The Old Man And The Tree
James T Algo

 

            The Old Man and the Tree

     I used to work as a “supply boy”, in a Christmas tree lot in San Jose when I was 12 yrs. old. In San Jose, in winter, there is much rain, and the foothills in the distance are lightly capped with snow.
The winter streets at the time were drenched with a cold rain and the streets sparkled in the moonlight at night. The tree lot was located along Blossom Hill Road, next to Kentucky Fried Chicken and Kelly Moore's Paints. The owner was Mr. Bixx, a giant of a
man, well past six-and-a-half feet, who had operated a small tree trimming outfit some years prior and had started the lot as a side endeavor, as a sort of paen to his childhood dreams. He at some point in his life had always wanted to sell Christmas trees, and now was living out a dream. His baritone voice barked orders to the "supply boys", Those whose job it was to carry out the trees that customers had picked, out to their cars. These were known as “carryouts”.
"Boys, get two of those Spruce's there and get them out to the lot for Mr. Douglass here!" He would shout with a fearful intensity.
"Make sure you got plenty twine because they're monsters!" he would add.
In a moment we were at it, racing for twine, grabbing the tree and scouting the parking lot to plan the execution of the tree tying. We pretty much worked like clockwork. The customers were steady in the last few days, Christmas was still two weeks away, but every day around that time seemed like Christmas. I can think of no job worthy of a 12 yr old in winter than that with an outfit which provides the public with Christmas trees. There was so much excitement, there was a hot chocolate stand near the entrance, and a flocking area, and a tree stand making area, and Bixx's bonfire, which he erected every year near the entrance to provide warmth where one could sit and drink chocolate, and of course the thing was seen by nearly everyone speeding up and down Blossom Hill road for miles.
“It’s good for business.” Mr. Bixx boomed.
 Christmas music blared heavenly over a loud speaker system, and it was really something to work there as day fell and the complete aura of Christmas falling over the landscape.
Of course, when it was busy we were as busy as busy bees, sawing the bases off trees, evening them up, and nailing tree stands on them, or working the flocker, masks on, with a white fog permeating the enclosed area of plastic sheeting. You could generally count on being as white as a tree in a snow covered forest by the end of the night and sweating profusely.
     It was in such a time, a busy night, that an elderly man walked in, and after eyeing trees for many minutes, shouted, “I’ll take that one!”
I was busy with a tree off to the side, a rather small fir, when Mr. Bixx called for me.
“Help, this gentleman with this tree, please.” Mr. Bixx said.
I could see that the man had decided upon the biggest tree in the lot, a massive eight footer. One of the other boys went to my customer and I could see Mr. Bixx jovially cajoling the old man, with his booming loud Christmas cheer. Mr. Bixx knew a keen sale when he had one. The tree would fetch at least fifty dollars.
I lifted the tree, heavy and bushy, with all my might, turning it on it’s side and marching out to the parking lot while the old man paid for his tree.
“Yep, jiminy Christmas, what a fine tree!” he stated ecstatically.
Mr. Bixx approached me quickly, “Look he hasn’t a car. He lives round the block. I know you can handle this. Hurry up…. you can have some hot chocolate when you get back.”
I was smiling on the outside and cussing on the inside.
“Merry Christmas, son, Merry Christmas!” the old man shouted merrily.
I was resigned and wondering how far I would have to tramp with this eight foot monster.
“How far is it , mister?” I asked.
“You just follow me….but what a fine tree!! I just live round the corner here!” he said. He was dressed in an old suit, with a purple hat on, and a string necktie, like old folks wear.
“He, he, he, Merry Christmas son, merry christmas!”
We started down Blossom Hill Road, he just ahead of me, singing an old Christmas song, and I lost amid the branches of an eight foot monster Christmas tree. I had a grip, mid trunk of the tree, and had hoisted it upon my shoulders, and as I walked, me being in the middle, the branches tapped on my head in rythmn.
As we walked, the old man, oblivious to my efforts, kept a running dialogue, speaking of his youth and humming intermittently.
“Oh boy..so youse a youngin’ ain’t cha? You have any girlfriends? I’ll bet you have a lot of girlfriends, ain’t ya, tiger!” he said in jest.
“Yes, I have a lot of girlfriends. They’re all waiting for me to get off work.” I said, none too pleased at having to drag this thing through the streets.
“He, he. Yep, I used to ride in a sleigh when I’s about your age. We used to take sleigh rides. With silver bells on it, and we’d sing Christmas carols, and just have a wild time…and swig cider. I remember those bells. What a time.” He said wistfully.
I was beginning to perspire lightly as I huffed and puffed under the weight of that tree. The streets were noisy with the evening traffic.
We took a turn off the main avenue, and headed where, I knew not. My vision was obscured and confined to the pavement in front of me, as I walked hunched over, with the branches beating a steady beat, whump, whump, whump.
“Yessiree, Bob Jackson! What a time we’d have! And those bells! Those clanging silver bells! Oh…and how we’d sing!” the old man yammered.
It began to occur to me that we were headed a lot further than I was led to believe. We walked to the end of the street, and stepped off a curb and continued down the other side. The street lights had just come on, though it was still light, with the sun having just dipped below the horizon.
The old man continued telling his tale of youth, the sleigh ride, and hot cider, while I huffed and puffed under the exertion of the load.
“Jimminy, Christmas! You got that there? Yes, it was wonderful! And snow! Snow like you wouldn’t believe. The bells’d ring out so, whenever there’s snow in the streets!” he said ecstatically.
“Thing was, in all the years passed since, I never forgot the ringing of those silver bells! Ring! Ring! Ring! Just like that!” he shouted.
  I had laid the tree on the sidewalk to catch my breath. The old man was jaunty and gay, and when he shouted “Ring! Ring! Ring!” he pumped both arms into the air three times, with upraised fists, to pucnctuate each Ring! I was a bit embarrassed by his extravagant motions, like we were in some damned Broadway musical or something! I looked up and down the street to see if people were watching and to get a clue as to our whereabouts, but I was confounded.
“Where is your house?” I asked.
“Oh, never you mind! You just follow me. We’re almost there!” He said, and was off at a pace down the walk. He was sprightly, this old man, swinging his arms, and walking lightly as he stepped.
“You never saw a sleigh ride such as this,” he hissed. “You never heard such beautiful silver bells! Silver they were, bright and sparkling in the moonlight!”
It was all I could do to hoist the tree monster back on my shoulder and jog at a clip to keep up with him. We walked past an AM/PM min mart, took a left somewhere and headed what to me seemed back into a circle. Had we passed this way before, I thought?
“Oh how I love this time of year, boy! Maybe it’ll snow? Maybe we’ll have sleigh rides again? Never know!” he said.
I was exhausted from the walk. We were headed nowhere and I finally flung down the tree.
“Dammit! Where are we going?! Where is your house?” I said impatiently.
The old man looked as if I slapped him. He straightened up and the mirth which had accompanied him had now left and he seemed genuinely confused. I felt badly that I had lost my temper. I liked him a lot more before, but I had no inclination in walking around the city for a tree.
“Well, I…uh..I don’t rightly..you see..I..umm.” the old man said in utter perplexed confusion. “If we head back this away we might come to…maybe that way…oh, what does it matter!” He said suddenly.
“Whatsit matter! We can have a sleigh ride! It could be so much fun! And we’d drink cider! And we’d sing to the ringing of silver bells, my boy!” he said loudly. He then quieted.
I was in a creeping terror of thought as I realised this old man was not in his own right mind. His eyes were bleary, he was stooped, and he looked quizically up and down the streets for some semblance of recognition. The purple hat was askew, and the string necktie now hung awkwardly about his neck. I asked the old man what the name of his street was, and he peered back at me and shook his head.
“I don’t remember. I…who are you? Can you help me find..” he said as his voice trailed off.
I wanted to turn and run and pretend that things like this didn’t exist.
In that instant a station wagon pulled up, and out hopped a youngish man, who peered into the dim light and shouted, “Grampa!”
I was stunned and glued to my spot of ground before the dumped Christmas tree.
“Grampa, we’ve been looking all over!” the young man shouted again.
He approached the old man, who put up a bit of a struggle, and hollered out several times, drawing the neigbors to their porches craning their heads towards this disturbance. I didn’t want to see this. It was awful the way the poor man struggled then resignedly got into the vehicle.
The young man stepped up to me. “I’m awfully sorry, I hope he didn’t create too much trouble. He gets really confused sometimes. We’ve been looking all over for him the last hour!” He said and jumped into the vehicle roaring off before I had a chance to explain that he’d purchased a tree at Bixx’s Christmas Tree Lot.
So there I was. Standing on the sidewalk at dusk, with an eight foot Christmas tree and nowhere to go. I shivered slightly more for the fear than that it was starting to chill. What the heck was I going to do now? I picked up the tree and headed back to the lot!
It was in this fashion that one of the great miracles in my life occurred.
For as I walked, I came upon a street along the way and what should I see but the station wagon parked in the drive! I inched up the walk to the house, coming to the front window which looked out on the front lawn. And who should be sitting there but the old man himself?! He was sitting in a chair, in a dejected way, with his arms folded in front of him, and a far off look in his eyes, staring into the street and hadn’t even acknowledged my presence as I peered into the window. It was a tragic brooding scene, and he seemed on the verge of tears.
I didn’t have a second thought.
I dropped the tree and raced back to the lot.
“What the hell took you! You’ve been one hour and I-!” Mr. Bixx boomed loudly and decisively. I took little notice and continued to the shed. I grabed some nails and a couple of boards. I then turned around running out of the yard. Mr. Bixx yelled something, threatened me with my job, and returned to his bonfire.
When I returned I found that I had neglected a hammer! I looked around and settled on a footstone, which I unearthed from a neighboring yard. I grabbed the tree and nailed the stand to it. Hoisting with all the might and back strength I could muster, I carried the tree to a spot right in front of the picture window and placed it, triumphantly, on the ground.
The old man, seeing me through the window, instantly raised his arms, jumped from his seat in an explosive demonstration, and began hopping around his chair! There were five or six children present, and they were shouting gleefully and clapping. In a moment, he had rushed to the window, his nose pressed to the glass, and the children were within his warm embrace. I will never forget the look of the old man in that instant. He was smiling radiantly and his face was streaked with tears, the way I imagined he looked so many years ago on a sleigh ride with silver bells.
         



             

 

 

Copyright © 2003 James T Algo
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"