Santa Lives

Long ago, my first volunteer job was at a telephone crisis center in Jackson, MS. At Christmas, the director hosted a party for the volunteers and he quietly circulated among us asking different people if they believed in Santa Claus. Later in the evening he addressed the group and spoke about his question. He said those who believed in Santa were the ones with hope. I still think about this.

During the same time period I worked for the Mississippi branch of the AMA, American Medical Association,  and one year a group of us decided that we should adopt a family from the Salvation Army Christmas Tree and we did. We brought gifts to a young single mother and her toddler child. But the next year the office decided we wanted to do something BIG. I volunteered to go out and interview the family the Salvation Army gave us. We interviewed a couple of possibilities but they didn’t inspire us. So we asked for another one. We never called ahead, most of the people didn’t have phones anyway, because we wanted to see the “real family”. What happened changed our entire office staff.

It was a dark, cold and rainy December evening when a co-worker and I got into my car and made our way into the shanty town where the poor struggled to live. Even though we left at 4:30 it was as dark as midnight. This was before GPS was even a mad scientist's dream, so we navigated the dark, pothole-filled streets with the overhead light and a map.

As we drove down hopeless street after hopeless street we couldn't help but notice there were no Christmas decorations anywhere, unlike our neighborhoods. Wooden shotgun houses lined both sides of the road, no grass or yards, just muddy dirt patches. No warm inside lights or porch lights,  just broken windows with cardboard for glass. As we inched our way down the street looking for the house number, we realized we were in a precarious situation…two young white women in the middle of the ghetto. Suddenly, we found the house and pulled the car over. We felt like eyes were watching from every crack because there were no other cars driving or parked on the street.

As soon as we stopped, two young children appeared on the rickety porch and when they realized we were coming to see them, they slowly sidled up to us. The little girl, she was around seven, had on a thin cotton dress that was ripped at the waist and flip-flops. The little boy, he was five or six,  had a thin undershirt and baggy pants held up with string; he was barefoot. They asked why we were there, we said: “we came to see what you want Santa to bring you.” The little girl said, “tell him to bring us some food, we ain’t got no food”. We asked if their mother was home and they said “not yet” so we asked to go into the house. Nothing could have prepared us for what we saw when we walked into the shack.

Inside,  the house was a dim-witted man who was babysitting while the mother worked two jobs. She cleaned City Hall during the day and a church after finishing that job. The living room had two folding chairs and a crib with a three-month-old baby sleeping on a piece of foam that covered about one-third of the crib. The room was freezing and one overhead bulb glared down on the sad sight. We told the man we wanted to see what we could do for their Christmas, he grunted so we went to the next room which was the bedroom; a tiny kitchen and a bathroom that was barely clinging to the house.

There was one double bed with no bedding, just clothes piled on it. The kitchen was bare. One pack of chicken innards in the freezer and a half pan of cornbread that was hard as a brick. My partner and I looked in every cupboard and found nothing. We were struggling not to cry but luckily we had a notebook and we got busy writing down names, ages and sizes. We drew the children’s feet on a piece of paper so we could buy shoes and made notes. We were there less than an hour and the mother still had not come home, she was probably walking in the dark cold.

The next day we had a staff meeting and we described what we had found, more than one person fought back the tears. But everyone came together bringing bedding, towels and nice clothing from their homes. We collected money and bought new school clothes and shoes as well as new toys. The baby got a complete mattress and clothing. Our Director had a contact with a major grocery store and they donated $100 of food, this was 1972 and in today’s money that is almost $600.

Different staff took the family to buy shoes and clothes. My buddy and I took the Mom shopping to spend the $100 and we filled three buggy’s full of food and then we drove her home. Soon, carloads of pots, pans, dishes, bedding and the baby’s mattress drove happiness down those hopeless streets. We even brought a Christmas tree and ornaments. The family was in tears, the children eyes like saucers and couldn’t stop thanking us.

The mother was of average intelligence but did not even have food stamps so we helped her apply and receive them.  We also set her up with the County Home Extension Service where they helped her plan nutritious meals and stretch her food budget. 

Every Christmas this memory returns and I remember the words of the Crisis Line Director “those who believe in Santa still have hope”, I still believe in Santa, he lives in our good works.