Page A4 The Joan De Arc Crusader / Wednesday, December 24, 2003

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Christmas confession

by "Honest Barb" Bueker Formichella

     My first Christmas in Arizona was unforgettable. We had a new house, new traditions to establish, and I was ready to shop.  I had a few dollars saved, I'm guessing from my birthday, and it was time for the annual trip to buy my sister's Christmas present. I imagine I also bought for the other members of my family, but getting my big sister's present was really important to get "just right." Mother offered a trip to Totem Department Store, and I knew I would find just the right thing. 

     Soon after arriving at the store, there it was: a nice, white dress shirt for Sue's Ken doll. Just what I wanted, and therefore, just what she wanted. All of the children accompanied Mother for this shopping frenzy, so I decided I had to be very cautious on my trip up to the cashier, lest my sister see the gift and ruin the surprise. So, tucking the doll clothes under my shirt, I proceeded to sneak toward the front of the store.

     Before I could get too close to the door, I was accosted by a dutiful Totem employee who demanded to see what was under my shirt--what was I stealing??!! The manager was called over, and unbeknownst to the other Bueker family members, I was interrogated for maybe five minutes as to why I was sneaking around with Totem merchandise under my clothes. I tearfully explained in my 10-year-old way that I was trying to surprise my sister with a Christmas gift, and I guess they were feeling the spirit of the season; they let me go with stern warnings, shaking fingers, and a hasty trip to the cash register. 

     Yes, the Christmas of 1963 was unforgettable in many ways, but I'm especially grateful that it was not the beginning of my criminal record!

 

My fave Joan De Arc Christmas

by J. Bueker

     I have long deemed the Christmas of 1967 to be my pinnacle Yuletide experience. It continues to exemplify for me both the beauty of the Christmas season and the magical perceptions of childhood.

     I was nine that year, and my current intellectual obsession was the ancient science of astronomy. My interest was doubtlessly inspired in some measure by the burgeoning U.S. space program, and perhaps even more so by the timeless sci-fi television fare of the day, namely Lost in Space and Star Trek. In any event, I had by the fall of 1967 become deeply absorbed in the study and contemplation of the heavens.

     I kept an old, thrift store-purchased college astronomy textbook in my desk at Sahuaro School, writing notes in it and studying its information on a daily basis. I spent nearly every spare moment of my 4th grade class time reading about the cosmos and writing a virtually endless series of reports on the subject for my teacher, Mrs. Liem. At first impressed and then amused by my prolific output of astronomical research, she was almost certainly sick to death of it by the end of that school year. Sue Liem was a fine teacher and a gracious person, a nice consolation for having been passed over for assignment to the legendary 4th grade classroom of Nancy Frank.

     There was therefore no question whatever regarding my request of Santa for Christmas, 1967. My academic studies and my sense of destiny alike demanded that I procure optical instrumentation capable of effectively facilitating nocturnal observations of celestial phenomena.

     I would have a telescope. Any other eventuality was an unthinkable and damnable notion.

     As a matter of course I consulted, as soon as it became available that fall, the bible of children’s Christmas hopes and dreams, the sacred Sears “Wish Book.” Being an admirer of Newtonian optics in general and the Mt. Palomar observatory in particular, I had decided to opt for a reflector type scope, and I soon found precisely what I sought on page 537 of the catalog. There appeared a 200 power reflector with a metal tripod, booster lens and moon filter, all for the perfectly reasonable (so I thought) price of $15.99. I triumphantly relayed this selection to my parents so that they could apprise Santa, confident that my desire for a clearly educational gift rather than a mindless toy would be received with smiling approval in all quarters.

     Meanwhile my brother Charles had set his heart upon a mindless toy, but a very cool one. He presently issued his request for a model racing set, complete with race track and cars. Charles too searched the Wish Book for his dream gift, and he had little difficulty identifying a set to his liking. The die was thus proverbially cast.

     However these were not the best of times at the Bueker home economically speaking, and it was far from certain that anyone would receive the Christmas gift that he or she ultimately desired. Mother and Father both voiced serious concerns on the subject, and then remained generally silent. My sister Susan in contrast had little compunction about informing us that our causes were probably lost. One evening as Christmas slowly approached, she bluntly advised me that we simply couldn’t afford a bloody telescope, and that was that. Her adept exercise in bubble bursting was quickly met with welling eyes and quivering lip.

     Christmas Eve at length arrived, and we made our customary pilgrimage that evening to Grandma and Grandpa Swaggerty’s house on Northern and 11th Avenues for the traditional Christmas Eve party. The thing that I particularly remember about the 1967 event is that my Uncle John became slightly miffed at me for opening one of his presents by mistake. The notation on the gift plainly read “To John, from Mother.” I was John, and my mother was sitting right there in the same room. So who knew?  I didn’t care for the shoes anyway.

     Upon arrival back home on Joan De Arc, we were promptly dispatched to bed and presumably then to blissful slumber, replete with dancing sugar plums and talking reindeer. Hah!

     To say that Charles and I were extremely wired with excitement at the prospect of what Christmas morning might bring is to indulge in an understatement of the most profound nature imaginable. Hopelessly awake, we passed the night by engaging in a variety of activities that included reading books, playing board games on the floor, and talking for hours about the telescope and the model race cars. Would they actually materialize?

     The night slowly wore on. Never was there as long a night as this on Joan De Arc Avenue.

     After the seeming eternity of waiting up through that long and chilly night, we commenced our forays into the master bedroom at approximately 5:00 A.M. Those first attempts to rouse our parents from their slumber were predictably turned away, but our raw persistence brought the inevitable surrender a few minutes shy of 6:00 A.M. MST. Yet sisters Susan and Barbie would also have to be awakened and assembled in the living room before we could proceed. Would our waiting never meet its merciful end?

     At long last, the six of us were awake and filing into the darkened living room. Suddenly the lights came on, and there near the center of the room stood the telescope from the Wish Book, completely assembled and ready for use. I stood motionless for the briefest instant, seized in a state of unmitigated rapture and transcendent awe. Charles instantly espied his big gift assembled on the floor nearby, a slightly used model racing set that Mother had acquired from Uncle John as an affordable alternative to the relatively expensive set in the Wish Book. Charles was thrilled in any case. For my part, I was feeling an intense excitement combined with a profound sense of relief that my dearest wish on earth had not been refused after all.

     My father’s custom in those years was to share a couple of hours on Christmas Eve with neighbor Red Russell, during which time the two men would assist one another in the construction of their kids’ various “ready to assemble” goodies. My telescope was thus completely ready for use the moment that I first beheld it. Unfortunately, by the time we had opened all of our Christmas presents, the night sky had cruelly vanished. I would have no choice but to content myself with terrestrial telescopy for twelve long hours before I could hope to use the device for any astronomical applications. Oh agony!

     The highlight of those first daytime observations was the viewing of the radio tower atop Shaw Butte, which required that the telescope be situated on top of the picnic table in the backyard. This in itself was exceedingly cool. I also discerned that day that the strange structure atop Moon Mountain to the east of us was in fact a pair of very large palm trees, a fascinating discovery. Oh bliss!

     But darkness did eventually befall the sky that Christmas Day, and so spent I the first of many nights in the backyard exploring the glories of the visible universe.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________JDA

 

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