Steve's Genealogy Blog

My earliest recollection of Christmas is from when I was just 4 or 5 years old.

We lived on Park Avenue in Albany, New York, in a house owned by my uncle Jack. We rented the first floor flat in the house and my cousins lived upstairs.

Our Christmas tree was set up in the dining room and, under the tree, my father had set up a train on tracks that ran in a circle around the base of the tree. The dining room table had been pushed to one side to make room for the tree, and the table itself was dressed with a festive holiday tablecloth. The table was decked with special Christmas candleholders and candles decorated with holly leaves and berries. We never lit those candles, but used them again and again for many years.

On the buffet on the north wall of the dining room we set up a nativity set, first rolling out a layer of fiberglass angel hair sprinkled with glitter, and then setting the wooden stable and clay figures carefully in place. The figures, themselves, included the Baby Jesus in His manger, Mary, Joseph, the three Wise Men, a Shepherd, an Angel, a cow, a camel, and several sheep. A bulb burned inside the stable and illuminated a star cut in the front of the structure.

On one particular evening close to Christmas, my father brought out our Victrola and set it up on the floor in front of the tree. He brought out his 78s of Polka music, placed one of the brittle black discs on the machine, and set the needle on the disc.

We listened to the Beer Barrel Polka:

Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of fun,
Roll out the barrel, we’ve got the blues on the run,
Zing Boom Terrara,
Join in a glass of good cheer,
Now it’s time to roll the barrel,
For the gang’s all here!

We listened to the Tic Tock Polka:

Tic Tic Tic Tock goes the clock on the wall,
As we’re dancing the evening away.
Tic Tic Tic Tock Goes my heart with the clock,
Beating time while the music is gay.
Tic Tic Tic Tock is the rhythm that plays,
And I know it’ll make you feel blue.
Tic Tic Tic Tock goes my heart with the clock,
‘Cause they know I am dancing with you.

And we listened to the She’s Too Fat Polka:

Oh I don’t want her
You can have her
She’s too fat for me
She’s too fat for me
She’s too fat for me
Oh I don’t want her
You can have her
She’s too fat for me
She’s too fat
She’s too fat
She’s too fat for me

My father and I sat on the floor for what seemed like hours, listening to polka after polka.

Most of those old 78s are probably long gone, either broken or too badly scratched to be playable anymore. But the memories remain.

Written for the Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories – Day 15 . 

Copyright © 2007 by Stephen J. Danko

O Fruitcake! How I long to set you free,
And see you where you surely ought to be,
Upon my plate where I may gaze at you,
And share my love for you, Fruitcake, anew.

Constrained within your wrappings, there you lay,
Those bits of red and green… just what are they?
I’m sure you know, but how am I to say
Sweet words of love and taste of you today?

I hear their voices. Hark! They come too soon!
And you, my dear, must sense the piper’s tune.
Alas! My love for you they do not share,
To taste of Christmas fruitcake they won’t dare.

The die is cast; my spirits cannot lift.
Your fate, my darling Fruitcake, is re-gift.

Written for the Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories – Day 14 . 

Copyright © 2007 by Stephen J. Danko

My earliest memory of attending a live performance at Christmastime was when I was in graduate school in Oregon . I attended a sing-along Messiah concert with a group of my fellow students. I wasn’t familiar with much of the Messiah, so I really didn’t sing along. My friends sang with gusto and were a bit disappointed that I could do little more than read along as everyone else participated.

A few years later, while living in Nebraska, I drove to Omaha to attend a performance of The Nutcracker. The ballet was performed by a community-based group and I was disappointed that the ballet was performed to recorded music. In retrospect, I suppose the version I saw was The Nutcracker – Lite.

Now, living in San Francisco, opportunities to see high-quality Christmas performances abound. I’m a bit embarrassed to say that I haven’t seen many of them. Over the years, I’ve seen A.C.T.’s version of A Christmas Carol several times, a performance that is often a bit unconventional. Who knew Ebenezer Scrooge could be played with a Caribbean accent?

By far, one of the most popular of holiday performances in San Francisco is the holiday edition of Beach Blanket Babylon, the story of Snow White traveling around the globe trying to find her prince. The holiday edition includes some special characters, including a forest of dancing Christmas trees. I’ve seen Beach Blanket Babylon many times, though only once at Christmas. It’s always a popular stop for visitors from out of town.

This year, I’ll be attending another performance of the Messiah . Some friends are taking me to the concert later this week. All I know about the performance at this point is that it’s not a sing-along Messiah. That’s probably just as well. I still don’t know the music.

Written for the Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories – Day 13 . 

Copyright © 2007 by Stephen J. Danko

Each year, during the holiday season, the elementary school I attended held a canned food drive. I remember only that the canned food would be distributed to the needy, but I don’t recall ever being told who the needy were, where they lived, or who would distribute the food.

As far as I was concerned, the canned food drive was a great opportunity for me to eliminate those canned foods I most disliked from our pantry at home. This included just about any canned green vegetable.

My mother was no fool. She allowed me to get away with disposing of the canned spinach, green beans, peas, and lima beans. My teachers were no fools either. They closely watched what the students were placing in the collection bins and noted an overabundance of green vegetables and a dearth of canned fruit, tuna, macaroni, and juice.

My taste in vegetables really hasn’t changed much with time. I much prefer fresh vegetables in season to canned vegetables of any ilk. But given the challenge to contribute to a canned food drive, I prefer to donate canned foods that I would actually eat. Why should the needy be required to eat food that I won’t?

Every now and then, I encounter people in San Francisco, rummaging through the garbage bins, looking for something to eat, and I’m reminded that there are those among us who would be happy to have the food many people consider worthy only for discard.

These days, I also try to provide for the needy by making cash donations to worthy charities and allowing the directors of those charities decide how the money can best be spent to meet their needs.

In particular, I am a strong supporter of a drop-in center for homeless women in Oakland, California called A Friendly Place and its companion overnight facility for homeless women called A Friendly Manor. Both are operated by the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet, and both are shining examples of efforts to extend a helping hand to those in need.

I first became acquainted with the project when I started reading the murder mysteries written by Sister Carol Anne O’Marie, a member of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet. I have hard cover copies of all Sister Carol Anne’s books in my living room and, one day, a friend of mine noticed the books. He told me that he worked with one of the other nuns in Sister Carol Anne’s convent and would mention that I had these books.

Word quickly reached Sister Carol Anne, who sent back a message that she wanted to meet me, and would I be interested in coming to the convent for dinner? I was thrilled.

Sister Carol Anne O’Marie and Steve Danko

During our dinner, Sister Carol Anne and her colleagues told me about their projects A Friendly Place and A Friendly Manor commenting, “We were really quite naive. If we had known the difficulties of running A Friendly Place and A Friendly Manor, we might not have begun the project.”

A Friendly Place/Manor derives 33% of its operating income from individual donations and, in addition to cash donations, the organization asks for wash cloths, combs and brushes, safety pins, sugar, toilet tissue, bandages, spray deodorant, air freshener, and bingo prizes. They really don’t ask for much, and that which is donated is gratefully received.

A Friendly Place/Manor
2298 San Pablo Ave
Oakland, CA 94612-1321

A donation to A Friendly Place/Manor has become my new holiday tradition.

Written for the Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories – Day 12 . 

Copyright © 2007 by Stephen J. Danko

One thing my family did not do was travel.

During the summers, a long trip was the 150 miles or so from Albany, New York to Worcester, Massachusetts via Route 20 (before the Massachusetts Turnpike was completed). During the winter, we barely traveled at all and, even then, our travel was restricted to the Albany area.

One trip during the holiday season I do remember, though, was not exactly a family trip. My Boy Scout troop went on a winter camping trip, a Freeze-Out, to the Helderberg Mountains to the southwest of Albany.

My father accompanied my troop on this particular camping trip and, to this day, he revels in relating the experience to anyone within earshot. He’s told even me the story dozens of times, even though he knows I was there. His story goes something like this:

The morning we arrived in the Helderbergs, the skies were crisp and clear. There was not a cloud in the sky. There was no wind. The temperature was below freezing, but none of us really noticed the cold all that much.

The side of the hill on which we set up camp was treeless, and would have been covered in grass during the summer, but was now blanketed with a thick pallet of snow, mostly unspoiled by footprints of man or beast.

We unpacked the cars, set up the tents, and started a campfire.

The boys grabbed their sleds, saucers, and inner tubes to enjoy this perfect winter day sliding down the hill . They packed down the snow to make fast sledding tracks down the hillside . They built ramps to propel their sleds and saucers into the air as they slid down the hill.

After sledding all day, we all gathered by the campfire for a simple, hot meal – beef stew. Nothing tasted so good.

And, then, the sun set. And the wind rose. And the temperature plummeted.

I have never been so cold in my life.

We dove into our tents and crawled into our sleeping bags without worrying about cleaning up the dishes.

Exhausted from the day’s activities, we all slept soundly and woke the next morning to another clear, crisp day. We approached the remains of the previous night’s supper to find that, had we any intent to clean the dishes before we broke camp, those hopes were long past. Everything was frozen solid including the ladle, frozen in the remains of the beef stew. The stew, in turn, was frozen in its pot.

No matter. We packed everything up into the cars and headed home . The dishes would wait.

Written for the Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories – Day 11 . 

Copyright © 2007 by Stephen J. Danko