yesteryear

December 2007

A Secret Shopping Spree
‘I knew Santa wouldn’t need a razor, since he had a beard.’
by Nancy Bondurant Jones/nbjrawley@aol.com

As I write, the calendar is not yet December
but Christmas ads surge on TV from
Halloween through Thanksgiving as if the
public might forget to celebrate. Of course the
spiels effectively supersede the real reason for the
celebration turning “Peace on Earth, Goodwill
Toward Men” to “Spend, Spend, Spend—Dollars
Measure the Love You Send.”

Whatever happened to Christmas? Were my
parents this stressed over how to infuse the holiday
with wonder instead of wanting? In 1936, when I
was just-turned 6, I remember the excitement of
Dad’s taking me on a “secret shopping spree.” It
sounded so dramatic and time with my dad was
always special. He gave me two dollar bills with
instructions to look over all the aisles before I made
a choice of gifts for my Mom, my Grandmother
(who lived with us), and my two younger brothers
Barclay and Alan. Any funds left were to go to the
“Giving Tree” at church for those less fortunate.

Slowly, excitedly, I made my way along the long
aisles in Woolworth’s Five and Dime. The boys’
selections were easy—each would get a small tin
car with rubber wheels that actually turned so
they could race them on the sidewalk or inside the
house on a ramp Dad had devised. The cars were
25 cents each with no tax back then, and I counted
the change carefully. Then along a row of pretty
lace handkerchiefs, I found one which I thought
would especially please my Grandmother. The
lace on her “church-go-to-meeting” one had been
torn when I tried to pull it out of my new puppy’s
mouth. Tiny Tim had been shaking it back and
forth having discovered it on the floor beside the
sofa. In his mind, he had just claimed a new toy.
Fifty cents seemed an enormous price, but I knew
she’d just love it—and it was beautifully boxed.

The first dollar gone, Mother’s gift posed a true
dilemma. Lily-of-the-Valley perfume was 35 cents
and a favorite fragrance—but the tray above held
a small vial with a new scent from Paris called
Chanel No. 5. One whiff told me this was very
special. However, the price was also special—50
cents for only a smidgen of what any of the other
bottles contained. Dad suggested we might also
check out brooches and pretty note paper on other
aisles. I gave the rest of the store a once over, but
nothing compared to real French perfume. So I
invested my next-to-the-last 50 cents.

Dad’s present, already wrapped, had been
produced at school—a handprint set into wet
plaster for a paperweight he could use in his office.
I had mixed blue paint with the plaster and the
effect was quite nice. I knew he’d be surprised and
pleased at how straight my fingers were and how
my thumbs curved down just like his. Yet there
was still one gift to go.

Since Santa worked so hard to satisfy a world of
children, I felt I ought to have a gift for him. I told
Dad my plan and sought his help with suggestions.
I knew Santa wouldn’t need a razor since he had a
beard and he didn’t need a hat or gloves. So after
much thought, I bought him four of my favorite
candy bars—Baby Ruths. Since he had to work all
night to cover the world, he needed something to
eat that he could handle in the sleigh and wouldn’t
take up much room. Four bars at 5 cents each left
me with 30 cents for the Giving Tree. The Tree, of
course, was my present to Jesus on his birthday, as
he had told us to all care for one another.

What a treat Christmas shopping was at 6.

Local historian Nancy Bondurant Jones
lives in Harrisonburg.