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| Bobby Jones & Santa 1957 |
There is nothing that can compare to the joy felt by a child when receiving a dog for Christmas. More elaborate and bigger gifts might be forgotten in a relatively short time but a puppy from Santa will always be remembered. My own experience was 53 years ago but is as vivid in my mind as if it happened last year.
It was December, 1957 and I had been campaigning for a dog since summer. The crusade was relentless. “Every boy needs a dog. “ I finally heard Mother say to my Dad. “He seems to want one so badly. I’m just sure he would take care of it.” Dad retorted that he knew better than that. “You and I are going to end up taking it out and feeding it.” "The answer is NO!" My heart sank. I knew that I would be a good master. Visions of Lassie and Jeff streamed through my brain. How tough could it be to take care of a dog? It was after Thanksgiving and the only recourse seemed to be going to Meis Brothers Department Store and asking for the intervention of Santa Claus. I would not have stooped to visiting Santa if it wasn't an emergency. Most of my friends were pretty sure that he did not exist. But it was sure worth a try. Mom made me get all dressed up and took me to the lap of my last hope. The plea of a lonely little boy seemed to be too much for my Mom. It looked like she had a tear in her eye when I completed my poignant begging. SUCCESS! It was all up to her and good ole Santa now. Dad was no match for both of them.
The Christmas season was busy with family gatherings and school plays. No verbal mention was made again of my fondest wish. After all, I did not want to nix the deal with SC. There were longing sighs and lonely looks that should have transmitted my desperation but you never know how parents might interpret such things. Christmas Eve arrived. We always got to open one present prior to going over to my grandparents house. I was pretty sure what my gift was going to be. What a disappointment when there was no animal sized box with holes in it around the tree. I got a ping pong ball burp gun. Geez. How would Santa know to deliver a puppy to the home of relatives? Surely there was a mistake…some mixup with another kid down the block or something. We went to my grandparents house and there was no wriggling sack or whimpering crate. No way in the world would Santa take a dog to my Aunt Helen's home in DeLand, Illinois. That was never happening. So I began to settle into the bleak resolve that Santa did not exist and that my parents had hearts of stone.
Dinner time came and I had no appetite. My grandmother had prepared a feast for the families. Every favorite was displayed on good china. Goodies were overflowing the table. I couldn’t have cared less. My grandmother noticed and asked “What' wrong, Robby?" (She was the only one allowed to call me Robby). I mumbled something but was interrupted by the back doorbell. It was tradition that only adults answered the door so when my grandmother told me to answer it I was dumbstruck. Dad said “You heard Noie, get the door.” I hopped up , ran to the door and opened it hard. There, standing in all of his glory, was Santa Claus himself. He asked if I was Bobby Jones. I stammered a "yes" and he went on to say that he had missed one of my presents and just made the discovery on his sleigh. He knelt down and opened his red bag. It was wiggling...and there before my very eyes was a little black puppy. I hugged Santa as hard as I could and scooped up my little pal. There he was…My pride and joy. Everything else became a blur for the next 24 hours. I named him Penny and he was by my side, in my bed and nipping at my feet at all times. There was never a better present and never again was there a doubt in my mind about the existence of Santa Claus. For the rest of my life. Really.
