CHRISTMAS 1993 What is missing living in California is the prospect of snow at Christmas. I can remember wondering as a child living in Northern Illinois if we would have fresh snow at Christmas. Old snow didn't count: old snow would thaw and then freeze. After a few cycles of thawing and freezing much of the snow would have been replaced with small patches of ice or a mixture of ice and snow, usually interspersed with large patches of brown grass or frozen dirt. Then too the temperature would be very cold; it would warm up only when snowing or about to snow. The whole world seemed to be dreary when covered with ice/snow mixtures and frozen dirt. A fresh snowfall would change all of that.
I would wake up in the morning to the sound of dad's and mom's voices. "Wow. Did you ever see so much snow?" and "Jimmy! Get dressed quickly and come down. Wow. What a snow fall!"
The window at the foot of the stairs would show a fairyland outside. Sometimes the sky would be gray and big, lazy snowflakes would be drifting downward. The telephone would ring: it would be one of the neighbors who had kids in my school saying that there would be no school today.
Outside there would be an almost unearthly stillness. No sound of cars or people. I remember spending long periods at the window at the foot of the stairs, amazed at how different the world looked with its mantle of fresh snow. On such a morning there was another event to anticipate.
Around 9am you could hear the tinkling of bells in the distance. The sound became lounder. Soon over the top of the hill came old Mr. Holman in his one horse open sleigh. It's been well over a half century since then but I can see him in my mind's eye as though the event occurred yesterday.
Mr. Holman was one of only two that I knew of in our town of 4,000 population who was a determined hold-out from the horse and buggy era. There were many others who refused to own a car for one reason or another; these got along well locally by walking and using the interurban line for distant travel. The older part of town had been laid out with alleys onto which faced horse barns, but except for these two determined horse lovers, the barns had been converted into automobile garages (or else torn down and replaced with bonafide garages) and the horse replaced by a car.
I never remember seeing Mr. Holman except on the mornings following a substantial snowfall. As he got closer you could see that the sound was coming from bells attached to the horse's harness. The horse seemed to be enjoying the snow: it raised its legs high for each step and was going along at a pretty good clip. The sleigh as I remember was painted black and Mr. Holman was well covered with a thick, brown lap blanket. He would be wearing a heavy fur cap with sides that came down far enough to cover his ears. In one had was a whip but I suspect that this was only for show. The most conspicuous thing about him was his large curved neck mersham pipe, well stoked, trailing a thin string of smoke. He drove down the middle of the street, looking neither to the right or left as he approached an intersection: after all there would be no cars out on a day like this. He had a slight smile on his face; his expression was one of complete satisfction. I could imagine him thinking, now let them try to match their cars to my horse! In about an hour he would come back in the opposite direction, still down the middle of the street, and his were the only marks on the otherwise unblemished snow on the street.
There was nother time in the winter season when the cars wouldn't function. When the weather got really cold, below zero, almost no one in my neighborhood could start his car. The crankcase oil would congeal, and this combined with the fact that a cold battery could deliver little power meant that cars wouldn't start. Each car owner would push his car from the garage into the alley and wait for someone whose car was running to come along and push them for a push-start. Sometimes several neighbors would try to start a third neighbor's car by putting their shoulders against the rear of the car and pushing. This wasn't often successful. The exception was Mr. Keen's car. Mr. Keen had an old Studebaker which was the marvel of the neighborhood. Even in the coldest weather Mr. Keen's car would invariably start. Mr. Keen would push-start one or two cars with his old Studebaker and then be on his way; these two neighbors would then use their cars to push-start several other cars and within 10 minutes or so all the cars in the neighborhood would be running. If wasn't until several years later the secret of Mr. Keen's Studebaker was finally discovered.
Mr. Keen rented a garage from our next door neighbor, the Hobsons, for 2 dollars a month (yes, $2.00 a month -- this was in the era of the Great Depression and you could rent a good house for $15 a month). Unbeknownst to Mr. Hobson, Mr. Keen would put an extension light with a high wattage bulb under the hood of his car and the heat from the light would keep the engine warm even in the coldest weather so it would start easily. It was common knowledge that a large bulb would keep the engine warm, but no one could afford the cost of the electricity. Mr. Keen would throw a blanket over the hood, a common practice, so the light never was seen through the garage window. When the secret was out there were sharp words between the two men. Mr. Hobson figured that the electricity used was worth more than the rent, so the rental was terminated and Mr. Keen's old Studebaker then started no better than any other car in the neighborhood.
Jim (aka "Fat")