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;void(0)) . . . Photograph: Rockefeller Center see: "HOME & FAMILY" for related links see: "TIME" for related links see: "RELIGION" for related links - Christmas gift suggestions: To your enemy, forgiveness. To an opponent, tolerance. To a friend, your heart. To a customer, service. To all, charity. To every child, a good example. To yourself, respect. --attributed to Oren Arnold (1900—1980) American novelist, journalist, and humorist. & see: The best thing to give to your enemy is forgiveness; to an opponent, tolerance; to a friend, your heart; to your child, a good example; to a father, deference; to your mother, conduct that will make her proud of you; to yourself, respect; to all men, charity. --Clara Lucas Balfour [née Liddell] (1808—1878) English novelist and temperance activist. _Sunbeams for All Seasons: Counsels, Cautions, and Precepts_ [1861 ed.] - I have always been subconsciously embarrassed by the "function" of Christmas and New Years. The spirit of "loving kindness" that is presumed to come to a head like a boil once a year, when it has been magnificently concealed up to that moment! --John Barrymore (John Sidney Blythe) (1882—1942) Shakespearean actor. Diary [31 December 1925] quoted in Gene Fowler _Good Night, Sweet Prince_ [1943]. Christmas Eve can be hell on earth. . . . Everyone running round doing their last-minute shopping. It's as if Christmas comes on people by surprise, as if they hadn't known for weeks it was on its way. --Maeve Binchy (b. 1940) Irish novelist. _The Glass Lake_ [1994] Santa Claus has the right idea — visit people only once a year. --attributed to Victor Borge [Berge Rosenbaum] (1909—2000) Danish-born American humorist, entertainer, and pianist. O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie; Above thy deep and dreamless sleep, The silent stars go by. --Phillips Brooks (1835—1893) American religious leader. "O Little Town of Bethlehem" [1868] - Late one Christmas day a resident of the posh community of Hillsborough, California accompanied by his wife and children, set out to sing carols for the neighbors. As they were tuning up outside their first stop, the woman of the house came to the door, looking distraught. "Look, fella," she said, "I'm just too busy. The plumbing's on the blink, I can't get anybody to fix it, and there's a mob coming for dinner. If you really feel like singing carols, come back about nine o'clock, okay? "Yes, ma'am," replied Bing Crosby respectfully, as he herded his troupe elsewhere. --Herb Caen (1916—1997) American newspaper columnist. _One Man's San Francisco_ [1976] - Do you hear what I hear! --the Psychotic Ward Chorus, in a John Callahan cartoon. Christmas is a holiday that persecutes the lonely, the frayed, and the rejected. --attributed to Jimmy Cannon (1910—1973) American sportswriter, war correspondent, and essayist. If Jesus Christ were to come today, people would not even crucify Him. They would ask Him to dinner, and hear what He had to say, and make fun of it. --Thomas Carlyle (1795—1881) Scottish historian and political philosopher. Quoted in a letter from Joseph Neuberg to his sister [12 January 1850]. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. (replying to a letter from eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon) --Francis Pharcellus Church (1839—1906) American journalist. Editorial in New York "Sun" [21 September 1897]. - Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home! --Charles Dickens (1812—1870) English novelist. _The Pickwick Papers_, ch. XXVIII [1837] "Christmas a humbug, uncle!" said Scrooge's nephew. "You don't mean that, I am sure." "I do," said Scrooge. "Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough." "Come, then," returned the nephew gaily. "What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough." Scrooge having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said "Bah!" again; and followed it up with "Humbug." --Charles Dickens (1812—1870) English novelist. _A Christmas Carol_, ch. 1 [1843] He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One! --Charles Dickens (1812—1870) English novelist. _A Christmas Carol_ [1843] It is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself. --Charles Dickens (1812—1870) English novelist. _A Christmas Carol_ [1843] I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. --Charles Dickens (1812—1870) English novelist. _A Christmas Carol_ [1843] - But not alone at Christmas time Comes holiday and cheer, For one who loves a little child Has Christmas all the year. --Florence Evelyn Pratt "A Christmas Song" in _Songs of Many Days_ [1907] ^^ I want to tell you a story... The scene is Farmer's Market -- the famed tourist mecca of Los Angeles. It's located but yards from the facility they call, "CBS Television City in Hollywood"...which, of course, is not in Hollywood but at least is very close. Farmer's Market is a quaint collection of bungalow stores, produce stalls, and little stands where one can buy darn near anything edible one wishes to devour. You buy your pizza slice or sandwich or Chinese food or whatever at one of umpteen counters, then carry it on a tray to an open-air table for consumption. During the summer or on weekends, the place is full of families and tourists and Japanese tour groups. But this was a winter weekday, not long before Christmas, and the crowd was mostly older folks, dawdling over coffee and danish. For most of them, it's a good place to get a donut or a taco, to sit and read the paper. For me, it's a good place to get out of the house and grab something to eat. I arrived, headed for my favorite barbecue stand and, en route, noticed that Mel Torme, was seated at one of the tables. Mel Torme. My favorite singer. Just sitting there, sipping a cup of coffee, munching on an English Muffin, reading The New York Times. Mel Torme. I had never met Mel Torme. Alas, I still haven't and now I never will. He looked like he was engrossed in the paper that day so I didn't stop and say, "Excuse me, I just wanted to tell you how much I've enjoyed all your records." I wish I had. Instead, I continued over to the BBQ place, got myself a chicken sandwich, and settled down at a table to consume it. I was about halfway through when four Christmas carolers strolled by, singing "Let It Snow," a cappella. They were young adults with strong, fine voices and they were all clad in splendid Victorian garb. The Market had hired them (I assume) to stroll about and sing for the diners -- a little touch of the holidays. "Let It Snow" concluded not far from me to polite applause from all within earshot. I waved the leader of the chorale over and directed his attention to Mr. Torme, seated about twenty yards from me. "That's Mel Torme, down there. Do you know who he is?" The singer was about 25 so it didn't horrify me that he said, "No." I asked, "Do you know 'The Christmas Song?'" Again, a "No." I said, "That's the one that starts, 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire...'" "Oh, yes," the caroler chirped. "Is that what it's called? ' The Christmas Song?'" "That's the name," I explained. "And that man wrote it." The singer thanked me, returned to his group for a brief huddle...and then they strolled down towards Mel Torme,. I ditched the rest of my sandwich and followed, a few steps behind. As they reached their quarry, they began singing, "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." directly to him. A big smile formed on Mel Torme's face -- and it wasn't the only one around. Most of those sitting at nearby tables knew who he was and many seemed aware of the significance of singing that song to him. For those who didn't, there was a sudden flurry of whispers: "That's Mel Torme,...he wrote that..." As the choir reached the last chorus or two of the song, Mel got to his feet and made a little gesture that meant, "Let me sing one chorus solo." The carolers -- all still apparently unaware they were in the presence of one of the world's great singers -- looked a bit uncomfortable. I'd bet at least a couple were thinking, "Oh, no... the little fat guy wants to sing." But they stopped and the little fat guy started to sing...and, of course, out came this beautiful, melodic, perfectly-on-pitch voice. The look on the face of the singer I'd briefed was amazed at first...then properly impressed. On Mr. Torme's signal, they all joined in on the final lines: "Although it's been said, many times, many ways...Merry Christmas to you..." Big smiles all around. And not just from them. I looked and at all the tables surrounding the impromptu performance, I saw huge grins of delight..., which segued, as the song ended, into a huge burst of applause. The whole tune only lasted about two minutes but I doubt anyone who was there will ever forget it. I have witnessed a number of thrilling "show business" moments -- those incidents, far and few between, where all the little hairs on your epidermis snap to attention and tingle with joy. Usually, these occur on a screen or stage. I hadn't expected to experience one next to a falafel stand -- but I did. Torme thanked the harmonizers for the serenade and one of the women said, "You really wrote that?" He nodded. "A wonderful songwriter named Bob Wells and I wrote that...and, get this -- we did it on the hottest day of the year in July. It was a way to cool down." Then the gent I'd briefed said, "You know, you're not a bad singer." He actually said that to Mel Torme,. Mel chuckled. He realized that these four young folks hadn't the velvet-foggiest notion who he was, above and beyond the fact that he'd worked on that classic carol. "Well," he said. "I've actually made a few records in my day..." "Really?" the other man asked. "How many?" Torme smiled and said, "Ninety." --Mark Evanier (b. 1952) American writer. [9 July 1999] ^^ Christmas at my house is always at least six or seven times more pleasant than anywhere else. We start drinking early. And while everyone else is seeing only one Santa Claus, we'll be seeing six or seven. --attributed to W. C. Fields [William Claude Dukenfield] (1880—1946) American vaudeville star and film actor. I do like Christmas on the whole.... In its clumsy way, it does approach Peace and Goodwill. But oh, it is clumsier every year. --E.M. [Edward Morgan] Forster (1879—1970) English novelist. _Howards End_ [1910] In Christmas feasting pray take care; Let not your table be a Snare; But with the Poor God's Bounty share. --Benjamin Franklin (1706—1790) American politician, inventor, and scientist. _Poor Richard Improved_ [1748] ^ Every Who Down in Whoville Liked Christmas a lot… But the Grinch, Who lived just north of Whoville, Did NOT! The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason. It could be his head wasn’t screwed on just right. It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight. But I think that the most likely reason of all, May have been that his heart was two sizes too small. [...] And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow, Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?” “It came with out ribbons! It came without tags!” “It came without packages, boxes or bags!” And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! “Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.” “Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!” --Theodor Seuss Geisel [Dr. Seuss] (1904—1991) American writer and illustrator of children's books. _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ [1957] ^ I never believed in Santa Claus because I knew no white dude would come into my neighborhood after dark. --Dick Gregory (b. 1932) American comedian and social activist. Quoted in Robert Byrne _1911 Best Things Anybody Ever Said_ [1988]. If you ever have to steal money from your kid, and later on he discovers it's gone, I think a good thing to do is to blame it on Santa Claus. --Jack Handey (b. 1949) American comedian and comedy writer. Attributed, on "Saturday Night Live". - The surge of holiday traffic would have taxed the congested Atlanta airport under the best of circumstances. But, as Christmas neared some ten years ago, nature had added an ice storm that stranded thousands of travelers. Outside, the great jet engines were silent. With depressing regularity loudspeakers would blare out, in robot tones, that the airline regretted Flight 421 had been delayed again. Even the coffee urns were running out under the heavy demand. As the midnight hour tolled, weary pilgrims clustered around ticket counters, conferring anxiously with agents whose cheeriness had long since evaporated; they, too, longed to be home. Others gathered at the newsstands, to thumb silently through paperback books. A few managed to doze, contorted into human pretzels, in uncomfortable seats. If there was a common bond among this diverse throng, it was loneliness--pervasive, inescapable, suffocating loneliness. But airport decorum required that each traveler maintain his invisible barrier against all the others. Better to be lonely than to be involved, which inevitably meant listening to complaints, and heaven knows everyone had enough complaints of his own already. Just beneath the surface, in fact, lurked a competitive hostility. After all, there were more passengers than seats; when an occasional plane managed to break out, more travelers stayed behind than made it aboard. "Standby," "Reservation Confirmed," "First Class Passenger" were words that settled priorities and bespoke money, power, influence, foresight--or the lack thereof. Gate 67 was a microcosm of the whole cavernous airport. Scarcely more than a glassed-in cubicle, it was jammed with travelers hoping to fly to New Orleans, Dallas and points west. More than once, the harried agent posted a departure time, only to announce later yet another delay. The crowd swelled until there was standing room only. Dignity was cast aside; well-dressed people sat on the floor. Except for the fortunate few traveling in pairs, there was little conversation. A salesman stared absently into space, as if resigned. A young mother cradled an infant to her breast, gently rocking in a vain effort to soothe the soft whimpering. And there was a man in a finely tailored suit who somehow seemed impervious to the collective suffering. There was a certain indifference about his manner. He was absorbed in some arcane paper work. Figuring the year-end corporate profits, perhaps. A nerve-frayed traveler sitting nearby, observing this busy man, might have indulged in a cynical fantasy: "His clothes are different, but he can't disguise his nature. It's Ebenezer Scrooge." Suddenly, the sullen silence was broken by a commotion. A young man in uniform, no more than 19 years old, was in animated conversation with the desk agent. The boy held a low-priority ticket. But he must, he pleaded, get to New Orleans, so that he could take the bus on to the obscure Louisiana village he called home. The agent wearily told him the prospects were poor for the next 24 hours, maybe longer. The boy grew frantic. He was soon to be sent to Vietnam. If he did not make this flight, he might never spend Christmas at home. Even the businessman looked up from his cryptic computations to show a guarded interest. The agent clearly was moved, even a bit embarrassed. But he could offer only sympathy, not hope. The boy hovered about the departure desk, casting wild and anxious looks around the crowded room, as if seeking but one friendly face. Finally, the agent hoarsely announced that the flight was ready for boarding. The pilgrims heaved themselves up, gathered their belongings, and shuffled down the small corridor to the waiting craft. Twenty, 30, 100--until there were no more seats. The agent turned to the frantic young man and shrugged. For one uneasy moment, it appeared that the boy might actually try to force his way aboard. Inexplicably, the businessman had lingered behind. Now he stepped forward. "I have a confirmed ticket," he quietly told the agent. "I'd like to give my seat to this young man." The agent stared incredulously; then he motioned for the soldier. Unable to speak, tears streaming down his face, the boy in olive drab shook hands with the man in gray flannel, who simply murmured, "Good luck. Have a fine Christmas. Good luck." As the plane door closed and the engines began their rising whine, the businessman turned away, clutching his briefcase, and trudged toward the all-night coffee bar. No more than a few among the thousands stranded there at the Atlanta airport witnessed the drama at Gate 67. But for these, the sullenness, the frustration, the hostility, all dissolved into a glow. The lights of the departing plane blinked, starlike, as the craft moved of into the darkness. The infant slept silently now on the breast of the young mother. Perhaps another flight would be leaving before many more hours; but those who saw were less impatient. The glow lingered, gently and pervasively, in that small glass-and-plastic stable at Gate 47. --Ray Jenkins "Drama at Gate 47" in _New York Times_, [25 December 1979]. - - Ludwig Erhard: I understand you were born in a log cabin. Lyndon B. Johnson: No, no, no! You have me confused with Abe Lincoln. I was born in a manger. --As quoted in Robert Dallek's "Lyndon Baines Johnson" televised lectures series on American Presidents [16 April 1995]. - Credulity is the man's weakness, but the child's strength. --Charles Lamb (1775—1834) English essayist. "Witches and other Night-fears" in _Essays of Elia_ [1823] And So This Is Christmas; And What Have We Done?; Another Year Over; A New One Just Begun; And So Happy Christmas; I Hope You Have Fun; The Near And The Dear Ones; The Old And The Young; --John Lennon (1940—1980) English pop singer and songwriter. "Happy Christmas (The War Is Over)" [1971 song] I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men! --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807—1882) American poet. "Christmas Bells" in _Flower-de-Luce_ [1867]. - "O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant, . . ." We sang little above a whisper, our eyes darting anxiously up to the barred windows for any sign of the guards. "Joyful and triumphant?" Clad in tattered prisoner-of-war clothes, I looked around at the two dozen men huddled in a North Vietnamese prison cell. Light bulbs hanging from the ceiling illuminated a gaunt and wretched group of men—grotesque caricatures of what had once been clean-shaven, superbly fit Air Force, Navy and Marine pilots and navigators. We shivered from the damp night air and the fevers that plagued a number of us. Some men were permanently stooped from the effects of torture; others limped or leaned on makeshift crutches. "O come ye, o come ye to Bethlehem. Come And behold him, born the King of angels. . . ." What a pathetic sight we were. Yet here, this Christmas Eve 1971, we were together for the first time, some after seven years of harrowing isolation and mistreatment at the hands of a cruel enemy. We were keeping Christmas--the most special Christmas any of us ever would observe. There had been Christmas services in North Vietnam in previous years, but they had been spiritless, ludicrous stage shows, orchestrated by the Vietnamese for propaganda purposes. This was our Christmas service, the only one we had ever been allowed to hold—though we feared that, at any moment, our captors might change their minds. I had been designated chaplain by our senior- ranking P.O.W. officer, Colonel George "Bud" Day, USAF. As we sang "O Come, All Ye Faithful," I looked down at the few sheets of paper upon which I had penciled the Bible verses that tell the story of Christ's birth. I recalled how, a week earlier, Colonel Day had asked the camp commander for a Bible. No, he was told, there were no Bibles in North Vietnam. But four days later, the camp commander had come into our communal cell to announce, "We have found one Bible in Hanoi, and you can designate one person to copy from it for a few minutes." Colonel Day had requested that I perform the task. Hastily, I leafed through the worn book the Vietnamese had placed on a table just outside our cell door in the prison yard. I furiously copied the Christmas passages until a guard approached and took the Bible away. The service was simple. After saying the Lord's Prayer, we sang Christmas carols, some of us mouthing the words until our pain-clouded memories caught up with our voices. Between each hymn I would read a portion of the story of Jesus' birth. "And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ the Lord." Captain Quincy Collins, a former choir director from the Air Force Academy, led the hymns. At first, we were nervous and stilted in our singing. Still burning in our memories was the time, almost a year before when North Vietnamese guards had burst in on our church service, beaten the three men leading the prayers, and dragged them away to confinement. The rest of us were locked away for 11 months in three-by-five-foot cells. Indeed, this Christmas service was in part a defiant celebration of the return to our regular prison in Hanoi. And as the service progressed, our boldness increased, the singing swelled. "O Little Town of Bethlehem," "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing," "It Came Upon the Midnight Clear." Our voices filled the cell, bound together as we shared the story of the Babe "away in a manger, no crib for a bed." Finally it came time to sing perhaps the most beloved hymn: "Silent night, Holy night! All is calm, all is bright, . . . " A half-dozen of the men were too sick to stand. They sat on the raised concrete sleeping platform that ran down the middle of the cell. Our few blankets were placed around the shaking shoulders of the sickest men to protect them against the cold. Even these men looked up transfixed as we sang that hymn. "Round yon virgin mother and child. Holy infant so tender and mild, . . . " Tears rolled down our unshaven faces. Suddenly we were 2000 years and a half a world away in a village called Bethlehem. And neither war, nor torture, nor imprisonment, nor the centuries themselves had dimmed the hope born on that silent night so long before. "Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace." We had forgotten our wounds, our hunger, our pain. We raised prayers of thanks for the Christ child, for our families and homes, for our country. There was an absolutely exquisite feeling that all our burdens had been lifted. In a place designed to turn men into vicious animals, we clung to one another, sharing what comfort we had. Some of us had managed to make crude gifts. One fellow had a precious commodity--a cotton washcloth. Somewhere he had found needle and thread and fashioned the cloth into a hat, which he gave to Bud Day. Some men exchanged dog tags. Others had used prison spoons to scratch out an IOU on bits of paper--some imaginary thing we wished another to have. We exchanged those chits with smiles and tearful thanks. The Vietnamese guards did not disturb us. But as I looked up at the barred windows, I wished they had been looking in. I wanted them to see us--faithful, joyful and, yes, triumphant. --John McCain (b. 1936) American politician and former U.S. Navy pilot who spent five years as a POW in the Hoa Lo "Hanoi Hilton" prison during the Vietnam War. "Joyful and Triumphant," _Reader's Digest_ [December 1984] - - Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring--not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. --Clement Clarke Moore (1779—1863) American teacher and scholar of Hebrew. "A Visit from St. Nicholas" [1823] & note: From: The Writer's Almanac for Wednesday, Dec. 24, 2003 Today is Christmas Eve, the subject of the beloved holiday poem that begins: Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. ... The poem, now known as "The Night Before Christmas," was first published anonymously in a small newspaper in upstate New York in 1823, and its original title was "Account of a Visit From St. Nicholas." It was a huge success, and it has been published in book form so many times that it now exists in more editions than any other Christmas book ever printed. Fourteen years after its first publication, an editor attributed the poem to a wealthy professor of classical literature named Clement Clarke Moore. At first, Moore dismissed the poem as a trifle, but he eventually included it in a volume of his collected Poems (1844). A legend grew that Moore had been inspired to write the poem for his children during a sleigh ride home on Christmas Eve in 1822, and that he had based his version of Saint Nicholas on his Dutch chauffeur. Recently, new evidence has come out that a Revolutionary War major named Henry Livingston Jr. may have been the actual author of "The Night Before Christmas." His family has letters describing his recitation of the poem before it was originally published, and literary scholars have found many similarities between his work and "The Night Before Christmas." He was also three quarters Dutch, and many of the details in the poem, including names of the reindeer, have Dutch origins. But whoever wrote the poem, "The Night Before Christmas" changed the way Americans celebrate the holiday of Christmas by reinventing the character of Santa Claus. The name Santa Claus comes from Sinter Klaas, the Dutch name for Saint Nicholas. He was a bishop in Southwest Turkey in the 4th century and had a reputation for extraordinary generosity. He became known as the patron saint of children, and many European children began to celebrate St. Nicholas Eve on December 5th. On that day in Hungary, children leave boots out for St. Nicholas to fill with presents. In Germany, Switzerland and Belgium, children are visited by a man in bishop's robes who listens to prayers and gives presents. In Holland, St. Nicholas arrives by steamboat from Spain, and travels around the country on a white horse, tossing gifts down chimneys. "The Night Before Christmas" combined the celebrations of St. Nicholas Day and Christmas, and made children the focus of Christmas celebrations. The poem was also the first representation of Santa Claus as a magical, elf-like being who travels through the air on a sleigh pulled by eight reindeer. After the publication of the poem, the ritual of gift giving became a boon to merchants, and they became Santa's biggest fans. Stores began to launch Christmas advertising campaigns on Thanksgiving, and Thanksgiving Day parades first began as Christmas shopping promotions. In 1939, the retail business community persuaded Franklin Roosevelt to set the annual date of Thanksgiving as the fourth Thursday in November, which ensured a four-week shopping season each year. Retailers now count on Christmas for more than 50 percent of their annual sales. In Holland, children are now visited by St. Nicholas on December 5th, and on Christmas Eve they are visited by Santa Claus, whom they call, "American Christmas Man." - O come all ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant, O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem. --Frederick Oakeley (1802—1880) English theologian and poet. Translated from the Latin hymn, "Adeste Fideles" which was written by the English hymnist, John Francis Wade. - I cannot describe the beautiful scene that met our eyes when we marched into a large parlor with lots of other boys and girls. They had got a sleigh into the room and a great St. Bernard was harnessed to it with strings of evergreen. In the sleigh among the fur robes and presents was Santa Claus ... Mrs. Ole Bull was playing the piano and the servants who were standing by the door were jingling sleigh bells. After getting our presents, we had supper and afterwards a magic lantern and finally the Virginia reel. --12-year-old Marian Lawrence Peabody, "Christmas at the Longfellows," [1887 diary entry] in _To Be Young Was Very Heaven__ [1967]. - Christmas has been even more thoroughly commercialized and desecrated [than Easter], the better to fill money-bags that are already bursting open. --Margaret Perry in the _The Atlantic Monthly_ [June 1921]. I hear that in many places something has happened to Christmas; that it is changing from a time of merriment & carefree gaiety to a holiday which is filled with tedium; that many people dread the day & the obligation to give Christmas presents is a nightmare to weary, bored souls; that the children of enlightened parents no longer believe in Santa Claus; that all in all, the effort to be happy & have pleasure makes many honest hearts grow dark with despair instead of beaming with good will & cheerfulness. --Julia Peterkin (1880—1961) American author. _A Plantation Christmas [1934] - People say that Christmas today is too commercialized. ... If you spend money to give people joy, you are not being commercial. It is only when you feel obliged to do something about Christmas that the spirit is spoiled. --Eleanor Roosevelt (1884—1962) American human rights activist, diplomat, and wife of U.S. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt. In "Glamour" [magazine]. - Again and again, I find people who care how the ornaments and lights are put on their trees, who spend hours assembling trains and villages, making their own wreaths, and wrapping presents with all the artistry of professional artists. Perhaps things aren't as bad as they seem so long as there are a few souls here and there who maintain a childlike enthusiasm for such times as Christmas, and who love an elegant performance. --Barbara and Nadia Rosenthal _Christmas, new ideas for an old-fashioned celebration_ [1980] - Somehow, not only for Christmas, But all the long year through, The joy that you give to others Is the joy that comes back to you. And the more you spend in blessing The poor and the lonely and the sad The more of your heart's possessing, Returns to make you glad. --Margaret Elizabeth Sangster (1838—1912) American author, poet, and magazine editor. "The Christmas Tree" It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From Angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold: 'Peace on the earth, good will to man From Heaven's all gracious King.' --E. H. Sears (1810—1876) American Unitarian parish minister and author. "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear" [1849] I am sorry to have to introduce the subject of Christmas in these articles. It is an indecent subject; a cruel, gluttonous subject; a drunken, disorderly subject; a wasteful, disastrous subject; a wicked, cadging, lying, filthy, blasphemous, and demoralising subject. Christmas is forced on a reluctant and disgusted nation by the shopkeepers and the press: on its own merits it would wither and shrivel in the fiery breath of universal hatred; and anyone who looked back to it would be turned into a pillar of greasy sausages. --George Bernard Shaw (1856—1950) Irish dramatist and critic. In a review of the play "The Babes in the Wood" [27 December 1897]. - PARKER, Colo.--Christmas is back. A few weeks ago, banners outside every Lowe's store in the nation announced a sale on "Holiday Trees." Hundreds of Christians called to complain that the home- improvement chain was shunning Christmas. The banners came down. Now the fake firs and pines are clearly labeled "Christmas Trees." Target, too, started the season with a generic marketing theme. It pushed holiday plates, holiday leggings, holiday ornaments, holiday trees--with nary a mention of Christmas. Then, more than 500,000 shoppers signed an online pledge to boycott the chain. This week, Target promised to bring more Christmas into its stores as Dec. 25 approaches. For the third year in a row, Christians nationwide have mobilized to put the holy back in the holiday. And they are winning battle after battle. Their most publicized victories have come in the retail realm, where they have urged stores to acknowledge that the December shopping frenzy is not just about scoring a cheap DVD player, but also about celebrating Christ's birth. Walgreen Co. says it's too late to change this year's "holiday" circulars, but in response to dozens of customer complaints, it has promised to bring back the word "Christmas" in its 2006 ads. Macy's--the subject of a small boycott last year-- sent activists a letter touting its use of "Merry Christmas" in ads, store windows and a TV jingle. A Macy's executive vice president, Louis M. Meunier, pledged that the company would use Christmas in even more marketing next year. Defenders of Christmas hailed the news with triumph. --Stephanie Simon "A Very Wary Christmas" in _Los Angeles Times_ [9 December 2005]. - One Christmas was so much like the other in those days around the sea-torn corner now out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear the moment before sleep that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six. All the Christmases rolled down towards the two- tongued sea like a cold and headlong moon bundling down the sky that was our street. And they stopped at the rim of the ice-edged fish-freezing waves and I plunged my hands in the snow and bring out whatever I can find. ... For dinner we had turkey and blazing puddings and after dinner the uncles sat in front of the fire, loosened all buttons, put their large moist hands over their watch chains, groaned a little, and slept. ... Auntie Hanna, who liked port, stood in the middle of the snowbound yard singing like a big-bosomed thrush. ... Always on Christmas night there was music. An uncle played the fiddle, a cousin sang Cherry Ripe and another uncle sang Drake's Drum. --Dylan Thomas (1914—1953) Welsh poet. "Quite Early One Morning" in _A Child's Christmas in Wales_ [1954]. At Christmas play, and make good cheer, For Christmas comes, but once a year. --Thomas Tusser (c.1524—1580) English agricultural writer and poet. "The Farmer's Daily Diet" in _A Hundred Good Points of Husbandry_ [1557]. - Calvin: Well. I've decided I *do* believe in Santa Claus, no matter how preposterous he sounds. Hobbes: What convinced you? Calvin: A simple risk analysis. I want presents. *Lots* of presents. Why risk not getting them over a matter of belief? Heck, I'll believe anything they want. Hobbes: How cynically enterprising of you. Calvin: It's the spirit of Christmas. --Bill Waterson II (b. 1958) American cartoonist. "Calvin and Hobbes." - 'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care. They'd been worn all week and needed the air. --unknown - To perceive Christmas through its wrapping becomes more difficult every year. --E.B. [Elwyn Brooks] White (1899—1985) American essayist and literary stylist. _The Second Tree from the Corner_ [1954] - [The] modern expansion of the custom of giving Christmas presents has done more than anything else to rob Christmas of its traditional joyousness. --_New York Tribune_ [1894] Narcissism: Hark The Herald Angels Sing ... About Me --Cracked Christmas Carol Mania: Deck the Halls & Walls & House & Lawn & Streets & Stores & Office & Town! --Cracked Christmas Carol Paranoia: Santa Claus is Coming ... To Get Me. --Cracked Christmas Carol Depression: Silent Night, Sleepless Night. All is calm, All is lonely, sad & moribund. --Cracked Christmas Carol Borderline Personality: Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire. --Cracked Christmas Carol Passive Aggressive: On the First Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me ... and then took it all away. --Cracked Christmas Carol For somehow, not only at Christmas, but all the long year through, The joy that you give to others, is the joy that comes back to you. --anon. Your Merry Christmas may depend on what others do for you ... but your Happy New Year depends on what you do for others. --anon. Hey Santa! How much for your list of naughty girls? --anon. Santa's elves are just a bunch of subordinate Clauses. - The tradition of the tree itself began in the Great Depression during the construction of the Rockefeller Center complex in 1931. The Rockefeller Center Christmas tree tradition began formally in 1933 when a tree was decked with 700 lights and placed in front of the then eight-month old RCA Building, which is now the GE Building. The Christmas tradition was enhanced in 1936 with the opening of the Rockefeller Plaza outdoor ice skating pond. NBC-TV televised the first tree lighting in 1951 on "The Kate Smith Show" and as part of the nationwide "Howdy Doody" television show from 1953-55. --Associated Press - a singalong: We three drunks from Omaha are Spending Christmas eve in a car Driving, Drinking, glasses clinking Who needs a lousy bar? --Mad Magazine -- From The Writer's Almanac for Thursday, Dec. 25, 2003: Today is Christmas Day. About 96 percent of Americans say that they celebrate Christmas in one way or another; but Christians didn't start celebrating Christmas until the fourth century AD. Early Christians believed that the only important holiday of the year was Easter, but in the fourth century, a heretical Christian sect started claiming that Jesus had only been a spirit, and had never had a body. The Church decided to emphasize Jesus' bodily humanity by celebrating his birth. The most familiar story of his birth comes from the Gospel of Luke, which says that Mary and Joseph went to the city of Bethlehem because of the Roman census. The Gospel says, "And so it was, that, while they were there . . . [Mary] brought forth her first born son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn." This story of Jesus, the only son of God, beginning life in a stable surrounded by farm animals, has always been extremely popular. In 1224, St. Francis of Assisi decided that the members of his parish should see this story acted out. He set up the first Nativity scene with the baby Jesus in the manger and the animals standing by. The practice was so popular that it spread from village to village until it became a Christmas ritual all across Europe. Most Christian theologians believe that Jesus was actually born in the spring, because the scripture mentions shepherds letting their animals roam in the fields at night. The Christian church probably chose December 25th as the official birth date because of competition with pagan cults, who celebrated the winter solstice on that date. Pagans had used evergreen branches during their winter solstice ceremonies to celebrate the endless fertility of nature. Christians used evergreens as symbols of the everlasting life that Jesus offered. The problem with combining Christian and pagan traditions was that the winter solstice had traditionally been a time of drunken feasting and revelry, and many Christmas celebrations became similarly festive. Many preachers began to speak out against the celebration of Christmas, and after the Protestant Reformation, Puritans outlawed Christmas altogether. One preacher said, "[Christmas is just] a pretense for drunkenness and rioting and wantonness." It was only in the mid 19th century that Christmas became the domestic holiday we know it as today. The transformation was due in part to government crackdowns on wild street parties. In 1828, New York City organized its first professional police force in response to a violent Christmas riot. Popular works of literature also helped reinvent the holiday, works like the poem "The Night Before Christmas" (1823) and Charles Dickens's novel A Christmas Carol (1843). - TRIVIA: According to the National Christmas Tree Association, the first written record of a decorated Christmas tree occured in the year 1510 in Riga, Latvia. ----- beneficence (noun): 1. The practice of doing good; active goodness, kindness, or charity. 2. A charitable gift or act. Ex.: Lord Jeffrey told Dickens that it [A Christmas Carol] had "prompted more positive acts of beneficence than can be traced to all the pulpits and confessionals in Christendom since Christmas 1842." Roger Highfield, _The Physics of Christmas_ festoon (verb) [fes-'tun] To drape a bushy rope of greenery or colorful cloth in loops that droop down between the points where it is attached, for festive decoration. - mistletoe (noun) ['mi-sêl-to] A semiparasitic green shrub with thick green leaves and waxy white berries used as Christmas decoration in English-speaking countries. In English-speaking countries, mistletoe has the magical powers of granting the right to kiss anyone standing beneath it. The tradition in England is that, after every kiss, a berry is plucked from the twig and when the last berry is removed, the twig's powers are exhausted. The powers of American mistletoe last much longer. - wassail WAH-sul; wah-SAYL, noun: 1. An expression of good wishes on a festive occasion, especially in drinking to someone. 2. An occasion on which such good wishes are expressed in drinking; a drinking bout; a carouse. 3. The liquor used for a wassail; especially, a beverage formerly much used in England at Christmas and other festivals, made of ale (or wine) flavored with spices, sugar, toast, roasted apples, etc. end page | CALAMITIES - CALM | CALUMNY - CANADA | CANCER - CAPITAL PUNISHMENT | CAPITALISM | CAREFREE - CARPE DIEM | CARTER (JIMMY) - CATS & DOGS | CAUSES AND CONSEQUENCES - CENSORSHIP | CERTAINTY - CHANGE | CHANGING (ONE'S MIND) & CHANGING TIMES | CHARACTER | CHARACTER ASSASINATION - CHEERFULNESS | CHEER UP! - CHILDHOOD | CHILDREN | CHILDREN'S RHYME | CHINA | CHOCOLATE - CHRISTIANITY | CHRISTMAS | CHURCH - CIGARS | CIRCUMSTANCES & CITIES | CIVILITY - CIVIL RIGHTS | CLARITY - CLEVER | CLOTHES - COFFEE | COLD - COLORS | COMEDY | COMFORT - COMMON SENSE | COMMUNICATION | COMMUNISM | COMPANIONSHIP - COMPASSION | COMPETITION - COMPLIMENTS | COMPOSERS - CONDUCTORS | CONFESSION - CONQUEST | CONSCIENCE - CONTENTED | CONTEXT - CONVERSATION | CONVICTION & COOKING | COOLIDGE - CORPORATIONS | CORRUPTION - COURAGE | COURT - COWS | CREATIVITY - CRIME | CRIME & PUNISHMENT - CROOKS | CRITICISM & CRITICS | CROWD (THE) - CUBA | CULTURE - CYNICS | | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | | Return Home | The Credits | The Cast | Act 1 | Act 2 | Act 3 | The Reviews | |
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