Meeting Santa Claus

Meeting Santa Claus

by Tom Woodard

When I was a child there were still hoboes wandering the rails and roads of this Country. My family lived in rural Pickens County, Alabama, but on a major highway. The house is still there, but the stretch of highway it sits on has been by-passed by a new four lane. It was back in the 50's and my sisters and I were quite young, I being the oldest at about six or eight. Being on a well-traveled road, we had the occasional hobo or "tramp", as some called them, come by the house and ask for a drink of water or something to eat. Elsie, the black lady who kept us, as both my parents worked, was leary of them and very watchful of us children when one was about, but we generally gave them something of what they asked for.

One day, a very special visitor came by. I'm thinking it was in the late Spring or early Fall, back in the years when we really had cold weather in Winter. I know the weather was balmy and fair. This special visitor was old, at least in the eyes of a child, with long hair, a long dirty white beard, and ruddy cheeks. We recognized instantly that it was Santa Claus, even though it was nowhere near Christmas, he was wearing an old brown suit coat worn velvety smooth - almost threadbare - and wornout brown leather shoes, with ancient brown fedora, rather than the usual garb Santa wore, and had no sleigh nor reindeer, but was on foot, trudging the highways all alone. When he came to our door, our excitement knew no bounds! Elsie, though, was contemptuous of all hobos, as being beneath her (even though he was white and she black, and even though it was back in segregation days - which just goes to show you in what low estate hoboes lived), and certainly was contemptuous of this gentleman as well, not having the insight to recognize him.

Nevertheless, knowing his true identity, we begged her, it being just after dinner time (what we now call lunch) and she having cooked, as usual, a wonderful meal for us, to fix him a big plate of home-cooked food. We begged such that she prepared him a big plate brimming full, which we carried out to him where he sat on our little stoop of a porch, along with a big glass of iced tea. He received the plate greatfully, and while he ate we sat and watched in utter amazement as he took every bite. It was truly a miracle! After all, how often does Santa Claus come walking up to your house and beg a plate of food?

It never crossed our minds to question his identity or suspicion something amiss due to his time and manner of arrival, or the appearance of his dress. When you know something for a certainty, you don't have to question, nor does questioning occur to you. Nor did we care that he bore no gifts, it not being Christmas. In those times children didn't expect gifts or new toys on a constant basis, as many of them do now, but only on special occasions.

I long since came to an understanding of who this old man really was, but somehow, deep within the recesses of the child that remains in me, I still "know" that it was Santa who humbly sat on our front porch on that beautiful, Sun-filled day long ago and partook of our offering, ate silently, with awe-struck audience, then returned the empty plate and went on his way, headed East down Highway 82, toward Reform, Alabama, seven miles away. Naturally, we watched him until he was completely out of sight. And what a story we had to tell, all of us talking at once, when Mom and Dad got home that evening!

What a rare and wonderful day it was, and never to be forgotten!

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