LARRY'S CORNER- Hamilton's Former Mayor Speaks

A Christmas Story

By Larry Di Ianni
(posted December 19, 2008)

In 1956 a little boy of 7 arrived in Halifax by ship from Europe. He was with his mother and older brother beginning life in a new land and anxious to be reunited with a father he could barely remember. It was late December, just days before Christmas. Halifax's Pier 21 was a cold, windy, snow-filled place. The little boy's knickers, his woollen sweater, coat and out-of-place beret were no match for the first taste of Canada's harsh winter by an exposed Atlantic shore.

As he huddled by the side of the pier waiting for boxes and suitcases to unload, knees shivering and fingers pressed into his jacket pocket, thoughts of a warmer land danced in his head. It was nearly Christmas time. What would he be doing at home? Games with friends, eating holiday sweets at relatives' homes, seeing grandparents and uncles, cousins and aunts who came to visit were a stark contrast to the desolate and lonely dock in this forbidding Canadian port.

Mother and older brother were too preoccupied to see the loneliness and home-sickness in this young boy's eyes. Counting suitcases, dealing with customs officials, making sure that train tickets were not lost, trying to decipher instructions from passing strangers were much more important tasks at hand than dealing with a shivering 7-year old.

The young boy had been excited about coming to this new land. He was tired of being teased by his peers back home for 'not having a father.' He would protest that he did too have a dad, and rush home to search for motherly reassurance, and to complain that kids just didn't believe him when he protested their teasing. He was anxious to make the family unit whole again after so many promises that they would all embark on a great adventure to Canada to be united once more.

His mother had done a good job of keeping the far-away dad as a presence in the young boy's life. But it was difficult. Even the wool coat he was wearing today, the cowboy gun and other toys he would show off to his friends, sent by father in one of the regular packages which would arrive at the local post office, were poor replacements for a missing patriarch. However, today, as he stood there all alone, shivering against the Atlantic wind, he wondered if this land was going to provide all he had hoped for. It was not a good start.

And then, something caught his eyes. In the distance, near the entrance to the great hall next to the port's exit, was a store window. The young boy approached the window; and as he came nearer he saw a movement on the other side of the glass. He followed the movement, mesmerized by the figure he had heard so much about but had never seen other than in post-card pictures. He stood still, just feet from the glass. The red-clad figure was staring at the young boy, its warm gaze fixed on the lonely child's eyes as it beckoned him. With a gesture of the hands, and a slight bend of the knees, the figure's arms were cupped and moving in welcoming gestures, inviting the child towards the warmth of the store window. The little boy obeyed, nearly pressing his nose against the window pane.

This was Santa Claus. In this young boy's home country, Santa Claus was not celebrated. He was known about, but it was not then part of the culture to receive gifts from this magical man. Gift-giving in his country was reserved for a date later than December 24. It was on January 6, the feast of the Epiphany, that a kindly old witch would reward you with gifts or punish you with coal, depending on your year's behaviour. But the young boy had certainly heard about Santa Claus and the tradition of receiving gifts from him on Christmas Eve. He privately relished being showered twice with toys in his new land. To meet Santa so early was a timely surprise. This was truly a close encounter of a significant kind for him.

Santa stood no more than 3 feet tall, and his repetitive gestures were testament to its mechanical nature; however, for a small boy lost in an inhospitable setting feeling all alone and out of place, the jolly elf's welcoming overture made all the difference. The magical elf, surrounded by gift-wrapped packages, excess weight nearly popping out of his red suit, with flowing white hair and beard and piercing blue eyes was like a warm embrace for the young boy. It was as if he were being welcomed to this new land of hope, opportunity and family reunification. All of a sudden it wasn't as cold as it had been. The wind stopped blowing and even the ocean seemed to be more at peace.

And then, he heard a familiar voice calling out to him. It was his mother. Everything had been settled. The suitcases were all accounted for and being supervised by the older brother. The papers were all in order and the trio had been able to reserve a comfortable coach on the train for the long ride to Hamilton, Ontario. Mother reached out to take the young boy's hand. She asked whether he was cold. He said he wasn't. She wondered what he'd been looking at. The young boy just shook his head as if to say, "Nothing at all." As he did this, walking away from the store window, he glanced back a last time and swears to this day that the magical elf , still gesturing and beckoning, winked at him in a very warm, reassuring way. He was glad to be in Canada!

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