Memories of Childhood

Christmas in New York City in the 5o's

The sunlight in December is so very special. It seems to cast a promising glow on the tall tenement buildings as an apology for having to leave so early each day. It’s the sunlight that I so much recall as the special ‘back light’ for my father’s and my trip to find the ‘perfect’ Christmas tree.

We lived in the mid Bronx. Most of the people in our neighborhood celebrated Chanukah. Thus, Dad and I would have to trek across the Bronx, on foot, until we could find a little tree that we could afford and then carry back to our five story walk-up apartment on Walton Avenue. In the 1950’s $2.00 is what Dad felt we could pay for a tree. Once, though, when the short day grew dark, we spent $5.00. After all, Mom was waiting for us at home with eggnog and the boxes of decorations were waiting to be released from their wrappings after a long year of storage.

We always found the perfect tree. It seemed to wait for us. It had to persevere the hauling through the streets and hoisting up the many flights of stairs to our three-room apartment. It always amazed me that so many of the other children in the building would throw open their doors and watch us go by. They knew that the next day they would be invited to come up and see how beautifully we had transformed the tired tree in to a glowing Christmas tree. Dad would often leave some ornaments for my friends to place on the tree themselves. I can remember the glow in their eyes and see their mouths slightly open in awe. I enjoyed Chanukah with them and now they would enjoy Christmas with us.

Little Janet Neumeister with her favorite book

There were fifty apartments in our building; thus, one can imagine how both magical and overwhelming Christmas Eve was for me as a child. One of my treasures was a music box that played ‘Silent Night’. Alas, one year it broke. My father could see how upset I was and late one night, he took it apart. He handed it to me with a smile and a wink! What to my surprise, the little box piped out Silent Night backwards. It was so pretty; I can still hum it.

On Christmas Eve I’d go to bed and try with all my might to stay awake. I wanted to hear Santa coming from the roof to the fire escape; we had no chimney. He always came. How he could find us I never knew. BUT WHAT I DID KNOW was that when I heard his voice and his jingling bells, he sounded so smartly just like my father! I can still hear his voice and hear the bells jingling. Christmas thrives in one’s heart and memories.

Janet Neumeister Nickson is a vital member of many Sharon organizations. Even though she is busy with every activity in that town from the Audubon Center to the Historical Society, she finds time to read the Indian Rock Schoolhouse blog. She writes some of her own recollections of a childhood holiday growing up in New York City.