SANTA IS NEVER WRONG !!!

My brothers, Gordon & Niall and I had paper routes when we were very young. Niall was probably the first boy to deliver the paper on Longworth Avenue. He passed it on to Gord and then on to me. I think I took over the route in 1954, when I was eight years old.
We had to walk into the Guardian office , pick up our papers and have them delivered by 7am.
The paper cost 30 cents a week and we got to keep 2 cents.
Christmas was the best time to be a paper boy, because of the presents.
Those customers who paid directly would alwasys give you a gift but some customers who paid at the office would usually forget about you. We almost never saw them, people like Mr Jordan, I would see him sitting in a big chair in his library reading, as I walked to his door.
Mrs. Maclure, she lived in a very big house that was moved to make way for Birchwood School. Her house was set back of the road and the driveway was lined with large Elm trees. It was very mysterious and intimidating. Her doorbell was very loud and chimed like Church Bells proclaiming good news. Some times I would ring the bell just to listen to the sound. When I did ring it I could not just run away as she would see me going down her long driveway. So I would wait for her to come to the door and as she opened it I could get a look at the grand staircase.
I would tell her I was there to get paid for the paper and he would inform me that "she paid at the office". I would apologize and walk away happy to have heard the chimes hearlding the arrival of an important visitor.
I remember Christmas 1956, coming out the avenue, collecting my money and people giving gifts. Two I remember clearly. The Shaws were living in the "Old Hospital" on the avenue. It is now an apartment house. I walked up the stairs to get my money and Lloyd {Sonny} met me at the door and shoved a gift into my hands. I thanked him and went on my way, it turned out to be A Bobbsey Twins Book.
The next gift I remember was from an older working man , he paid me for the paper and shoved a gift into my hands. It was flat and hard,quite thin, and made of metal. Not sox, mitts, candy or a book. It didn't rattle but it smelled familiar. I took it home and opened it and much to my suprise it was a "Flat 50" of Players Cigarettes, COOOLLL. Boy was I impressed a 10 year old kid getting a tin of cigs. The gift was probably for the mailman or milkman who probably recieved a package of candy cigarettes.

My mother was horrified and told me to take it back. I didn't. I gave it to my friend Roger, he was much older, he had turned 12 and he smoked.
Sometime later that winter we had a major snowstorm. The streets were blocked, no school, no traffic , but we got up anyway. We always wore rubber boots with wool socks in them. You took two steps and the sock dropped down your leg and bunched up around your toes. Your feet were very cold, but not to worry they soon became so numb you could not feel them. The main reason we had rubber boots was they were cheap and you could patch holes in them with a bike tire repair kit. If the the soles cracked you could take them to a tire repair shop and have them vulcanized.In the spring we would roll our boots down , usually two folds, so we would look cool. But we would end up with holes in them were they folded over and then when we wanted to play down at "THE 36" (Only Parkdale people know what this means) our boots would leak.
So off we trudged in the Avenue, snow going into our boots. I started my deliveries, climbing over snow banks to each house , both sides of the road, I was only about 4 ft high myself.
Most people could not care about the paper boy, they only wanted the paper.
Dr Beck and his family had moved to the avenue and began to take the paper.
When I arrived at their place, I was exhausted and soaked to the skin. I only had rubber boots which were filled with snow and "leggins". These were wool pants that you put on, they had shoulder straps and were designed to wear over your pants and take off when you got inside.
I arrived their house Mrs. Beck took one look at me and told me to come inside.
She was horrified at how cold and wet I was , she told me to take off mt leggins, rubber boots , socks, shirt, and coat, all drenched.
Now the Becks were a young professional couple with a rare commodity, Disposable Income.
They had a marvelous appliance I'd never heard of or seen, An Electric Dryer!!!
Up to this point in my life our dryer , summer and winter was the clothes line, or if you were lucky you could hang a pair of socks on the hot water pipe at the back of the stove.
She put my clothes in her dryer and sat me down at her table with a bowl of oatmeal, covered in brown sugar and milk mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
In the centre of the table was a sight that was truly amazing, a bowl containing, bananas, in the dead of winter. Mrs Beck told me to help myself so I picked out the biggest one and began to peel it not wanting to eat it too fast, but savour every bite.
The phone rang and she answered it. The Lady next door was wondering if Mrs Beck had her paper,what was keeping that lazy paper boy.
Mrs Beck proceeded to tell her, that I would not be leaving her place untill my clothes were dry and she would have to wait for her paper.
There I was, sitting at her dining room table, in my underwear , feet dangling ,not reaching the floor, eating a banana in the dead of winter and an adult sticking up for me. The Kings of England never had it so good,I felt very special.(Another good reason to always wear clean underwear)
When my clothes were dry I put them on, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm so warm and dry.I thanked Mrs Beck and went on my way.
On snowy days like this I like to pick up a banana, examine it, smell it and think of the kindness of Mrs. Beck to a cold and wet paper boy that most people couldn't bother to acknowledge his existence.
Thankyou again Mrs Beck. I'm going to go and sit at my table , dangle my legs and eat a banana and think of you .






Seeing that it is the end of November, I'm going to relate a Christmas story. As will all my stories, I begin with some background.
I began Parkdale School in 1952, and it seemed that every time you turned around we had either a substitue teacher or a student teacher. No matter which, it was always the same " Write your name on the sheet of paper and turn it in"
I'm left handed and not the best writer, but I'd do my best and pass it in.
The teacher would then call out the names and we would stand. When she would come to my name, she would look bewildered and always call out
"Carol Mackay"
Everyone would laugh and I'd be furious.
So by 1953 you would think i'd be over it.
As you know I'm the youngest of 8 kids and in 1953 there was no spare cash to indulge 8 kids so we weren't expecting much at Christmas.
A couple of grades ahead of me was an only child named CAROL MACKAY. Her parents could indulge her with special treats at Christmas time.
So it is Christmas time 1953 and our school is having their Christmas concert at the Women's Institute Hall behind the school. At this time the school ran from Grade one through to 10 and each class had a part of the program.
Anyone who attended these will remember two things about the hall.
One it was packed and very hot, there was no place to get a drink of water as the kitchen was locked and no taps in the washroom, then the school would sell fudge, pure sugar!!. If you were lucky to get a piece of fudge and eat it you would almost pass out from thirst.
The bathroom!! I don't think there was a scarier place as a kid. The toilet consisted of a 500 gallon steel tank in the basement and a tube the size of a culvert coming straight up into the bathroom with a seat on it, no flush, just straight down into the dark abyss to the "honey pot".We would drop stones down there to hear them splash.
As you approached the toilet fear would over take you , you always felt you would fall in if you got to close and YUCK!!!.
Boys first learned how to pee from a distance and hit the target. The smell was worse than an outhouse, as 100's used this toilet and it rarely emptied.
Back to my story, well I was at the 1953 Christmas Concert, had fudge, peed and waited for the final event.
SANTA, Yes Santa would enter the hall , HO HO HO all the way to the stage and open his sack of goodies.
I was the age that most kids stop believing in Santa, but hey, it is too close to Christmas to take a chance.
Now remember the part about 8 kids versus 1 kid.
Well Santa starts calling out names and each kid called runs up and gets his gift.
Deep in my heart I know that the parents gave this Santa gifts for their own kids, but hope springs eternal, like next weeks Lotto.
Carol Mackay was prone to sickness growing up and missed alot of school and as luck would have it she was home sick again.
Santa reaches in his bag and looks at the name and call out
"CARL MACKAY"
again
"Carl Mackay"
and the third time
"Carl Mackay"
Well my young mind is processing all this info and I came to the conclusion.
Santa never makes a mistake, he really does give gifts, not Mom and Dad.
IT IS MINE.
I run up front on to the stage give Santa a hug and almost pass out from the smell of booze.
I go back to my seat knowing the gift isn't mine.
I take it home hide it in my trunk and leave it.
I eventually open it and find it is a Queen Elizabeth 1953 Coronation Silver Spoon.
Here it is 2006 and I still have the spoon.
About 10 years ago a ran into Carol Mackay and told her the story. We had a great laugh, and I told her she wasn't getting the spoon now as I had lived with the guilt for all these years.
The spoon is 53 years old this Christmas.
I hope our grandchild Clara enjoys it.