Marshall Ramsey

Scrooge sat in his office, warmed by the glow of the flat-screen TV in the corner. On it was a chryon screaming, “Breaking news: Massive Tax Package passes both House and Senate, signed into law.” Scrooged grinned. It would be a very merry Christmas after all. He recognized the young man with the gavel. A few years ago, he had entered Scrooge’s office asking for a donation. Scrooge had initially tried to shoo him away, thinking he was one of those do-gooder charity people. But the young man had hit Scrooge with a different pitch. He was running for Congress and would go to Washington to fight the deficit — with Scrooge’s help. Scrooge, being the businessman he was, immediately wrote a huge check for the young man’s superPAC. It was the best investment Scrooge had ever made.

Scrooge picked up his tablet and read The Wall Street Journal. Sure, the deficit would soar under this plan, but he’d benefit nicely — and that was all that mattered. His corporation, Scrooge and Marley, Inc. would have a lighter tax burden and he’d personally get a nice chunk of change to slip into his pocket. It was his money after all. He’d have to give that nice young man another donation.

“Crachit, put some more coal on the fire!”

Bob Crachit was Scrooge’s assistant, or a FTE (full-time equivalent).

“Yes sir, Mr. Scrooge. I see you’re supporting the coal industry whole heartedly today!”

Scrooge dreaded what was about to happen next. Whenever Crachit sucked up to Scrooge, he wanted something.

“Um, Mr. Scrooge, um, tomorrow’s Christmas. May I have the day off?”

“Oh go home and rob me blind for a day,” Scrooge grumbled. But he was actually in a pretty good mood. He had just gotten a huge Christmas present from Washington. Crachit left his office and another man entered.

“Merry Christmas Uncle!” Scrooge cringed at the sound of the voice. It was his annoying Millennial nephew. “I just wanted to come by and wish you well and invite you to dinner.”

Scrooge knew better. Thanks to a reduction in the inheritance tax, his nephew stood to make a fortune as soon as he bit the dust. He was just there to suck up. “No,” Scrooge growled. “Go eat your Ramen by yourself.”

That night, Scrooge limped back to his gated community. As he prepared to punch in the access code, the keypad turned into his old partner Jacob Marley’s face. It couldn’t be. Marley had died of a heart attack in 2008 as the markets crashed. Scrooge shook his head quickly, entered his mansion, poured himself a drink and sat down.

Clang, clang, clang! He heard chains dragging down the hallway. “Maria, is that you?” Scrooge called out for his housekeeper — but it was just him in the house.

“Scrroooooooge.” Jacob Marley’s ghost hovered in front of Scrooge. “My business was mankind,” Marley moaned. Oh Lord, don’t tell me Marley had become a whiny liberal, Scrooge thought. Marley continued, “You will be visited by three ghosts.”

Scrooge said, “No, I won’t. Ghosts are fake news and you are fake news. I just had the best day of my life and you aren’t going to screw it up.” Scrooge knew it was his drink talking to him but just in case, he continued the conversation. “And don’t come in here preaching personal responsibility. I’m successful. You’re dead.”

Marley shook his head. “You hard-headed old fool, Scrooge. It’s Christmas.”

Scrooge thought of all the money he had made today and said, “Humbug.”

Marley pulled out his iPhone 1 and made a quick call. The Ghost of Christmas Future floated into the room. Scrooge felt a chill and he was suddenly swept out of his chair and into a graveyard.

There was Crachit burying his sickly son Tiny Tim. The CHIP program (which provided Tiny Tim’s insurance) hadn’t been reauthorized in time and he had passed away. Then the spirit showed Scrooge another gravestone. Scrooge used the light on his smartphone to illuminate the name. “EBENEZER SCROOGE.” Scrooge looked at the dates and immediately woke up. He knew what he had to do.

The day after Christmas, Scrooge waited for Bob Crachit to arrive. “Bob, you’ve been an loyal employee, but I’ve outsourced your job. I’m giving you one-week severance for every year you’ve worked here. Gather your things and be gone.”

Scrooge watched Crachit walk out of the office stunned. It was just business afterall.

Marley was sitting over the corner shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Scrooge just smiled and said, “Jacob, this isn’t a weepy Christmas movie. It’s reality. And if I’m going to croak, I’m going out on top. Now go haunt someone else. I’m busy making Christmas great again.”

Dateline: The North Pole

As I trudged down the ramp of the giant cargo plane, I was greeted by a short man with pointed ears. Snow whipped around us like a leaf in a hurricane as his high-pitched voice pierced the roar of the engines, “Welcome Mr. Ramsey, I’m Randy the Elf.

I shook his tiny hand and lugged my suitcase off the plane.

“The main house is this way. Big Dog is waiting on you.”

Little did I know that Big Dog was Santa Claus’ security name.  One look would make you understand why.  He was 6’4″ and probably 325 lbs with bright pink cheeks. He chuckled as I approach as his belly jiggled like, well, a bowl full of jelly.

“Marshall! It’s good to see you!”

I was a little surprised he knew my name, but as we set up for the interview, I remembered that he knew if I was naughty or nice. Of course he knew my name. In a candid moment, he looked over at his TV. A panel of people on cable news were arguing over a no-brainer moral question.

“People have seemed to forgotten that the Naughty list has nothing to do with political affiliation.”

Soon the crew had the lights set up and cameras ready.  We both settled into our giant green plush chairs.  I pulled out a list of questions.

Are you real?

“Do I look real? Of course I’m real. I live in the hearts of those who believe and in every mall across America.”

So you haven’t been banned from any malls?”

“I’m not Roy Moore.”

I don’t think he cared for that question.  I went back to my list.

Age? Are you married? Do you have any aliases?

“I’m timeless. Mrs. Claus, who is at Bunko tonight, is my bride. I do go by several names. Google it.”

Let me ask you about your operation.

“Claus, Inc. Is a multinational corporation with factories across the globe. Ireland recently made us pay back taxes but I have our headquarters here to avoid high tax rates. I am hopeful the corporate tax cut being pushed by the Republicans will go through. I could use the cash to buy reindeer food.”

You brought up delivery, how do you deliver toys in one night?

“You know Dasher, and Dancer, and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen, but do you recall the most famous reindeer of all?”

I answered, “Rudolph?”

Santa chuckled, “No, the UPS/FedEx/Postal delivery person.”  He seemed quite pleased with that answer.

Another political question, what do you think about our current President?

Santa rubbed his whiskers carefully before he answered, “You know those Tweets he sends?  Well, let’s just say he has truly made coal great again.”

Speaking of coal, how has global warming affected your operation?

“We lost our old factory to melting ice three years ago. That’s part of the reason I’ve moved my operations across the globe.”

What are you going to give Mississippi this year?

“The two museums was an early Christmas gift.  And a nice December snowfall for Central and South Mississippi, too.”

What about the war on Christmas?

“I watch a fair amount of Fox News and hear about that.  There is no formal war on Christmas.  The only place where there is a war is in peoples’ hearts.  Have you read Twitter lately?  People are so angry and hateful. They are self-proclaimed victims and are suspicious and jealous of everything.  THAT is the true war on Christmas. The reason for the season is the message of love brought to the world by that special little baby born that day.”

Your favorite Christmas TV special?

“I love Santa Claus is Coming to down. (Santa starts to sing “One foot in front of the other.”). Rudolph is good, too. Bumbles bounce, you know. I had a couple of elves who wanted to be dentists before the downsizing. But I love “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” The scene where Linus tells us about the real meaning of Christmas is divine.”

How about Christmas song and movie?

Santa Claus is Coming to Town by Bruce Springsteen and A Christmas Carol with George C.Scott — although I am partial to It’s a Wonderful Life, too.  I’m a big sap for happy endings. I starred in the original Miracle on 34th Street.”

Is there really an island of Misfit Toys?

“Yes. The Returns Department at Target. ”

Am I on the nice list?

“Don’t push your luck Ramsey. Don’t push your luck.”

December 7, 1941 is the date that lives in infamy, but December 8, 1941 is the date when America started to pick itself off the ground. The Pacific Fleet’s battleships lay in ruin. Oil burned on the harbor. Rescuers desperately attempted to help trapped sailors in the U.S.S. Oklahoma. Marines and Army troops fought futile battles in the Philippines, Guam and Wake Island. Germany had yet to declare war on the U.S. but three days later, the country would be sucked into that conflict, too. I’m not sure how Franklin Roosevelt and all the military leaders handled December 8th. Being in the fetal position would’ve been most people’s choice, I’m sure.

But we looked around and saw what we still had going for us. The Japanese did not hit the U.S. Navy’s aircraft carriers. They were out at sea. Fuel tanks and dry docks were also untouched. Within a few months, all but three battleships (the U.S.S. Arizona and U.S.S. Utah still remain in the harbor, the U.S.S. Oklahoma was raised for salvage) had been raised and sent back to war. Aviation legend Jimmy Doolittle and his raiders sent Japan a message when they bombed the mainland with their surprise attack. Marines stopped the Japanese in Guadalcanal. U.S. Carrier planes turned the tide of the war in Midway. The rest is history.

December 8th, though was truly the turning point. We had been punched in the mouth. We could have folded or fought. We chose to fight.

Think about this in your own life. You get punched in the mouth by life. What do you do? Complain? Whine? Fold? Quit? Or do you look around, see what you have in your favor and fight back?

It’s a good question to ask yourself.

But for right now, I salute the remaining Americans who fought back after Pearl Harbor. You went through Hell and returned forged tougher than steel.

A few notes from my brief career as Grand Marshal Marshall.

1. I rode in a bright red, new Chevrolet Camaro SS Convertible. The 455 hp V-8 will propel the car from 0-60 in four seconds — and the only thing that kept me secure was clasping onto the car’s back with my butt cheeks. Thankfully we never got over a couple miles per hour. I did not fall off the car.

2. I made it goal to say “Merry Christmas” to nearly everyone (in groups) along the whole route. If it had been a drinking game (with eggnog, of course), I would have passed out by the first traffic light.

3. There were some really cute little kids along the route. A couple thought I was Santa (thanks to my hat). I said, “Well, I’m not that old, but I know you’re on the good list.” The parents would usually give me a knowing shake of the head and the proper look to go with it. Another young boys said, “There’s Mrs. Ramsey’s husband!” My celebrity knows no bounds.

4. I thanked as many people as I could for allowing me the honor of being their Grand Marshal Marshall.

5. My son was marching in his last Christmas parade behind me. That made being selected even more memorable. I got to get out at the end and see him march past. He had a harder chore, holding a baritone the whole time.

6. The weather was perfect. Cool, not cold or hot.

7. Saw many friends along the route. The best though, was seeing the look on my 10-year-old’s face when I went by. I offered him a chance to ride with me, but we didn’t slow down and I think he thought I was kidding. I did stand up and take a bow when I got to the judges stand. Maggie Wade Dixon, Kim Allen and Jan Michaels did a great job judging the floats.

8. Someone asked me why Pip didn’t come. She would have barked the whole route. Loudly. And probably would have gone after a dog or two along the way. She can be a brat sometimes.

9. The low-fuel light came one (a V-8 Camaro gets thirsty when driving in first gear). I figured I’d have to push. We made it with no problems.

10. It was fun. People were smiling and having a great time. I had a great time. Sadly, though, it had to end. I asked Amy if I could continue being called Grand Marshal Marshall. She said no. After my Camaro went away, I turned back into a pumpkin and went home and raked my yard.