The One Dollar Christmas

by Dorothy Loftus

from her book titled “The Kerosene Can and Tootie’s Shoes

The snow crunched in rhythm with my footsteps, and the wind froze

the four buckles on my overshoes shut. One mittened hand held

tightly to the hand of my brother, Kenny, while the other, securely

nestled in my pocket, held the precious one dollar bill.

It was the Saturday before Christmas, and this trip to town was

special. I was nine years old and this was the first year that I had my

very own money to spend for store-bought gifts. Usually, we made

our own. A small apron, made from an old colored shirt with a

crooked pocket, for Mom; or a picture painted on a tablet paper; or an

original poem. Always the gifts were wrapped in white tissue paper

and tied with colored string. After Christmas, the tissue would be

pressed out and the string saved to be used again and again.

The dollar was an early Christmas present from my generous sister,

Clara. One dollar was a lot of money in the early ‘30s. But it wouldn’t

stretch far enough to buy presents for the ten people in my family. So

my list had to be pared down to Ma, Pa, my sister and brother, Ginny

and Kenny, who were closest in age to me, the youngest.

There was no early Christmas shopping back then. The week before

Christmas was time enough, and most of the shopping was done the

afternoon of Christmas Eve. The storekeepers were wise enough not

to build up inventories, in anticipation of brisk holiday shopping,

during the depression years. Money was still scarce and spent on the

necessities first.

As we entered the store, there were no glitzy decorations, no piped-in

carols and no signs promoting Christmas sales.

To our right were the glass-covered bins of candy, with the usual

kisses, lemon drops, butterscotch rounds, and chocolate drops. There

were also two bins of Christmas candy at ten cents a pound. One bin

held two varieties of the filled kind, either peanut with crunchy

chocolate inside or red raspberries with chewy centers. The other bin

held hard candy, round in shape, with pictures of Christmas trees or

bells. As tempting as this was, I knew I must do my shopping first.

​

Ma’s gift had to be special. No more pots and pans. I could choose

from necklaces, brooches (they were called breastpins then), or handembroidered

handkerchiefs. But then I saw the perfect gift, a bottle of

“Blue Waltz” perfume for thirty-nine cents. That would leave only

sixty-one cents for the other three gifts, but I had to have it. I knew

she would treasure it, using just a drop on the corner of her

handkerchief when she went to church or the Ladies’ Aid. Then, when

it was used up, she would set the empty bottle on the bureau, where it

would sparkle in the light.

On to the book section for Pa’s gift. There were books by Edgar

Guest, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Gene Stratton Porter, and Grace

Livingstone Hill. Books on teacup reading and interpreting dreams,

neither of which would have interested Pa. Ah, there it was, The Lone

Star Ranger by Zane Grey, marked with a price of twenty-five cents.

That left thirty-six cents to spend.

On to the next aisle, to the game counter for Kenny’s present. We

played a lot of cards and board games, when we were snowed in

during the long wither months. We already had “Pit,” the famous

trading game, “Flinch” and “Rook.” Now the “Rummy” game looked

exciting. You could play ten other games with that deck; but it would

cost thirty-nine cents! Even a three game assortment of “Authors,”

“Old Maid,” and “Anagrams” was just twenty-three cents. There were

skittles, bowling games, magnetic fish ponds, indoor horseshoes, and

even a complete croquet set for ninety-eight cents. But all were out of

my price range.

“Could I just buy a checkerboard?” I asked the clerk and owner of the

store. “My checkers are still good.”

“Well, I guess so….that will be five cents,” he said.

I also bought a bag of “glassies” for ten cents. We usually made our

own clay marbles, but the “glassies” with the swirls and flecks inside

were special.

Now I had twenty-one cents left for Ginny’s present. She was the

industrious one, always busy with her hands. I picked out a dresser

scarf which had a pattern of flowers and leaves already stamped on it.

Usually, we bought the cloth and then hot iron transfers for the

pattern. The embroidery floss for Sis was another dime.

I had one penny left.

​

I gathered my packages and went to the front of the store to wait for

my brother. I glanced longingly at the hard candy bin, but decided not

to push my luck by asking the owner for one cents worth.

“How much do you have left?” my brother asked.

I held out one penny.

“Well, here is four more. Let’s share a half pound of Christmas

candy.”

Through the years, I have had the pleasure of shopping with long lists

for friends, children, and grandchildren; and I have spent thousands of

dollars. But none of these shopping trips can compare with the special

memory of that one dollar Christmas