Richmond's Own Christmas Carol
Jobless John, a Banker, Lawyer and Business Man
Are the Characters in This Yuletide Story of
When Gratitude Walked the City Streets One Holiday Season
By G. Watson James Jr.
O. Henry would have delighted in this story. The characters were prominent Richmonders of a decade or so ago. Death has claimed all of them, so the drama in which they played one Christmas eve nearly 30 years ago may be unfolded. Their names--What does it matter?
John had a splendid position in a manufacturing plant. The future appeared rosy, with the exception that his wife was in the incipient stage of tuberculosis. With care, however, it was possible she could be brought back to health. God had blessed the home with two fine children.
Then came that black day three months before Christmas eve, 30-years gone, when the plant closed its doors and John was without a job. For 90 weary, hopeless days he struggled to secure a position. Finances dwindled. The scars of the wolf's claws were on the door of that once prosperous, happy home. Worry, blood-brother of fear, was manacing his wife's health. Friends--there appeared to be none.
It was Christmas eve, with no food in the home, no money left and just enough coal to last through the day. Above all, that sublime faith of little children would be crushed unless there was some miracle.
* * *
How different had been last Christmas eve. Like most Richmonders of the period he had made the rounds with friends, after spending the forenoon in visiting on Main Street. No Christmas was complete without a chat with that tall, patriarch merchant-host R. L. Christian whose place of business was as fashionable and as exclusive as any club in Richmond.
One was sure to find there a host of friends, and many old acquaintances home for the holidays. You went straight to the wooden, cracker box, selected two crisp round tid-bits stenciled with a very friendly cow, and while munching them were invited to try a slice of Smithfield ham. This gave pause for your selection of the world's delicacies that made the counters of that famous store a fairy land. Wines from Maderia, spices from Araby, gold oranges from Florida, baskets of nuts, and that marvelous hard candy that filled the stockings of Richmond boys and girls for generations.
Somehow John couldn't go in there today, nor could he find heart enough to drop in to Ben Lambert's cigar store in the basement of the old Henewinkle Building, a few doors below. Last year he had chatted with Ben and received the official O.K. as to his social standing from the great black cat who knew every prominent man in the city of by-gone days.
There would be no ties from McAdams and Berry for his intimate friends, nor lovely laces that his wife might select from the choice stock of A. Hutzler and Son. Last year it had been hundreds of paper soldiers from Elec Werst's--dolls--a baby carriage; a fine book from Anderson's--and the trip through Sixth Street Market for the holly wreaths and Christmas tree.
Tortured in mind and body, too proud to beg, John walked down Main Street and entered the office of a banker. He was welcomed as an old friend by many of the employees, and experienced no difficulty in being ushered into the private office of the head of the firm.
"Sit down, John," the banker said. "I'm attending a little Christmas matter that has been a custom with me for some years. You see, I have 10 close relatives and each year I send them a new unfolded $100 bill," he added.
The crisp notes lay neglected on the desk as Bill, the banker, inquired the nature of John's visit. Rapidly the desperate father unfolded his story. "Bill," he said finally, "I want to borrow $100 to tide me over, and give the family some sort of Christmas."
Bill thought it could be arranged if John would return to the office at 4 o'clock. Meantime their conversation was interupted by the banker being called into the outer office. John waited for some time, then realizing that his friend was in some important conference, he took his leave. As he passed Bill he promised to return at the specified hour.
Later, Bill again assumed his role of Santa Claus. There were only nine bills on his desk. He counted and recounted the money, then summoned his cashier. No, the cashier had cut off the bills two weeks ago and had a record of the serial numbers. There was that possibility that at closing time they would find it was a mistake. The missing bill would show up. They devoutly hoped it would, as did Bill's lawyer who meanwhile had been told of the incident.
* * *
The three men waited feverishly for the bank to close. Alas, when the final totals were struck, they balanced. As the story goes the three men decided to wait for John's return as there appeared no other way out of the dilemma.
The clock hands pointed to 4, slowly drifted around to 4:30, then 5, but John did not appear.
During that vigil Bill reproached himself. He possibly had made a thief out of an honest man. If he had only acted that morning. He could hardly blame John.
In spite of the circumstances the three men would not believe the worst. They would apply the last test, so two of them decided to walk by John's home. The house was brightly lighted. John and his wife were sitting before a roaring fire. There were presents in the room and a lovely Christmas tree. The children were playing on the floor.
Faced with what appeared prima facie evidence, unable to believe that John was capable of such an act, and again reproaching himself, Bill walked slowly to his quarters.
There he was greeted by an excited servant. "I bin tryin' to find you eberwheres. Done called all the clubs. De cashier want to git you in a hurry."
"The bill was found standing on end behind the cuspidor in your office. It was turned over to me by the janitor."--cashier's voice quivered with relief over the wire."
In a short time the three men met in the deserted bank. Bill put the new $100 bill in his pocket. "We are going to call on John," he said.
* * *
That metamorphosis that money alone can bring about was everywhere in evidence as the trio entered John's home. Fire, food, hope, clothing and the vision of Santa Claus had transformed a home that was in shambles that morning into an abode of peace and happiness.
It is not of record but quite reasonable to suppose that the desperate father of 12 hours past was surprised to see his three friends, and they, no doubt, were for a time ill at ease.
"Why didn't you come back?" the banker asked after they had exchanged Yuletide greetings."
"Bill, I was desperate when we parted this morning. There was no hope left in me. My head was on my chest. I had walked a few blocks up Main Street when someone slapped me on the back.
" 'What the devil is the matter with you?'
"I looked up and into the eyes of an elegantly-dressed stranger. His face was strangely familiar, but for the life of me, Bill, I couldn't recall his name or where I had met him.
" 'You don't seem to recognize me,' he said.
" 'Don't you remember the tramp you gave a job in your plant down on Main Street more than 10 years ago; into whom you instilled hope, courage and self-respect? Well, I'm the man. I found the old place closed so I've been hunting all over town for you!"
"After we had had a drink he forced me to tell my story. He is a prosperous man now with a fine business farther South and there was no limit to his generosity. I could have any amount I needed, and he has a good job waiting for me. Well, I got the hundred from him."
* * *
The fire crackled merrily. From the street came the noise of happy youngsters preparing for one of the many bonfires that were the custom in Richmond of the yesteryears. John's wife rocked peacefully in her chair. The Child of Bethlehem hovered over that fireside.
Slowly Bill rose to his feet. "I just dropped in to make Mrs. ----------- a little gift." He handed the grateful woman the missing bill.
So, you see, there were Goodfellows in those days. In every land and clime there has always been Goodfellows, but what we need today is plenty of them.
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