Marshall Ramsey

The festive lights of Canton, Mississippi’s square burned through the gloom of the falling mist.  It was late Christmas Eve and most of the residents had gone to bed. They hoped for a visit from the North Pole’s most famous resident (and dreamed of all the joy that Christmas brings.)  Two dark figures were silhouetted as they headed quickly toward the mansions along Peace Street.

Edward Willingham II and his dog Peyton hurried to get out of the cold, miserable rain. There was nothing special about this night to the beaten-down man. Christmas had died five years ago along with his wife JoAnne.

Edward and JoAnne had had it all.  He was a successful banker in town. She was the glue that held the city’s social scene together.  But emergency heart surgery had ended all that.  She had died three times on the table due to uncontrolled bleeding and then slipped into a coma.  She died the fourth and final time three months later after Edward had to make the painful decision to pull the plug. That decision had cost him more than just the love of his life — It also cost him his son and granddaughter.  The father and son disagreed violently about taking the brain-dead woman off of life-support. Security had to be called to break up the fight between the two grieving men in the hospital that sad December day.  Now he didn’t even know where they lived.

Edward unlocked the five locks on his door and disarmed the security system. He reset it and went into the old mansion.  Any semblance of it being a home had faded with JoAnne’s death. Now it was a big, dark, empty bachelor pad, full of empty cans and broken dreams.  He went to the kitchen, got a snack for Peyton and a glass of bourbon for himself.  Like every night, his green recliner was calling to him like a siren song.   He once again gave into its temptation and Peyton jumped into his lap.  He sat in silence, missing his wife and dreamed about what his granddaughter looked like.

Just as he was nodding off to sleep, he heard a thump on the roof. He quickly grabbed his shotgun and prepared to dust off the Castle Doctrine.  But when he ran outside, he saw nothing. Then suddenly, he heard bells and he looked quickly to the northern sky. There he thought he saw something fly quickly away.  As he stared at the sky, a scroll of paper fell out of the sky and hit him in the head.

Startled, he ducked down and saw something in the grass. It was old-looking parchment with a red ribbon around it.  He grabbed it with his free hand and he and Peyton walked back into the house.

A flick of a switch turned on his office’s lights.  He sat down at his desk and carefully took the ribbon off so he could unroll the scroll.  It was blank. “Odd,” he thought. “Why would a blank scroll just fall out of the sky?”  And as he started to roll it back up, he noticed words begin to magically appear on the paper.

“Santa’s List.”

Edward, who did not believe in Christmas, felt his jaw drop. What kind of joke was this?  He ran back outside and heard bells yet again.  And then he saw it — a small sleigh being pulled by actual flying reindeer.  Edward thought of the drink he had been drinking and shook his head to clear it.  OK, so unless what he was seeing was a complete figment of his imagination, Santa was real.  And then he paused for a moment and thought — and I HAVE HIS LIST.

Edward ran back into the house and unrolled the list again.  It read:

“Santa’s List.”

Number one — Give a bear to the precious girl with no hair. 242 State Street, Jackson, MS

He turned on his iPad and quickly looked up the address.  It was the state’s children’s hospital.  A sick little girl would not be getting her present.  And at that moment, a man who did not believe in Christmas vowed to finish Santa’s list.  “C’mon, Peyton.  We have work to do.”

So the old man and his dog hopped into his Lexus SUV and headed into the night.

He found a big-box discount store still open and quickly purchased the biggest bear he could find.  He then discovered a Santa suit on discount and bought it, too.  If he was going to be Santa, he had to look the part.  He  and Peyton drove south down I-55 to the hospital.  Santa Edward stopped at the nurses’ station and gave little Jennie Jenkins her precious bear.

He unrolled the scroll and saw the request marked off.  Then another request appeared:

Number two — Help out Mike and give him a bike. 6754 Whispering Pines Lane, Brandon, MS.

At another store, a groggy worker helped Santa Edward load up the bike into the back of the SUV.  Santa Edward delivered it with a big red ribbon on little Mike’s carport.

The scroll once again magically marked off another thing off the list. Then the next item appeared:

Number three — Little Riley Jane really wants a video game. 4564 Oak Hollow Lane, Madison, MS.

Santa Edward returned to the store and quickly loaded a Nintendo Wii into his backseat.  He drove to Madison and dropped the gift off at the brick home. He then sat in the cul-de sac waiting for the scroll to reveal his next mission.

Number four — Jemal wants a brand new football.  213 Wiley Post Circle, Jackson.

Santa Edward dropped off a brand new Rawlings football to a very deserving child.   He pulled into a gas station in Ridgeland to fill up his tank. He looked at his watch — it was 5 a.m.  “I don’t know how you do it, old man, but delivering toys is not for sissies.” Edward said to himself as he pumped gas.  He then reached into the front seat and pulled back out the list.  The previous four requests were tidily scratched out and now a fifth one appeared:

Number five: She asked for a glove but what she really needs is your love.  293 Bells Valley Road, Florence.

While he did not understand the second part, he went back to the big box store and bought a nice softball glove and tied a red ribbon around it.  He started the SUV and he and Peyton headed south down Highway 49 to the town of Florence.

The dawn was breaking when he arrived at the small brick ranch house.  The rising sun caused shadows that tickled the land. He pulled into the driveway, killed the engine and quietly tried to get up the front door without being heard.  But just then, a light went on and the door flew open.

Standing there was a man and a little girl. “Dad? What are you doing here?”  The little girl looked just like her grandmother JoAnne.

Edward stood there stunned, wearing a Santa suit and holding a glove. Tears began to stream down his tired but loving face.  As the father and son hugged and the little girl played with her new friend Peyton, the real Santa Claus flew over the house and smiled.  Christmas wishes do come true.  All thanks to Santa’s List.

Franklin Scrooge sat in his corner office. The New York skyline came alive as night fell. Twinkling lights set against the canvas of dark buildings painted on an orange sunset. It was Christmas Eve evening, and he was working overtime.

His personal assistant, Margaret Smith, sat out in the reception area of his office.  “May I go home now, sir? It’s Christmas Eve.”  Scrooge, channelling the spirit of his Great Great Great Great Uncle, almost said “Christmas, Bah Humbug.”  But he didn’t. That would have been too obvious.  “Go home, Margaret. Enjoy your family.”

Margaret stood up, semi-stunned and hustled out of the room with her purse before her grumpy boss changed his fickle mind.

Scrooge sat drinking a Scotch in his empty office in a nearly empty building.  He had discovered over the past couple of years that the emptier the building, the fatter his checking account.  In fact, he actually got a bonus for laying people off.  No, no, scratch that. Not people. FTEs. Full-time equivalents.  Scrooge smiled. It wasn’t personal; it was just business.

Scrooge looked over at the bookshelf. There sat his first-edition, signed copy of  “A Christmas Carol.” Charles Dickens had been friends with his Great Great Great Great Uncle Ebenezer and had written his life story.  Franklin’s take on the story: Ebenezer was a wuss.  And Bob Cratchit should have been fired for his insubordination.  He did have to give Dickens credit, though — the Ghosts were a nice touch.

He flipped on the 80-inch flat screen and watched the anchor go on about the War on Christmas.  The anchor said that “Happy Holidays” was the biggest thief of Christmas. Scrooge laughed. Laying off 40,000 people was a hell of a lot bigger threat to Christmas than a few words, but this was entertaining.

The Scotch began to work its magic and he felt himself starting to fade off to sleep.  He laughed to himself, “I wonder if the three ghosts will haunt me now?”  The features of the room melted and slid down the wall like a Salvador Dali painting.

He awoke with a start and looked at the clock.  It was midnight.  Franklin Scrooge walked out of his office and down to the bank of elevators.  He headed down to the employee break room three floor down to get some coffee out of the machine.  On his way, he went through a room full of abandoned cubicles.  Crumpled papers, dust and old computer monitors covered the tops of the empty desks.  “In this field, my bonus grows,” Scrooge chuckled.  But there, in one of the cubicles, was an eerie glow.  He walked over to it, mesmerized by the blue-light.  Sitting in the office chair was a translucent middle-aged man wrapped in chains.  He wore glasses and a badge.  And according to that badge, his name was “Al.”    He was wrapped in chains.

Scrooge jumped back.  “Are you the first of three ghosts?” He asked timidly.

Al the ghost looked up at him and said, “No.  I’m the only ghost. If you don’t see the damage you’ve done from my story, you are truly lost.”

“Whatever I did to you, it wasn’t personal.  It was…”

Al finished his sentence. “Business. I know, that’s what my supervisor said after he laid me off after a twenty-year career.  I should have believed him. But I took it personally and after a few months I lost my insurance, my home, my wife, my family and then my life. I just couldn’t take the pain anymore.  Suicide was my final mistake. And it was a big one.”

Franklin Scrooge looked at the man with contempt.  “You made the choice.”

“Yes, I did. And it was a poor one.  And you made choices, too. Which I might add, were equally as poor. Instead of growing the company, looking for new markets, you took the easy route. You cut for the sake of cutting. I’m just to here to remind you that there are consequences of our decisions. There was for me. There is for you, too.  The FTEs you laid off are people. Those people were your company’s greatest assets.  Your company is weaker because of your lack of leadership.  I really miss my wife and daughter.”

Behind Al the ghost, three more spirits appeared.  They were the classic ghosts from Ebenezer’s story.  The Ghost of Christmas Future handed him old copy of “A Christmas Carol.”  The Ghost of Christmas Past looked him in the eye and said, “Read it.” The Ghost of Christmas Present said, “You’ll learn something.”

Al nodded in agreement. “I made a stupid decision.  I can’t correct it.  You have a chance now to help others from suffering my fate.”

Franklin Scrooge woke up with the first rays of dawn creeping into his office. It was Christmas morning and the city seemed unusually quiet.  He looked at the empty Scotch glass and threw the rest of the bottle in the trash.  There would be no goose-buying or Christmas lunches with the Cratchits.  But there was a fundamental change in how he ran the company that day.  He began to believe in the people who worked for him. And within a year, profits were at an all-time high.

On RR 19 in rural Ohio, a woman walked to her mailbox. In it she found an anonymous letter.  It read:

“Your husband Al was the wisest man I knew. Enclosed is a check to cover your daughter’s medical care and her tuition.  God bless and Merry Christmas, A friend.

Thousands of ex-employees received similar letters that Christmas.  Franklin Scrooge had quietly set up a foundation to help those in need.   It was a beautiful second verse to an old book that sat on his desk.  A book called “A Christmas Carol.”