Christmas? Bah, Humbug…and here’s an APC for you!

When I married Theresa I soon discovered I had a woman whose overriding purpose in life was to PURCHASE CHRISTMAS GIFTS. She began in July, bought, exchanged, discarded, and then bought more gifts for kinfolk, friends, neighbors and casual acquaintances. This was all right, except that I gained the reputation as a Scrooge, since I never shopped for gifts. I really had no need to do so. I gave gift certificates occasionally, because the Book of Nicodemus mentions them, and who am I to argue with an authority like that?

Now, with Theresa gone some three years, I struggle with inappropriate gifts for appropriate people. I have given advice to newly-wed men on gift giving, but this does not pertain to me at this time of life. There is no dearth of catalogs in the Commander’s household, but I don’t believe that lighted garden gnomes are suitable Christmas gifts, and that is what most of my catalogs seem to feature.

I have decided to continue with gift certificates, good at stores and mail order houses and at the bar in Madison’s. I highly recommend that if you get a gift card from me you use it at the latter establishment, and tell Mark the Owner that it came from me. I keep looking at his array of business cards, reproduced in brass and affixed to the half-wall behind the first row of tables thinking that I will find mine there. It hasn’t showed up yet, but if he can trace additional cash flow back to me, there is hope.

I remember great, and not so great, jokes about gift giving from the past, such as “What do you give to a man who has everything?” and the answer is “penicillin”. This may have to be explained to my younger readers since penicillin is no longer the only cure for social diseases.

Many years ago, when Chattahoochee’s commerce centered around the four railroads that terminated there, a game warden came to town one evening near Christmas time, and had a few drinks with some friends and then went to the store to buy a pound of raisins that his wife had requested. And then he had a few more drinks and bought another pound of raisins. And then a few more drinks……and he ended up with twenty individual pound packets of raisins. My father found out about this and ragged him unmercifully. A few days later, my father left his overcoat in a somewhat unusual place. The game warden found it and returned it. The following Christmas a pound of raisins mysteriously appeared under our Tree. And for twenty years the raisins appeared at the Hirt household, sometimes mailed from California or New York, often gift wrapped. This was never mentioned by the two friends, and after twenty years the raisins no longer appeared. This event was not explained to me until I was in my late teens. Up until then I was mystified that other folks in town did not get raisins under their trees each year. I had always assumed that Santa had something special for us.

In 1952 I was attached to an aircraft squadron on Guam and was supposed to receive orders to stateside. I sent the word to my folks in September that I was practically on the way home and they quit corresponding with me. But my orders had been sent to Jacksonville and were lost. Christmas came, and I was the only man in the squadron without so much as a card for the season. I went out and knocked two coconuts out of a tree, opened them with ceremony as though they were gifts, and ate them. I told this to my children as part of our family time, until one year there was a whole coconut on my plate where turkey and dressing should have been. I no longer mention this strange “gift”, but I still remember it.

Once I thought that I had the right gift for Theresa. She announced that she had seen a framed picture of General Robert E. Lee at Floye Brewton’s `antique shop, and that if I bought it for her she would not ask for anything else for Christmas. The next morning I beat Floye to his shop and purchased for $150 this final answer to my wife’s desire. I did not even haggle with Floye, which seemed to over joy him. A week after the holiday Theresa and I were reading in the family room when she looked up and said “That picture does not look right”. I assumed she was speaking of the location, so I offered to hang it on another wall. “No, I mean we have to redecorate”, she stated. Two months later we had sixteen Civil War prints, new color coded furniture and carpet (Confederate gray and red, what else?) and I had a bill for about $12,000. I had purchased the right gift, but I did not understand the total costs.

As you may surmise, the custom of exchanging Christmas cards also has gone by the boards. There is not only a hassle in maintaining lists, but a great deal of guilt is associated with the process. If you cull “Uncle Joe” because you have not received one from him for twenty years, he will most certainly send you one this year. So it is best not to send any at all and get the guilt over with.

I have a tradition that is not connected with the season. A while ago I commissioned a painting by a well known maritime artist who is also an old shipmate of mine. The painting is of the USS TWEEDY, a destroyer escort, and my last ship. I have had some nice note cards printed up with a reproduction of the painting on the front. I use them for birthdays and “attaboys” throughout the months. My daughter, Ashlee the Nutritionist, refers to them as my “All Purpose Cards”, or “APCs”.

So now I take time to send notes of appreciation to folks whom I feel have done something worthwhile. A few go to politicians, but more to men and women that have made a difference in my life, my community and my country.

The Children Home Society has received several APCs, since that is where Theresa and I got our three children. Usually a check is enclosed.

The Chipola College Foundation will receive one, also with a check. We have established a scholarship in Theresa’s memory, and it has served several students in the last three years. I will use this to honor our children, and this will keep me from trying to select suitable gifts for them. They may pout, but they can’t be openly critical.

Some years ago a fine lady named Becky Champion realized that the Apalachicola, Chattahoochee and Flint Rivers had something in common other than the vaunted “Water Wars”, and that is the opportunity for nature, cultural and heritage based tourism. A comprehensive study by Randall Travel Services, one of the nation’s premier tourism groups, confirmed this. Becky passed the reins on to Carole Rutland, who became the Executive Director of Riverway South. Under Carole’s leadership the concept is developing, and we are on the way toward a worthwhile north-south connection that will mean a great deal to Jackson County and the other five riparian counties on the Apalachicola River, as well as counties in Georgia and Alabama I have a special “APC” for both of these ladies.

Cynthia and Wayne Watkins of Seacrest Wolf Preserve will get one, thanking them for what they do for my friends Teton and Legend and the other animals, and for putting up with me when I go down there and just sit on the porch and rock instead of doing hard labor like the other volunteers. Many of the other volunteers are young service men and women from military bases close by who choose to work at Seacrest on their days off. I, of course, outrank the lot of them, and I get first call on the porch rockers during breaks.

Senator John McCain will get an APC. The McCain family has meant a great deal to me and to our country, and I bristle when I hear the conservatives in my Republican Party denigrate the Senator. I have come close to challenging some of them to duels: single shot paint guns at twenty paces, perhaps. John McCain is a war hero, has served his country all of his adult life, and he still serves us, fighting against inappropriate spending in Congress. Read his book ‘Faith of My Fathers” and decide if you could tolerate what he came through as a prisoner of war. I know that I could not.

But my biggest “All Purpose Card” is going out to the readers of my column.

Two years ago Sid Riley asked me to write an occasional piece about eastern Jackson County. He has allowed me to branch out and share stories from my past and sometimes to encourage folks as we move into an uncertain future. Sid does not pay me, but neither does he charge for this weekly ego trip that I take. My real pay is when someone tells me how he or she looks forward to reading my column. By the way, so far the most mentioned one is “I’m Not Obese, I’m Just Big Boned”.

So, if Sid will publish this, and if Stephanie the REAL EDITOR will put it in the right place, and if the Head of the Shipping Department does not put a label over my name, I will be pleased.

And just look at the postage I will save by not having to send cards!