The Christmas Tree

A picture of the actual Christmas Tree

Gather around, ladies and gentlemen! It’s that time of the year again where I reach back into my past and bring forth my story from long, long ago when a little girl cost her Grandpa Gilbert a ton of money…through gambling no less!

Yes, that little girl was me. I never could remember if it was 1978 or 1979, until I just discovered another picture of the tree Mom had included in a photo album she gave me. She had written the year on the back. Hooray! So now I can officially say, for the first time ever telling this story, that it was most definitely 1978. That would have made me 8 years old.

Mom, Dad, my sister Jeanne, and I were living in Mt. Clemens, Michigan at the time, where Dad was stationed as an active duty Air Traffic Controller at Selfridge Air National Guard Base. We had just moved there that summer after four years at the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Rather than spend our first Christmas in Michigan, Mom, Jeanne, and I had flown back to El Sereno, California (a suburb of Los Angeles) to spend it with family. If I am not mistaken, it was one of my uncles who flew us back because my Grandma Lucy was sad and missing her only daughter. There was something about Dad not being able to take leave to go with us, but he would join us in time for Christmas before he had to go back to Michigan.

Grandpa Gilbert was a macho man with a lot of bravado to his swagger. He used to wind tales to Jeanne, our cousins, and I about his “Zoot Suit” days, and all the fights he would get into. He was rough around the edges, didn’t have a great upbringing, had vices he had trouble overcoming, and struggled through most of his life. But he was also a man with a heart of gold who loved his family and would try to spoil us even though he didn’t have much to give.

At around this time, Grandpa was working for Dolly Madison, a snack company responsible for Zingers and other popular snack cakes—which would eventually be acquired by Hostess. Anytime there was a factory mistake on the packaging or product—an icing embellishment was missing, a package printed upside down, or anything else that would not make it pass quality control—those items would be discarded. They were perfectly edible, just not aesthetically perfect for retail. Grandpa would bring home huge bags full of these misfit snacks. His goal was to help my male cousins gain weight for football. They were still growing, and growing taller faster than they could fill out. They were beanpoles. I’ll never forget the countertops and kitchen table just being full of these packages of snack cakes that no one could eat fast enough before he’d bring home another huge load of them. When my cousins would arrive at the house, he’d tell them to get into the kitchen and start eating.

He’d bring home delicious bags of pan dulce every Sunday that he’d get from a local panadería. He’d treat us all by bringing home buckets of Pioneer Chicken…the most gawdawful greasiest chicken I’ve ever had. But I’d eat it because I knew, even at a very young age, just how little he had. So, I didn’t want him to feel bad and would tell him how delicious it was. He would beam brightly, and meanwhile, my stomach would be churning in pain. It was worth it to me, however, to make him feel good.

All these things were him trying to provide for everyone and make sure they were fed because he and Grandma Lucy worked so hard at multiple jobs that no one was ever home to cook meals. He would usually come home first and go to bed early after leaving in the wee hours of the morning to the factory, and Grandma would tiredly walk up the hill all the way from the bus stop to the house by the time it was getting dark outside.

Christmas gifts were treasured. He insisted on doing his own Christmas shopping for everyone. Every year, he would buy me pretty sweaters or other articles of clothing. Nothing ever fit, however. He didn’t know my size, but he would see something pretty that was within his budget and buy it because he wanted me to have pretty things. I treasured them.

Mom and Dad had raised Jeanne and I to appreciate and have gratitude for any gift we received. We were taught that it’s the thought that counts, not the gift. We never stood in lines after Christmas to return things and I could never understand why others did. Every Christmas, no matter where we lived, I’d open my gift from Grandpa Gilbert, chuckle at the gift that was 3 sizes too small, and then lovingly fold them back up and place them back in their gift boxes. I stored all those gift boxes at the top of my closet, refusing to get rid of them. Every box symbolized to me that my grandpa thought I deserved the best and the prettiest. All those boxes represented my “treasures.”

It wasn’t until I was married and had kids of my own that Mom had me go through all the things I had left at my parents’ house because it was time to downsize. Reluctantly, I finally let those items get donated so that someone in need could put them to good use.

Now that you understand Grandpa Gilbert, you’ll be able to appreciate what happened that Christmas time in 1978. Grandpa decided it was time to go get a Christmas tree for the living room and told Mom he was going to take me with him to the railroad tracks. When you don’t have a lot of money, you become resourceful. The railroad tracks is where the Christimas tree auction in Los Angeles was. Bid right and you could come home with a nice tree for a fraction of what it would cost you at a regular Christmas tree lot.

I didn’t know where we were going, but I was excited that he had singled me out to be his wingman that night. Just me and my grandpa! Out to get the family Christmas tree. It was dark when we started out and I could barely see out the window of his car. I remember the street lights flashing by and the glow of Christmas lights on businesses and houses until those ended as we got into the industrial area.

When we pulled into the huge lot by the railroad tracks, I saw many people milling around close to where a train was parked on the tracks. There were some booths set up to handle transactions, but it was mostly cars and people that filled the lot. The lighting out there wasn’t very good, but I could make out a man heading up to the train cars, and one by one, he slid open the cargo doors. And one by one he would pull out a Christmas tree, thunk it on the floor of the train car to shake out the branches and fluff it out, and then yell out, “Who wants this tree?”

Excited chatter would fill the air and then an auctioneer with a microphone would announce the opening bid. I didn’t understand what was going on and asked Grandpa Gilbert what all these people were doing. He explained to me that people would bid on the trees by saying how much they were willing to pay. The trick was to have the highest bid so you could win.

I thought this was a really cool idea! I nodded at him, thinking I now understood what an auction was. And it was quite exciting! The auctioneer spoke fast. People yelled out or held up hands. Prices went up and just as fast, it was over with. The man standing in the train car would whip out another tree, thunk it to shake out the branches, and away they went again. Every time someone won their tree, cheers would erupt through the crowd. Oh, this was so incredibly exciting! This made people happy! Even the people who got outbid seemed good natured. After all, there were plenty of more trees coming. I had never seen anything like it and it looked like such a fun game.

After a little while of standing back and watching, I asked Grandpa if he was going to play. He gestured his hand to wait.

Then it happened. The man in the train car struggled as he pulled out the next tree. Rather than thunk it easily on the floor of the train car, he had to grab it in a bear hug and try to shake the branches out that way. He wasn’t very successful. The tree was huge! It was incredibly full and super tall. I fell in love with it instantly!

It was the kind of tree that if Santa Claus had come to me and said I could have any tree in the world, I would have told him, “Santa, I want this one!”

The auctioneer began the opening bidding process and soon people were shouting out. Nooooooo! This was my tree. I wanted it. I didn’t want anyone else to get this tree that I believed was meant for me. So I began shouting out bids too. I remember the auctioneer suddenly stopping and then bursting out with laughter. He pointed me out in the crowd and I beamed big as I heard him over the loudspeakers announce me as the little lady with the winning bid at the moment.

People started turning around to see who he was talking about. When they saw me, they were smiling at me and there was some laughter. I think they thought it was cute. I thought it was awesome because I was playing with all of these big people…and winning! I was really caught up in the fever of it all.

What I didn’t realize was that this was not a game. It was a binding contract if you won and you needed REAL money. Grandpa Gilbert gave me a look as I would bid again every time someone would outbid me, but then he shrugged his shoulders and chuckled. He let me continue to fight for my tree.

In the end, I won. But I remember my final bid causing Grandpa to put a hand on my shoulders and say, “Whooooooa!” I didn’t understand why he was concerned. He didn’t have to worry, in my mind, because no one came back to challenge me. So that means I won!

Oh, but he did have to worry. I had driven up the price of the tree to $75. For those of you who were alive back in the 1970s, you know that was a lot of money. The tree was probably worth maybe half of that. You may have been able to find it elsewhere for even cheaper than half. How did this happen? Well, I hadn’t exactly been shouting out small increments over the top bid. Instead, I was shouting out big increments. Most people were doing about $1 over each bid. Not me. I was bidding in $5 or more increments. I had been learning math well in school. Until the very end, when I did something different. It was no wonder that no one challenged me when the price had gotten up to $50 and I decided to bid $75.

I mean, it did end that auction with me as the victor. Wasn’t that the idea? I happily skipped behind Grandpa as I watched him walk slowly to the booths behind us to pay. He pulled out his wallet and handed over his hard earned money. But he never scolded me about it or made me feel like I did anything wrong. Instead, he would look at me every now and then and give a chuckle. I guess he saw how excited I was and let me have my moment.

Grandpa and several men had to work hard to get the tree on top of his car—an olive green sedan—and get it tied down.

I honestly don’t know how he was able to see the road on the drive home. The tree hung far over the windshield and back window. I’m not even sure how the tree stayed on top of the car. The men had anchored it down with ropes, but Grandpa still drove home with one hand out of the window holding onto the tree, as if he was going to have the superhuman powers to stop it should it break free.

When we got back to the house—a tiny 1920s Spanish-style home built against a hillside—my uncles came out to help Grandpa Gilbert get the tree into the house. They brought it up the red painted concrete stairs, or should I say, they struggled mightily to get it up the stairs. There was a lot of pulling, shoving, and grunting as the branches tried to catch on everything in its way and resist the climb up.

Then it was time to get it through the door that opened into the tiny living room. Well, it didn’t fit through gracefully. So there was more shoving in order to get it through. Once finally in the living room, they realized it wasn’t going to stand. The tree couldn’t clear the ceiling and was leaning over from being crunched down from above. One of the uncles went to go get a saw. He came back and cut the trunk of the tree right there on the living room carpet. They tried to stand it up again, but it was still too tall. So he cut more off the trunk. And had to cut more. And more. Finally he got enough trimmed off the bottom so that they could stand it upright, then he had to shave around the trunk so it would fit in the Christmas tree stand. The tree was still crunched at the top, but it was good enough.

Decorating that monster was an experience all in itself. Grandma Lucy had someone go dig out more lights and old ornaments from the garage because what they had planned on hanging on the tree still made the tree look really sparse. It needed more! By the time the tons of gifts for the entire familia were added under the tree, there wasn’t much room to move around it.

I often think back at this time and wonder what the heck possessed Grandpa Gilbert into allowing me to bid, especially since it wasn’t my money to bid. But this is the kind of grandpa he was to Jeanne and I. He passed away a few years ago and this is one of my most favorite memories of him, among everything that made him such a colorful character. Bless that man for letting me have my win and making my day in allowing me to have my dream Christmas tree. Come to think of it, he just didn’t make my day. He made my lifetime!