Dick Summer Connection

We’re swapping Christmas stories, and it’s your turn. To find out what this is about, go to today’s podcast. This story is from Proud Podcast Person Sheri Shanks. She’s confirming the “Pick A Person” idea in the podcast.

You asked for Christmas stories, but what I have to tell you is actually a No Christmas Story. In December of 1999 my two children moved with their father and their step-mother about 20 days before Christmas to Ramstein Germany. Their step-mother was in the Air Force and that is where she was going to be stationed for at least 4 years. I would get to see my children, once a year, for about 3 months in the summer. So we had Christmas early.. the apartment was decorated inside and out with the help of my finance…. and I knew that Christmas day was going to be rough, I would get thru it. We said good-bye to the kids around the 5th of December, and 4 days later, my finance left me…. no note… no phone call… nothing… just the key to the apartment in the mailbox and all of his stuff gone. I was devastated. There are no words to describe the totally emptiness ….. my children were gone, my mother had passed away in 98, all my family were more than 300 miles away and I had no way to get there. I woke up Christmas morning to an empty house, and an empty tree. The child in me felt like I had been the worst child ever, because Santa didn’t come.

This year is going to be better. I live with my daughter, there are 3 children… we will be going to my son-in-law’s parents house with a big family celebration… and I will be right in the middle of it all. I didn’t tell you all this to make you feel sorry… what I really would like you to do is tell you listeners and readers that if they know someone who will be alone at Christmas, and even if they have invited them to come share it with them… most (including me) won’t go because Christmas is family, and you aren’t family. But the next best thing you can do is go over to that person’s home… don’t call in advance… show up with a plate from your Christmas dinner, or a plate of cookies, just something to eat.. and a small gift… believe me when you wake up Christmas morning and have nothing to unwrap and alone…. having someone show up at your door… does so much for you. The gift need not be much, a holiday candle, or any kind of candle, a small gift certificate to that place…. heck even a small fake decorated Christmas tree……. that person’s whole day would be so much better… you don’t need to stay long… it’s better if you don’t because they aren’t gonna want you to see them cry. Be Santa… leave the gift at the door.. knock and run.. sign the card… from Santa….. I know a lot of people do things for the homeless at this time of the year, but there is another group that gets totally forgotten… and it’s those that have no one…. I’ve been there more times than I ever want to.. and I will never let anyone I know NOT have something to open on Christmas Morning… we are all still kids at Christmas… we still believe deep in our hearts that Santa is real…. and when he skips our house…. it really hurts…..

Now go watch a comedy in your big papa chair……. and I’m going to listen to Quiet Hands as I fall asleep……. you put me to sleep every night… and I mean that as a compliment……..

It’s getting pretty close to Christmas. Still looking for your Christmas letters. My address is dick@dicksummer.com . Some of your letters will show up here, some will be on the podcasts. With deep appreciaton for both his service, and his letter, here’s a note from, “Proud Podcast Participant, Don:

Here we are with another Christmas coming fast. But have we taken a moment to stop and think what this holiday really means? I know I haven’t. It’s that time of year where we can all stop and smile at a stranger and they don’t wonder if you’re about to mug them. I think we all need to take a step back from all the hype and the ads that say buy this or that. I’ve found myself wondering what Virginia would say if she were alive today? I’ve read the letter she wrote to the newspaper. Would she write it again? All I know is that Christmas means reaching out to someone who needs the help or might hunger for a hug or a kind word. Have we become so jaded over time that all we can believe in is ourselves? Josh Groban did a song for the movie Polar Express, all it said was you need to believe in the magic of the holiday. The tree in your living room with all the decorations that you collect over the years. Some because they have a special meaning or some just because they are pretty. The yule log burning in the fireplace. I remember how my hard it was for me to sleep on the eve of Christmas, or how I thought I heard sleigh bells softly ringing in the night. Opening the little gifts in the stocking. We need to believe in something bigger than the commercial side of the holiday and hope for snow on Christmas Eve. As a member of the Louie Louie Generation I will always believe in the softer and gentler things of Christmas. I hope the sleigh bell never stops ringing. For those who have loved ones in harms way overseas, my hope for them is to come home to you soon. I say that as one who served. May we all get those gifts that we truly want.

Some of the Christmas stories you’ve sent to dick@dicksummer.com are classics. Thank you. Some go up here on the blog, and others go into the podcasts. Here’s one from Proud Podcast Person Gary Brefini that hit me like Ali’s left hook:

Some great Christmas memories keep coming in to dick@dicksummer.com Some go here, and some go on the current podcasts.  Here’s one I like a lot:

Although I have no specific memories that stand out,  I did want to say that my next door neighbors when I was growing up spent every Christmas with us. They had no children and were like  grandparents to me.   My Christmas mornings, as well as my life, were much enhanced by their presence and their love.  I don’t think I expressed this to them near enough while they were alive, heck I probably didn’t even realize it myself.   I think a lot of times it’s when we’re older looking back, and after the people are gone, that we truly begin to realize what they brought to our lives.  So, Nina and Bunk, wherever you are, if you read Dick’s blog,  Merry  Christmas, I miss you……… and thanks.

Still time to send your Christmas thoughts to Dick@DickSummer.com Please read this very special Christmas poem that came from Proud Podcast Participant, Jim King. It’s well worth keeping. Then please listen to today’s podcast.

“Christmas Poem”

TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF
PLASTER AND STONE.

I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO
IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.

I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.

NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.

WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.

FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.

THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.

THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.

WAS THIS THE HERO
OF WHOM I’D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?

I REALIZED THE FAMILIES
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.

SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.

THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.

I COULDN’T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.

THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.

THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
“SANTA DON’T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;

I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON’T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY! COUNTRY, MY CORPS.”

THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN’T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.

I WEPT FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD NIGHT’S CHILL.

I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.

THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, “CARRY ON SANTA,
IT’S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE.”

ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND!
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.”

This poem was written by a Marine.

Looking for your Christmas stories at dick@dicksummer.com Some will appear here, some will be in the podcasts.

This is a Christmas story that only goes back to 1971. And it might have been over in 2006. But for some folks who heard about it, it was too good to let that happen. It started on Christmas Eve 1971, when a young guy by the name of Larry Stewart was down on his luck. He was homeless, out of work, and out of money. He hadn’t eaten in a couple of days, when he walked into a diner, and ordered a big meal. When the bill came, he said he’d just lost his wallet. The owner walked over to the cash register, and Larry figured he was going to have a problem. But instead, the owner slipped a $20 bill into his hand and said, “You must have dropped this.” Larry never forgot that. Fast forward to Kansas City Missouri, 1981. On Christmas Eve, a mysterious stranger dressed up like Santa Claus started showing up in bus stations, thrift stores, Laundromats and skid run hotels, handing out $100 bills to people down on their luck. He just slipped the bills into their hands, said “Merry Christmas,” and walked away into the night before people even had a chance to understand what was going on. 

He did that for 26 years. Then in 2006, that Secret Santa who had never revealed his name let a tv reporter catch up with him, and his story got on the air. It was Larry Stewart…the young kid who needed a break…and got it in that diner all those years ago. He had become a successful business man. And every Christmas Eve, he slipped into his Secret Santa suit and gave away some of his money. Over the years, he had given away more than $1.3 million dollars to needy people all over the United States. It’s a great story, and a true one. And you may wonder why after all those years of being a Secret Santa…giving money away anonymously, Larry Stewart let the tv reporter tell his story in 2006. And here’s the answer. Larry had cancer. He knew he only had a few months to live. He let his story become public, because he was hoping some other folks would pick up where he had to leave off.  Larry died the next April. But in the last couple of years…since Larry’s story got on the air…Secret Santas have been spotted giving away $100 bills all over the country, just the way Larry did it. They dress up like Santa Claus, go to some places where Santa might not otherwise make a landing in his sleigh, slip some money into some very surprised hands…wish a quick Merry Christmas, and disappear into the night. Just like Larry. It’s a real Christmas story. It only started in 1971. So as Christmas stories go it’s not very old. But it is a true one. And I guess some folks just feel it’s simply too good a story to let it end. And I agree.

Your Christmas letters are a real gift. Thank you. If you haven’t sent yours yet, please have the nearest reindeer bring them to Dick@DickSummer.com To find out what this is all about, please go to the current podcast  . Here’s a very special Christmas note from Audrey, who calls herself, “Many Waters,” for many reasons:

Hi Dick,

I couldn’t figure out just one special memory of Christmas but they all seem to revolve around music and sharing. You can pick and choose what you want to use, if any. The song “The Carol of the Bells” will always be the most important Christmas song to me. I remember my sister brought her 5 year old sister (me) with her to high school choir practice (Medford, MA High School) one evening in the mid 50’s. They were practicing that song. I sang alto with my sister. I felt very important. Some of the other members of the choir gave me some nice compliments and said they couldn’t believe someone as young as I could sing such a difficult piece. WOW! To this day, it’s not the Christmas season unless I hear “Carol of the Bells” at least once a day. My sister always brought me down to Boston to see all the lights, especially the ones on Boston Common. It was such a special time for me.

The next one, we were still living in Medford, MA and I was about 6 years old. When I came downstairs in the morning, there beside the tree was a cream-colored electric keyboard that looked like a miniature organ with a big red bow on it. I learned many piano pieces on that keyboard and to this day, I still think about what the songs sounded like when I played them on that instrument. I remember the year that “The Little Drummer Boy” came out. I brought the record in to school and the teacher played it. A few of my friends and I stood in front of our class during our little presentation and sang the song, at the teacher’s request. I felt so important!

Many years later I ordered a set of record albums from Reader’s Digest….. Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops Christmas concert albums. I had the first stereo record player I had bought. I put those albums on starting the day I received them, and played them every day throughout the entire month of December. I did that every year until about 12 years ago when circumstances prevented me from doing so. Last year I pulled the albums out, only to find that my “trusty” turntable had quit working. I guess it’s going to be a while before I can hear them again —– not until I get a replacement turntable. I’m glad I have a good stack of CD’s and tapes, but nothing replaces that Boston Pops set. My daughter was born just before Christmas 1975. The hospital was all decorated, and one day a small group of nuns came through and sang carols. My daughter celebrated her first Christmas at the age of 6 days, so tiny and new. That was a feeling that only a new mother can describe. I think of holding that tiny, sweet baby every Christmas eve.

Several years ago, shortly after I moved to a new state, I met a woman named Midge. She was like another mother to me. She wanted me to learn a certain song because her son used to sing it for her. He had passed away but the song always brought good memories to her. She gave me a CD of the song so I could learn it. I got to sing it for her exactly twice before she suddenly passed away. A few years ago, the choir director of our local Choral Society asked me to sing a solo at the Christmas concert. (The concert theme was “A Mary Christmas”). There was no doubt in my mind what to sing. I enlisted the aid of a friend to play the guitar and I sang “Mary, Did you Know?” While I was singing, not another sound was heard in the church auditorium. It was such a moving experience, one I’ll never forget.

Christmas has always been a special occasion to me. Besides the original meaning, it has given me the chance to buy or make gifts and cards for everyone who was special to me. As the years go by, that list has grown longer and longer. I tend to spread the gifts out during the year because birthdays are also very special to me. I now have 5 wonderful grandchildren and though they live almost 2,800 miles away, I make it a point to send them gifts – usually home-made or recycled —- at Christmas and their birthdays, and other special occasions. At this point in my life, I don’t want to receive any gifts. The things I want I can do without, and the things I need are too expensive for anyone I know to get. I share my singing with lots of different people for many diverse occasions. I always thank The Ultimate Gift-Giver for that talent that was bestowed upon me. I’m not so arrogant and self-centered any more so I can be more sincere and natural when I entertain. I enjoy other people singing and making music as well, but it’s still not Christmas unless I hear “Carol of the Bells” at least once a day.

Thank you, Dick, for sharing my love of music, for its impact on our lives. Merry Christmas, Fröelich Weinachten, Göd Jul, Mele Kelikimaka, Kuri sumasu, Buona Natale, Joyeux Noël, Felíz Navidad

— Many Waters –

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Looking for your favorite Christmas story for this blog and for the podcasts. Please send them to dick@dicksummer.com . This just in from Proud Podcast Person Bill Killeen:

Eric Schmitt-Matzen looks every bit the Santa Claus. His 6-foot frame carries 310 pounds, leaving “just enough of a lap for the kids to sit on,” he says with a gentle Kringley chuckle right out of Central Casting. No fake facial fuzz for this guy. Schmitt-Matzen’s snowy beard is the real thing, albeit regularly bleached to maintain its whiteness. His shag is so spectacular, in fact, it won first place in the “natural full beard, styled moustache” division of a 2016 national contest sponsored by the Just For Men hair products company. He’s professionally trained. Custom-tailored in red. Was born on Dec. 6 (that’s Saint Nicholas Day — are you surprised?) Works approximately 80 gigs annually. Wife Sharon plays an authentic Mrs. Claus. His cellphone, with a Jingle Bells ringtone, continually counts down the days until Christmas. Even his civilian attire always includes Santa suspenders.It’s designed to spread joy and have fun.

Which it does – except for the role he played several weeks ago at a local hospital. “I cried all the way home,” Schmitt-Matzen told me. “I was crying so hard, I had a tough time seeing good enough to drive.

“My wife and I were scheduled to visit our grandchildren in Nashville the next day, but I told her to go by herself. I was a basket case for three days. It took me a week or two to stop thinking about it all the time. Actually, I thought I might crack up and never be able to play the part again.” This is what happens when a terminally ill child dies in Santa’s arms. “I’d just gotten home from work that day,” recalled Schmitt-Matzen, 60, a mechanical engineer and president of Packing Seals & Engineering in Jacksboro.

“The telephone rang. It was a nurse I know who works at the hospital. She said there was a very sick 5-year-old boy who wanted to see Santa Claus. “I told her, ‘OK, just let me change into my outfit.’ She said, ‘There isn’t time for that. Your Santa suspenders are good enough. Come right now.’ ” Schmitt-Matzen got to the hospital in 15 minutes. He met the lad’s mother and several family members. “She’d bought a toy from (the TV show) PAW Patrol and wanted me to give it to him,” he said, voice growing husky. “I sized up the situation and told everyone, ‘If you think you’re going to lose it, please leave the room. If I see you crying, I’ll break down and can’t do my job.’ ” Nobody entered with him. They watched, sobbing, from a hallway window in the Intensive Care Unit. “When I walked in, he was laying there, so weak it looked like he was ready to fall asleep. I sat down on his bed and asked, ‘Say, what’s this I hear about you’re gonna miss Christmas? There’s no way you can miss Christmas! Why, you’re my Number One elf! “He looked up and said, ‘I am?’ “I said, ‘Sure!’ “I gave him the present. He was so weak he could barely open the wrapping paper. When he saw what was inside, he flashed a big smile and laid his head back down. ‘“They say I’m gonna die,’ he told me. ‘How can I tell when I get to where I’m going?’ “I said, ‘Can you do me a big favor?’ “He said, ‘Sure!’ “When you get there, you tell ’em you’re Santa’s Number One elf, and I know they’ll let you in. “He said, ‘They will?’ “I said, ‘Sure!’ “He kinda sat up and gave me a big hug and asked one more question: ‘Santa, can you help me?’ “I wrapped my arms around him. Before I could say anything, he died right there. I let him stay, just kept hugging and holding on to him. “Everyone outside the room realized what happened. His mother ran in. She was screaming, ‘No, no, not yet!’ I handed her son back and left as fast as I could.

“I spent four years in the Army with the 75th Rangers, and I’ve seen my share of (stuff). But I ran by the nurses’ station bawling my head off. I know nurses and doctors see things like that every day, but I don’t know how they can take it.’” In despair, Schmitt-Matzen was ready to hang up his suit. “I’m just not cut out for this,” he reasoned.

But he mustered the strength to work one more show. “When I saw all those children laughing, it brought me back into the fold. It made me realize the role I have to play. “For them and for me.”

Looking for your Christmas stories for use here and in the podcasts. Our resident funny “Church Lady” is Ms. Many Waters. She is a proud pod person of the nth degree. She sent this to dick@dicksummer.com. It’s not strictly a Christmas story, but your fruitcake will come squirting out of your nose by the end of it.

The sermon this morning: ‘Jesus Walks on the Water.’ The sermon tonight: ‘Searching for Jesus.’

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Ladies, don’t forget the rummage sale. It’s a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.

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Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community. Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say ‘Hell’ to someone who doesn’t care much about you.

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Don’t let worry kill you off – let the Church help.

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Miss Charlene Mason sang ‘I will not pass this way again,’ giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.

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For those of you who have children and don’t know it, we have a nursery downstairs.

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Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.

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Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.

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A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall.

Music will follow.

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At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be ‘What Is Hell?’

Come early and listen to our choir practice.

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Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.

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Scouts are saving aluminium cans, bottles and other items to be recycled.

Proceeds will be used to cripple children.

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Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.

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The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.

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Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM – prayer and medication to follow.

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The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.

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This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn singing in the park across from the Church.

Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin.
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Ladies Bible Study will be held Thursday morning at 10 AM . All ladies are invited to lunch in the Fellowship Hall after the B.S. is done.

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The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the Congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.

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Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.

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The eighth-graders will be presenting Shakespeare’s Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM.

The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.

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Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.

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The Associate Minister unveiled the church’s new campaign slogan last Sunday:

‘I Upped My Pledge – Up Yours.

Sill looking for your Christmas memories at dick@dicksummer.com Lots of them on today’s podcast. Give a listen please. Here’s a beauty from “Proud Pod Pastor Rob.” It came in a few years ago:

The brand new pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry, to reopen a church in Brooklyn , arrived in early October excited about their opportunities. When they saw their church, it was very run down and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything done in time to have their first service on Christmas Eve.
They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting, etc, and on December 18 were ahead of schedule and just about finished.
On December 19 a terrible tempest – a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days.

On the 21st, the pastor went over to the church. His heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster about
20 feet by 8 feet to fall off the front wall of the sanctuary just behind the pulpit, beginning about head high.

The pastor cleaned up the mess on the floor, and not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home. On the way he noticed that a local business was having a flea market type sale for charity, so he stopped in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory colored, crocheted tablecloth with exquisite work, fine colors and a Cross embroidered right in the center. It was just the right size to cover the hole in the front
wall. He bought it and headed back to the church.
B y this time it had started to snow. An older woman running from the opposite direction was trying to catch the bus. She missed it. The pastor
invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus 45 minutes later.

She sat in a pew and paid no attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, etc., to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. The pastor could hardly believe how beautiful it looked and it covered up the entire problem area.
Then he noticed the woman walking down the center aisle. Her face was like a sheet. “Pastor,”she asked, “where did you get that tablecloth?” The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, EBG were crocheted into it there. They were. These were the initials of the woman, and she had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria.
The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how he had just gotten “The Tablecloth”. The woman explained that before the war she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria .

When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. He was captured, sent to prison and she never saw her husband or her home again.
The pastor wanted to give her the tablecloth; but she made the pastor keep it for the church. The pastor insisted on driving her home. That was the least he could do. She lived on the other side of Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.
What a wonderful service they had on Christmas Eve. The church was almost full. The music and the spirit were great. At the end of the service, the
pastor and his wife greeted everyone at the door and many said that they would return.

One older man, whom the pastor recognized from the neighborhood continued to sit in one of the pews and stare, and the pastor wondered why he wasn’t leaving.
The man asked him where he got the tablecloth on the front wall because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war and how could there be two tablecloths so much alike?
He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety and he was supposed to follow her, but he was arrested and put in a prison. He never saw his wife or his home again all the 35 years between.
The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride. They drove to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier.
He helped the man climb the three flights of stairs to the woman’s apartment, knocked on the door and he saw the greatest Christmas
reunion he could ever imagine.
True Story – submitted by Pastor Rob Reid