Along the Buffalo waterfront: A Christmas Tale

Photo by Karl R. Josker

Click here to see more photos of Buffalo, New York by Karl R. Josker.

The abandoned concrete grain silos along the Buffalo River cast a cold shadow on the surrounding waterfront of Buffalo, New York.  The  sky, the water and the concrete were all gray, sucking any color out of the area. But the world trapped in the silos’ shadows was much darker — and much much colder. In that shadow, a lone diner fought back. Its warm light burned through the gloom. Inside the diner was a man with a bright red jacket and a pink face. The surrounding area smelled like delicious food. It was an oasis in a sensory desert.

The man in the red jacket was older than the grain silos (although no one knew how much older.) He sat alone with his cold cup of coffee, twirled his ratty white beard  and scanned through a list of names on his iPad.  He paused as the waitress warmed his cup with fresh coffee . He noticed as she gazed at the tattoo on his forearm — If you don’t believe, you don’t receive.  He smiled and said, “Thank you,” as the waitress walked back toward the kitchen.  He took a raspy breath and thought about Christmas 2011.  Smoking his pipe for all those years had given him COPD.

He looked at his tattoo again — If you don’t believe, you don’t receive.

Santa sighed and rubbed his arm. The world didn’t believe any more. It was a harder place. It was less naive. Less trusting.  Colder. He flipped through the naughty & nice list one more time. It was shorter than it had ever been.  People were too busy (and cynical) to believe in Santa Claus anymore.  He looked out the windows at the grain silos — His new workshop.

He didn’t particularly care about the politics of Global Warming, Climate Change or whatever you wanted to call it. But he did know that the polar ice cap was melting. His workshop complex had lost Building A when it abruptly sank to the bottom of the North Pole.  One hundred elves had drowned that horrid afternoon when the building just broke through the thinning ice and disappeared into the Arctic Sea. (Who knew elves couldn’t swim? ) So that summer he moved his global operations to Buffalo, New York.  The grain silos had been the crown jewel of Buffalo’s booming role in the World economy. But that was 1900. This was 2011 and they had been abandoned for years. So the area was about as desolent as the North Pole was. Because the world had by-passed Buffalo, Santa bought the real estate for pennies on the dollar. And he got a nice tax break to boot.  He had the surrounding area pretty much to himself.

Except for the diner.  It was Santa’s unofficial office.  Yes, he loved milk and cookies, but he also loved Italian and Polish food. And this diner was one of the best in the Mid Atlantic States.  He coughed again and huffed on his oxygen.  Thankfully Medicare paid for it.

Santa checked his business plan. He had less believers but he also had less workers.  The drowned elves and following years of layoffs had left his workshop bare. In 2009 he had busted the Elf Union and today now had his smallest workforce ever.  So this would be one of the toughest years yet for him.

It’s hell when people stop believing in you. It’s even more hellish when you stop believing in yourself.

He looked at all the requests from the kids. It seemed like nearly every boy wanted violent video games.  He scoffed and wondered why he was even still in business. The Chinese could deliver toys more efficiently than he could anyway. Children were growing up too darn fast. Innocence was so out of fashion. He then found an e-mail from a young boy in Summit, Mississippi. He didn’t want any toys — and he didn’t expect any. All he wanted was for his dad to have a job and his mom to stop crying.  How can you be a child and live like that?

Santa paused to wipe his eyes. The next e-mail was from a boy who wanted his mother to be free of ovarian cancer. A Transformer action figure would have been much easier to come by.

Santa looked at the giant gray silos and the gray water beyond them.  The world seemed so hopeless these days.  He took another sip of coffee to warm his chilled heart.

Like the light of the diner melting the Buffalo waterfront’s gloom, the world needed hope.  The hope that only giving can bring.  The world has gotten so focused on receiving that giving had fallen to the wayside. He looked at his tattoo again.

If you don’t believe, you don’t receive.

He looked at his other forearm.  He wrote down the words of his next tattoo:

If you don’t give, you don’t live.

His mission was to change the world by giving. The precious infant born on Christmas Day had done that so well.  Santa smiled, took another sip of his coffee and planned out the best Christmas ever.

An on that cold fall evening in Buffalo, New York, Santa once again believed himself. And when he did, a white snowfall began to cover the gloomy gray city around him.