Growing up in Louisa – White Christmas!
Weekly feature . . . by Mike Coburn
It was way back in 1942, the same year that I was born, when Irvin Berlin’s song “White Christmas,” came out and blanketed America with more than just music. I don’t know if it was a common dream before the song hit the charts, or if the idea was already in the American spirit. It wasn’t until 1954 that the now famous movie with the same name came to theaters all around the country. The film continues to be shown on television throughout every Christmas season and still draws a lot of viewers from all around the world.
It had well-known and talented movie stars. It was Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney (a Kentuckian), and Vera-Ellen, the girl with the tiniest waist I’ve ever seen on an adult, that played the roles of the four characters that had separate missions, but who ended up in romantic entanglements. The two ladies had a song and dance routine about ‘Me and My Sister,’ that I still enjoy watching.
I think that for many veterans just back home from the war, seeing the battle scenes early in the movie, and the affection for the ‘old man,’ the story-line really hit home. They could identify with that idea as the haunts of a nearby battle wrestled with their emotions. Even for the ‘stay at home,’ folk, the colorful costumes of bright red in the movie, stood out in a world that had seemed a little grey during the war years. What a bright and happy finale it was when the big Christmas tree was lit and the general was honored. This was a movie showing heartfelt camaraderie at its best.
When I was a toddler, members of my family played the song, White Christmas, on the Victrola many times before the movie came out. I grew up hearing those lyrics and the grown-ups wishes for a wet, fluffy, snow event. Little kids tend to mirror what they see and hear, so I joined all of America with an ingrained wish for a seasonal Christmas snow. Frankly, any sign of a snow-flake in those days before Christmas was exciting and gave us all hope that we would experience that dream come true. I remember pressing my nose against the cold, sometimes frosted glass in a living room window. I was hoping to see that first snow flake so I could run and announce to all that it was snowing. I have to admit that I still long for a light snow around this time, but I’m old enough that I don’t need, or want, six to twelve inches of the stuff to satisfy my dream.
This event, or non-event, was one of those things where I had to learn to deal with life’s disappointment. It definitely snowed most years in our little town, but having a snow event during that few weeks were rare during the holidays, but it did happen occasionally. I remember one Christmas that was so warm that I went out in shirt-sleeves and rode my new bike around town. Even with the pleasure of a warm day, I longed for some snow. Like the gambler who enjoys a win now and then, we got our wishes a few times. Getting our way even once is enough to bring us hope for a repeat as the holidays stacked up over the years. I really didn’t really have any invested in snow. It wasn’t like the retired general in the movie who was dependent upon the skiing business. Contrarily, snow usually meant there were restrictions on my social life. The dream was counter-intuitive as it relates to my happiness. Oh, there were certainly sleigh rides down the face of ‘town hill,’ or maybe some other venues.
A few of the snows back in the day were pretty heavy and left a pretty ‘Currier & Ives,’ ambiance. I remember times when snow hung heavily on the pin branches and other trees and bushes, as well as on the fences, and the electrical and telephone lines. Several inches were stacked atop the houses and outbuildings and even more in deep drifts. I remember when I would look out on our street just after, or sometimes during, a storm and see that pristine, white ground with no footprints, or car tracks. The picture was like a Christmas card. It was a quite peaceful scene. I had to struggle to decide whether to transverse such an undisturbed area. It seemed almost sacrilegious to mar nature’s perfect work. On the other hand, l liked seeing the impressions my galoshes would leave in the snow. I could trace my every step, or misstep. Snow tracks told us whether the postman had come, or a milk delivery man, or the butter, or egg lady, or if birds and animals were about. Even as children we learned to ‘read’ the marks so we knew if it was a dog, raccoon, or some other beast that had been there before us.
There would be freshly created ‘snow angels,’ or maybe even a distressed battlefield left from a snowball fight. The snow would soon have tracks left from where we rolled large snowballs to make the body of a snowman. Nature was such that those smooth, clean, and glorious pictures would soon enough become slush. Kids love to build snowmen. I can’t say why, but those were first on the list for most of us. In our day they had carrot noses, old scarves, arms from dead tree limbs, maybe eyes of coal, and whatever else we could find. I remember once wrestling with a large ball trying to get it up on an even larger one. I finally got a board to make a ramp. Half way up it went off the side and broke in two. We finished it by putting it up there one handful at a time. Our snow-creatures were amateurish. It would be years later I’d see some fine sculptures, much like an ice-carving you’d see today. The snowmen would grow in size and would be the last sign of the snow to melt.
Of course we’d sometimes had huge snowball fights, and even snow forts. I remember I would stay out for a while until I felt nearly frozen. I remember those painful, burning ears, and toes, and finger tips that were not so well protected. Well, maybe that was because of the direct hit from an icy projectile, or because wind, wet, and cold had gotten through the layers of heavy, wool clothing. After getting properly frozen, it was time to go back indoors, throw off our wraps, kick off the rubber galoshes, and clean up any wet footprints brought in. A heavy snow was a perfect excuse for making cookies and enjoying some hot chocolate. When those events happened during the weeks leading up to Christmas they seemed to have more magic.
During snows, you might think some stores would struggle with sales because of a reduced flow of customers. Contrary to this idea, many times they actually flourished with business. People would rush to the stores for needed backup supplies in case they were ‘snowed in.’ Hardware stores sold snow shovels like never before, and maybe some rock salt, or maybe even one or two sleds.
The light flurries would somehow turn on the Christmas spirit and gift-giving. The cash registers would ring downtown, the bells blending into the background sounds of carols. There were joyous, happy crowds at the five and dime, or up the street in the corner store. All of the department stores were busy from the Bargain Store, at Carter’s, the Louisa Department Store, Ferguson’s, and over time a couple of others as the business community grew. Sometimes they would have customers backed up waiting to have their just purchased gifts wrapped. As a kid I remember watching the clerk wrap each present by folding and taping the ends, then magically run sharp scissors along the ribbon to crate beautiful curls. Stores often hired seasonal workers to help them keep up in the season.
A favorite time was when in the evenings we would bundle up, put on our gloves and scarves and tour the immediate neighborhood. Seeing the lights from each home reflecting on the snow, made the time even more colorful and exciting. Downtown, many of the stores had awnings, or a covered sidewalk that kept the snow at bay. Other sidewalks would be cleared by young folks trying to earn a dime or two. “Joy to the World” broadcasted from atop the Methodist Church, a continual reminder of the purpose of season. Christmas music played inside the stores, too, to keep the spirit alive, but the songs were often mixed with secular music rather than just carols. Some of those include “White Christmas” or maybe “Here Comes Santa Claus” and “Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer,” by Gene Autry, or ‘Momma Kissing Santa Claus Underneath the Mistletoe Last Night.’
Businesses up and down the street decorated their storefronts and windows. Even the bank had cotton snow in the tiny window next to their door. Everyone had put up bulbs and greenery. The Wright Brothers did their windows up with loads of fake snow, lights, and sparkling gems and metals that were available to the discerning customer just in time for giving. My favorite candy was available at Bradley’s during the Christmas season and added to the memories. I’ve published that recipe given to me by Betty Hager Meade Cooke in a couple of articles over the years. If you want a copy, let me know and I’ll share it with you. I’d like to think our grandchildren or greatgrandchildren will continue to make this wonderful and rare treat.
I remember many times walking through the slush after traffic had broken up the snow on the streets. Once or twice I’d step into a puddle that was deeper than I had thought. The result was cold water rushing into my shoe and soaking my socks. Brrrr, that was cold. I’d still have to cross drifts now and again to get home, but I’d remember the cocoa and warm fire awaiting me, so I’d plod on with determination.
I’ve written before about times when schools were still in session during snows. Most of us ‘town kids’ walked to school anyway, so we showed up and everyone got credit for a school day. Closing the schools used up snow days that were figured into the school calendar. Having more than planned would mean that we’d have to make them up and have a longer school year. So attending school during these times actually paid off for everyone since they didn’t count against us. In a way, it didn’t matter because we didn’t do much, if any, classwork. It was mostly a social occasion. I think we did do some serious band practice and maybe catchup work or reports. In any case we usually left early.
I can’t say what the kids from out of town did, but I suspect their parents likely had some work for them. I’m guessing the guys got to tote in some extra firewood or coal. I remember once shoveling a path on a sidewalk and losing my footing. The result was that I landed in a snow bank and nearly disappeared. I wasn’t sure I could get out of the snow on my own, but I did. It was a big laugh for everyone who was watching from the window. Falling into a big drift usually meant that snow would get into places I’d prefer stay dry and warm. Being so skinny those places were few and precious. A good pair of long johns would have helped.
Singing carols, going door to door, often at houses we knew to have ‘shut-ins’ was a practice that our church did a few times. If memory serves me right, we combined with some choir members from other churches to make up a group of maybe twenty 
singers. We sang downtown and then walked a few nearby streets. In most cases, we rang a doorbell, or knocked on doors. The people came to the door and listened as we sang. I’ve seen in the movies how sometimes the carolers were offered hot drinks or refreshments, but that didn’t happen to us that I recall. Anyway, stopping would reduce the number of homes we could visit.
My intent isn’t to make everyone cold by talking about snow, but rather to take you back to a time when White Christmases were fun and something we anticipated like a favorite friend returning for a visit. We will surely always remember that song and the God-given, smooth voice that Bing Crosby shared with the world. We were all blessed by hearing him. In fact, we continue to love that song even long after Bing passed away. Maybe now is the time to fix yourself and your family a cup, or two, of hot chocolate, add a few marshmallows and think back to some white Christmases of times past. Merry Christmas!
