The arrival of the tree, usually tied and wrapped securely to the top of our Chrysler, was a moment of triumph for my Dad. There it was. Christmas splendor in our own house. Decorations with special family significance, a cotton tree skirt, bubble and tinkle multicolor lights all were draped on the tree while eggnog and fudge were consumed by the fireplace. Then, in 1960, something controversial happened. Mother discovered the magnificent and elegant Aluminum Christmas Tree (complete with rotating color wheel).
I was never quite sure why my father relented to the interloping fake that began to grace our "sun room" that Christmas. He gave it the most disturbing looks and glances. Not quite a scowl but something akin to disgust. Mom was oblivious. She found the best tree money could buy at Marshall Fields in Chicago. It could only be decorated with certain ornaments. They were all red and very fashionable. No lights were necessary. The color wheel took care of that. One moment it was green, then red, then blue and then a strange yellow gold. All of the traditional stuff was packed away in deference to the new. I had raely seen my mother so proud and happy. It was certainly a decorator tree to show off to all of the family, friends and neighbors.
There developed a kind of tension between the tree and Dad over the next few years. It was 1964 when all hell broke loose. My buddy Steve and I were goofing around in the basement rec room. The unhappiness that Dad was experiencing over the tree proved to be too much for Mom. She gave way to his pleas and watched in horror as he brought down all of the old decorations and began to drape them on the aluminum tree. The thing got loaded down with everything but popcorn garland. She sat in a chair with a cocktail in defeat. Dad's masterpiece was crowned by the cotton skirt. Presents were crammed under the branches until the inevitable happened. One spark from a light strand, through the aluminum, down the trunk and POOF. All Steve and I heard was stomping and pounding. By the time that we got upstairs the sun room was going up in flames and Dad was trying to put it out with his hands. Quick thinking from two 14 year olds saved the day. We formed a bucket brigade and put out the fire before the fire department got there. We were instant heroes. Dad and Mom went to the hospital to treat his burned hands. I was trusted to be left alone and spend the night at my friend Gary's.
The aluminum tree melted that year and was never replaced. No more fake trees for us. It was back to flocked ones. We moved to a bigger home the next year. Dad spent many hours admiring his traditional tree. Mom did get all new fancy ornaments anyway. Everyone was happy. Steve and I still like to put out all kinds of fires (usually, but not always, metaphorical).
