Miracle on 34th Street Read online

  But Doris had very definite ideas about bringing up children. She believed in utter realism and truth. Susan was certainly not going to be led to believe a lot of myths and legends—like Santa Claus, for example.

  “Why not?” asked Fred. “What harm does it do?”

  “They grow up considering life as a big fairy tale instead of reality,” Doris answered. “Subconsciously they keep waiting for Prince Charming to come along and when he does and turns out to be—”

  “Look, Doris,” Fred’s voice was kindly, “you had a tough break—I’m not denying that. You loved someone deeply—you trusted him—and then one day you suddenly woke up and found how wrong you’d been. But all men aren’t like that and I don’t think Susan’s going to be any happier growing up to think so.”

  Doris turned away. Fred’s directness had found its target.

  “I’m sorry,” he went on, “but I’m right, Doris.” He moved closer to her. “And I only wish you’d give me a chance to prove that I’m really the sort of person that—well, you hoped he was.”

  “I’ve burnt my fingers once,” Doris answered quietly.

  She turned back toward the living room and Fred, with a hopeless shrug, followed.

  4

  EARLY the next morning, looking very smart and businesslike, Mrs. Walker entered her office at Macy’s. There sat Kris waiting patiently to see her. Doris was the Personnel Director of the store and Mr. Shellhammer, Head of the Toy Department, had suggested that Kris be given a permanent job as Macy’s Santa Claus. For Kris had made a tremendous hit at the Parade and the ceremonies which followed. He was by far the most authentic Santa Claus that they had ever found. Mr. Shellhammer was most enthusiastic. This man was incredibly convincing; he would boom the Toy Department’s sales immeasurably.

  Kris told Doris that he would be very happy to accept the job. Doris hired him instantly, grateful for having one headache less this year, for the Santa Claus had always been a problem. The salary and other details did not seem to interest Kris. Doris buzzed for her assistant, Miss Adams, who took him to her office and asked him to fill out an employment card. Kris sat down and filled out the form in a clear, Spencerian hand:

  NAME: Kris Kringle

  ADDRESS: Maplewood Home, Great Neck, Long Island

  AGE: As old as my tongue and a little bit older than my teeth.

  He handed the card to Miss Adams. She glanced at it mechanically as she turned and started for Mrs. Walker’s office. “Thank you, Mr. Kringle. Mr. Shellhammer’s waiting for you.”

  Mr. Shellhammer took Kris to the locker room to change into his Santa Claus outfit. While he dressed, Shellhammer handed Kris a list of the stock of the Toy Department. He had checked the particular items which were to be pushed this year. Kris nodded understandingly and from the few remarks he made he seemed to have an amazing knowledge of Macy’s toys. Mr. Shellhammer emphasized the fact that if a child asked for something they did not carry, Kris was to suggest an item which they wanted to push. Mr. Kringle nodded silently—almost grimly. He knew exactly what Mr. Shellhammer meant. As soon as he left, Kris tore the list into very small pieces.

  Enthroned on the dais, with a long line of eager kiddies waiting to see him, Kris was really in his element. He loved every minute of it and so did all the boys and girls. There were many remarks among parents about how very real this Santa Claus seemed. Everything was perfect. Mr. Shellhammer looked out of his office and beamed happily.

  “And what do you want for Christmas?” Kris asked, as a little boy climbed up on his ample lap.

  “I want a fire engine,” the youngster replied, “the kind that’s got real hoses that squirt real water, and I promise not to squirt it in the house only outside in the yard.”

  Behind the boy’s back his mother was frantically gesturing for Kris not to promise delivery on the fire wagon, but Kris paid no attention.

  “All right, sonny,” he said, “I’m sure you’re a good boy—you’ll get one.”

  Delighted, the child climbed down. Now it was the mother’s turn to say a word or two. She was fuming but spoke quietly so the boy could not hear.

  “Why did you tell him that? They’re not making that kind of fire engines. I’ve looked everywhere.”

  “Oh, but you can get them,” Kris replied, “at the Acme Toy Company at 246 West 26th Street. They’re eight-fifty—a wonderful bargain.”

  The woman stared in amazement. She couldn’t believe her ears. Was Macy’s Santa Claus sending her to another store? Kris replied that he certainly was, and he couldn’t see anything particularly strange about it. After all, the important thing was to make the kiddies happy and whether Macy’s or Acme sold the toy didn’t make any great difference.

  And so Kris continued as child after child climbed upon his lap. His only thought was for the youngsters—he wanted to be sure each boy and girl would get his wish at Christmas. If the toys seemed too expensive, or Macy’s didn’t carry them, Kris told the mother just where she could get a less expensive train for Johnny, or where she would find just the doll for Judy. The parents were inevitably both surprised and pleased.

  It was unfortunate, therefore, that Mr. Shellhammer should have overheard Mr. Kringle advising a little boy’s mother to go to Gimbel’s for his skates. Gimbel’s, of all places! Mr. Shellhammer went into a mild state of shock. As soon as he regained his self-control he started for Mrs. Walker’s office. He was determined to have Kringle fired right away. This was simply inconceivable! If word of it ever got back to Mr. Macy—the Lord only knew what would happen!

  But as he proceeded through the store he was stopped by a number of grateful mothers. They couldn’t thank him enough for this tremendously helpful service. Instead of being merely commercial, Macy’s Santa was actually being helpful to parents! It was a wonderful thing. The real Christmas spirit. They would never forget it. They would be regular Macy customers from now on. Mr. Shellhammer began to wonder. He stopped off at his own office and there were many grateful messages and notes. Mr. Shellhammer sat down at his desk to think things over. Perhaps his first reaction had been wrong.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea!” his secretary told him as she delivered another batch of notes.

  “You think so, and the women think so,” he said sadly, “but will Mr. Macy think so?”

  He looked beseechingly toward the ceiling, but the answer was not there.

  5

  FRED had a date to take little Susan out that afternoon. And still disturbed by her precociousness, he was hatching out a deep-dyed plot. He would take Susan to see the new Santa Claus at Macy’s. That gentleman would worm out of her a Christmas wish, and Fred would arrange to have it under the tree. Perhaps then Susan might believe in Santa Claus, or at least begin to have some normal childlike wonder.

  Fred managed to get to Kris and enlist his aid, but when Susan reached the head of the line and Mr. Kringle took her upon his lap, she refused to ask for anything. Whatever she wanted her mother would get her, provided, of course, it wasn’t too expensive. She told Kris he was merely the gentleman her mother had employed this year to play the part of Santa Claus.

  “You are a little better than most,” said Susan. “Anyway, your beard looks real.”

  Mr. Kringle answered that it was real, and that he was real, too. But he could get nowhere with the child. Kris was baffled and troubled. This was just the sort of thing he feared was happening in the world.

  As luck would have it, Doris emerged from her office just as this was going on and started walking briskly toward the elevator. She glanced toward the dais—and then stopped dead. There was her daughter on Santa Claus’ lap. Fred saw her approaching and looked a little sheepish. There was no scene at all. Doris was brusque and definite. She quickly whisked Susan away from Kris and planted her in a chair near the office. Then she asked Fred to step inside.

  From her vantage point Susan watched Kris as he took a little girl with golden pigtails upon his lap. Her foster mother was explaining t
o Kris that the child had only recently arrived from an orphanage in Holland. She spoke hardly a word of English; but the wide-eyed child had insisted that “Sinterklaas,” as she called him, should speak Dutch. The girl was confidently talking away to Kris and her mother’s anguish was obvious. She started to explain to the girl, but Kris raised his hand for silence, and when the child had finished he answered her in fluent Dutch. The sudden light which warmed the little Dutch girl’s eyes did a funny thing to Susan. She stood there fascinated as Kris and the girl happily sang a little Dutch Christmas song together. There was something very real about this Santa Claus and it puzzled her considerably.

  Inside her office, Doris had minced no words with Fred. She appreciated his interest and kindness toward her daughter but Susan was still her responsibility—to bring up as she saw fit. Whether Fred agreed with her or not she insisted that he respect her wishes regarding the child. Fred took the scolding he knew he deserved. He promised not to repeat the performance if Doris would let him go on being friends with Susan. Very contritely he said goodnight to Susan and Doris and departed.

  As soon as Susan was alone with her mother, she began asking questions about Mr. Kringle. Doris carefully explained that he was just an employee of the store, like the doorman or the elevator man or anyone else.

  “Yes, I know,” said Susan, “but when he started speaking Dutch to that little girl, Mother—”

  “Susan, I speak French,” said Doris patiently, “but that doesn’t make me Joan of Arc.”

  But Susan was not convinced. A shred of doubt still lingered in her mind. This Mr. Kringle had such a twinkle in his eyes.

  In order to clear up any confusion in her daughter’s mind, Doris sent for Kris immediately. He entered with a jolly wink and smile to Susan.

  “You’re an employee of this store, aren’t you?” she asked him. Kris nodded with mild surprise. “And you’re not Santa Claus, of course, because there really is no such person.”

  “I’m sorry to contradict you, Mrs. Walker,” Kris replied. “But there certainly is, and here I stand to prove it!”

  Susan’s eyes opened wide. Her mother looked quite annoyed.

  “No, no, you don’t understand,” she said. “I want you to be perfectly honest in front of the child.”

  “I am being perfectly honest!” said Kris.

  Doris tried another tack.

  “What is your name?” she asked him.

  “Kris Kringle.”

  Doris pulled Kris’ employment card from the file on her desk and she suddenly stiffened.

  “Is there anything more I can tell you?” he was asking.

  But Mrs. Walker was really frightened now. “No—no—thank you!” she said hastily as she ushered Susan from the room. This man really believed that he was Santa Claus! This “gem” that she had found might be a dangerous character! He seemed kindly and innocent enough, but who knew what other manifestations he might show! And he had been with countless children all day long! It was a wonder that nothing serious had happened. She had just found out in time.

  Quietly but firmly she gave Kris his notice. She wanted no trouble. She arranged to give him two weeks’ pay. The old man didn’t seem to mind. His only reaction seemed to be concern for Doris and little Susan. It was almost as if Doris were the one whose mental state was to be pitied.

  As Mr. Kringle walked out of the door the phone rang. Mr. Macy wished to see her immediately. Doris entered the holy of holies with fear and trepidation. Had Macy found out that she’d hired a nut? And when she saw Mr. Shellhammer there as well, her heart skipped a few more beats.

  To her amazement, Mr. Macy congratulated both of them. Already word of Mr. Kringle’s recommendations had reached him. Mr. Macy was being flooded with wires, phone calls, and messages of appreciation from grateful parents. This was the biggest goodwill idea that had ever hit the store. Why, it was revolutionary! Macy’s Santa recommending Gimbel’s! The results were bound to be phenomenal. He intended to make it the policy throughout the store. “The Store with the Real Christmas Spirit.” It was tremendous—a brand new departure in merchandising policy, and Macy’s would reap the harvest of publicity and good will. They must by all means keep this Santa Claus. Perhaps they could even find some other work for him after the holidays. Mr. Macy was delighted. He promised both Doris and Shellhammer immediate raises.

  Outside Mr. Macy’s office, Doris shakily broke the news to Shellhammer. She had just fired their wonderful Santa; the old man was definitely crazy. Mr. Shellhammer exploded. They must get him back at once—before he left the store. If they didn’t, all was lost!

  Doris said they could get another Santa Claus to carry out the same policy. But Mr. Macy had brought his grandson to see Kringle that afternoon, Shellhammer told her. He had been tremendously impressed—they must get Kringle back at any cost!

  After a frantic search Doris finally caught Kris in the service elevator. She told him that she had reconsidered and that he still could have the job. But to her dismay, Mr. Kringle politely declined. “I’m afraid I don’t like your attitude,” he said frankly, “nor Mr. Shellhammer’s either!” Frantically Doris tried to explain that his genuine helpfulness and kindness had caused a sensation.

  “You must stay and keep on spreading good will. Why, even Mr. Macy—”

  Kris, however, was adamant. Mrs. Walker had clearly indicated her cynical disbelief. That was enough for him.

  But when Doris broke down and told him the whole story and explained that if he left it would mean her job, Mr. Kringle’s whole attitude changed. If that were the case, he said, he would certainly stay. He couldn’t have Mrs. Walker losing her job, not just before the holidays. “Think what that would mean to your lovely little daughter,” he said.

  For Kris had begun to realize that Doris and little Susan were but unhappy products of their times. They presented a real challenge to him—a sort of test-case for Santa Claus. If he could win them over, if he could get them to believe in him—then there was still hope. If not, Santa Claus and all he stood for were through.

  “You know, Mrs. Walker,” he said, “for the past fifty years or so I’ve been more and more worried about Christmas. It seems we’re all so busy trying to beat the other fellow in making things go faster and look shinier and cost less, that Christmas and I are sort of getting lost in the shuffle.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” said Doris. “Christmas is still Christmas.”

  “No,” said Mr. Kringle, shaking his head. “Christmas isn’t just a day. It’s a frame of mind. That’s what’s been changing. That’s why I’m glad I’m here, because maybe I can do something about it.”

  In spite of herself, Doris was impressed by Kris’ warmth and kindness. She couldn’t help liking the old man, even if he was a little off the beam.

  6

  THE next morning Kris was back on the dais once more—and everybody was happy. The line of children was longer than ever. Kris’ reputation had already begun to grow. Word of mouth was spreading the news of the honest and kindly old gentleman at Macy’s. But in Doris’ mind there lingered a definite doubt and a worry. After all, she had employed him and although he seemed harmless enough, she knew very little about the old man. He certainly had this delusion and he might not be as harmless as he seemed. At any rate, she had better make sure. She studied his employment card again. Address: Maplewood Home, Great Neck, Long Island, it said. Just out of curiosity Doris looked it up in the telephone book. To her surprise she found that such a home was listed. Considerably encouraged, she called the place.

  But the results were hardly helpful. Yes, a Mr. Kringle had lived there but he was away. Any questions concerning his physical and mental condition would have to be taken up with Dr. Pierce, the Resident Physician, but he, too, was away that day. Doris left a request for Dr. Pierce to call her, and hung up more concerned than ever. Somewhat reluctantly and as a last resort, Doris called in Mr. Sawyer.

  Albert Sawyer was Macy’s expert on vocationa
l guidance and psychology, a pompous little gentleman who knew absolutely all the answers. Perhaps this sort of thing was not exactly in his field, Doris suggested hesitantly. But Mr. Sawyer assured her he was just the man. Why, he had made quite a study of Abnormal Psychology! He would be happy to interview this fellow and give her his opinion.

  So Kris was ushered into Mr. Sawyer’s presence and Sawyer proceeded to “examine” him. Mental tests were nothing new to Mr. Kringle. He knew them all by heart. He had passed them with flying colors a dozen times. Mr. Sawyer’s questions were just like all the rest. Who was the first President of the United States? How much was three times five? Kris answered them all as patiently as he could. But Sawyer’s self-importance rubbed the old gentleman the wrong way, and the nervous, barking manner in which he asked the questions irritated Kris more and more. How was his eyesight? His hearing? Was his memory good? He went on and on. Now Sawyer held up three fingers in front of Kris’ nose. “How many fingers do you see?” he asked.

  “Three,” answered Kris, “and I see that you bite your nails, Mr. Sawyer. You’re quite nervous, aren’t you? Do you sleep well nights?"

  “That’s no concern of yours,” snapped Sawyer. “How much is three times five?"

  “Fifteen,” said Kris. “You asked me that before. Nervous habits like yours are often the result of insecurity. Are you happy at home, Mr. Sawyer?"

  This was more than Sawyer could stand. Kris had apparently touched a sore point.

  “That will be all, Mr. Kringle,” he said coldly. “You may go.”

  “Thank you,” said Kris as he rose, “and take it easy, Mr. Sawyer. Get out in the fresh air more. Get some exercise. Relax.”

  Doris returned from lunch to find Dr. Pierce waiting to see her. She was delighted to see him. There was something reassuring in his easy, quiet manner. He had come to talk about Mr. Kringle. He had seen Kris’ picture in the paper and was delighted to learn that the old gentleman had found this job. There were just a few things, however, that Doris ought to know. Kris had some definite peculiarities.