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The Belk-Tyler man In the early 1960s, we were farmers and lived up a lane across the field from my husband’s parents. We had four children and no room to hide Santa. The big barn behind their grandparents’ home seemed like an ideal place. There was no reason for the children to go into the barn. We felt secure because we had large, thick bags of lespedeza seeds stacked to the ceiling and in rows. We talked with Santa and made a deal to put the larger items between the rows of seed and to just pull out a bag here and there to make sure nothing was visible if anyone did decide to peek around in the barn. We were on a tight budget, and every year I would collect the ears of corn left across the ends and along the rows and sell them. We used this money to supplement Santa’s budget. As I look back, I received as much for that corn as today’s farmers receive per bushel. This particular year one of the boys wanted his first 26-inch bike. Our oldest daughter wanted what was called a train case—now we just call it the smallest piece of luggage in a set—with a mirror in the lid, and it had to be Samsonite and red. My husband had been deer hunting (those days you really had to hunt deer). He came home just before dark and whispered that he was going to retrieve Santa and park the pickup somewhere away from the house. When he came back he had a different look on his face. I followed him into the kitchen, and he said that someone had stolen the bike and the train case. Everything else was safe. It was almost 6 p.m., and the stores all closed at 6. Thankfully the party line was not in use, and I looked up and called Belk-Tyler’s. A stock man answered, and I explained our dilemma that the only things our children really wanted were gone. He was so understanding and said the store would be closed, but we could go to the back door. He said he had a red 26-inch boy’s bike and also a train case he believed was red also. He would wait for me. I don’t remember what the replacements cost, but we will always remember the kindness of a man (whose name is now forgotten) and his smiling face as the gentleman who saved Christmas. He went out of his way to turn a family’s despair into a joyous Christmas morning. We never knew who took the gifts, but we will always remember the kindness of the one who replaced them. Merry Christmas. Doris Godfrey, Hertford | Albemarle EMC |
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