Christmas story

Yr Fthfl Srvnt in 1950 (age-6) with the REAL Santa Claus. (I was probably asking for a Lionel train.)

—“Mommy,” I asked my mother as we cruised Collingswood in our ’39 Chevy. Collingswood is the Philadelphia suburb in south Jersey where my mother’s parents lived. It was near where we lived.
“How come every street-corner has a Santa?” I asked.
“Bobby, you’re always asking me questions like that. Why this? Why that? Why-why-why?”
Finally “those guys aren’t the REAL Santa. They’re just people dressed up in Santa suits; imposters I tell ya!
The real Santa is in Gimbels Department store in Philadelphia.”
“Wanamaker’s has Santa too,” I said.
“But he’s not the REAL Santa,” she barked.
“He comes to Gimbels every year at the tail-end of Philadelphia’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. He’s on the Fire-Department’s hook-and-ladder, siren wailing.
They raise the ladder to an open eighth-floor window in Gimbels, and Santa climbs up that ladder into the store.”
“But Santa comes to Erlton too,” I said. (Erlton was where we lived.) “He comes on an Erlton firetruck.”
My mother became angry.
“But everyone knows that’s ****** *******, Erlton’s Fire-Chief. Tug on his beard, and he smacks you and tells you to behave.”
So Santas everywhere, but they’re not the REAL Santa.
I visited the real Santa myself; that’s me pictured above. It’s 1950; I’m six years old.
I’m probably asking for Lionel trainset, and I got one, but it wasn’t much. Just a tiny circle of three-rail 027 track under our Christmas-tree, with a 2-4-2 steam locomotive. I think I also got two freightcars and a caboose.
Most everything was lettered “Lionel Lines,” even the locomotive. One freightcar was an open Reading gondola (“Redding,” not “Reeding”), and the other was a tankcar lettered “Cities Service.” Neither freightcar was “Lionel Lines,” but everything else was.
All were via my Uncle Herb, who later became a Lionel collector.
I suspected that Lionel set was my Uncle Herb, but I was told it was Santa Claus.
My mother used to put out an orange and bottle of Pepsi to prove Santa visited. This was after I had the awful temerity, unmitigated gall, and horrific audacity to wonder how Santa got into our house if we had no fireplace.
If he came down the chimney he’d end up in our oil-burner. And no way could Santa slide down a chimney-flue with a one-foot square opening.
“He came in the back door,” my mother yelled. “I left it unlocked. Jeeze, Bobby!”
My belief in Santa lasted until maybe age-8, when my parents told me the awful truth.
Even the Gimbels Santa was fake. It became apparent Santa was just another parental ploy to get children to behave.
“But don’t tell your sister; we’ll tell her next year.” (That sister since died of cancer.)
“Ya better watch out, ya better not cry, ya better not pout, I'm tellin’ you why, Santa Claus is coming to town.....”
I almost posted that picture to my aquacise-instructor’s Facebook. She posted a picture of her grandson crying after visiting Santa.
I’m not crying, but I’m age-6, not 18 months.
I was convinced it was the REAL Santa Claus. That facial-hair looks real.
But I doubt that geezer could climb an eight-story ladder.

• This blog makes my mother sound like an ogre, which she was when I was a child. As I got older, especially college, she began to realize my holier-than-thou father was losing me. When I finally left — the equivalent of running away — she was very depressed.
• Three-rail O-gauge, 1.25 inches (31.75 mm) between the running rails, was standard Lionel practice. The center rail provided electricity to pickups on the locomotive. 027 is O-gauge with smaller rail, tighter curvature, and model-railroad equipment smaller than scale.