December 24, 2020 by Don Feder
My Christmas memories are sparse – no tree, no presents, no guy in a red suit riding in a gravity-defying sleigh. That wasn’t for a Jewish kid growing up in a small town in upstate New York in the 1960s. Still, I’m warmed by the memories, even those tinged with sadness.
In high school, I worked in my parents store at Christmas. They had a ladies clothing store, the elegantly named New York Hosiery and Silk Shop, on West Main Street in Johnstown, New York.
I wrapped packages, rang the cash register and held the door for overburdened shoppers. It made me feel important that I was actually contributing something to the family business.
And then, when we closed on Christmas Eve, I’d walk down Main Street and look at the lighted store windows. In my memory, it’s always snowing softly. Christmas music drifts from the department stores. One window has a display of elves hammering away with jerky motions in Santa’s workshop. It wasn’t Audio-Animatronics. It was pure magic.
The decorations, the snow, the music – I loved it all.
To me, Christmas Eve on West Main Street, circa 1962, represents normalcy.
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