hoody was right in saying that Ferguson’s Hardware was the perennial winner. Ferguson had offered the same float for several years but no one seemed to be able to create something better. The float depicted a workshop with small children dressed as Santa’s elves, creating toys with wooden hammers and fake saws. The float had won so often, in fact, that the children had to be changed since the first ones were now too big to be mistaken as elves.

Ted retrieved a large canvas from the rear of the barn and used it to cover the sleigh, just in case the children should somehow wander near.

Three nights later Hoody returned with the reindeer and Ted and Grandpa Stubbs went with him to the rear pasture. The truck returned a few minutes later and Ted and his father stepped down from it, gesturing goodbye to Hoody.

“Funny looking animals,” said Grandpa Stubbs and strangely, nothing more was said of them.

I guess it was the pressures that we knew in those days but I remember wondering how Ted and his father could give their attention to things like sleighs and reindeer when our very way of life was being threatened. In one way it appeared to be very irresponsible but in another it merely reflected who they were and I came to marvel their ability to set themselves aside for the welfare of someone else.

I had come to accept the idea that this would be our last Christmas on the farm. I wanted it to be somehow special for Randall and Becky. Becky wanted a puppy and that would not be difficult to find, but if we had to move, the dog could be a problem. Randall wanted the same thing every year, a pony. He had never been old enough or big enough for a pony before and this year he was both and we had no money.

Our lives had been forced into the survival mode. We had no cash but we had a daily supply of eggs and milk. Ted’s mother had taught me to make cheese years before and our kitchen usually held that unmistakable aroma of freshly baked bread. We could eat chicken and Grandpa Stubbs would go into the fields with his .22 rifle and return with a couple of rabbits. Other farmers in the area would trade pieces of pork or beef for forage hay and Ted and his father always planted extra acres to barter during the winter.

But in that winter of ’53, we all feared that it would come to an end. I thought that it was very unfair. Ted had been gone four years to the war in Europe. He was lucky to have survived and now he had returned to his Aunt Normal life only to find that it all was in jeopardy. If he had not gone to the war, the loan would not have been necessary and we would have continued our lives as always. It just wasn’t fair.

I had never liked Norman Keats since our high school days when he flaunted a sense of superiority as a member of the town’s richest family. He had once asked me to go with him to the Valentine’s Day dance and I refused. I never told Ted about that but after my refusal, Norman openly showed his contempt and I thought that perhaps it even contributed to his refusal to negotiate our loan.

So it was near to Christmas in that year and there came one night in particular that I learned about later from Ted and Grandpa Stubbs. I slept through all that happened and cannot give a firsthand account of it.

GRANDPA STUBBS

I had taken the pickup loaded with bales of hay over to the Lennox Farm near where there used to be that trap shooting place. It’s all gone now but I remember real well. Sam Lennox liked to play cards so we had a few hands of gin rummy and when I looked to the window, it was already dark. Miriam, my daughter-in-law, didn’t like for me to drive at night, especially with the road conditions that winter, so I scurried out of there and headed home.

I was really tired when I got there but Miriam had a cup of coffee waiting for me. She’s a good woman, that one. Theodore, my son, was already asleep but Miriam was like a mother hen and watched over her brood both night and day.

We drank coffee and then said goodnight and she went upstairs to crawl into bed beside Theodore. We had a big fireplace in the living room and I raked the coals to put a little warmth in the house and then went upstairs myself.

Well, it was about one in the morning, I think. The wind was blowing hard and it brought another heavy storm. If you looked out the window, you couldn’t see anything but the white blanket blowing in front of the wind. But it’s strange how the same wind can bring sounds to you from far distances and that’s what happened on that night.

I awoke from a sound sleep to the sound of a man’s voice in the far distance. It was a voice filled with anger but I could not imagine anyone being outside on a night like that.

I pushed myself from the bed and immediately felt the chill of night that always filled the house during winter. I shoved my feet into the slippers and pulled the blanket from the bed to wrap around my shoulders. Moving to the window, I could see the twin lights of an auto near the north pasture that was beside the Brennan Highway. Someone was out there and I immediately imagined that they were calling for help in frantic desperation.

I dressed as quickly as I could and pulled my coat from the peg on the door and went to Theodore’s room where he and Miriam were sleeping. Not wanting to wake her, I tugged at Theo’s shoulder until he opened his eyes.

“Someone’s in trouble down the road a bit,” I whispered and it was enough to bring him upright and to pull on his trousers. I went to the window and motioned for him to join me. Together we could see the headlights of a vehicle and hear the deep, resonant voice calling through the darkness.

Once outside, I started for the pickup but Theodore shouted no, that we should take the tractor and some chains. He was right, of course. The large tires of the tractor had more traction through the snow and we could reach the person in trouble faster and easier.

Ours was a 1944 Massey-Harris tractor and there was nothing like enclosed cabs or the comfort that came in later years. As tractors go, it was pretty small but reasonably powerful. Theodore sat and drove and I found a foothold beside him and held onto the machine with all my strength.

There was almost no visibility but we headed toward the distant lights. Theodore had a couple pairs of goggles that he used to protect his eyes from dust when plowing and we pulled them on to help us see. As we moved closer to the lights, the voice became louder and at last we could hear that the language was spiced with profanities. At last, we could recognize the vehicle as a large school bus that had been painted red. A huge man was in front of the bus, kicking the front bumper and then peering into the motor resting below the raised hood. He seemed oblivious to our approach and I was astonished to see that he wore only bibbed coveralls and a red flannel undershirt. We were feeling the chill with our mackinaws, gloves and goulashes and here was this giant of a man exposed to a severe winter storm and apparently feeling nothing of its affects.

Finally hearing the throb of the tractor, the man turned and we could see that he wore a full, candida-white beard and his hair was long, touching his shoulders. He was a brute of a man with broad shoulders, a rotund stomach and arms as thick as the limbs of an oak.

“Got trouble?” shouted Theodore above the wind and the man walked slowly toward us.

“That worthless piece of crap played out on me,” the man shouted over the wind, “couldn’t pull itself up this puny hill.”

“Don’t worry,” Theo screamed, “we’ve got some chains and we’ll pull you to our barn, okay?”

The man nodded. “I’d be most obliged,” he answered.

We pulled the chain through the opening of the bus’s frame and attached the hook tightly. The huge man entered the bus and sat behind the steering wheel, waiting for the first tug of the tractor. Slowly the chain became taut and the bus started to move behind us.

“I know that man from somewhere!” I shouted in Theo’s ear.

“Well, I hope it wasn’t a wanted poster,” was his reply.

At last, we turned into the entrance of the farm and I jumped down and went quickly to open the barn doors.

The barn had doors and both ends so it was easy to pull the bus all the way inside and then park the tractor near the back doors. We could hear the man pull the emergency brake and then saw him step out of the vehicle and survey his surroundings.

“You can sleep here tonight,” said Theodore. “We don’t have room in the house,” he added, as if it was an apology.

“This is fine,” said the man and stepped forward with his hand extended. “George Moore,” he offered.

“Ted Stubbs and this is my father.”

As I shook the man’s hand and felt the strength of it, I suddenly realized who this strange visitor was.

“Man Mountain Moore!” I gasped. Theo looked confused, so I added, “champion of the world for more years than I can remember!”

“It’s nice to be remembered,” said Man Mountain and sensing Theo’s continued confusion, he said, “wrestling. I was a champion wrestler.”

“Not just a wrestler,” I said with no effort to hide my excitement, “he took on the best of them and retired undefeated, right?”

“That’s right,” confirmed Man Mountain, “never lost, not once.”

Theodore forced a smile. “Well, it’s a pleasure to have you here, sir. Tomorrow we’ll see what happened with your bus and if you need parts, we’ll give you a ride into Markham. If you want to sleep in the hay, that’s okay.”

“That’s very kind,” said Man Mountain, “but there’s just one thing. I ain’t alone.”

With that he put his head into the bus and whistled sharply. We stood in complete amazement as one by one, a group of eight midgets jumped down the steps of the bus.

“We’re a traveling midget wrestling show,” Man Mountain explained. “I’m too old now to have a career so we move around with our show. This little man here is The Tiny Tornado. Over there is the Little Latin Lover and the blond guy is the Golden Gnome. The one in the red shirt is Mr. Atom and beside him is Sammy Small. Over here is Dr. Dwarf, Mr. Micro and Louie Leprechaun.”

Theodore made no effort to conceal his amazement but forced a greeting, “It’s nice to meet you.”

The group of midgets responded with waves and greetings but folded their arms around their bodies against the cold.

“You’d better find some warm places to sleep,” I told Man Mountain and as he shook my hand again and repeated his words of appreciation, I could smell the stench of whiskey on his breath and realized one of the reasons he had so easily braved the cold.

“We won’t be no bother,” Man Mountain assured Theodore. “We’ve got our own provisions on the bus and we’ll get busy first thing in the morning trying to get the old girl running again so that we can get outta’ your hair.”

Theodore did not respond but only nodded and we stepped outside and closed the barn doors behind us.

“How am I gonna’ tell Miriam about this?” Theo whispered in the kitchen and before I could answer, Miriam stepped around the corner and stood with her fists planted on her hips.

“Tell me about what?” she asked and we both recognized her expression and knew that there was going to be a problem.

Theo and I exchanged glances before he sighed deeply and decided to take his medicine.

“There was a car stranded out on the highway,” he began.

“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed. “Did you get them started again?”

“Not exactly.”

“You didn’t leave them there!” she asked. “Was it a family?”

“Kinda,” he replied.

In that moment Miriam knew something was wrong and she moved her eyes from mine to her husband’s. “What’s going on?” she demanded, “how can it be kinda’ a family?”

“Well, it’s people who are very close, like a family,” said Theo and I immediately supported him.

“Yeah, they’re like a family.”

Miriam shook her head with confusion. “So this kinda’ like a family finally got their car started and went on their way?”

“Not exactly,” Theo repeated.

Miriam continued to move her eyes about as if searching for a visual answer to her questions. “So where are they, Ted?”

Ted tightened his lips as he always did when he was nervous. “In the barn,” he confessed.

“In this weather, in the barn?” she gasped. “What’s wrong with you two? We can put them in the living room for the night.”

“I don’t think so,” said Theo.

“Why not?” she asked.

“There’s nine of them,” he told her.

“Nine? Are there children?” she inquired.

Theo smiled and I could see his eyes brighten. “Kinda’, right Dad? They’re kinda’ like children.”

Miriam frowned and fixed her face in an expression of complete confusion. “They’re kinda’ a family with kinda’ kids? You two tell me exactly what’s going on and I mean, right now!” she snarled.

“It’s Man Mountain Moore,” I said quickly as if that would ease her confusion.

“That’s a name? Man Mountain?” she asked.

“He’s kinda’ big,” offered Theo.

“No more kinda’s,” she ordered fiercely. “Just tell me who’s in our barn!”

“It was a bus, kinda’ . . . . sorry . . . . like a school bus. It had motor problems. We didn’t know, Miriam. I mean, we only saw this big guy kicking the bus and screaming things. That’s what woke up Dad. The screaming, I mean. So we went there with the tractor and pulled the bus back to the barn.”

“You’re missing eight people,” she reminded him.

“Well, they’re midgets. That’s why they’re like kids.”

“Eight midgets,” she repeated. “Have you two had the same hallucination or something? There’s a big giant of a man in our barn with eight midgets?”

“They’re wrestlers,” I told her. “Man Mountain was champion of the world. I watched him in the arena in Chicago. He’s out there in our barn!”

At last Miriam took her fists from her hips and folded her arms. That was always a sign that she was relenting.

“For how long?” she asked.

Theo was hanging his Mackinaw on the wall peg and said, “Tomorrow we’ll see what the problem is with the bus and they’ll be on their way.”

“Tomorrow,” she said with a tone of disbelief. “And I’m supposed to fix breakfast for nine more mouths?”

“They’ve got their own food,” I assured her. “Man Mountain said so.”

She nodded slowly. “I think you’re both crazy, you know that? Remember that we have two kids upstairs and we don’t want them going to the barn and seeing that sleigh? Now you’re going to have eight midgets running around the place and do you know what kind of attraction that’s going to be for them?”

“What were we supposed to do?” asked Theo.

“I don’t know,” she responded with her annoyance written on her face, “but I don’t want any one of them coming out of that barn for the kids to see. Can you tell them that?”

“First thing in the morning,” Theodore conceded and we went to bed then and slept for the remainder of that night.

TED STUBBS

Early the next morning that Dad told you about, I went to the barn and found our visitors busy at their tasks. Two of the midgets were pumping a gas stove and had a couple of cans of Spam ready for frying. Others were bent over the motor of the bus and Man Mountain was lounging against the mound of hay as if supervising all that was happening.

I told them that we had children and explained about Hoody and the sleigh. All that was an introduction to asking them to confine themselves to the barn and without any protest, they agreed.

“What about the toilet?” asked one of the midgets who I remembered was Mr. Atom. “How will we go to the toilet without being seen? Because I really have to go!”

I started to tell them that the road leading from the back doors of the barn went into the woods and they could go to the bathroom there. But then I remembered that if they took that road, they would encounter the reindeer in the south pasture and erased the thought. I had already told them more than they needed to know.

“Who does the milking?” asked Man Mountain suddenly.

“Me or my dad,” I told him.

“We’ll be in charge of cleaning the stalls,” the huge man said. “We’ll pile it all out back and we can use the same pile for ourselves. We’ll put it at some distance but make sure that your kids don’t see us.”

I thought the answer was rather generous at first but later I thought about it and realized that it suggested that they were going to be there a while. I could not begin to imagine Miriam’s reaction to that news.

Dad went to the barn later in the afternoon and returned with the news that the bus had suffered a cracked motor head. He and Man Mountain left in the pickup shortly after that and went into Markham to ask at the local junk yard if a used replacement could be found. Dad and the junk yard owner were friends since their youth and while no part was to be found in Markham, he said he could order one from a junk yard in Chicago and that it could be sent by bus.

“How long?” Miriam was asking over the dinner table.

I have to mention here that in those days dinner was had at midday and supper was the evening meal. Not like today when people enjoy breakfast, lunch and dinner. We always had breakfast, dinner and supper. So as we were eating dinner, Miriam was showing her impatience.

“Huh?” I said, wanting time to form an answer.

“How long are they going to be in our barn?”

“A week,” I said softly.

“A week?” she said with alarm, “a week?”

“The part has to come from Chicago, Miriam,” I explained. “They’re putting it on the bus. The motor the bus has is the same model as some trucks so one junk yard in Chicago has one. But they have to take it off the motor there, clean it up and put it on the bus and then it comes here and we have to buy gaskets and the stickem’ and then it has to be installed.”

Miriam was nodding slowly as she always did when she suspected something was awry. “I don’t understand anything you’re saying except the part where you said ´we’ have to buy gaskets. Who paid for that part, Grandpa?”

Miriam always referred to my father in the same form as did the kids, “Grandpa.”

“Who paid for the part?” she repeated.

Dad looked at me with that glint of desperation before replying, “Well, Man Mountain was a little short on cash, honey. I had a little put away, you know?”

That’s it!” Miriam said fiercely. “I want them out. I mean now. Out!”

Ah Miriam,” I said soothingly, “Where will they go?”

“That’s not my problem!” she fired back. “And it’s certainly not your problem! Put on your coat, Ted. We’re going back there right now.”

“Honey, listen,” I started.

“Don’t honey me!” she snapped. “C’mon!”

Miriam waited for me to put on my coat, her arms folded as she stood by the kitchen door. Before exiting she glanced toward Dad and commanded, “Keep an eye on the kids. Don’t let them go outside.”

She walked with wide strides to the barn, looking back to be certain I was following. She waited for me to open the big door because Miriam always demanded to be treated like a lady. Stepping inside, I closed the door and found her standing there, staring with eyes widened. The midgets paused from their labors and activities and Man Mountain pushed up to one elbow as he was prone in the hay.

“Everyone,” I said, “this is my wife, Miriam.”

Man Mountain raised himself from the hay with an impressive ease and moved to her, leaning far over to take her hand and raise it to his lips.

“Dear Lady,” he said softly, “your generosity is equal only to your beauty.”

The midgets then moved forward, each taking her hand and introducing themselves by their professional names. Before long Miriam was smiling and actually enjoying the attention of the little men.

“They’re so cute,” she whispered.

Noting that four of the midgets had come from the raised hood of the bus, she moved to the vehicle and examined it with interest.

“So you have troubles,” she surmised.

“Nothing we can’t fix, Mam,” said The Golden Gnome. “This ain’t the first time.”

“Isn’t it a little hard for you?” she asked with concern, noting that Man Mountain was relaxing as they worked.

The Tiny Tornado edged closer to her and spoke in a lowered voice. “Don’t pay him no mind, Mam. All he knows how to do is drive. We take care of all the mechanical things.”

Miriam nodded her understanding then said in a muffled tone, as if regretting that I would hear, “Do you have blankets? We have some extras . . . .”

Louie Leprechaun grinned and responded, “We’ve got two but all eight of us can get under one blanket, Mam.”

Miriam nodded and bit her lip as her eyes began to tear. “I’ll send some extras,” she said softly and added, “If you need anything . . . .”

There was a silence in the house after that. Miriam had lost her toughness and would never admit it. Dad thought it was hilarious when I described what had happened and gloated silently in her presence.

Our visitors in the barn were strangely welcome and I noticed that we suddenly had less milk in the refrigerator and our hens produced many fewer eggs. Miriam was making sure her new little friends did not want for anything.

THE GOLDEN GNOME

This is going to be really difficult. Randall Stubbs found me last year. I now live in what they call a retirement home in Florida. In reality it’s a place for old folks like me and my Social Security check pays the monthly fee. But Randall found me through a private detective and asked me to write about those times traveling with Man Mountain and especially that winter when we stayed at the farm. I remember it all very well, of course. The truth is that it was one of the better times we had during those years.

You had to be with Man Mountain every day to really know him. In fact, you had to be a little person living with him every day to really know him. All the other people, including the Stubbs Family never knew what he was like until those last days before we went back on the road.

I don’t think Man Mountain intended to be deceptive or to mislead people by being so charming in their presence and so crude and disgusting when not. But there can be no doubt that he spent most of his life as a manipulator of the worst kind. Take, for example, when we were doing the repairs on the old bus. Man Mountain fooled Ted’s father into buying the used head for the motor but the truth was that there was a treasure hidden in that old bus.

Man Mountain had won the world’s title in 1938. No matter what you thought of the man, you had to give him credit for his career. He went in there with the best of them and dodged no one. The Terrible Turk, Jim Londos, Ed “Strangler” Lewis, Lou Thesz, he fought them all.

I said that Man Mountain had a treasure and now I want to tell you about that. He was a talker, Man Mountain. He loved to have us gathered around him and he would tell us about the old days and some of his most famous matches. None of us doubted that he had been the champion because one time The Latin Lover went to the Public Library in Cleveland and looked it up. The book said that Man Mountain had more than 150 matches and had lost only three times but the big man always claimed that he never lost. Anyway, all that was back in the days when wrestling was a real sport and not the fake TV spectacular it became later. Because of all that, we didn’t mind too much when Man Mountain would brag because we knew it had some basis in truth.

But there was one story we doubted for years until that winter way back when. Man Mountain had told us several times that one time he went to Albany, New York for a match and after he had won, a message was brought to his dressing room. It was an invitation to dinner and he didn’t recognize the name of the man who signed it. He said he almost didn’t go but he was hungry and finally thought that he had nothing to lose.

According to the story, the man and a beautiful woman was waiting for him with a limousine. They introduced themselves but Man Mountain was always careful not to tell us who they were. He said they drove for about three hours and went from Albany into New York City and had dinner at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel roof garden restaurant that was about the classiest place in the city.

Now the world champion at that time was a guy from New Zealand who was very fast and could pull an opponent into a hold before they knew what was happening. He had defended his title five times and not one match lasted more than 30 minutes. So over dinner, this rich guy with the beautiful wife tells Man Mountain that he has a lot of faith in him and he can arrange a championship match. But the clincher was that the man told Man Mountain that if he won, he would give him a championship belt and crown that would be his forever. Even if he later lost the championship, the belt and crown would be his.

Now the deal wasn’t that pretty, really. It turned out that the guy was a big time gambler and he planned to put a truck load of money on Man Mountain. He knew the odds would be heavy in favor of the champ but somehow he had this gut feeling that Man Mountain’s style would be too much for the New Zealander.

The match lasted a little more than two hours and in the end, Man Mountain had the champ on the canvas, completely unconscious from a sleeper hold. He told us many times that he thought he would have been shot down by the mob if he had lost.

So anyway, as I said none of us really believed that story because we were always short on cash and put on our matches in high school gyms just to get gas money. How could it be possible that we were eating rice and beans while Man Mountain had a treasure stashed away?

I have to say that Man Mountain did not treat any of us very well but he didn’t have favorites, either. We pretty much did what we were told because there simply weren’t any options. Entrance to the show was twenty-five cents and on some good nights we would make twenty-five dollars. That doesn’t sound like much by today’s standards but gasoline was .22¢ a gallon and you could buy a loaf of bread for .16¢. If there was a really good night, he might give us each a dollar or so but usually the money went into a communal fund that Man Mountain maintained and it always had a sufficient reserve for him to buy a bottle of whiskey.

We worked out as we traveled; push ups, sit ups and tension training was the main exercises because of the lack of space and equipment but we stayed in pretty good shape.

As I tell about this, it sounds like it wasn’t much of a life but you have to realize that the world isn’t filled with opportunities for little people and we really felt pretty lucky because we visited a lot of places and had some really nice experiences. I remember that in late 40s we had a guy with us that Man Mountain wanted to name him something I don’t remember but it was a name suggesting that the guy had a royal title like a duke or something. The guy was from Germany and had some experience in the ring but he was a really proud type who wouldn’t let Man Mountain bully him around.

“My name is Hans Mueller,” he said. “And that is the name I will use in the ring.”

Man Mountain didn’t like that much but the guy told him that if he was called anything else, he wouldn’t wrestle. The truth was that he was pretty good and was quick and had great instincts. He won a lot because in those days we really wrestled and no one knew who was going to win. I mean that. A lot of people think that we had a routine or something and we planned on who was going to win and who would lose in advance. It wasn’t like that at all. For instance, I probably wrestled Mr. Atom fifty times and I’d say that I won about twenty-five times. We were pretty well evenly matched and sometimes I’d win and sometimes I’d lose. That’s how it was. Before each show we had this old shoe box with all our names in it on pieces of paper. We’d reach in and pull out a name and that’s how we knew who would be our opponent.

Then there was this one night when we went to a small town in Indiana. The matches were being sponsored by the Knights of Columbus and we paid them a percentage of the take but they were really good at bringing in the people. So we had this great crowd that night and the head guy of the Knights of Columbus came and asked us to have two or three more shows. We were all for that because at last we were making some real money.

It was on the second night that I pulled out Hans Mueller’s name and we were put in as the third match of the night. We started out pretty well and I remember that he gave me an elbow in the chest that knocked the wind out of me for a minute. After that, however, he got kinda’ listless and fell into my holds with less resistance than I had ever known him to have before. He just wasn’t putting up much of a fight, you know?

Finally, as I had him in a full nelson, he whispered, “Do you see her there down front?”

I didn’t know what he was talking about until a few seconds later. He went down to a sitting position and it was then that I saw her. She was a little person like us but she was beautiful and was sitting in the front row between a man and woman that I thought must be her parents.

“I have to know her,” he whispered again. “Go ahead and pin me so that I can have time to meet her.”

I thought for a moment and then told him, “No, you pin me. It would impress her more, right?”

In that moment I was his best friend and we ended the match with him pinning me a few seconds later. That night was the only time I ever had a fixed match. Hans ran to the bus where he washed up and changed clothes and before I knew it, he was standing there in front of the girl and shaking hands with her parents.

That was the last time I saw him. He disappeared and when Man Mountain stood beside the bus, red faced and angry and finally said he couldn’t wait any longer, we moved on without him. A couple of years later we went back to that town and tried to get the Knights of Columbus to sponsor us again but this time they weren’t interested. We finally put on a show in a big tent that belonged to a evangelist minister who secretly collected his share. I was billed as part of a tag team with The Latin Lover and before I knew it, Hans was standing in front of me, holding hands with his little woman. They were married and he was working in a company that her father owned. I was really happy for him and that was one of those good times that we had in those days even though they were few and far between. We talked some and Hans told me that he was the supervisor of a department in his father-in-law’s factory. He really had a life at last.

I have to say that none of those times could compare with the winter we were in the barn in Markham, Illinois. It was miserably cold and the snows covered cars but that was without a doubt the best time I can remember and I still think of it each year as Christmas comes around. I guess the thing I remember most was that night when Man Mountain uncovered the big sleigh hidden under some canvas. He pulled the canvas back and admired the sleigh for a long time before sitting down in the hay and sipping from his bottle as he did almost every night. He was already well on his way to being totally intoxicated and we knew that we were going to hear more about the exploits of his youth.

Ted Stubbs and his wife had asked us to not have lights on in the barn at night or to cover the windows if we had a light. They didn’t want their kids to know that we were there and I didn’t understand that but thought that they must have their own reasons. So we didn’t have much light and we just sat around in the dark until Man Mountain fell asleep.

He wasn’t ready to sleep and it didn’t take long before he started to repeat the old story about how the New York gangster had given him his gold belt and crown with the diamonds and rubies. To tell the truth, we were all pretty tired of hearing the same stories over and over but it was obvious that with enough whiskey, Man Mountain believed he was telling each tale for the first time. But on that night Louie Leprechaun couldn’t take any more and spoke up. We were all pretty much on edge because it was cold, the bus was broke down and we didn’t have much to eat.

“You’re going to tell us that fairy tale again?” he said and we were all pretty shocked that he was so frank.

“Fairy tale?” asked Man Mountain, his face flushing with anger. “You think it’s a fairy tale?”

“Look,” said Louie, “we’ve heard all your stories and I don’t think you’ve got any new ones to tell. Maybe you like to hear yourself but we’re pretty fed up with it.”

Man Mountain pushed himself up from the hay and in that moment he looked bigger than ever. We were afraid that he was going to do something to hurt Louis but he walked past us and climbed into the bus. We just looked at each other and wondered if Louie had done the right thing. Maybe he had hurt the big man’s feelings or maybe he was going to be harder on us than before. We thought a lot of different things in those moments.

We could hear some movements in the bus and the lid of a trunk slamming shut. Suddenly, Man Mountain came out of the bus wearing a long red cape with an ermine collar. He walked past us and we were pretty surprised because we had never seen that cape before. Man Mountain kept all his personal stuff in a truck inside the bus and it always had a big padlock. We guessed that he had pulled the cape out of there but we had to admit that it was really beautiful.

Man Mountain wasn’t walking too straight and stumbled a little. He stood before the hay and looked at it for a long time before saying something about he didn’t want to get the cape dirty. He then moved to the sleigh and crawled onto it and sat there as if it was his throne.

“Fairy tale, huh?” he slurred and in that moment his hands came out from under the cape and he put a gold crown on his head. We all were pretty much in a state of shock.

“Turn on the lights,” ordered Man Mountain because he wanted to be certain that we all witnessed the evidence that his story was true. Someone pulled the cord to the light and we could see the crown in all its glistening glory. The light flashed against a row of diamonds around a logo proclaiming its wearer as the champion of the world.

Dramatically, Man Mountain pulled back the cape and we could see that in the bus he had removed his shirt. Around his waist was the belt, equally brilliant and sprinkled with diamonds and red and green stones that we assumed were rubies and emeralds.

“Fairy tale?” he repeated and Louie Leprechaun could only walk closer to the sleigh, examine the crown and belt and shake his head slowly, “no.”

It was then that we heard the story again and this time no one protested.

I’ve done some investigating since that time and I’ve got a theory. I think it’s a pretty good one. You can check the facts for yourself, okay?

Back in 1935, a bag was stolen from a train in Australia. It contained 34 pounds of gold. Now, I think the guy Man Mountain met was Jack Dionessio, a New York high roller with the Mafia back in the 1930s. Dionessio went to New Zealand to check out this champion wrestler, I guess to see what moves he had and all that. Who knows? Maybe he made a deal for him to throw the bout with Man Mountain? But maybe there was another reason for the trip because Australia is very close, right? It’s only about 1,300 miles distance and air service had started the year before in 1934.

So we have Dionessio going to New Zealand and then returning and suddenly he had enough gold to make Man Mountain’s belt and crown. Now the belt and crown didn’t weigh 34 pounds so Dionessio would have a lot of gold left over to sell but that wouldn’t have been a problem in those days. The jewels in the belt and crown could have been provided by the jeweler as part of the deal or there were lots of jewel heists in those days and making the belt and crown wouldn’t have been a big problem.

The year before Dionessio had made a fortune on the Primo Carnera vs. Max Baer fight and still today a lot of boxing experts say the fight was fixed. Carnera later became a professional wrestler and Dionessio won a lot of money following his bouts.

To this day they have never discovered what happened to the gold from the train in Australia and no one was ever arrested. It all sounds like a great detective story but personally, I think it can be tied directly to Man Mountain’s belt and crown.

So anyway, we had that belt and crown in the bus with us in those days and who knows what they were worth? But Man Mountain always claimed to be broke and sometimes we really had a tough time surviving.

After we left that farm in Illinois that winter, we went to a couple towns in Northern Illinois and put on a show and that was when I started to see that I wasn’t going to have any future with Man Mountain. A friend of mine in Florida wired me enough money for a bus ticket and I went to Miami. There was a small amusement park there that hired a few little people and I worked there until I retired.

I kept contact with a couple of the guys from the troop and they told me that Man Mountain changed a lot after that winter. They said he stopped drinking and started treating them pretty well. I couldn’t imagine that ever happening but who knows? I hope it did.

When I think about all that, I have to admit that Man Mountain was really different when those two kids from the farm came to see him. He was kinda’ gentle, you know? If he knew the kids were coming to visit him, he never took a drink and I remember that at first he didn’t want to see them. When they came though, he seemed to change and he got real quiet after that.

Who knows? Maybe he did change. I hope so.

RANDALL STUBBS

Becky and I had settled in for the night but for some reason I couldn’t sleep. The storm had passed and now the night was an ebony tent with acetylene stars embroidered around a full moon. Thoughts of Christmas filled my mind and nights like that brought images of Santa crossing the moon with his sleigh and reindeer. Such thoughts, however, were constantly interrupted with the old fear of eviction from the farm and I would pull the covers over my head and try to lull myself into sleep.

A huge oak tree stood beside the house and raised its limbs past our window. It was there that sometimes an owl would perch and ask his questions throughout the night. On that night he returned and I crawled out from under the blankets to get a better view of him.

Within minutes, I was shaking Becky awake and telling her to come to the window. Once there, we peered into the darkness toward the barn where a slit of light knifed out from the window.

“Who’s down there?” she asked softly.

I smiled knowingly and replied, “Probably Mom and Dad hiding our presents.”

“But Santa brings the presents,” she protested.

“Not all of them,” I countered. “Mom and Dad give us presents, too. Last year they hid your tricycle in the barn. I saw it.”

“You did not!” she protested.

“Yes, I did,” I insisted. “Get dressed. Let’s sneak down there and see what they’re hiding.”

We dressed in a hurry and Becky took the time to hunt for her wool scarf because Mom told her not to go outside without it. I urged her to hurry but she was oblivious to everything except the scarf until she found it on the dresser.

We left the house by the front door because in the kitchen there was a door and a screened door that always squealed when opened. We moved in the shadow of the house until we reached the big oak and from there hurried to the barn window.

At first, I thought that Mom and Dad had suspected that we would spy and had placed paper over the panes of the window. But then I found the opening that emitted the shaft of light we had seen from our room and I peered inside.

Never in my life had I been more astonished. My mouth fell in complete awe as Becky was tugging at my coat and whispering, “What is it? What do they have?”

I raised a finger to my lips and she fell silent. I went to the place beside the barn wall where Dad had left his saw horse and moved it to the window. I lifted Becky onto it and together we gazed into the dimly lit barn. I could hear her gasp with disbelief.

There, before us, Santa was sitting in his sleigh. He wore a crown and before him was a gathering of his elves sitting on the barn floor, listening to him. He was probably giving them instructions about all that needed to be done before Christmas Eve night because they were listening intently.

Santa was magnificent with a bushy white beard and the fat belly just like he was portrayed in those Coca Cola ads. His sleigh was elegant and it was easy to imagine it soaring through the skies. But most impressive was the fact that Santa was in our barn! Of all the kids in the world, Santa and his elves had come to visit us before Christmas and suddenly all the fears and doubts I had known disappeared. Surely something so wonderful would not have happened if we were to be taken away from the only home we had ever known.

“It’s him!” Becky was softly squealing. “Randall, it’s Santa!”

She could not control her excitement and apparently the sound of her voice was heard by one of the elves because he walked toward the window to investigate. I quickly pulled Becky down from the saw horse and we ran to the back of the barn. We were afraid that if we were discovered, Santa would leave and everything would be ruined.

Behind the barn was a trio of thick trunked trees and we scampered there to hide in the shadows they created against the moon. We waited to see if Santa or the elves would open the back door of the barn and search for the sounds they had heard. I whispered to Becky that she had to be quiet and she nodded with wide eyes.

I continued to peer into the night and noticed that the wastes from the stalls of the barn had been piled into a mound behind the barn. Dad and Grandpa had never done that before. Manure from the barn was always taken to a place beside the field where it was spread over the land before Dad used the disc to turn it. I thought it was strange but the idea of Santa being in the barn diminished its importance. I knew that we had to wait until the elves were satisfied that there were no intruders. But in that moment Becky was pulling at my coat sleeve again.

“Shhh,” I hissed, “we have to be quiet!”

I looked down at Becky’s face and found it illuminated by the moon. Her eyes were wider than before but she could not speak. She was only pointing a finger in the direction behind me.

I turned and there, behind the barbed wire fence of the south pasture were three of Santa’s reindeer! They were walking slowly along the fence line and I immediately wondered which they were, Prancer? Donner? Comet? But the sight of them thrilled me and confirmed all that we had witnessed. It was then that I realized that we had to go back to the house and our beds to pretend that we had seen nothing. Surely our parents knew that Santa and the elves were in our barn and they would be really angry if they knew we had left the house at night. We could take no chances and I whispered to Becky that we had to go back to the house. She wanted another peek at Santa but I told her no and she accepted it without protest.

The snow was powdery and we had not left deep tracks. I took off my coat and swung it over the snow to erase the footprints as we retreated to the house. With special care we opened the door and closed it silently, turning the lock on the knob. We climbed the stairs and entered our room without disturbing anyone and finally sat on the edges of our beds and pulled off our clothes.

“Can I tell Susan?” asked Becky softly. Susan was her best friend who lived in Markham, not on the outskirts like we did.

“No,” I told her. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Why isn’t he at the North Pole?” she asked.

“I don’t know. But there must be a good reason that he’s here.”

“I didn’t see a bag of toys,” she announced.

I was pulling off my socks and feeling the chill setting into my legs. “Well, it must be there and we didn’t see it.”

Becky thought for a long moment before saying, “I’ve been good. Have you?”

The thought of us disobeying our parents and going to the barn in the midst of night came to my mind but I decided to lie and answer, “Sure.”

“Do you think that’s why he’s here? Because we’ve been really, really good?”

“I don’t know,” I repeated and warned her again not to mention anything about our adventure and discovery to anyone, including Grandpa and our parents.

“Can we go again?” she asked. Becky always had a lot of questions. “Tomorrow night? Can we go?”

“Maybe,” I said and after that we returned under the covers and tried to make sleep more important than the fact that Santa had taken up temporary residence in our barn.

The next day we asked Mom if we could go outside to play and she said okay except that we had to stay near the front porch. I used that advantage point to scout a route for our night excursions. I noticed that the eaves of our house were extended enough that there was a space without snow and that would form a good path for us. Beyond the house were mounds of snow that Dad and Grandpa had shoveled to form a walkway to the barn. That snow had hardened into ice and we could walk over it without leaving prints. That would take us to the edge of the barn where the eaves once again provided a bare, snowless area for us to spy on Santa and his helpers.

That night we did not see a light in the barn but decided to go anyway to confirm all that we had seen the night before. We moved along the route I had planned and arrived at the window where the saw horse still stood. I lifted Becky onto it and we strained our eyes to look into the dark interior of the barn. The moon was still large and brilliant and while we saw no movement inside, moonlight protruded through the openings between the door of the hay loft and we could see the magnificent sleigh. Yes, we had not been dreaming. Santa and his elves were merely asleep.

DR. DWARF

Of all the men working with Man Mountain in those days, I was the one with the best reason of all. The big man had come to our town in Ohio that year when I was 20-years-old. I had a pretty good bundle of money at that time and went to see the show. I thought it was a pretty good way for a little man to earn a living but I was made for better things.

I worked with Charlie Foss. Charlie was a cat burglar that had plagued the neighborhoods for months but had never been caught. One of the main reasons was that burglars usually made a lot of noise when entering an open window. There was no air conditioning in those days and people left windows partially open at night. For a fully grown man to crawl through a window usually meant he was going to knock over a lamp or trip over something. Charlie would lift me to the window and I could go inside the house with no problem. It was easy for me to move through the house and open the front door for Charlie to get inside and fill his bag with anything of value.

We had a fence that bought most of the stuff we stole but finally the police caught on to him and he was out of circulation. Charlie then took some of the silver items to a pawn shop and later the police visited the owner and the only real identification he could provide was that there was a man and a midget. Obviously, a midget was easier to find and so I was hiding out and knew my days were numbered.

That was when I had the idea to go talk to Man Mountain and I found him as they were packing things into their bus to leave and I told him the truth about my situation. All he said was, “Get on the bus,” and I was grateful to him for the rest of the time I was with the troop.

But Randall said that he wanted me to write about that winter we were in that barn in Illinois and it sure isn't hard to do. I especially remember the woman who lived at the farm where we stayed. She was beautiful and came one morning with a basket filled with eggs and left them with us to cook. We had one of those little kerosene camp stoves and we ate like kings that morning. You remember things like that, especially when you were hungry.

Now, we had been told to clean out the stalls of the barn every day and all of us pitched in to get that done except Man Mountain, of course, because he was usually sleeping off a drunk until about ten or eleven. By then we had the stalls clean and that was no easy job because we were moving around the legs of horses and cows and never knew when we might get trampled. Usually, we had everything clean by eight or so in the morning and we would take all the smelly stuff from the stalls to a place behind the barn where we went when we had to pee or something. Around eight Ted or his father would come down to the barn to milk the cows and sometimes they left a pitcher for us.

We had been at this farm for about four days when one night I had to go outside to take care of my business, you know? Now, the barn door was really big and it took two of us to push it open. Me and Sammy Small pushed it open and went outside. Sammy was a real nice guy with a great drop kick. So I was at this mound of smelly stuff and had finished peeing when I turned around and there at the corner of the barn were these two kids. They were looking at me with big eyes and their mouths open and all I could think of to say was, “Hi.”

The boy said hello and I didn’t know what to do. I knew we were in trouble because Ted and his wife had told us that they didn’t want the kids to know we were there.

“You’re one of the helpers, right?” asked the little girl.

I didn’t really know what she was talking about at that moment but I said that yes, I helped with things.

“Where’s Mrs. Claus?” the little girl asked and I frowned with confusion.

“Who?” I asked.

The boy put his arm around the little girl and pulled her close to him. “We saw Santa through the window,” he told me. “Becky, my sister, wants to know where Mrs. Claus is? Is she still at the North Pole?”

At that moment I understood exactly what had happened. I could only imagine the kids looking in the barn window and seeing the big man and all of us. They had to think they were seeing Santa but I didn’t know how to answer.

“She couldn’t come,” I lied, “too close to Christmas. She never goes with Santa on his Christmas trip.”

The boy looked kinda’ confused and said, “But his elves don’t go either, right?”

Great, now I was an elf – an elf without an answer. “No,” I told him. “We go back to the North Pole.”

“Can I touch you?” the little girl asked with an incredibly sweet innocence.

“Sure,” I said, and she moved slowly toward me and pulled off her glove to touch my cheek.

“Geeez,” was all she said.

It was at that point that I started to think that maybe it would be best to tell the kids the truth. Maybe it would have been better than having them believe that Man Mountain was Santa and we were his toy-making elves.

“Look, kids,” I began, “just what did you see?”

The boy smiled slightly. “We saw Santa with his red cape and this beautiful gold crown and he was sitting on his sleigh talking to all of you. Then we found your reindeer in the back pasture.”

“Our what?” I asked incredulously.

“Your reindeer,” the boy repeated.

Now I really was lost. It was bad enough that the kids thought that they had seen Santa and his elves, but they had imagined that they saw reindeer, too.

“There ain’t no reindeer,” I told them. “And what you saw from the window isn’t what you think.”

At that moment Sammy Small returned to the barn door, wanting to help me close it. Seeing me talking to the kids, he came outside and laboriously pushed the large door partially closed.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Come with us,” said the boy and he took his sister’s hand and led us a few steps to a group of large trees and pointed toward a field. There, against the white blanket of snow, we could see reindeer huddled against the cold. Sammy and I exchanged a look of disbelief and leaned forward to peer into the night and confirm that the animals were really reindeer.

“See?” said the boy. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna’ tell anyone, not even our Mom and Dad.”

“Can we talk to Santa? asked the girl.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said Sammy.

“Why not?” she persisted.

I wasn’t sure that Sammy wouldn’t say something that would upset the kids so I interrupted. “Because he’s really busy right now. Christmas is just a few days away, remember?”

The boy stepped forward in front of his sister and his face was solemn. “I have to talk to him. I have to.”

Sammy understood then what had happened and he sighed a long sound of resignation. “What are we gonna’ do now?”

I took a step closer to the kids and noted that the boy was about my height. “Look, it’s really late, you know? Tell you what, I’ll talk to the other elves tonight and we’ll see what we can work out, okay?”

“We’ll come back tomorrow night,” said the boy. “It’s really important.”

“I know,” I told him, “I’ll do my best.”

We watched them move back toward the house, walking under the eaves of the barn and then to a mound of ice. We could only wonder about what we could possibly do to resolve the situation.

Four of the guys were playing cards by an old kerosene lantern and we shook the other two awake.

“They think Man Mountain is Santa Claus?” gasped The Tiny Tornado. “That two bit drunk is as far from Santa as you can get! Why didn’t you tell them the truth?”

“I couldn’t,” I told him. “I wanted to but they were so convinced, they wouldn’t believe me anyway and besides there’s reindeer out there!”

At that moment they all thought I was crazy but Sammy chipped in, “It’s true. I saw them; real reindeer out there in a field.”

Within minutes the entire troop was filing out of the barn door and marching through the snow toward the pasture. At the fence the others paused and gasped with the sight of the reindeer posed before them and the animals turned their heads to examine us as well.

“What are they doing here?” asked one of the guys but no one had an answer.

“This is weird stuff,” observed the Golden Gnome. “That sleigh in the barn and these reindeer?”

Mr. Atom said that the parents were probably planning some big surprise for the kids and that seemed to be the most reasonable answer anyone had provided.

Back in the barn it became clear that we had a real problem. There was too much evidence to deny that Man Mountain was Santa or that we were elves. We would have to play the thing out to make the kids happy. But to do that, we had to convince Man Mountain to be a Aunt Normal human for a few days and to play along with the kids.

The next morning we did not wait for Man Mountain to sleep late but shook him awake and put a cup of steaming coffee in front of him.

“Whadya’ doing?” he moaned and turned over in the hay, putting his head on his arm.

“Wake up,” someone called and we shook him violently until he blinked several times and pushed up to one elbow. “We’ve got to talk,” said another.

For more than an hour we explained the situation to Man Mountain and he was inclined to dismiss the episode and prefer to pretend that it didn’t happen. He refused to believe us about the reindeer and ventured out to see for himself. He returned shaking his head with confusion. At last he offered a typical solution, “The head for the motor will probably come today or tomorrow and we can get outta’ here,” he advised.

“That’s not the point,” I told him. “Those kids think you’re Santa and you can’t let them down like that.”

Louie Leprechaun was the most vocal of the group and he pushed himself to the front of the group.

“Now look,” he started, “we go along with all your crap day after day. Now this once you’re gonna’ do something decent and talk to those kids. They saw you when you were on that sleigh with that fancy robe of yours. That’s how you’re gonna’ be when they come back, got it?

“We’re gonna’ let those kids come in and you’re gonna’ be up there on that sleigh and let them sit on your lap like in those department stores. You’re gonna’ listen to them tell you what they want and you’ll say that you’ll do all you can to get the things they want for them but it’s really short notice. We don’t know if their folks have enough money, so don’t go promising stuff.”

Man Mountain waved his arm as if to dismiss the idea. “Nah, look, we’ll be gone in a couple of days and they’ll never know the difference.”

“Big Man,” said Louie fiercely, “you’re gonna’ do this or we’re gonna’ pack up our stuff and move on without you.”

“And do what?” he laughed defiantly. “I’ve got the equipment, the ring and ropes and everything. How are you gonna’ do anything without me?”

I stepped forward at that point and glared into Man Mountain’s face. “Remember Hans?” I asked. “He’s in the money back in Ohio. His father-in-law would sponsor us in a heartbeat and I have their phone number.”

Man Mountain paused with that, frowning with recollection. He then raised his eyes to the roof in exasperation. “I don’t know how to talk to no kid!” he protested.

“Well, you’re gonna’ learn,” said Louie.

It was about eleven o’clock when the kids came to the barn. We had watched the house earlier and all the lights had gone out about nine. The boy always held the girl’s hand and guided her along the route. At last, they came to the rear door where we were waiting for them, all eight of us. They gazed at us with amazement and smiled genuinely.

“Santa said he’ll talk to you,” I told them and we pulled the barn door open.

We all stepped aside and the kids walked past us with expressions of awe. Man Mountain was perched on the sleigh with his red and ermine robe and the golden crown settled on his head with white hair flowing around it.

“What’s your names?” Man Mountain asked.

“You know,” the girl giggled.

“Randall,” said the boy, “and this is my sister, Rebecca but we call her Becky.” The boy leaned close to his sister and scolded, “He has lots of kids to remember!”

“Do you want to sit up here with me?” Man Mountain asked and we were astonished at the gentleness of his voice.

The children struggled up the side of the sleigh until they were seated on each side of the big man. His expression was strained as if the children made him uncomfortable.

“What do you want for Christmas?” he asked the boy but the kid told Man Mountain that he wanted his sister to go first.

“I want a carriage for my baby doll,” said the girl and quickly added, “that’s all.”

“Maybe we can do that,” said Man Mountain just as he had been advised. “We’ll do our best. How about you?” he asked the boy.

The boy looked at us and his expression saddened. “Can my sister go with you for a couple of minutes?” he asked us and we went forward and helped her down from the sleigh. She followed a couple of the guys to one of the stalls where she petted a horse and offered it handfuls of oats.

“I’ve got something really big to ask,” said the boy in hushed tones.

“Well, it can’t be too big,” Man Mountain said with obvious hesitation.

“Give me this one thing and I’ll never want anything else, not ever. Not one more present the rest of my life.”

“That is something big,” observed Man Mountain, “what is it?”

The boy lowered his eyes and tightened his lips. “It’s my Mom and Dad and Grandpa,” he began. “The bank is gonna’ take this place from them. It’s all they’ve got. But I heard them talking and the bank’s gonna’ come and take it all away from them because they don’t have any money.

“They’ve always given us everything,” he continued. “A farm is hard work and they do it and never talk about being tired. Becky and me, we just love them so much! We don’t want to see Mom sad or Dad and Grandpa losing everything.

“That’s what I want, Santa. I want the bank to go away and let my Mom and Dad to live here and have their home.”

A couple of the kerosene lamps were hanging from the rafters and I could see the glistening of a tear in Man Mountain’s eye. He started to speak but his voice broke and he had to start again.

“That’s something really big,” he said softly.

“I know,” said the boy, “but like I said, I don’t ever want anything more and if I have to, I’ll pay you back when I grow up, I promise!”

Suddenly, we looked up to the sleigh and Man Mountain was placing the boy’s head against his chest and soothing him with gentle strokes.

“You’re a good boy,” he whispered. “Your Mom and Dad have to be very proud of you.”

“Can you do it?” the boy persisted.

Finally, Man Mountain stared into the boy’s face with misty eyes and offered in the softest tones, “Yes.”

When the kids had excitedly left and returned to the house, Louie was furious. “I told you not to promise anything!” he snarled. “Now those kids are going to be more disappointed than ever!”

Man Mountain did not reply but only removed his crown and robe and went to the bus where we heard the chest close again and the padlock snapped closed. He didn’t speak to us much after that but remained silent. There were no more tales of his past glories or boastful claims, just a strange insightful silence.

That’s how it was until the next night when we saw the Sheriff’s truck arrive and told Man Mountain to sit in the bus and not come out.

CARL DUGGER,

COOK COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPUTY

The first thing I thought of when I saw the Notice of Foreclosure on Farm Equipment was that it was too close to Christmas to be doing stuff like that. But we had the responsibility to serve legal documents like that and take action so we didn’t have much choice.

What happened was that a farm equipment auction was scheduled for the third week of September that year, and Norman Keats at the First State Bank of Markham decided to foreclose on all the equipment possible for a quick sale. Going to those farms with our truck and trailer was one of the saddest things I ever had to do as a law enforcement officer. Farm women would cry and the men would wear angry faces that hid their pain. It was really a difficult job.

It was especially hard when I got the notice for Ted Stubbs. My father had worked on farms with Ted’s dad and our families had spent time together socially. I knew Ted would understand that I was only doing my job but I wasn’t convinced that I could live with myself afterward.

I took Casey Wells with me that day. Casey had been with the department a little over a year and still had a lot to learn. Going out on foreclosures was one of those emotional things that a deputy needs to deal with and I thought it would do him good.

We had several other papers to serve that day. A lot of the farmers in the area were having the same problems as the Stubbs Family. But serving Ted Stubb was going to be the most difficult of all and I put it off until the last thing to do that day. It was about eight thirty that night and we drove our truck and trailer next to the house and knocked at the door. Miriam came with a pale face and trembling hands. She took the document and read it quickly before handing it to Ted.

“We have to do it, Ted,” I advised and he only nodded. “Where is it all?”

“In the barn,” he said and we returned to the truck and backed the trailer to the barn door.

What happened next is something I have never told anyone. Even Casey Wells who loves to repeat rumors and lies has never mentioned it. We kept it to ourselves and didn’t even talk about it for years.

We opened the barn doors, turned on our flashlights and there was the Allis Chalmers tractor, the plows and discs and everything listed on the foreclosure notice. I was happy with that because some of the farmers liked to hide their equipment and that only made things more difficult.

Casey lowered the tail gate of the trailer and we started to move toward the equipment when suddenly we were surrounded by these little men. I’m not lying about this. I swear to God we were surrounded by a bunch of little men who had their fists clenched and wore expressions that were really hostile.

One of them said that they don’t want to hurt us and Casey started to laugh. I guess the idea of someone so little hurting him was funny but before we knew it, the little man had Casey’s leg and two others had his arms and he was flying through the air before crashing against some bales of hay.

It was not the kind of situation where I would reach for my weapon but I did start to tell one of them to back away but when I reached for him, I found myself being spun around in wide circles and then being thrown across the planked floor.

Before we knew it, they were upon us and small fists were punishing our faces with considerable pain. I felt my arm being twisted and saw a little creature holding my wrist and having its feet planted against the side of my chest. I screamed with pain.

Casey meanwhile was having his own problems since each time he tried to stand, one little guy with blond hair would give him a flying drop kick and send him reeling backwards.

No matter what we did, they would jab, poke, kick, twist or punch us until we ached all over and were moaning in pain. I opened my eyes to see a small face close to mine, snarling, “And don’t come back, understand?”

I said yes and they permitted us to stand, gather our hats and leave hastily after closing the tail gate of the trailer.

We were driving back to Markham when Casey suddenly asked with a trembling voice, “What were those things?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed and wished that we could move faster but the highway was very slick and dangerous. I wanted to put that experience as far behind me as possible.

“It was them,” offered Casey and I could see his hands trembling.

“Who?”

Casey turned his face toward me and I could see one eye swollen. “Them! Ain’t you read nothin’ about them flying saucer things?”

Now, the year before it was reported everywhere that UFOs had flown over Washington, D.C. and people were generally divided in their opinions about the validity of UFO claims.

“Yeah,” I answered, “I read about them.”

“Well, that’s who they were!”

“Casey, they spoke English!”

Casey shook his head with disgust. “They’re real advanced, Carl! They know the language wherever they go! If they went to China, they’d speak Chinese!”

“People in China don’t speak Chinese, Casey,” I reminded him. “Most speak Mandarin.”

“It don’t matter!” he insisted. “Then you tell me, what’s a bunch of little people doing in Ted Stubb’s barn? If they ain’t there to look at cows and horses and try to find out what kind of life forms we’ve got on Earth, what are they doin’ there?”

I had to admit that I didn’t have an answer.

“Did you see how many there were?” continued Casey. “What? Thirty, forty? Who knows how many more there are? Maybe it’s an invasion! I’ll bet you anything that there’s a saucer in the fields back there!”

“Well,” I told him, “I’m not going back there to find out.”

“Did you get a good look at them?” he asked nervously.

I thought for a moment before replying. “Yeah, pretty good. They looked like humans but they were just real short, right?”

“Right,” he agreed.

Casey paused for a long moment, clutching his hands in his lap to ease the shaking. “They were real strong,” he offered at last. “Not like humans.”

I nodded. “Yeah, real strong.”

The conversation was very strained as if each of us wanted to confirm that what had happened was real.

“You think the Stubbs are in danger?” he asked at last and I have to admit that it was a thought that hadn’t occurred to me.

“Damn,” I hissed. “They might be with those things so close in their barn!”

At the first driveway I turned the truck around and we moved as quickly as we could back to the Stubbs Farm.

“Think they’ll believe us?” asked Casey.

“It don’t matter. We can’t just go away and not warn them.”

We stopped the truck near to the house but left the headlights on because they illuminated the front of the barn. We knocked on the door and Ted’s dad answered. I could see Miriam behind him with a handkerchief dabbing her eyes.

“Miriam, can we come in?” I asked and she nodded.

A few minutes later we were at the kitchen table, Casey and me and the three grownups of the Stubbs Family. The kids had come part way down the stairs but Miriam ordered them back to their beds.

“Now, you probably ain’t gonna’ believe us,” I started but Ted interrupted with a forced smile.

“Carl, we know you’re just doing your job. There’s no need for you to feel bad or try to apologize. We knew this day would come and we’d lose the tractor and everything.”

Casey spoke up suddenly, “We didn’t take nothin’, Ted.”

All three of the Stubbs Family looked at each other with confusion and I took a long sip of the coffee Miriam had served before finding the courage to speak.

“We think you might be in danger,” I told them.

“Danger?” asked Miriam.

“Look, I know this is going to be hard to believe but something really weird happened back there in the barn. Casey and me went in and were all set to put the tractor and equipment on the trailer when something attacked us.”

Ted frowned deeply. “Our dog was on the back porch,” he explained.

“It wasn’t no dog, Ted. It was a whole bunch of little people like from up there,” and I pointed toward the heavens. “Casey and me talked about it and the truth is there ain’t no other explanation. You’ve got a whole lot of, well, what do they call them ? Yeah, aliens out there in your barn. Now, we don’t know what they’re doing but we suspect they want to know what kind of animals we have on this planet, you know? They were like checking out the cows and horses. Looks like we walked in on them while they were doing that and Casey’ll tell you we were lucky to get out of there with our lives!”

I guess Miriam smiles when she’s nervous because she had this grin and was looking at Ted and her father-in-law like she wanted to break out laughing. People react to news like that in different ways and I guess she was one of those people who laugh when they’re nervous. Ted and Grandpa Stubbs just sat there with stone like faces and listened to what I told them.

“I think you’d best gather up the kids and spend the night with friends,” I told them. “You never know what they’re here for or what they’ll do next.”

Ted looked worried and asked, “Did you report it?”

“Well Ted, that’s the thing,” said Casey. “Carl and I think it’s best if we don’t say nothin’ about this whole business. You know how folks are and they next thing you know they’ll say we were drinking on duty or that we’re just a couple of liars wanting publicity or something. This kinda’ thing is best kept between ourselves.”

“Right,” said Ted and his father quickly agreed.

“If Norman Keats wants your equipment, Ted, he can come for them himself because I ain’t going’ back into that barn. Not for love or money.”

Miriam stepped forward and put her hand on Ted’s shoulder. “I think we can put padlocks on the barn doors and wait until morning,” she offered.

Casey didn’t like that idea. “They’re real advanced, Miriam. They can speak English! I think they probably have ray guns or something that would melt a lock right off the door!”

“We’ll stand guard,” said Grandpa Stubbs. “I’ll take the first shift and Ted can take over when I get sleepy.”

“That makes more sense,” advised Casey, “but you’d best be ready to run. They’re little but they move like the wind.”

“Right,” Grandpa agreed, “we’ll keep our eyes open and put the pickup by the door.”

I felt better after that. We filed our report that no one was at the farm and the barn was locked. No one questioned it and a couple days later I saw Ted at the gas station and he told me that when they woke up the next morning, the barn was empty. I guess they went back to where they came from because we haven’t had any reports of strange stuff like that happening.

It wasn’t until the Christmas Parade of that year and Casey and I understood what had happened but we were too ashamed to talk about it much. Some things are best kept to yourself.

LOUIE LEPRECHAUN

I never dreamed that anyone would ask me about that winter. It was so long ago I thought everyone had forgotten about it except me. That was the winter of miracles, it was. I get goose bumps just thinking about it.

One time we, Man Mountain and the troop and I, went to Steubenville, Ohio and I told the big man that I had an aunt who lived there. I wanted some time to visit her but he said we didn’t have any time for socializing and we moved on. That hurt a lot because my aunt always loved me very much and I wanted to let her know I was okay and doing well.

Now, Randall told me that one of the guys wrote about how the kids came to visit Man Mountain, thinking that he was Santa and we were elves from the North Pole. That was a real kick but you had to feel a real Christmas spirit watching those kids with their eyes big with wonder because they thought Santa was visiting them. It was a real special moment and it really impacted Man Mountain.

I was the first to meet the kids. I went out behind the barn because we were told to stay out of sight and I had to go to the bathroom. When I was coming back, they were there peeking in one of the windows. They were really sweet kids all excited about us being on their farm. I didn’t know at that time that they believed we were Santa’s helpers. But they believed it and there wasn’t anything you could say to change their minds about it.

The little boy, Randall, talked to me a lot after that. We’d sit outside the barn and talk about all sorts of things. I remember that one time he told me about the problems his family was having and how he wanted to help but he didn’t know how. He was really frustrated by it and finally he said, “You don’t know what it’s like to be little and you can’t do the things you need to do.”

Of course I knew what it was like. I had been challenged and thousands of things I couldn’t do because of my size.

I guess he could read my face and final he covered his mouth with his hand and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Louie. I didn’t think about what I was saying.”

He hugged me and I held him tight. “Don’t worry,” I told him, “it’s okay. You’ll grow up and be like your dad, tall and strong. I’m little and I think that I’m supposed to be this way for some reason. Someday I’ll find that reason and then I be thankful and understand that everyone is the person they’re supposed to be.”

Randall seemed to think for a long moment before saying, “I might grow up, but I’ll never forget you.”

“I hope not,” I whispered and then there was nothing more to be said.

Not long after that, one of the guys had to go to the bathroom and came back and said that in the pile of manure out back Man Mountain had thrown away all his bottles of booze. What was more, the big man was very quiet and there wasn’t any of his bragging and repeating all his old stories. He was very quiet and when he did speak, it was in a soft voice we had never heard before.

I remember that the owner of the farm, Ted somebody, came to milk the cows and told Man Mountain that the part had arrived at the bus station and that he was going to town to get it. Man Mountain asked if he could go along because he wanted to take a bus to Chicago. He said he had some business to take care of and we all thought that if we repaired the bus, he was going to arrange some dates for our show. That day he spoke with us and it wasn’t like any time before.

“I have to go but I’ll be back tonight. Ted will bring the head for the motor and I’d really appreciate it if you could install it.”

That was so different from how he had ordered things to be done before and we were actually worried about Man Mountain, wondering if he had some physical ailment he wasn’t telling us about. One of the guys suggested that maybe the big man was going to Chicago to consult a doctor and we were all concerned.

Ted came for him later that day and Man Mountain said goodbye to all of us and told us to ask the woman of the house for some eggs if we needed to. He had a paper sack folded and tucked under his arm and he smiled at us. Man Mountain smiled at us like he really cared.

He came back that night like he promised and we had the head installed and had tested the motor several times and let it run for a while to charge the battery.

“We’re ready to roll,” I remember that The Golden Gnome told him and Man Mountain responded softly.

“Almost.”

RANDALL

It was December 22 and the old clock over the fireplace chimed eleven times. Mom and Dad and Grandpa always went to bed early and were fast asleep by that hour, so Becky and I climbed out from under the covers. We had not taken off our clothes and quietly put on our coats. Becky wrapped the scarf around her neck and we went silently down the stairs.

Our route was well practiced by that time and we wasted no time in getting to the back door of the barn. Becky broke away from my hand for a moment to run to a vantage point to check that the reindeer were still there and returned happy, confirming that they were. Softly, we knocked at the barn door.

Santa was there, sitting on the sleigh as he had been every night since we had first spoken with him. Becky ran to the sleigh and laboriously climbed aboard and kissed his cheek. That appeared to bring him great joy and he smiled widely. I took my place beside him and we felt his arms draw us near to him.

“Have you been good?” he asked us.

“Yes!” chimed Becky.

“Sorta’,” I replied.

Suddenly Santa seemed to be very interested and asked, “Why sortá?”

“Our folks don’t know we come here at night,” I told him. “I think they’d be pretty mad at us.”

Santa laughed aloud and it was a good sound. “Well, we won’t tell, right?”

It was not the answer I expected from Santa but I was very pleased to hear it.

For some reason one of the elves came close the sleigh and was speaking close to Santa’s ear in a low voice but I could hear him saying, “You have to tell the kid! You can’t have him believing that you’re gonna’ make everything right!”

Santa seemed to ignore the elf and enjoyed his time with us. “It’s okay,” he told the elf. “Go sit down.” And the elf shook his head in disbelief and went back to join the others.

“We have to move on very soon,” he told us, “but I hope you will always remember this Christmas.”

“Always,” I sighed.

“Because I will always remember you and what wonderful kids you are,” he told us. “I promise you this will be the best Christmas you ever had.”

When I think back to that moment, I am confounded by the complete and uncompromising trust I had in Santa. I knew in that moment that Christmas was going to be wonderful and our future was going to be secure. I did not have the slightest doubt.

“You won’t pass by our house because I’ve been bad like coming here without permission?” I asked.

Santa smiled even wider. “I’ve been bad sometimes, Randall. Everyone has. We are all human and we cannot always do the good or best thing. Sometimes we forget and do things we want to do instead of the things we should do. But I understand that because I’ve done it so many times myself.”

I felt wonderful that Santa was so understanding. I was genuinely afraid that our disobedience might have consequences with him.

“But do you know what?” he continued and we lifted our eyes to his face. “I am not going to make those mistakes anymore and do you know why?”

“No,” said Becky before I had an opportunity to answer.

“Because you taught me not to,” said Santa. “You accepted who I was and made me be who I could be and I will always be grateful. ”

I really didn’t understand what Santa was saying but his eyes were so genuinely tender that I only smiled and snuggled closer to him.

“I don’t want you to go,” I said softly.

“I know,” said Santa, “and if I could, I would stay with you here forever. But I have a lot to do, son.”

“I know,” I replied and thought of the millions of children who needed Santa as much as I did.

Later, when we said goodbye to Santa and slid down from the sleigh to move to the barn door, the elf ran to us outside.

“Look kids,” he began, “sometimes Santa promises more than he can deliver, you know? Don’t get your hopes up too much that he’s gonna’ save your farm for you, okay? I don’t want you to feel bad or nothin’ like that.”

I smiled at the little man and felt sorry that he did not have more faith in Santa. “Everything is gonna’ be okay,” I told him, “just like Santa said. You’ll see.”

The little elf was now furious and he shouted, “That big guy’s not really Santa, Sonny! He’s just pretending! He’s fooling you! Don’t you believe nothin’ he tells you!”

Becky started to cry and I took her hand. “He’s really Santa, right Randall?” she asked pleadingly.

I led her back to the barn where Santa was still sitting on the sleigh and the elves had started activities around the barn. He seemed to be surprised to see us and patted the place beside him as a signal for us to join him.

“Why are you crying?” he asked Becky and she pointed toward the elf.

“He says you’re not really Santa,” she sobbed. “He says you’re not real.”

I nodded my agreement when Santa looked at me. “He said you weren’t really Santa,” I repeated Becky’´s words. “Like those Santas in the stores, you know? He said you were just pretending to be Santa.”

We felt his huge arms move around our shoulders and he pulled us close to his body.

“That’s because he’s a sad little elf,” said Santa. “He doesn’t know what Santa really is like we do.”

“Like we do?” I asked.

“Sure,” he told me. “How can anyone say what Santa really is? Is it just a big man in a red suit? Santa’s everywhere, kids. In the snowfall that reminds you of Christmas; in a decorated tree. You’ll find Santa in Christmas music and Christmas dinner. And he’s not just in toys and presents. He’s much bigger than that. Santa is how you feel inside. Santa is a special magic. How do you feel inside?” he asked me.

“I feel happy,” I confessed and Becky quickly added, “Me too.”

“Well, so do I,” Santa told us. “I feel happy because I have you two beside me and all your hopes and dreams enter into me. When that happens, I am Santa, kids. I am Santa because I love this moment and that is what Santa is, love.”

“I love you, Santa,” said Becky.

Santa’s eyes misted at that moment and he took a deep sigh. “I don’t know when was the last time someone said that to me,” he offered softly. “I don’t remember anyone saying they loved me. You make me very happy, Becky.”

I didn’t understand what he was saying. All kids love Santa Claus and it was strange that he didn’t know it.

“Can we write letters to you at the North Pole?” I asked.

“Of course,” he assured me, “but the mail’s pretty slow up there and I might not be able to answer you.”

“That’s okay,” I told him. “I just want to tell you that we’re being good.”

Santa nodded. “I know you’ll be good,” he said. “Now you’d better get back to the house.”

Becky looked like she was going to cry again. “I don’t want that bad elf talking to us again!”

“Oh honey,” said Santa, “he’s not bad. Don’t think that. He just doesn’t understand but he will someday. We just need to help him if we can.”

Again we jumped down from the sleigh and entered the darkness beyond the barn doors. There was something very sad about hearing the doors close behind us. Maybe we would never visit with Santa again.

HOODY TAYLOR

Hi, Ted! It was good to hear from you and of course I remember that winter you mentioned, why wouldn’t I? If you want me to tell about it, well, here it is.

You know, there’s a point in your life when you have to be honest with yourself and I reached that point a few years ago. I had to admit that I was the town’s favorite screw up. I dropped the pass that would have given us a win over Midlothian and in the regional finals and I was the one who dropped the punch bowl at the senior prom when all the girls had pink splash stains on their gowns. People started to say that I couldn’t do anything right and that reputation followed me through the early years of my life. But all that changed in the winter Randall asked me to write about and when I think about it, that Christmas turned my life around.

I had bought a sleigh in Chicago and rented some reindeer (deleted by Randall because Miriam already told about that).

Anyway, a few days before Christmas I saw Ted in town. He had gone to the bus station to pick up some part. I guess it was for his tractor or something. But we talked and I reminded him that the next night; the night before Christmas Eve, I would come by for the sleigh and the reindeer. I already had a Santa suit and a lot of pillows and padding to make me look more realistic. He said okay and that they would be waiting.

I made sure that I went to Ted’s place late so that the kids would be asleep. I brought the big delivery van that could hold the sleigh easily. I planned on making a second trip for the reindeer but would need Ted and his Dad’s help with that.

We had a great relationship, the Stubbs and me. I never knocked on their door because it was always open to me. We were more like brothers than friends and even Miriam liked me more than she liked to show. So it was that I went directly to the barn and backed in the truck. I got out of the truck, closed the barn doors and turned on the light to find myself facing a group of midgets who were not happy with my presence there.

“You’re not taking the tractor!” one of them said fiercely.

“Hey,” I started with a short but nervous chuckle, “I just came for my sleigh. It’s mine, really. Ted just let me keep it here.”

“It’s okay,” came this deep voice from my right. “Ted told me about it and the sleigh belongs to this gentleman.”

With that the little men backed away and turned on some smiles of welcome. I turned to my right and there before me was this towering man with a great, rotund belly below a snowy white beard. My heart jumped with joy.

“Hello,” I said and went to the man with my hand extended. “I’m Wilson Taylor but everyone calls me Hoody.”

“George Moore,” said the man and his grip brought pain to my hand.

“And these?” I asked, moving my hand in a circle over the little men.

“My employees,” said George Moore. “We have a touring midget wrestling show.”

“Oh,” I exclaimed but immediately added, “how would you all like to make some money?”

“A wrestling show?” asked the big man.

“Can I sit down?” I asked and the big man gestured toward a bale of hay. I sat and leaned forward with my elbows planted on my knees. “Here in Markham we have a Christmas parade each year. That sleigh is part of my entry. I rented six reindeer to pull the sleigh and I would pay you all for you sir, to be Santa Claus and all your friends here to be Santa’s helpers. I want all of you to be with my sleigh and reindeers in the parade. Let’s say a hundred dollars?”

“That would be most generous,” said Mr. Moore and he wanted to shake hands again to seal the agreement but mine still throbbed.

We loaded the sleigh and I drove back to Markham and directly to Mrs. Walton’s house and convinced her to work most of the night making elves costumes for the little men.

The next day we all cooperated to put the reindeer in the van and we went behind the furniture store and hitched them to the sleigh. Mr. Moore looked marvelous in the Santa costume and his little wrestlers walked beside the sleigh waving at the crowd and handing candy to the children. People were stunned with the sight and on the back of the sleigh I had put a sign: Taylor’s Furniture. There was thundering applause as we passed and kids ran through the crowd to keep pace with us. There had never been a better float in the history of the Markham Christmas Parade and when we reached the end of the route, the judges came with the trophy and handed it to Mr. Moore. He was, after all, the perfect Santa Claus.

Well, I never entered the Christmas Parade competition again. I still had the sleigh and could rent the reindeer again but no one could ever be the Santa that I wanted. I still have the trophy in our credit department along with a large photo of Mr. Moore accepting it, surrounded by his elves.

It just seemed that everything changed after that. I got married and my wife, Jenny, is a great manager who makes the story operate at a profit every year. We had three kids that turned out to be great people and now we have grandkids. Next year our oldest son will take over control of the furniture store and my wife and I will enjoy the rest of our lives wandering around in a luxury recreation vehicle we bought last year.

Jenny and I like to go up to the Des Plaines River to fish and do you know what? We go to the creek behind the old Stubbs Farm where there are still millions of worms to use as bait.

TED STUBBS

I’m going to make this short because, to tell the truth, I still cry like a baby each time I try to tell the story.

What happened was that it was Christmas Eve and we didn’t have any money. I mean, no money. Miriam had made some cookies for the kids and had knitted some mittens but we knew they would be disappointed. They had every right to be. That would be our last Christmas on the farm, we knew, and all of us felt the emptiness inside of us. We had put the kids to bed with strict orders that they were not to come out of their room until morning.

Miriam had come to care about Man Mountain Moore and his little men very much. She would never admit it but she had grown attached to them and I am convinced that if they had taken up permanent residence in our barn she would not have been disappointed. They had prevented the deputies from taking our equipment after all, and she thought that was a wonderful act of friendship.

But now the bus had been repaired and Man Mountain and his troop had returned from the parade. Hoody had won his trophy and all seemed right with the world for everyone else. Man Mountain opened the barn doors and we could hear the old bus roar into action. Soon it emerged and we could see the faces of the little men through the windows. With a long squeal, the bus braked beside the house and Man Mountain pulled the lever to open the door. A couple of the little men jumped down and brought a doll carriage to the porch.

“This is for Becky,” they said and I could hear Miriam gasp with a sound of tearful joy.

“Oh, thank you,” she said and knelt to kiss each of their cheeks. “You are very special people,” she told them.

“Sammy’s in the barn,” said one of the little men. “He’ll be coming in a minute.”

We waited a few minutes and nothing happened but at last Sammy Small came galloping toward us on a Shetland painted pony. He reined in front of us and jumped down.

“Had trouble putting on the saddle,” he announced and handed me the reins. “This is for Randall.”

By that time we were all crying, Miriam, Grandpa and me. We had never seen such generosity and we wondered how the group had enough money to be so generous.

“But how . . .” began Miriam but Man Mountain forced his bulk out of the small bus door to interrupt her.

“Don’t you worry yourself about how,” he said. “You have to believe in something, friends. Santa Claus made a promise to Randall. He’s a really great kid and you’ve done a wonderful job raising him. Anyway, this is Randall’s present to you,” and his big hand reached forth and gave us a brown business envelope.

“What is it?” asked Grandpa.

“What Randall asked for, the title to the farm.”

Our eyes widened and I opened the envelope and pulled out the document. Stapled to it was the loan contract stamped PAID. Our mouths were open with astonishment and our expressions must have asked the question better than words.

“We’d best be moving on,” said Man Mountain. “Norman Keats wasn’t too happy about having to go down and open the bank. Maybe he’ll make a complaint with the sheriff.”

“This is a lot of money,” I gasped. “How can I pay you?”

Man Mountain smiled. “Your kids already paid it, Ted. Be happy.”

That was the Christmas of long ago and we spent our lives on the farm and the years passed, each numbered by crops and profit. We did well and our children grew. Randall went away to university and became an architect. I never expected that but he did very well. Becky married the Lennox boy and now they run the farm. Dad died in 1966 and now we have the room upstairs. That’s the way it’s supposed to be with farm families.

We never heard from Man Mountain again but Norman Keats scowled every time he saw us in town. We never needed a loan again so it didn’t bother us.

Our lives were wonderful as I look back. But I also know that without that Christmas, who knows what would have become of us?

RANDALL

I tried to find them all or as many as possible. Some of the midgets had passed away and I could never locate Man Mountain Moore. He seemed to have disappeared from all public record.

I wanted Becky to write something here but she insisted that she was too little at that time and really didn’t have clear memories of all that happened. She recalls Santa in the barn, but little else.

Most of the people who contributed to this, in fact, have passed on. Our father, Ted, died six years ago and Miriam, our mother, followed him the year after. As you know, Grandpa Stubbs died in 1966 and he is buried beside our Grandma in the municipal cemetery.

Mr. Atom died of a heart attack at the age of 49 and I wondered if he was still with Man Mountain at that time but I could never confirm more than that he died.

Even though I never knew him, I discovered that Hans Mueller and his wife had both passed on and The Little Latin returned to Mexico about three years after the winter the spent time with us. I don’t know what happened to him after that.

I located Louie Leprechaun, whose real name was Lawrence Delany, in Ohio. I talked to him a few times by telephone and it was a great experience. He told me that in a match in Ypsilanti, Michigan, he broke his leg and doctors tried to set it but it didn’t heal too well. He said the troop went to Indiana after that and had a show before moving on but Man Mountain wouldn’t say where they were going. In the middle of the night, Man Mountain woke him up and said, “We’re in Steubenville. Where does your aunt live?”

Louie said that he pointed the directions and finally they came to the house. Man Mountain knocked on the door and woke everyone up. He then went back to the bus and carried Louie to the living room where he left him with his family.

“You’re okay,” Louie told the big man as he was leaving. “I mean that. You’re an okay guy.”

“I’m trying,” said Man Mountain and he closed the door never to reappear in Louie’s life.

Not long after that Louie’s aunt died and he still lives in the house and operates the small bakery she owned.

As good as life became for Louie, he had one last tale to tell. He told me that long after that winter, one of the little men asked Man Mountain why he didn’t tell his stories anymore. The big man no longer drank and the evening story telling times had passed away. Someone asked Man Mountain to show them his champion-ship belt and crown again but the big man only smiled and said he didn’t have it anymore. They asked why not and he only said, “The belt and crown gave a wonderful family a great Christmas.”

They learned after that that Man Mountain had sold his prized possessions to a jeweler in Chicago who melted them down and used the gold and stones to create jewelry. Man Mountain had used the money to pay our parent’s mortgage and to buy the Becky’s baby carriage and my pony.

Louie said that nothing was the same after that Christmas. Man Mountain was a different man and wherever they went, he always tried to do things for kids. Children under 12-years-old got free admission to our shows and we even did some benefit shows with all the money going to projects designed for kids. It was like the big man had learned something important and the little men were happy to see him be the person they always wanted him to be.

Norman Keats had a short battle with cancer and rests in the biggest crypt in the municipal cemetery. The Markham State Bank was closed by federal regulators in 1999.

Sammy Small somehow migrated to California and appeared in some movies and television productions. I couldn’t find out what happened to him after that.

Carl and Casey, the deputy sheriffs, really felt pretty silly after they saw the Christmas Parade and realized who the little men were. They never wanted to talk much about it but Carl later retired from the department and Casey quit years before and opened a small restaurant on the highway. Later he changed it to a truck stop and became one of the town’s most affluent people.

Becky married Andy Lennox and they operate the farm. They have two great kids and while technically the farm is half mine, I am happy to have them there and never participate in the affairs of the land. Becky wants me to someday retire and come and live on the place and I have to admit that there is something inside me that misses the scent of the fields in early morning. But Evelyn is my wife and she comes from the cement world of Chicago. Some things never seem to mix well so the farm will probably live only within my memories.

Fortunately, Randall Stubbs, Architect, is a pretty well known firm in Illinois. The first few years were a little difficult because I was just getting established. But today we have several projects for the State and Federal Government. We have designed skyscrapers and homes, bridges and monuments. The truth is that we have done pretty well and I have no complaints. Our home and business is in Chicago and while it is in stark contrast with life on the farm, I have somehow adapted and found happiness with my marriage, children and career.

But several years ago, when all the actors from that winter were still living, something very strange happened that caused me to compile this tale. One strange event forced me to contact everyone and ask them to participate in writing the memories of that Christmas long ago.

It was mid-December and business had taken me to Danville, Illinois to offer a proposal to rebuild an old bridge that crossed the Vermillion River. Fortunately the city fathers liked the plan and I was making the long drive home when I had to stop for gas in Rantoul, a rather small community on my route.

I had pulled up the collar of my overcoat against the cold and was waiting for the pump to fill my car when through the drifting snow I saw an announcement pasted against a brick wall. The Greatest Little Show on Earth, midget wrestling at its best!

When I went into the station to pay, I asked the cashier if he had attended the wrestling matches.

“No,” he said with a smile and a shake of his head. “Some folks did but I’m not into that sorta’ thing.”

“Oh,” I replied, a bit disappointed. But I knew I was entertaining a ridiculous thought. It was now 35 years later and Man Mountain would be very old and certainly would not be driving around the countryside with a traveling midget wrestling show.

“I did see them, though,” added the young man. “They stopped here for gas.”

My eyes lit, I know. “What were they driving?” I asked.

The man laughed lightly. “A beat up old school bus painted red. I remember a really big old guy driving and seeing those little faces in the windows.”

Something was aglow inside me. I think some people call it hope. Certainly Man Mountain could not have been still active, but Santa Claus could.

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