There is No Snow in Boston

Santa rode the red line home from work last night.

He is the Santa Claus of State and Washington Streets who spends his mornings with the hurried crunch of Christmas shoppers and the jingle of his Salvation Army bell.

He needs no pillow to pad his belly, no rouge to redden his cheeks. And even in the heated subway, a morning's worth of icicles make his department-store beard seem real to the touch.

The red coat is heavy, the white whiskers hot. But, "no child should see Santa without his whiskers," this idealistic Mr. Claus says.

For children still believe in Santa Claus, no matter how many street-corner St. Nicks they've seen.

At Santa's world in Jordan Marsh, huge red Christmas balls form a gate to Santa's Workshop, where teddy bears make toys, ride sleighs, light fires and sing carols, and a large red mailbox guards the path to Santa's lap.

A little girl with blond hair and white lace tights climbs into the fat, red lap and pulls from her pocket a crumpled note--a list--which she tentatively holds towards him.

"Mommy," she shrieks with delight. "He says, if I put it in the mailbox, it will get there."

A woman holding a small pink coat and white fluffy mittens shares in her laughter.

The note finds the mailbox, and the child prances back past Santa Claus, coloring book in hand.

Looking up at the man in the red suit, she says in a small voice, "You live in the North Pole sometimes, don't you?"

"Yes," he answers.

"I knew that," she announces, as she smiles at her mother proudly.

The red line Santa is not the only Mr. Claus to carry a Salvation Army bell. In snowless downtown Boston, there are thin Santas and fat Santas and bell-ringers in blue jeans and sweats.

The pennies that stay locked in pockets through all the summer months find their way into red-swinging pots and small tin cups and upturned palms. The wreaths and red ribbons and lights strung through the sky turn a street-corner blind man's blues into a Christmas carol.

Even in a state budget crisis there are huge white lights hanging from almost every tree in Boston Common, where sleigh rides take weary shoppers on a snowless ride through the city's center. A Christmas tree and menorah keep up the pretense of holiday cheer inside the gold-topped State House, where carollers sing while a weary legislature trims a budget rather than a tree.

The line to visit Santa is topped only by the queue in front of the 24-hour money machines.

While children sit on Santa's lap, big people try desperately to buy a stocking's worth of holiday spirit. They hunt for it in toy stores and liquor stores and the bargain basement of Filene's.

All the baskets at the Star Market are filled with poinsettas and cookie cutters, tinsel and candy canes. Hershey's Kisses no longer come wrapped only in silver--now they are red and green as well. And even the Massachusetts lottery has a holiday bonus--scratch away the Christmas stockings and win $1000.

On television, the Grinch is stealing Christmas, Charlie Brown is decorating his tree and the Miracle on 34th Street is happening over and over again.

Every few hours, when one of the local stations reruns It's a Wonderful Life, George Bailey reruns down the main street of Bedford Falls, wishing Merry Christmas to Old Man Potter and the Emporium and the Savings and Loan.

And on the radio we are visited by the Chipmunks and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Bing Crosby's dreams of a white Christmas.

But there's still no snow in Boston.