Revisiting the Park: Christmases past
Around age 7, and living in Riverton Heights, my friends and I still looked forward to Christmas even as the depression lingered.
The neighborhood families were all in the same lot, with very little money, or even jobs. We kids had little concept of rich or poor other than what we ascertained at the movies. It was agreed amongst the adults there should be a limit of six presents per child per year: three for Christmas and three for the summertime. My dad made swords and pistols on his table saw, which made for easy shopping.
Mom and I moved to Madison Park a few years later and noticed Christmas was more evident and enticing. The businesses and the neighborhood were lit to the nines. There were contests every year for best-decorated house.
The Didriksons placed a cardboard display of Santa, his sleigh and reindeer on their roof with a spotlight shining on it and usually won. At the tennis courts, a real Santa made an appearance, for whom long lines of little ones formed, and believe it or not, a few of his reindeer also showed up. Santa sat on his throne with the little ones on his lap, and music played throughout the area. My friends and I were a bit beyond lap-sitting and were more interested in his helpers.
Fast forward to the life of a single man, four of us rented a houseboat where the Washington Tower now stands. Men are not usually inclined to go shopping, and now at Christmas the challenge was particularly daunting. One dark and cold, semi-snowy rainy evening, I plunked three dimes into the meter for three hours downtown. Music was playing and people were smiling as they traipsed through the slush. I was officially in a good mood — shopping would be a snap!
The picture windows at Frederick and Nelson with the colorful larger-than-life train running on a large track, the decorations, all the toys and the ambiance was mesmerizing. The famous doormen were assisting various people from limousines. Doing my part, I held a door open for a lady with her umbrella. She went through the first set of doors and shook the excess water from her bumbershoot, but unexpectedly I saw a bright flash! One of the metal rods struck me just above my left eye. Usually, the ends are covered with plastic caps but not this one. Leaning against the wall, almost knocked down, I watched her walk away in oblivion. The doorman gave me a piece of linen with F&N on it; I kept it for years.
That little purple hole kind of set me back, but I laughed it off even though it was obvious I had suffered a shopping wound. People nearby were concerned but I smiled and said, “Happy holidays!”
I do not remember following through on this shopping experience as I needed some first aid at Rosallini’s 610 down the street. I knew the bar crew (Seattle was so small then) and asked for a Band-Aid, coffee and a cognac. So now I had a fat eye starting to bruise, but when anyone asked, I said, “You should have seen the other guy!”
There were a few memorable Christmas gatherings hosted by some Flying Tiger Airlines staff who lived in the park who must have gotten paid in champagne.
The Aussies held festive Christmas parties, too. They usually had keggers, and it was quite normal for everyone to sing songs. On one such occasion, late in the evening someone yelled, “Tapping the last keg. Come get the last brew!” It became quiet, but then a bagpiper appeared from the attic, followed by the Aussies driving wheelbarrows of ice with a multitude of bottles of brew. Party on!
At Christmas 1958 at Ford Ord, everyone was gone for the holidays. I had very little funds, and I said to my friend who was reading the Saturday paper, “Hell with it, let’s go to Monterey!” He reminded me we had no passes, but I said, “I know a way! AWOL Gate!” It was just south of the firing range where there was a non-gated road to the main drag of Monterey.
Directing the 1955 Oldsmobile 98 hard top to town, we headed to the Cavalier, where we joined regulars whom we had met on other occasions. Dodie, the bartender and owner, greeted us with drinks on the house. We told him we had no place to go. Even the regulars bought us pity drinks, but I said I would repay them on payday.
My buddy was wincing in pain from an ulcer at this point. Dodie gave him Rolaids so for every drink he popped one. After a while, I had to point out the telltale white powdered lip he was sporting.
Continuing our festive occasion, we walked across the street to a crowded Italian restaurant and listened to music by a trio. We asked a young lady and her friend if we could join them at their table, to which they said “Sure!” Fun conversation and lots of laughter was had by all.
I mentioned that I was an artist of sorts and was tap city broke (she could tell by my dog tags). She ordered and paid for drinks, handed me a $20 bill and insisted we go with them to a party in Carmel. She drove there, and with drinks in hand we entered a beautiful home where she introduced us to everyone.
The amazing thing about this place was the huge tree in the front room expanding through the ceiling and rooftop. It was as thrilling as the Frank Lloyd Wright Gullwing house south of Carmel. A small group played music, a server offered us champagne, caviar, then some hard liquor. I sipped some smooth scotch, and our hostess suggested we try what was presented. It was crunchy, oily, smoky and went rather well with the scotch. I had to ask what the treat was, and the response: locust! I could handle the caviar, but this was a bit much.
We managed to get back to base and our bunks without anyone the wiser and spent the rest of the night recalling this as one of the best Christmases ever.