Bill OBoyle: A Plymouth lad's memories of Christmas past
Dec. 4—WILKES-BARRE — It's that time of year, when cars fly by with evergreen trees strapped to the roof of the car, on their way to a warm home where the tree would be adorned with lights, ornaments, garland and silver strands of icicles.
And a star or angel would be placed on top, as a train chugged around a quaint town called Plasticville.
At least that was the way it was in my house and in our neighborhood back in the day.
It was an annual ritual that was anticipated almost as soon as our Thanksgiving meal was digested.
Mom and dad and I would head over the Carey Avenue Bridge to the Last Chance store where dad would wait for mom to choose just the right Douglas fir tree and then the negotiations would begin. Once a price was agreed to, the tree was placed on our car's rooftop and away we went.
Dad would have a big bucket of coal and water waiting to place the tree into. He would position it in the corner of the raised platform and then secure it with string held by wall hooks to assure the tree would not tip over.
The next step would be for dad to string the lights around the tree, carefully spacing them to assure complete coverage and an exact alternating of colors. These were real Christmas lights — multi-colored bulbs that didn't dare twinkle and were easy to replace if one burned out.
Once the lights were on and all were lit, then the ornaments were placed on the tree under mom's supervision. We had ornaments that were handed down for generations and it seemed that mom had a story about every one. And she had a place for special ornaments — recalling how each was to be placed here or there because that's where they always go.
There was this one special ornament that was my favorite. It was clear, with glittery stripes around the top and bottom and it sparkled. Mom let me place that ornament wherever I wanted and I always found a place of prominence for it.
Once the tree was fully decorated and lit, we would turn off the house lights and sit on the couch and just stare at the tree. Once in a while we would move an ornament, or add some icicles, or just sit there and smile.
Then dad would get the train set out and we would place the tracks around the tree and hook up the transformer and place the Lionel train on the tracks and watch it run around for a few minutes. I remember these little white pills that we would put in the locomotive's smokestack and when the train heated up, white smoke would billow out and it gave an authentic look like the old west scenes we watched on TV.
And then we would build our small town. Plasticville was the company that made all those buildings — a train station, fire hall, police station, a motel with a swimming pool, a red brick schoolhouse, a church, various houses, an ice skating rink (which was a mirror) and a bridge over a pond with people and cars and trucks and trees and shrubbery. We would add roads and sidewalks and a little snow sprayed from a can.
We also had a church that my grandfather made that was modeled after St. Mary's Church in Plymouth. And he also made a replica of our house, which I still have.
These are memories that never fade. They are as clear as a bell in my mind.
And every year, mom would wrap presents for family and friends and stack them around the tree.
On Christmas Eve, mom would remind me to put out some cookies and milk for Santa. Mom's cookies were spectacular — there were Santas, reindeer, poinsettias, stars, bells, churches, candy canes, Christmas trees, holly leaves, snowmen, wrapped presents — and all were precisely decorated by mom. They were so beautiful, guests were reluctant to eat them because they looked so nice.
Mom and my Aunt Minnie Olexy would make these cookies every year and they drew "oohs" and "ahhs" from visitors.
And every year we had lots of visitors. Aunt Betty would bring a big box of Whitman Sampler candy. Uncle Joe wore a Christmas tree tie that lit up. Uncle Jim would always offer me that same bent coin and Aunt Thelma made the best Hershey Kiss cookies.
And we would visit every one of my mom's eight brothers and sisters. The scenes were similar, but different, each with their own special holiday traditions and decorations. And the food — oh, the food!
Holidays were always about family and friends and joy.
And they all began with that trip to the Last Chance for the right tree and everything grew from there.
Reach Bill O'Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at boboyle@timesleader.com.
