Will Santa abandon his reindeer?
Wednesday, December 24, 2008 12:59 PM PST
By Richard Spiro
Daily News Staff Writer
Printable version
E-mail this articleEditor’s note: Each year, for about 20 years, former Daily News columnist and reporter Richard Spiro wrote a Christmas Eve tale. Richard died Dec. 11, 1998, but his stories live on. Today we reprint a story originally published Dec. 24, 1975.
Everyone knows that Santa Claus’ workshop at the North Pole is a jolly place, especially when Christmas is near. The elves laugh and sing as they make the toys, and Santa himself bustles about, making sure there are toys for every little boy and girl.
That’s the way it usually is. But one Christmas — it might even be the one coming soon (that’s a secret, but I know you won’t tell) there was a lot of worrying going on at the North Pole.
It started with Henry Longbeard. You may remember that Henry is a pretty important elf — why, next to Santa, he is in charge of all the toy-making. Henry is also the head worrier — if there is anything to worry about, Henry will sniff it out.
And on this one day, he was looking out one of the big windows in the toy workshop, watching the snow as it piled up higher and higher outside. And Henry was worried.
Oh, he wasn’t worried about the snow. No, indeed, for all of Santa’s buildings are strong and sturdy, and even when the North Wind blows very hard and the weather is ever so cold and wintry, Santa and Mrs. Santa and all the elves are warm and snug.
Yet, Henry was worried, and the strange part is that he could not remember what he was worried about. Christmas was coming very close, but Henry wasn’t worried about that, either. “No,” he muttered, pulling and tugging at his beard, “no, that isn’t what I am worrying about.”
He knew, you see, that everyone had worked very hard, and now the lights in the workshop shone brightly on heaps and heaps of trains and cars, and trucks and games and ... Well, just every kind of toy to please children all over the world was piled up waiting for Christmas Eve.
Henry peered again out of the window, hoping to see the jolly, round figure of Santa Claus. He had been gone all day, and no one knew where he was.
But Henry couldn’t see very much because the big, shiny icicles had frozen hard outside the window. So he squinted one eye — and then squinted the other eye, and then he squinted both eyes. But he still couldn’t see anything but the snow.
But really, Henry wasn’t worried about Santa either. He said to himself in his little elf voice, “Santa will be back tonight, I’m sure. Then — what am I worried about?” And he began to worry because he couldn’t remember what was worrying him.
Suddenly — he did remember! It was something Santa had said a few days ago that was worrying Henry. “Maybe,” Santa had said, placing one finger alongside his nose, “Maybe this Christmas Eve I will let the reindeer stay home and rest.”
Now that Henry had remembered, he almost wished he hadn’t because even thinking about it made him gasp. Stay home! And rest? But — but — who would pull the sleigh? How would the toys be delivered? Did Santa mean that this Christmas there would be no toys for the children?
Oh, my! No wonder poor Henry Longbeard was worried and upset. And because the more he worried the hungrier he became. Henry hurried into the kitchen with his little elf steps to make some hot chocolate for himself. (Henry really liked hot chocolate). Then he dropped a marshmallow into the cup. (Henry always likes marshmallows in his hot chocolate).
All this time he was thinking and worrying, and worrying and thinking, and he kept dropping marshmallows into his hot chocolate — and the very first thing Henry knew it was running out of the cup and dripping onto the clean floor.
Henry looked around guiltily, but no one was there. So he hurried to mop it up before Mrs. Claus could come in and see what a mess he had made. And just as he wiped up the last chocolatey drop, Henry heard a noise.
It was a funny noise. A very strange and peculiar noise. Something like a big fan, and without taking even one sip of his hot chocolate, Henry rushed back to the toy shop to see if anything had gone wrong there.
He saw that all the elves had put down their little hammers, and paintbrushes, and were staring out the windows, “Look!” cried Arthur Elf, “it’s a helicopter!”
And all the little elves squeaked, “Yes! It really is a helicopter!”
Now, not one of them had ever seen a real helicopter there at the North Pole, but they all knew what it was. You know why, of course — they had made lots and lots of toy helicopters.
While they all stood with their noses pressed against the cold window panes, the helicopter landed and — who do you suppose climbed out? “Santa Claus!” all the elves cried out.
Indeed it was — old Santa himself, and what do you suppose he would be doing in a helicopter? He saw the elves looking out the window, and waved to them, then trudged through the snow into the workshop.
“Ho-ho-ho,” he boomed in a jolly voice, then hurried over to stand close to the fire that was blazing in the big, stone fireplace. “Oh, but it is cold out there,” he said.
Henry Longbeard couldn’t wait any longer, so he stepped forward and asked, “Santa, what are you going to do with that big helicopter?” And he was afraid — very much afraid — that he knew what Santa’s answer would be.
“Well, Henry,” Santa said, rubbing his cold hands together, “I just thought, sort of, you know, that — well ... You see, after all, a helicopter is very useful, and I thought maybe I should use it instead of the reindeer.”
Santa cleared his throat uneasily. “Why, my goodness, those poor reindeer have had to pull my sleigh through the skies for years and years, and I thought — that is, they must be tired.”
Not one of the elves could say a word. Henry wanted to say something — his mouth opened and closed at least three times — but he couldn’t speak a word.
But finally he did manage to croak, “Have you told the reindeer, Santa? Have you told Dasher and Dancer, and Prancer and Vixen? Or Blitzen and Donder and Cupid and Comet? Or Rudolph?”
Santa’s face got almost as red and his coat. “Well, no. No, I haven’t, er — told them yet. But I will. And I’m sure they will understand. Don’t you think so?”
Still, not one elf said a word. They just looked at Santa, looked out the window at the new helicopter, and looked down at their own little feet.
“Harrumph,” said Santa, and he looked even more uneasy. “Well, I’ll just go out to the stables now and — and tell my reindeer they won’t be pulling my sleigh this year.” And he walked slowly — very slowly — from the workshop.
Henry Longbeard was awake early the next morning, and when he looked out his bedroom window he saw that was still blowing and snowing. So Henry dressed warmly in his sweater and heavy coat, and his mittens and boots and gloves and cap, and then he wrapped a woolen muffler around his neck before opening the back door to the toy workshop.
In blew a great cloud of snow and cold, cold air. It almost blew the little elf off his feet, but Henry put his head down and went hurrying off across the snow. Elves are so small and light, you see, that they can scamper over the crusty top of the snowdrifts without sinking in like you and I would do.
Henry went right to the stables where the reindeer lived, and when he stepped inside he knew that Santa Claus had indeed told the reindeer the bad news. Because they were just sitting around quietly, and when they looked at Henry with their big, sad brown eyes, he felt just like — well, just like crying.
“I came to tell you,” Henry said, gulping a little, “that all us elves are going to tell Santa to send that helicopter back, so you reindeer can keep right on pulling his sleigh.”
But Rudolph (the one with the red nose) shook his head. “Thank you, Henry. But Santa doesn’t need us anymore. So — so we will have to leave here and — and go somewhere else.”
“But — but — but ... Where would you go?” Henry Longbeard stammered. “You have always been here with us!”
All the reindeer just looked very said, and shook their heads. “No, we must leave. No one needs us here any longer.
When Henry hurried back to the workshop and told the elves what the reindeer were going to do, they all protested. “They mustn’t go away — we will do something to help them!”
All that day Henry thought and thought, and when he was about to give up, an idea came to him — kerwack! Just like that. He hurried off to look for Santa, and found him sitting in a big chair in front of the fire, looking very thoughtful.
“Santa,” Henry said, clearing his throat nervously (kaff — kaff — like that). “Santa, that helicopter must use an awful lot of gasoline.”
Santa nodded. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I suppose it does, Henry. Why?”
Henry pulled hard at his beard. “Well, I have heard that there is a shortage of gasoline everywhere, and the people are being asked to not use any more than they need. And you know, Santa — the reindeer don’t need any gasoline to pull your sleigh.”
Well, do you know, Santa’s eyes became brighter, and his smile wider and all of a sudden he jumped up from that chair and clapped hands together.
“You are absolutely right, Henry!” Santa cried. “Absolutely, positively, 100 percent right!” And pulling on his warm red coat, he started toward the door.
“I will just take that helicopter back,” he said happily. “My goodness, I can’t imagine why I got it in the first place. But first, I must go and tell my reindeer they will pull my sleigh this Christmas Eve — and every Christmas Eve!”
And so, little children all over the world, if they chance to be awake on Christmas Eve, and their eyes are filed with the special magic that belongs only to childhood, they might just see a team of happy reindeer whisking Santa and his toy-filled sleigh across the frosty sky. And they would surely hear that old and familiar cry, “Good night, and a very Merry Christmas to one and all.”
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