The Kraft Music Hall began its 15-year broadcast life under band leader Paul Whiteman and singer/actor Al Jolson, but it’s Bing Crosby for whom the show is best known. Crosby took over as program-host late in 1935, and it was during his decade-long reign on the show that Bing enjoyed the peak of his film, radio, and popular music fame.

For our "audio trip" into the past we have a Kraft Music Hall "Christmas episode" with Bing and the gang that first aired on December 14, 1944. In the second half of the program Bing sings for us his classic rendition of Irving Berlin's "White Christmas."

"IT'S BILLIE THE BROWNIE FROM SCHUSTERS!"

What could be more exciting for a Junior age boy in the 1940's living in Milwaukee than to be drawn to the radio at 5:00 PM during the Christmas season? I was so naive, so ready to have my imagination tweaked, so anxious for the unknown and the adventure. Billy the Brownie would do it for me every year. And even after the full revelation about Santa Claus, it was fun watching my brother and sisters Joanne, Robert, and Judy listen intently with wide eyes and wonder.

Oh, how I used to anxiously await 5:00 pm and turn our radio dial to 640 and WTMJ. 4:45 was Terry and the Pirates so the dial was on WGN. Back then you didn't have AM and FM designations because FM was yet to be. Billy the Brownie from Schusters was the marketing tool of one of the four main department stores in Milwaukee. There was Schusters, Gimbles, The Boston Store, and Chapmans (East of the river on Wisconsin Avenue and attracted the upper crust).

This marketing tool for Schusters was masterful in getting families to one of the three stores to "see Santa" and shop while they were there. The program was 15:00 in length and aired each weekday at 5:00 pm for 24 years,1931 to 1955. The first program was Thanksgiving night to and the last program, with just the narrator, "Larry," was Christmas Day.

The cast was Santa Claus, his elf Billie the Brownie, Me-tik the Eskimo, Willie Wagtail (Billie's Dog), Fairy Queen, Bongo (Santa's Dog) and often Mrs. Clause via telephone hookup from the North Pole where she would give a full report on cookie baking and toy manufacturing complete with sound effects.  The creator and writer was Larry Teich and the sponsor was Schuster's Department Store -- a long time before Federated swallowed all the stores up. 

Billie the Brownie had the perfect "elf" voice. Mi-tek had a more base voice and limited vocabulary with Tonto type grunts and clipped English -- after all, he was a genuine Eskimo who was in charge of the reindeer. Willie Wagtail was Billie’s' dog, Bongo was Santa's dog, and "Fairy Queen" would show up every so often as the adventure story for the day merited.

The first Billie the Brownie voice was Esther Werner, nee Schmidt of West Bend who died in Menominee Falls the summer of 2001. The last voice of Billie was Carol Cotter. Santa, "the main man." would appear on the program at the close, reading letters from children. During the broadcasts we would be fed a strong diet of adventure, problem solving, mystery, Santa stuff and what was on special at Schusters. Sometimes, as I've mentioned, there would be a remote call from the North Pole, and we'd get a report from Mrs. Santa and some of the production elves so there would be a wide variety of program content.

The photo at the top of the page is the result of "Billie the Brownie" program. I'm not going to say who is on Santa's lap since I think you can guess. Isn't it interesting how easily customers were pleased? Look at that garish photo customer number in the middle of the picture. Can you believe that distracting interruption of photographic composition was accepted by the parents? This was not the year I asked for a Red Ryder air rifle. Notice the long hair on that kid! I had 48 wiener curls until I was six-years-old. I don't know...you ask my mother. Maybe it had something to do with Dad's advertising contract with Morton Salt.

I distinctly remember riding home in our 1937 Buick with side mounts and jump seats after seeing Santa and having this picture taken. I stood up and asked Mom and Dad why Santa Clause had a staple in his beard near his mouth! As usual, no definitive answer. I though it was dumb. I also remember telling them that he smelled like beer. Now, how would I have known how beer smelled since I lived in a teatotaler household? Must have been those weddings I tagged along when the reception was served by Plunkett's Famous Dinners in Milwaukee and Chicago.

My most memorable winter evening was when Mrs. Haack asked me to shovel her sidewalk and driveway. The Haacks lived a block east on Cedar Street and were the last house next to Jacobus Park. Mr. Haack was Chairman of the New York Stock Exchange and would come back to Wauwatosa on the weekend. Later he would become CEO of Lockheed Aircraft. Anyway, after school that day I rushed down to the Haacks and started shoveling. I wanted to be home before 5:00 so I wouldn't miss Billie the Brownie. Don't know how or why I was able to finish in an hour and a half but I did. The job included the front sidewalk, the entrance sidewalk and a long two-lane driveway. At 4:30 it started getting dark so I worked all the faster.

When Mrs. Haack paid me I looked down and saw a five-dollar bill in my hand! I was stunned and couldn't believe what she had given me. This was in 1946! FIVE DOLLARS? What would that be worth today? ...$30? ...$50? I thanked her but I don't think I did a very good job beause of my excitiment. I ran home as fast as I could so anxious to show my family and made it just in time for "It's Billie the Brownie from Schusters!"

Taking off my snow suit and galoshes I ran into the living room and where my brother and sisters were already stationed. I listened to Billie and Mi-tek while holding the treasure I had just been given; staring at it in disbelief. I was rich. Mrs. Haack would never know how happy she made this 12-year-old boy or what an incredible memory she gave him that is just as vivid 58 years later -- almost as vivid as it was when it happened.

In researching this beautiful memory, I found an incredible short story written by Phil Pluta, who lived "by Schusters plus two blocks." I don't know who Phil is but he perfectly described "how it was" and it's great fun to read. Don't miss his Milwaukee Dutch phrase in his title -- "BY SCHUSTERS..." Dutchers used "by" in place of to, near, over, at, and words like that. "I'm goin' down by Schusters" would be a normal way to tell someone where you were going. My favorite Milwaukee Dutch phrase is, "Ya, noo, over by tirdy-tird street where the streetcar turns the corner around." Next favorite is "Throw me down the stairs da broom so I can vacuum da floor.

Getting back to the excellent story about Milwaukee, Schusters was the touchstone of direction. When you gave directions, you used it's location as the center of your map and added to from that point. I have Phil Pluta's story elsewhere on Ramblins.

Click the link below to hear the last Billie the Brownie program from sometime in the early 1940's. They're loading up the sleigh on Chrismas.

On this Monday before Christmas, take your bible and turn to the following Scripture -- John 5:24
Prayerfully read the verses two times, and then read the Advent Devotional that follows written by Dr. Thomas Q. Robbins, Pastor of the University Park United Methodist Church in Dallas, Texas. Then spend a few moments in prayer using the suggestions Thomas Q. offers. Be sure to wait a few moments in silence to let your Creator God speak to you.

Think About It -- John 5:24
Our natural or biological state is one of “dying.” It that a surprise? It’s something we don’t think about because we don’t want to think about it. From the moment of conception, we are in the process of dying. Remember that old popular song back in the wild, irreverent days of the mid 60’s? “Living is what you do while your waiting to die.” Well, they almost got it right. Regardless of the length of our lives, we will die. But God has provided a beautiful loving way to be transferred from this existence on planet earth, where we are dying, into a new existence of limitless life. God has, in Jesus Christ, done a new thing to translate us from a natural life to a spiritual life that participates directly with the life of God, Who is Spirit. This process of translation from one form of existence to another has to do with hearing, at the very deepest level of our lives, the words of the only Son and believing in His Father. It’s a matter of faith, belief, trust, and obedience from the beginning to the end. In Jesus Christ, we then are a new creation of God born not of the flesh, but of water and the spirit.

Prayer:
Make me new, God! Fix me! Make me into that new creature formed in your own image, Jesus Christ. Help me to leave the old life behind me and live forever in you.

Dr. Thomas Q. Robbins, Senior Pastor
University Park Methodist, Dallas, Texas.

Still, I found myself exhausted, unable to appreciate the precious family moments, and of course, the true meaning of Christmas. My son, Nicholas, was in kindergarten that year. You know as well as I do what an exciting season it is for a six year old.

For weeks, he'd been memorizing songs for his school's "Winter Pageant." I didn't have the heart to tell him I'd be working the night of the production. Unwilling to miss his shining moment, I spoke with his teacher. She assured me there'd be a dress rehearsal the morning of the presentation. All parents unable to attend that evening were welcome to come then.

Fortunately, Nicholas seemed happy with the compromise. So, the morning of the dress rehearsal, I filed in ten minutes early, found a spot on the cafeteria floor and sat down. Around the room, I saw several other parents quietly scampering to their seats. As I waited, the students were led into the room. Each class, accompanied by their teacher, sat cross-legged on the floor. Then, each group, one by one, rose to perform their song.

Because the public school system had long stopped referring to the holiday as "Christmas," I didn't expect anything other than fun, commercial entertainment - songs of reindeer, Santa Claus, snowflakes and good cheer. So, when my son's class rose to sing, "Christmas Love," I was really surprised by its bold title.

Nicholas was aglow, as were all of his classmates, adorned in fuzzy mittens, red sweaters, and bright snowcaps upon their heads. Those in the front row- center stage - held up large letters, one by one, to spell out the title of the song.

As the class would sing "C is for Christmas," a child would hold up the letter C. Then, "H is for Happy," and on and on, until each child holding up his portion had presented the complete message, "Christmas Love." The performance was going smoothly, until suddenly, we noticed her; a small, quiet, girl in the front row holding the letter "M" upside down - totally unaware her letter "M" appeared as a "W".

The audience of 1st through 6th graders snickered at this little one's mistake. But she had no idea they were laughing at her, so she stood tall, proudly holding her "W". Although many teachers tried to shush the children, the laughter continued until the last letter was raised, and we all saw it together.

A hush came over the audience and eyes began to widen.

In that instant, we understood the reason we were there, why we celebrated the holiday in the first place, why even in the chaos, there was a purpose for our festivities.

For when the last letter was held high, the message read loud and clear:

"C H R I S T W A S L O V E"

And, He still is.

My cousin, Mary Lou Brumblin, from Pennsylvania sent me this piece last year. I wish we know who wrote it. Mary Lou was able to give us some wonderful news two weeks ago. The cancer she has been battling, and it's be a rugged battle, is now in remisison and her blood is clear right now. That's a giant Praise the Lord.... and the reason for this healing is not because she's good or a neat lady; not because she has better faith than anyone else; or that she went through a formula of activities, or praised the Lord in full voice. God healed her because he loves her and the event occured so that God would be glorified by the miracle. And that's the reason for every miracle. And that's the reason we're telling you right now.

Someone has said that from 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England were not permitted to practice their faith openly. Someone during that era wrote this carol as a catechism song for the children. It has two levels of meaning, the surface and “fun” meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of the church. Each element in the carol has a code word for a religious reality which the children could remember.

Now whether or not that is a true fact, the following interpretation of "The Twelve Days of Christmas can give special meaning to the song every time you hear it played this season. And if you want a tast of the riduculous and abserd, check out the "Cajon" style at the bottom of the page.

1. The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.

2. Two turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments.

3. Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love.

4. The four calling birds were the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.

5. The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law, the first five books.

6. The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.

7. Seven swans a swimming represented the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit--Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership and Mercy.

8. The eight maids a milking were the eight beatitudes.

9. Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit--Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self Control.

10. The ten lords a leaping were the ten commandments.

11. The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.

12. The twelve drummers drumming symbolized the twelve points of belief in the Apostle' Creed.

Now, how’s that for giving new meaning to an old song? So there is your teaching for the day.... and an interesting and enlightening possibility to know how that strange song became a Christmas Carol.

That’s the story of my life. The Plunkett kids on Cedar Street always got cheated. We would not be reminded about it until we arrived at school on December 5, and would hear the kids talking about it. The German kids got fruit, nuts, hard candy, small toys and crayons and stuff like that. How lucky can you get?

“How come you get all that stuff?”

“St. Nicholas brought it!” was always the reply. “He put the stuff in our shoes.”

It was a European tradition that on the night before St. Nicholas’ feast day, December 6, miraculously St. Nick would ride into town on a white horse from Heaven carrying a white book that had a record of each child’s deeds. He would reward good children with sweets and punish the wicked with switches. In Sweden and Norway he rode a reindeer. The Dutch brought this tradition to the New World. And, in the 1940’s European city of Milwaukee, many children were visited by St. Nicholas. Our family seemed to have nothing to do with St. Nicholas. Our folks explained that is was part of some people’s culture and that we observed the American tradition of St.Nick/Santa Claus on Christmas.

St. Nicholas became Greek Orthodox priest and had an amazing life of ministry and miracles. He was born in Armenia in 280 AD -- Armenia was the first country to become Christian by rejecting Persian Zoroastrianism. After a noteworthy life his influence continued and was chosen as the patron saint of Russia.

In 1087 the Muslims staged a bloody invasion into Turkey and all but wiped out the Christians in the region, which included the seven churches mentioned in Revelation. The remains of St. Nicholas were rescued and taken to Italy for safekeeping and a gigantic basilica was built in his honor. France and then the entire Western world honored his life. 400 churches were named in his honor in England and 1,200 across Europe.

Jumping centuries – in the 1600’s, the Pilgrims and the Puritans who came to the shores of America did not celebrate the Feast Day of St. Nicholas or Henry VIII’s “Father Christmas” (which we’ll write about later). They did not even celebrate Christmas Day. They considered each day as belonging to the Lord and the weekly Sabbath/Lord’s Day was their time of celebration.

It wasn’t until the Dutch settlers came to America and founded New Amsterdam, later changed to New York, that American children began hearing of the feast of Saint Niklass and observing the celebration of St. Nicholas night. As the wilderness was cleared, more English immigrants came over, bringing with them the festive traditions surrounding, “Father Christmas.” Gradually, over time, the description of Saint Nicholas became transformed and Christmas was emphasized.

We were reminding ourselves that the use of a “winter tree” had long been a pagan practice and part of the observance of the sacred “Winter Solstice.” At some point, Christianity adopted the tradition. I really wasn’t sure how that happened but I remembered that Martin Luther was connected with starting the tradition of putting candles on Christmas trees which were by that time a regular part of home decoration in Germany.

I was embarrassed that I really didn’t have a clear idea of how the use of a Christmas tree had come into common practice for the celebration of Christ’s birth, so I went to William J. Fedder’s book, There Really is a Santa Claus, “The History of St. Nicholas and the Christmas Holiday.” It’s an outstanding collection of the traditions and observances of Christmas throughout the centuries. I found this passage that answered some of my questions:

“In the year 200 AD, the early church Father, Tertullian wrote:

“You are the light of the world, a tree ever green, if you have renounced the heathen temple.”

In the 400’s AD, St Boniface was sent by Pope Gregory II as a missionary to heathen Germany. One of the first things he did was to confront the Chieftain Gundhar, who was about to offer little Prince Asulf as a bloody sacrifice to Thor, their pagan God who supposedly lived in the huge oak tree at Geismar.

St. Boniface boldly took an axe and after many swings at the mighty “blood oak” tree, an enormous wind arrived and blew the tree over! The heathen throng was in total awe. Then pointing to an evergreen tree that was next to where the mighty oak had stood, St. Boniface stated:

This is the word, and this is the counsel. Not a drop of blood shall fall tonight for this is the birth night of St. Christ, Son of the t All-Father and Savior of the world. This little tree, a young child of the forest, shall be a “home tree” tonight. It is the wood of peace for you houses are built of fir. It is the sign of endless life for it’s branches are ever green. See how the tree points toward Heaven? Let this little tree be called the tree of the Christ Child; gather about it, not in the wild woods but in your warm homes; there it will shelter no deeds of blood but loving gifts and lights of kindness.

In Old Milwaukee, Schusters was the touchstone of direction. You'd used it's location as the center of your map and add instructions from that point. The street photo will be sentimental to any old timer resident of Milwaukee. But all of you can be whisked away to 12th and Vilet some 60 years ago by reading Phil Pluta's wonderful writing.

To the adults Schusters was just a department store. There were three of them in Milwaukee when I was growing up in the forties. My very own was between 12th and 13th on Vliet Street just a half block from where I lived.

Schusters was the big guy on the block. It towered over the busy Vliet street shopping strip that stretched from Samson's, Walgreens and The First Wisconsin National Bank on 12th Street to Fareway Meat Market, the A&P, Omar and Father and Son's shoe store on 14th Street. It was part of the neighborhood that embraced the Colonial Theater on 15th Street where lines of kids spilled over from the entrance on Vliet every Sunday afternoon each clutching his twelve cent admission that would treat him to a double feature, news reel, and cartoon not to mention the coming attractions and the nickel popcorn.

I could see the Schusters main parking lot from my front porch. At one time it was the only parking lot until after the war when they tore down an old brewery on 13th street and made room for more cars. From my porch I could hear the all seeing and all wise parking attendant high up in his tower calling out the make and model of each car that entered and guiding them to a parking spot. I sometimes would hang around outside the cyclone fence that separated the parking lot from the rest of the neighbor-hood fascinated with the man in the tower with his ability to know at a glance that the car entering was a 39 Buick that he advised to take isle three the third isle. Then he would guide a new 47 Studebaker to isle five--the fifth isle. At those moments I would wonder if I would ever be smart enough to learn to identify all of those cars and be able to sit up in that high tower surveying and guiding the people be-low.

Schusters was a landmark; a point of reference. Other places in the neighborhood were " by Schusters and yet two blocks." It was where Santa Clause kept his Reindeer after the Christmas Parade. It was were Santa, Billy the Brownie and Willie Wagtail hung their hat until Christmas and where Santa sat on a red and white throne flanked by helpers who handed out gifts after you had a chat with their boss. (I always approached those helpers with a jaundiced eye, suspicious that they might be the very Brownies assigned to peek into our windows and catch me being naughty and then reporting my behavior to the Big Guy. Whenever the magic story book did not open on the Billy the Brownie Show I knew it was because I was not completely honest when I faced the radio and said "I have been a good boy today."

    Schusters was also a fantasy land and a playground for the neighborhood kids. It wasn't that we didn't have any thing else to do, or that there were not playground facilities and recreational equipment in our neighborhood. One block away from my house Siefert School, my grade school, covered one square city block and had not one, but two playgrounds. The larger playground was called the "boys' play ground , probably because it had three soft ball diamonds and in the fall was converted into a touch football field. In addition there was a fenced off basket ball court ,which served as a supervised snowball fight arena in the winter, a horse shoe court, monkey bars, parallel bars, a shack full of equipment and a row of swings where you stood in line and counted to 100 to earn your turn..

    The girl's playground had a sand box and a wading pool with a shower pole in the middle, that was a haven on sultry summer afternoons.

  Both playgrounds were covered with asphalt (except for the horseshoe court) , and in the winter time the larger playground was flooded for ice skating. The whole area was flooded with light in the winter allowing the skaters to enjoy themselves until closing time, and on summer evenings the lights shined down on the organized tavern league underhand fast pitch softball games that drew the whole neighborhood.

    Besides this summer and winter activities out on the playground, Siefert had a top notch So-cial Center Program during the school year. We did everything from after school shirts and skins basket ball games, to working on an ad hoc newspaper that my friends and I put together and Tony, who we called the coach, ran off on a mimeograph machine. So we were not without things to do. If we needed a more exciting adventure we walked straight up Cherry Street to Washington Park. We would leave early in the morning with a packed lunch and either play hardball, explore the zoo, catch carp in the la-goon or rent a boat and row out to one of the islands pretending to be shipwrecked.

    Then there was Schusters! There was of course the obvious attraction at Christmas time. Right after Thanksgiving Vilet Street would suddenly be transformed with Christmas decorations, and the Schusters windows would be bright with winter and Christmas displays. On Sunday morning as I waited with my Mother on the corner of 14th and Vliet (on dry asphalt that magically melted the falling snow) for the street car that would take us to church, I would stare with fascination at the mannequins fantasizing that they might come to life at night when no one was watching.

    During the week or on Saturday's (in those days no store would dream of being opened on Sun-day), we explored the wonderland of the toy department the main feature of which was a huge model rail-road layout with cities and tunnels and bridges. Every accessory you could buy for your Lionel or American Flyer train set, was set up in working order. At specially planned times someone would come and run the trains. We would watch them for what seemed like hours. By the time Christmas was over we knew ever inch of that toy department. We knew we couldn't own all the toys we wanted, but being able to touch them and look at them seemed to help fulfill our fantasy.

    It was not, however, just the Christmas magic that made Schusters our playground. There were the frozen malts!. For ten cents you could buy this cone full of frozen malt that swirled out of the ma-chine like custard at a Carvell stand, but tasted nothing like custard. Unfortunately ten cents was a lot of money for a ten year old, so we did not get that particular treat as often as we would have liked. Candy, on the other hand, could be free to an observant and enterprising buccaneer.

    No, the Schusters employees didn't exactly hand out free candy because they thought we were such cute little fellows. Although that worked like a charm when I would walk my two kid sisters up the alley from our house to the back end of the Hires Root Beer bottle House and hang around the open over-head door until someone noticed those two cute curly tops and gave us all a free bottle of rootbeer At Schusters, however, careful reconnaissance uncovered the reality that when the clerk behind the counter would dig into the candy tray with her metal scoop and pour the contents into a bag for a customer, some pieces of the wrapped candy would fall over the sides of the bag and roll under the counter.

  We unani-mously agreed that the candy under the counter was fair game, like sunken treasure, waiting for a sal-vage crew. We would wait for a moment when we would not be conspicuous and then drop to the floor with outstretched hands to scoop our treasure from beneath the counter to be stuffed into the hold of our pirate ship trousers

    With the candy secure in our pockets we made our way past the new 10 inch television sets with the big magnifying glass in front of them .Our destination was the record department. We examined the selection of 78 rpm records until we found some that we thought we would like or we would take a whole album of one artist. (An Album was just that--an album with six pockets for six separate single disks.) We headed for one of the listening booths, closed the door, unwrapped our candy and enjoyed our concert until one of the clerks realized what we were up to and shoed us on our way.

    As we got older, though, our relationship with Schusters began to change. When school let out a 3:30 the swarm of kids descending on the store became an irritant to the customers and thus a community problem. Schusters and the rest of the retail community turned to Siefert School to work out a solution. At this time our school under the direction of its Principal Mr. Peck, was experimenting with an active student government. We had elections for Mayor, council members, court officers including a judge, clerk of court, district attorney and jurors. On one occasion we put on a skit of a mock trial over WTMJ-TV--channel 3. Since our parents did not own television sets, Schusters played host to them in their television department.

    The store cooperated with our school's innovative approach to teaching civic responsibility. Ar-rangements were made to have cadets posted at the doors for a half hour after school to turn back stu-dents that only wanted to roam the store. Only an official note from ones' parents certifying a legitimate shopping trip would get you in. A metamorphosis took place. We were no longer crawling on the floor like pirate caterpillars snatching treasured goodies. Like a proud Monarch fresh from his cocoon, we preened ourselves at our post, our yellow cadet badge announcing to the passing adults that we were worthy of respect.

    The Schusters management gave us that respect. When our tour of duty was completed the store management arranged a banquet for us and our parents. The manager told us all that when we were old enough, and we needed employment Schusters would be proud to hire us. I never knew if anyone ever took the store up on that offer. Within a few years of graduating from sixth grade most of us had moved out of the old neighborhood as our parents became part of the coming suburban sprawl. It was the offer that counted though. It was a family thing and it made the prospect of growing up just a little less scary.

    We needed that support. Though we didn't know it, rapid change was going to sweep over the remainder of our lives. The street cars would soon disappear, and the tracks that carried Santa Clause to his Christmas throne at Schusters would soon be ripped up. The wise voice in the parking lot tower went silent and neighborhood kids could no longer linger at the cyclone fence talking to Reindeer nestled in the warm hay.

    Some of us would try not to let go. My parents moved to the far north side of town, but we still had the Fareway Market deliver our meat to us. For a while my parents made trips to the old neighborhood and bought our dress up cloths at Schneiderman's as they always had.

  Eventually though new ways of living seduced us to the glitter of the new shopping centers, and supermarkets made shopping so much easier if less personal. One after another familiar friend closed shop. Of course the changes that came made us materially better off. I would not have wanted to raise four children in a one bedroom cold water flat as my parents did until they bought a home in 1949. Yet as my own life moved towards greater material prosperity Schusters, my old friend, was swallowed up by a bigger fish in the corporate pond, and my store, which once offered jobs to the neighborhood youth became the main headquarters for the County Welfare System.

    Maybe in every mans life there is that "one brief shinning moment" that Camelot celebrated by Alan Jay Lerner's musical. It isn't a place or a time though. There was nothing mystically special about Schusters on 12th and Vliet or the "yet two blocks" and more that was its community. The people that lived there then were no better or no worse examples of the human race than those that live there now. What was different and what is implanted in my memory, is the feeling of community and the spirit of genuine neighborly concern that flowed from our homes our schools, and even the businesses that we patronized. The relationship of Schusters with its community, especially the young people, stand out in my memory as a symbol of the spirit that permeated the community in which I grew up.

   I have carried that spirit with me and have been better for it.

Ah yes, ‘tis the season for yet another holiday tradition! Just like good ole Saint Nick himself it’s time for that long-lived and oft-maligned gastronomic wonder, the noble fruitcake, to rise from it’s darkened celestial cupboard and set out on its holiday “gift given” rounds, spreading joy and good cheer the wide world over.

And to serve as a yuletide warning for all the headstrong and precocious children of the planet to behave themselves, ere the firm hands of justice should force them in punishment to actually eat a piece!

As far back as the gilded Christmas age of Charles Dickens’ England, the fruitcake has suffered the “slings and arrows of outrageous” culinary reviews. It was Dickens himself who once referred to it as “a geological homemade cake,” but it was under Johnny Carson’s watch on the Tonight Show that fruitcakedom witnessed its public relations low-point with a series “vicious and slanderous” chucklers, the best of which was… “There’s only one fruitcake in the entire U.S. and it’s passed around year after year, from family to family!”

Not laughing? Well I suppose we lack Ed McMahon’s “Ho-Ho’ing” shotgun-backup for the full “Carson effect.”

There are a few among fruitcake’s myriad fans (and those who just pretend to be for “image’s sake”) that trace its beginnings back to Egyptian times when cakes of dried fruit (in a tasteful dusting of natron) were prepared for the Pharaoh to take with him into the afterlife.

Still others cite the first fruitcakes occurring in Roman times, when a sumptuous mélange of raisins, pine nuts, and pomegranate were set in a barley mash and baked to produce a dense, durable food stuff that could easily travel on long campaigns with the conquering legions.

During the Middle Ages in Europe honey became an essential ingredient of the cakes, as a flavoring and a preservative. With the advent of cheap sugar, brought by the colonial trade of the 1600’s, fruitcake’s shelf-life steadily increased as the nuts and fruity bits were soaked in greater and greater concentrations of sugar.

By the 1700’s these cakes were used in various religious festivals, harvest celebrations, and weddings. In rural communities the harvest was marked by the baking of special cakes, which were stored until the following year to bring luck to the new year’s crop. Along a similar vein, in some parts of England the upper layer of wedding cakes (the bride’s cake) is still made of fruitcake, which the newly wed couple keeps for the coming year(s).

No one seems to be certain why fruitcakes became associated with Christmas time, but one imaginative story involves a late 1700’s English custom of handing out slices of cake to impoverished women who traveled door to door at Christmas, singing carols. Another possibility involves another English law from the 1700’s, which restricts the use of plum cake (i.e. fruitcake) to Christmas, Easter, weddings, christenings and funerals. In any case most fruitcakes are eaten (or I should say, “sold”) at holiday time.

Here in America, the modern Christmas fruitcake comes in two basic varieties, typically formed into a dense ring-shaped loaf, often topped in pecans. One variety is the “light fruitcake;” this uses sugar or corn syrup and a mixture of walnuts, almonds, pecans, golden raisins, pineapple, lemon rind, apricot, and cherry, bound in a sweet heavy dough.

"Dark fruitcakes" employ brown sugar or molasses as the main sweetener, and often use additional fruits such as dark raisins, prunes, and dates. Both varieties are often available with bourbon, brandy, or some other eau de vie as an added flavoring.

Despite all the jokes and their bad image, fruitcakes can be big business. The two largest fruitcake companies hail from the rural South, where traditionally fruit and nutmeats were available at bargain prices. The top-selling fruitcake company is the Claxton Bakery out of Claxton, Georgia -- you've seen it with it's two inch square loaf that is about eight inches long and chucked full of Georgia pecans. The rival to Claxton is the Collin Street Bakery in Corsicana, Texas. The Claxton Bakery does not readily disclose exactly how many of their unusual brick shaped “beauties” are foisted upon humanity each year, but in one article they mention that a single government commissary once placed an order for 65,000 cakes. Oddly enough, a surprisingly large portion of all fruitcakes produced go to Japan!

For those brave few souls who feel inspired to actually do some fruitcake nibbling this holiday season, I can offer but a scant few tips. Sadly –perhaps I mean “happily”- my experience has been limited to only a few mass-produced examples of the fruitcake baker’s art. I suppose I should also warn you that my opinion is further handicapped by a hatred of maraschino cherries!

Most of the fruitcakes I’ve eaten have struck me as quite dry and bland, but find that the Claxton fruitcakes (while still bland compared to fruit breads like German stollen, Italian panetone, and French kougelhof) …the Claxton cakes have a wet dense texture that I find a bit more palatable than other options I’ve sampled -including the fruit-flavored CLIF and Powerbars that mountainbikers and "outdoorsy types" so often rave about. I've never had a Collin Street fruitcake, but know those who swear by them. (Or was it "at them?") I hear that the dark variety of fruitcake has a bolder flavor and that all of them are much improved if they’ve been baked with a little bourbon or some other liqueur.

Fruitcakes also improve with time; a good three months are required for the flavors from the fruits to fully blend and meld into the sweet doughy binder. Carefully stored, a fruitcake can last for years! The first thing to "go" on them will be the nuts.

Though I’ve never tried them, I hear that Trappist monks can make some pretty good fruitcakes! Two “orders” renowned for their bourbon laced cakes are the Abbey of Gethsemane near Louisville, Kentucky (www.monks.org) and the Holy Cross Abbey in Berryville, Virginia. (www.monasteryfruitcake.org).

For those curious to have a look at the operations of the top-producing Claxton Bakery their web address is www.claxtonfruitcake.com. And in the interest of granting equal billing for our "Texas friends" the Collin Street Bakery's site is www.collinstreetbakery.com.