Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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SEC. C, PAGE 8—The Newberry Sun, Newberry, S. C., Thurs., Dec. 24, 1970 The bus station was crowded with lonely Christmas travelers. They were easily separated from the small groups of people who had come to the station to welcome someone home. The greeters were animated, full of conversation. Most of the travelers were tired and weary. Some read listlessly. Others rested their heads on shoulders or against the high, curved back of a bench. Billy Halliday wasn’t waiting for a bus, or for anybody. He had arrived two hours earlier, before word came that snow in the mountains had brought service almost to a standstill. Buses were late, some of them had turned back to Junction City and to other spots. It was the worst Christmas storm in history. The big snow had put a kink in Billy’s plans. Rather, perhaps, it had made it difficult for him to make up his mind about where he was going to spend this Christmas Eve. He had stepped on the bus at Junction City with the idea that he could be taking a bus ride because he had nothing else to do. Once he got here, if he wanted to do so, he could step on another bus and go back to his hotel at Junction City. Now, the buses were running late or not at all. It had been ten years but, if he hung around much longer, someone would recognize him. He was fortunate that no one had before now. He had seen Susie Johnson and had turned the other way. Bill Brown had walked by and he had turned his back. Once spotted, he couldn’t do anything but go through with it. Announcement And then the word came over the public address system. No more buses until snow plows clear the roads. That could be hours. Billy Halliday walked out the side door and turned his steps toward Elm Street. Cars went by, but no one looked his way. He was just another soldier home on Christmas leave. Everything looked the same, he thought, even in the darkness. Mrs. Cable still kept her entire house lit up. Old Man Dabney still had lights on every tree in his spacious yard. And there was Ann’s house, set back away from the street, the lights of a Christmas tree blinking through the huge picture window. He was remembering ten years ago. Ten years ago tonight, He had walked down this same street, toward the bus station, one small suitcase in his hand. That was the night he thought he had said goodbye to Hillvale forever. Nobody, not even his parents, seemed to care about him or his ideas. They didn’t like his beard, his clothes. They had kicked him out of school. Most of his friends, even Ann, had shunned him. She would have taken him back — on her terms, but he hadn’t liked the terms. Decision He had walked out that Christmas Eve, telling only his parents that he was leaving. He thought he owed them that much. He remembered how his mother had pleaded, had tried to make him see things her way. He remembered how dad, having long given up trying to change him, had only grasped his hand and wished him luck. That had been all of it. except for the one letter. He had written from New York to tell them he was all right. One letter had arrived before he changed his address and decided to make the break clean. He still carried it in his shirt pocket. "Dear Son: I don’t know where we went wrong or, perhaps, more truthfully, why things went wrong for the three of us. I know you had to go. You have our love, always. Your mother says she will burn a candle each Christmas until you return. She thinks one day you will come back to us. I hope that she is right. Your dad.” He stopped now before the house. Lights were on here and there — the livingroom, the kitchen and upstairs. His room. There was a light in his room. Had they thrown all of his old stuff away and used the room for something else? Maybe they no longer lived here. Maybe.... But, there it was, in the hall window, burning faintly. He came slowly up the walk. He stopped on the porch and carefully lit a cigarette. There wasn’t much of the candle left. It would barely last through the night. He wondered if there had been only one candle. He could hear the soft strains of Christmas music coming from upstairs, from his old room. Could it be the same, he wondered. Mom had always told him that he would “wear it out” if he played it every hour of the day. He tried the door handle. It was open. He had thought, now they were older, they would at least lock their door at night. Impulsively, he picked up the candle. The saucer, in which it rested was warm to the touch, but he hardly noticed. Halfway up the stairs, he realized he had failed to shut the door. “Don, I do believe the wind has blown the door open. Please go and shut it. It might blow out my candle.” The voice caused him to pause, off-balance, one foot reaching upward. “You and your candle. I think that candle has probably burned itself out by now. But. I’ll humor you.” Meeting There he was at the top of the stairs. He hadn’t changed much. A little more gray in the hair, perhaps. He looked at Billy and a smile turned at the corners of his mouth. But, he didn’t say a word. He just motioned for Billy to come up the stairway and stepped away from the door. But not so soon Billy didn’t see the glimmer of a tear in his eye. She was sitting before a Christmas tree in the corner, adjusting lights here and there “Mom, I have your candle here. I . ..” In that first moment of recognition, he thought he saw the brightness of a thousand holiday lights in her eyes. “Billy. . . It was all she could say, but nothing else needed to be said. He crossed the room, reaching down to tenderly take her by the hand and raise her upward, feeling as he did her arms crushing about him. “Billy . . . Billy.” And then dad was there, too, pounding him on the shoulders. “Look at you, will you. Look at him, mom. Just take a good look at that son of yours." Discovery Finally, they set him free. His eyes took in the familiar things about the room. Nothing was changed. Except for the Christmas tree, the room was as he had always known it. No, there was one other thing. There, in his favorite chair in the corner sat a very pretty girl. “Ann?” “Yes, Billy. It’s me. Just paying my annual Christmas visit to your folks. I do it every year.” “Every year on Christmas Eve,” mom said. “We play a little game, as if you were here, as it used to be.” “I’m here," Billy said, not knowing what else to say. Dad reached down and picked up a Christmas gift from beneath the tree. “You’re here, so you get to open the first present. This one is for you. from Ann.” Billy hesitated. The gift was preferred again. “Open it, son, we have a Christmas to celebrate. Later, we’ll talk. Now, we’ll have our Christmas.” Billy tore the wrappings away. “O.K.,” he said with a jaunty air. “Now, let us have our Christmas." , As he sent the ribbons and paper flying here and there, Billy Halliday felt ten years younger. He wondered if he had ever been away at all. He was aware suddenly of the blinking lights on the Christmas tree — on and off, on and off. It made him think, for some reason, that life is stop-and-go, with warning lights at points where decisions were to be made. He wondered about Ann, about what life had brought to her in the last ten years. He wondered if the buses were running on schedule again. He thought that, at least for this moment, he was completely happy. He was no longer a Lonely Christmas Traveler. SAVE THAT TREE Don’t throw away your Christ mas tree. Branches of used Christmas trees can protect other plants from “winter-burn.” Woodchips from the trees can be used for mulching on ever greens and such plants as box wood, roses and holly. Year End Holiday Christmas has no religious significance for most Japanese, but it is celebrated as a year-end holiday. Hundreds gather in Tokyo late Christmas Eve. Tokyo claims to have the worlds largest “tree”, a 40 story building illumi nated with outside lights. The college man in your life will find the hand electric presser highly useful. For the young lady, one of the portable electric hair dryers, or perhaps one of the inexpensive pocket burglar alarms. And for the home, the interval timers which turn on the lights. If there’s a workshop, the variable speed jig saws are not terribly expensive. For the woman of the house, consider replacing the old toaster with a very useful electric toaster—broiler oven. pii§? mu.. Sir Henry Cole was the first man to sign and mail cards to his friends celebrating Christmas. He was the first director of the South Kensing ton Museum and in 1843 he com missioned John Calcott Horsley to design a card. The artist drew a typical family dinner scene and 1,000 copies were lithographed and hand-tinted. Some of the cards were mailed to friends of Cole. The rest were offered for sale in a London shop. No one seemed to realize that a big business had been launched by this simple gesture of thoughtfulness. The only comments at the time were that a great artist pictured a drinking scene as a part of the spirit of a religious holiday. Shock ing! GREETINGS ... In many areas of the country, a “White Christmas” brings added joy to the hearts of young and old alike. Our wish for everyone in the community is the kind of a Christmas that make you happi est. ♦ :•*. * I Greetings to our many fine patrons from the folks at LIPSCOMB GULF SERVICE STATION Phone 276-4606 Newberry, S. C. Let us rejoice in the message of the season! CHAPMAN-HAWKINS HARDWARE celebrated their 25th Anniversary on Dec. 21, 1970 1319 MAIN STREET PHONE 276-0300 Newberry, South Carolina