Santa Works the 3 to 11 Shift - Carol Kagan
Our family
Christmas traditions included not only a tree but also an elaborate Christmas
garden with a train. The week
before Christmas my Dad would bring up the large platform on legs from the
basement. It was 2 ft. tall and 6 ft. x 6 ft. square. It was situated in a
corner of the large living room. When we went to bed on Christmas Eve it only
had a fresh cut tree at the far end. In the morning, we raced down the stairs
and practically fell into a room full of brightly wrapped presents. There was
the steady clack of the train rounding the tracks and a pine scent filled the
air.
Santa had come and decorated the tree and transformed the
platform into a beautiful snow covered Christmas garden. The tree was dotted
with colored lights and among the draping silver tinsel were the ornaments we
knew from years past. There
was a train, a train station, and tree-lined streets with lighted houses. There was a mirror for a pond with ice
skaters, a field in the far corner with lead soldiers marching in rows, and an
out-of-season apple orchard with pink blossoms.
Christmas
stockings were filled with nuts, a Lifesavers Sweet Storybook that opened to 12
rolls – butter rum, orange, cherry, Pep-O-Mint, and more. There was always a
tangerine.
Santa had finished
the cookies and milk and left 5 candy canes.
On Christmas Eve when I was 11, my Dad was working the 3 to
11 shift at the steel mill and wouldn’t get home until nearly midnight. My Mother
was able to get all of us – me and my younger sisters and brothers, off to bed,
all of us excited for Santa Claus to come.
My room was the only bedroom on the third floor and my
windows looked out to the steel mill’s open hearth only three blocks from our house. As
on many nights, the bright red light from melted steel pouring into large
containers exploded through the windows and filled my room. I couldn’t get to
sleep then heard someone coming up the steps. Mom was standing in the doorway.
“Carol, get up and get dressed and be sure to put on shoes.
Then come downstairs as quiet as you can.”
I started to ask what was wrong, but she was already gone.
Maybe Santa was down there!
Once dressed, I slowly went down the third floor steps,
sucking in air every time a step moaned. When I reached the first floor and
turned the corner to face the living room, I stopped and stared. It took me a
few moments, looking around, to finally put the pieces together.
My mother was on a ladder gently stringing silver tinsel here
and there among the ornaments hanging on the lighted tree. In the dining room
there were piles of boxes wrapped with Christmas paper and ribbon.
Sitting on the floor, surrounded by brown boxes, bags of
white cotton, and a variety of tools, was my Dad. He looked up at me and
brought his finger to his lips.
“We really need your help, but you have to be quiet,” he said
softly.
Dad pointed to a box by the door. “There are lights in that box. Each one has only two short wires attached. They need to be threaded- both wires pushed through each of the holes in the platform. Can you do that?”
After I looked into the box and at the platform I nodded my
head.
“When you’re done I’ll show you how to hook them together.”
Determined to help, I set about distributing the lights then
Dad motioned for me to sit next to him. He pulled several lights from the box
and a few little caps.
“Okay,” Dad said as he showed me how to wire the lights. “now
they get connected by winding the one end around an end on the next one and
then twisting a cap on each connection.” I looked at the platform, but all the
ends were through the holes.
Closing my eyes, I sighed. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I put the
lights in wrong. I’ll take them out and start over.”
He lifted up on his knees, looked at the platform. “Oh, no.
They’re in the right way. They’ll shine inside the houses. You need to crawl
under and hook them together. I’ve got a light so you can see.”
Underneath I pointed the light upward and started joining the
wires. After two or three I thought Dad should check to make sure it was right.
“Daddy,” I said as poking my head out, “ you should check
these before I do more.”
He slid under and started tugging at the wires then said,
“They’re ok but really tighten the cap. Push harder and make sure all the wires
get inside.”
After finishing the wiring, I came out to find the platform
covered in cotton snow. Dad was working on the train tracks. I helped by
pushing the connections together tightly and holding the track while he tacked
it down.
The finished track was a large oval running near the edge of
the platform and curving around at the base of the tree. Dad hooked up the
train controller, added a plug to the lights, and tested them. All the lights
worked.
It was a large heavy engine, silver with bright red around the front, a yellow logo “Santa Fe” on the face along with a headlight.
“This engine has a diesel horn, and the wheels are magnetized
so it stays on the tracks,” he said proudly. “The red on the front is called a
warbonnet design just like the real Santa Fe railroad.”
He carefully positioned the engine on the track, moving it
forward and back gently. When he moved the red handle on the controller, the
train moved slowly. It went all the way around the track. It was running
steadily and he was satisfied with it.
Mom leaned out from the kitchen door, “Break time. Get a
snack. There’s still plenty to get done in … ,” she paused and looked at the
clock, “maybe two hours if they don’t wake up sooner.”
The aroma of cinnamon and yeast filled the room. There were
sticky cinnamon buns cut to bite size pieces and mugs of hot apple cider. Dad
and I each grabbed a fork and dug right in.
Mom was filling the stockings – nuts in the bottom, some
candy, and a tangerine on the top. She began to sing softly. “Tangerine, she is all they claim, with
her eyes of night and lips as bright as flame.” I found out later that it was
the words to a popular song she liked.
That night, piece by piece, the Christmas garden took shape. Houses
and buildings were settled into the snow and over the lights, the train station
was positioned and had a few people with suitcases waiting, and the cardboard church
with light shining through the colored cellophane windows stood at the end of
Main Street. Miniature cars were on the roads carved out of the cotton snow.
Pine trees were positioned and the apple orchard put at the far end where the
tracks curved. In the middle of the platform, safely away from the tracks and
the edge, Mom tucked the edges of a small mirror into the snow, and ice skaters
were placed on and around the glassy ice. In the far corner, outside the
tracks, the lead soldiers lined up to march.
It was now 3 o’clock in the morning. I sat on the sofa and
looked at the garden as Mom tacked fake brick paper around the lower edge. Dad
sat down next to me.
“I got those little houses when I was in Italy during the
war. I wrapped them carefully and shipped them home hoping they wouldn’t get
broken and they didn’t. I got the lead soldiers in Germany, but I wasn’t
worried they would break and there they are, marching. They are American soldiers;
you can tell because they have hard hat helmets.”
“Two things are left to do,” Dad said. “Get all these boxes
and tools back down into the basement. I’ll do that. You help Mom move the
presents into the living room.”
When all the cleanup was done I asked if there was anything
else to do or could I go upstairs.
“Of course you should go back to bed. We couldn’t have done
it without you. Thank you,” Mom said as she hugged me.
“Yes, thanks. There just wasn’t enough time after I got off
work to get this done. We really needed your help. And you must promise not to
tell anyone about Santa.”
As quietly as I could I returned to my room and flopped on
the bed. When I heard the sounds of little ones scurrying downstairs with
shouts of “Santa was here,” I followed them, reminding myself to be surprised.
The train was running around the track, and Dad was blowing
the horn. Then I saw it. In the dining room, by the table, was a bicycle with
streamers on the handlebars and a basket. What a surprise! Santa must have
brought it – up from the basement.
© Carol Kagan, 2025
HERB SAMPLER Second Edition
Buy one for yourself and consider getting a few more as gifts to have on hand – hostess gifts, housewarming, birthdays
Copies available locally at the Hip Gypsy Emporium in Duffield.
