Growing Up under Southern Apartheid (Part 4)

White Christmas

In east-central Alabama, we typically don’t get a white Christmas, at least not like the one Bing Crosby sang about. When I was a kid, I looked at many a picture book with snow-laden Christmas scenes and saw Christmas cards come in through the mail that featured snow-covered villages. In the South, we could wish for snow, but we were more likely to get rain. Snow might come later (if only for a day) but never as early as Christmas.

As children, even without the snow we began to feel the anticipation of the holiday as the time drew near. Adults would start it. They’d say, “What’s Santy Claus gonna bring ya?” or “Have you been a good little boy this year? Well mind your Mama ‘cause Santa’s comin’.”

Sights and Sounds of Christmas

One of the things that really set the stage for the holiday was putting up the Christmas tree. In rural Alabama back in the 1950s, most folks cut their own trees. Cedars grew wild in the pastures and farmland in the area. I remember going with Dad one year to look for a tree. We went to a farm owned by an older man who let us walk through the pasture to find the one we wanted. I remember Dad stopping back by the old man’s house to pay him, but the farmer just waved him off and wouldn’t hear of it. It was probably because my Dad was the preacher in town. In those days, churches paid their preachers a meager salary but people tried to make up for it in other ways. Someone might have a good day fishing on the river with too many fish to clean, and he’d take the preacher enough to feed his family. Someone else would have some corn or beans coming in and would take a mess of vegetables to the preacher’s house. Many merchants in town offered discounts for clergy.

At our house, by the time the Christmas tree went up, we had Christmas records playing. We had a little record player that played 45 and 78 RPMs and we’d delight in hearing “Up on the Housetop,” “Jingle Bells,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and the like. Of course, in Sunday School we would sing “Silent Night,” “Away in a Manger,” and “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” 

And then there were the Christmas stories.  Dad would thrill us in reading Clement Moore's poem, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. On Christmas Eve, Mom would read Why the Chimes Rang, by Raymond MacDonald Alden to set a solemn yet magical tone for the holiday. Our excitement could hardly be tamped down because the next morning would be filled with drifts of wadded wrapping paper, stockings filled with candy, and the unmistakable Christmas aroma of new plastic from all of the toys gathered under the tree.

 Santa Comes to Town

We lived in Wedowee, Alabama from 1955 to 1960, so that makes it easy for me to place a relative time period on my early childhood memories since I was only a year old when we first arrived. I suppose in those days every community had its own way of marking the beginning of the Christmas season.  In Dadeville, Alabama, where I began the sixth grade, the local Girl Scouts sang carols on the courthouse steps on a Saturday afternoon as the town turned on the Christmas lights for the first time on Main Street.

In the small town of Wedowee, the county seat of Randolph County, the Christmas season was heralded by Santa riding into town on the back of a red fire engine. Children would gather at the town square in glad anticipation. Sure, New York City had the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with Santa and his sleigh as the grand finale, but we ushered jolly old St. Nicholas into town in grand style!

1955 GMC Pumper 

I remember when Dad took my brother and me to join the crowd of kids waiting to see Santa come to town. At the appointed time, we heard the siren wailing in the distance. Soon the fire truck appeared, driving through the town, Santa standing on the back and waving to the crowd. When the fire truck stopped, Santa began handing out bags of candy to all the eager children.

Christmas in the South was as segregated as all the other community activities, but there must have been some allowances in Wedowee for Santa’s visit. That day when we went to see Santa ride into town, it was an event for all children, both Black and white. It made such an impression upon me as a child that one particular image stands out in my memory to this day.  As I made my way up to see Santa who was handing out the candy to all the children, I saw a little Black girl walk up to get some candy. She was younger than I – I would have been around five, so she must have been around three years old. She had on a blue dress and pink bows tied up in her hair. The little girl walked slowly up to Santa at her mother’s encouragement, and what did Santa do?  He bent down and picked her up in his arms!  He then walked around, continuing to wave at the kids, carrying the little girl in his arms.


Of course, we knew this was not the real Santa. It was clear that he was a man in a costume. I have no idea who Santa was that day, but I never forgot the way that he carried the little Black girl in his arms. I was not accustomed to seeing Black children because Black people and white people lived separate lives and the children went to separate schools. While the little Black girl did not fit into all of the Christmas images and songs that I had in my head at that young age, that day a new image of Christmas was added to my memory. Throughout my childhood, though we never had snow, all of my Christmases were white, except for that one day.

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Photo credit:

• Vintage 1950s Christmas card was found on Pinterest
• "Unmanaged eastern red cedars" photo from Wildlife, a publication of The Samuel Roberts Noble Foundation.
• The record player and fire truck images were both found on Pinterest with no credit attributed.

< Part 3, A Matter of Complexion                                  Part 5, From Town to Country > 

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