A beautiful Christmas basket (12/21/97)

A beautiful Christmas basket

by Edward Andrusko

One of the earliest Christmases I can remember was in the seaport town of Perth Amboy, N.J., where I was born. Our country was in the midst of a recession, or, as it was called, the "Great Depression." There was little or no work. Many were starving; others were begging in the streets or traveled illegally as hobos (street people) on freight trains in search of employment. The deadly epidemic of influenza (flu) swept our poverty-stricken nation, touching every neighborhood with sickness or death. Most parents could not find real work for years. A few of my older brothers and sisters found meager, part-time manual labor for pennies an hour in the larger city of Newark or in nearby New York.

I was the youngest boy, one of nine children. My parents had immigrated to America from Eastern Europe. Their backgrounds were those of peasant farmers from Ukraine and Poland. We lived in a modest, humble, home across the street from four rows of busy railroad tracks. Smoky trains, the lifeline to New York City, noisily passed our house regularly.

My sisters and their neighborhood girlfriends would ingeniously and dangerously stand by the railroad tracks, waving at the itinerant hobos on the train for gifts. The hobos would throw down coal, a precious commodity, to the girls. Occasionally, itinerants on fruit trains would contribute apples, oranges, grapefruits and bananas in the same dangerous manner. Many times our sisters came home with their aprons full of treasures; other times they had nothing - the trains were empty.

My young ears heard the words "depression, foreclosure, poverty and repossession." Our parents' devout religious faith kept us all appreciative of what we had and motivated us in where we were going in life. It was always "God's will!"

Once my crying siblings and pleading parents begged the grim stranger not to repossess our family radio, but he did. Yet from this sad moment I was inspired to go to the library for a book on how to build radios. With that knowledge and parts from the trash cans of a radio shop, I built a small crystal radio that worked to entertain our family until better times. Who would have dreamed that this low moment for my family would set my feet on the path toward a successful electronics career!

My "tough love" mother always had a way of jumping in at the right time with her words of wisdom and/or threats. "Children, listen - everyone into the house, you little ones, - stop crying about the radio, or I'll find something for you to cry about! There are a lot of chores to do inside and out. Christmas is coming."

Our brave, sarcastic older brother, Charlie, said, "I'm going to tell my neighborhood buddies (who watched the repossession) that my mother made them take back the radio, because we were having too much fun as a family listening to it and not doing chores."

Mom said, "No lying, wise guy! Come inside. I've got a special job for you." In the house, mom told Charlie, "On Christmas Eve you take your brother, Stevie, he's the tallest and you both go down to the Christmas tree lot and get us a beautiful tree." Charlie laughed, "And what will I use for money? They don't grow on trees you know! That's a joke, Ma!"

Mother said, "Don't be funny. You know I scrub floors and clean house once a week for this rich, business family across town. The lady of the house gave me an extra dollar for Christmas and their very old dog for you kids. But, the main thing is, her brother-in-law is a nice Jewish man who owns the Christmas tree lot down our street. Moe always gives away all the unsold trees at 8 o'clock on Christmas Eve. Be there, up front. Bring home a big beautiful tree - and make it a fresh one. It has to last until our Christmas, January 7, the real Christmas day."

We always celebrated two Christmases and got off from school for both. There was the American one on December 25 and the Eastern Orthodox on January 7. We didn't get more presents, but we sure were in church a lot.

Charlie complained, "But Mom, last year we tried that! Mr. Moe threw these large, unsold Christmas trees as hard as he could into the crowd of about 30 men and boys, and if you caught it you would still have to fight to keep it. Moe would only have about 20 bad looking leftover trees."

"If it's God's will, you will try harder this year and bring home a tree; after all you are a year older and much stronger. No more talk. We have two Christmases to celebrate and to prepare for; get busy!" Our mother never allowed any of us to complain, cry, mope or just hang around the house - you would be in trouble if you did! She could always find something for us to do.

Dad got part-time work with the city, working outside all day in the bitter cold, repairing streets. He was paid $1 and given some old world war surplus food. He happily came home with several cans of meat, cheese, prunes and small bags of potatoes and flour. My mother's genius, and our sisters' help, would have to feed the holiday multitude of our family and visitors twice - for both Christmases.

On Christmas Eve, after 8 p.m., my older brothers, Charlie and Steve proudly brought home a large, beautiful tree. They looked liked they'd been in a tough fight to keep it, but they were victorious. My proud mother clapped her hands with delight, beaming as she looked at the beautiful tree. She thanked God and my brothers. Dad and we boys immediately started to decorate it.

Our large, cherry-red hot stove in the kitchen not only provided the only heat for our home, but baked and cooked the great feast my mother had planned to perfection. We happily sang carols in several languages.

Dad gave out our Christmas presents; we had a choice of either an apple or an orange. I was the last and had to settle for an apple, for that's what was left. We sat down to the banquet my parents had provided, which looked very festive and smelled delicious. My father stood up and said grace, then passed around holy bread, honey and a taste of sacramental wine. Dad continued with the blessings, thanking God for the beautiful Christmas celebration, good health, wealth and happiness.

How my mother heard a soft knock on our front door through the joyful caroling I will never know, but she did. Mom left the table and opened the front door, letting in the cold wind and some blowing snow. Several strangers waved at her from the street as they entered their car. They shouted "Merry Christmas" through the dark snowy night and drove away. Mom returned the salutations and was closing the door, when she noticed a large colorful object on the dark porch. She asked my two older brothers to help bring it indoors.

We all stopped eating and came over to see the mysterious, colorfully wrapped, beautiful basket of food now set on the living room floor. Through glistening transparent paper the basket revealed a large dressed turkey, fruit, vegetables, bread, cans of nuts, candy, soft drinks - all this wrapped with a bright red ribbon and bow.

Our surprised parents were speechless. We children all looked at the basket and each other. We thought about what we wanted from the basket, but no one touched it, because we were not sure if it belonged to us.

My older sister, Ann, sheepishly moved through our ring of spectators and confronted my perplexed parents. "Mom, Dad, I know about this Christmas gift basket; it was given to us by the people of St. Peter's Church from across town. They are not of our faith, but they give out these baskets to the poor and needy." My parents looked at each other, then back at Ann and said, "What did you say?" She repeated every word.

Our youngest sister asked, "Are we poor and needy?"

I said defensively, "We are like everyone else in this neighborhood. Why did they leave it here?"

My sister Sal, said, "I didn't know we were poor, Mama. Everybody knows the Schultzes on the next corner are very poor. They have 10 children, and the father is seriously ill." While we debated our poverty level, or the lack of it, our parents had their own private discussion.

Mom told everyone to go back to the dinner table, for Dad had something to say. "Family and friends, we thank St. Peter's Church for this generous and bountiful gift. Yes, financially today we are poor, but so is everyone else we know. Yes, we are poor - but we are not needy! We have a good Church, and God will provide our needs. We are healthy, but one of our neighbors is not. We are very blessed, and we know how to share, and we will. Amen!" He added, "Please, everyone, enjoy the great feast before you."

When we returned to our Christmas Eve dinner, our parents excused themselves, put on their heavy winter clothes, picked up the large Christmas basket and left into the snowy night. They returned home shortly after leaving the gift basket by the front door of our destitute neighbors.

Following dinner we dressed for a late evening church service. There was a loud knock on the front door. Neighborhood Christmas carolers entered from the cold, singing holiday songs. Our family joined in, then invited them for some hot cider and cake.

The jolly entertainers told us that one of the happiest homes they had visited earlier was just down our street. A very poor and needy family had received a beautiful Christmas gift basket anonymously.

We smiled, and everyone yelled "Merry Christmas."

* * *

Free-lance writer Edward Andrusko was born in Perth Amboy, N.J. After high school he joined the U.S. Marines at the age of 17. He served four years, three years as a combat infantry Marine, was wounded three times in World War II and decorated.

Mr. Andrusko studied American history and literature at the University of Colorado. He is a member of the Marine Corps Historical Foundation, the U.S. Naval Institute and the Rocky Mountain Writers Guild Inc. This is his second Christmas story written for The Weekly.

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