St. Paul author Roger Barr continues a more-than-25-year Christmas story tradition with “Christmas Longings.”
Author Roger Barr (Courtesy of Brad Stauffer)
The series began with “The Last Christmas,” which was published by the Villager newspaper in 1997, Barr says. With the exception of 1998, there had been a new Bartholomew story in the Villager every year until 2020, when the tradition moved to the Pioneer Press.
Thanksgiving weekend had been busy for the Bartholomew family, Matt thought as they gathered in the living room. On Thanksgiving Day, he and Deidre, son Christopher and daughter Allison and her fiancé, Erik, had enjoyed a traditional holiday dinner at home. On Friday, while the others took in a movie, Matt had set up the 50 life-sized, lifelike creche figures in the front yard, positioned the spotlights and footlights to illuminate the scene and set up the food donation barrels. On Saturday afternoon, the extended Bartholomew family — Matt’s siblings, their spouses, children and grandchildren — had gathered here at the home the siblings grew up in for the annual potluck supper and creche lighting ceremony. Honoring Deidre’s “No Politics” posters, everyone had avoided politics, save for the occasional comment about the state of the economy and how divided the country remained.
Now, after an early Sunday supper, before Matt drove the three kids to the airport so Allison and Erik could fly back to Washington, D.C., and Christopher back to San Francisco, it was time to draw names for Secret Santa. A 20-year tradition, Secret Santa’s rules were simple: each family member drew a name from a hat, kept it secret and on Christmas Eve gave that person a gift that cost no money.
Allison wrote their names on identical slips of paper and dropped them into her rainbow stocking cap, which she raised above her head.
“Who’s first?” she asked.
“Wait!” Christopher interrupted, “Before we draw, I wanna say something. Every year we talk about cutting back on Christmas presents but we never do. How about if we really do it this year? I’m serious. None of us really needs anything.”
Allison lowered her stocking cap. “What are you suggesting?”
“It’s rough out there. People are suffering. Who knows what’s going to happen? I think we should give the money we’d normally spend on presents to some organization we believe in, or someone who really needs it.”
For a long moment, no one offered an opinion.
“Well?” Christopher pressed.
“It’s a noble idea,” Allison said.
Noble idea, Matt thought. Noncommittal.
“Christmas morning would look pretty strange with nothing under the Christmas tree, no presents to open,” Deidre observed.
“I thought about that,” Chris said. “How about we just extend Secret Santa to everyone? Instead of drawing just one name, let’s all give each other gifts using Secret Santa rules—in other words, gifts that cost no money. Instead of having Secret Santa on Christmas Eve like always, we do it Christmas morning. Everyone would have four gifts to open. We always say that Secret Santa gifts are our favorite gifts every year. It’ll be four times the fun and still feel like Christmas. The creche is already on display; Mom will decorate inside. She’s already playing Christmas music. We’ll have Christmas Eve dinner and go to church just like always. On Christmas morning, we can open our Secret Santa gifts.”
“You’ve put some thought into this,” Deidre said.
“I have. I want to do something!”
“I like it.” Allison glanced at Erik who nodded. “We’re in.”
“If it’s what you kids want to do,” Matt said. “It’s okay with me.”
“OK,” Deidre agreed. “Let’s do it.”
“Any ideas on where the money should go?” Matt asked.
“We don’t need to decide that tonight,” Chris said.
“We could give it to Open Cupboard,” Matt said. “Handyman says food prices are up, donations are down and demand is sky high.”
“We could,” Chris agreed, “but you’re already collecting food donations from creche visitors and I know you supplement that with a monthly check. Something will come up. We’ll know it when we see it.”
***
Home from the airport run, Matt inspected the creche figures before calling it a night. In the garage, he disarmed the security system so he could walk freely among the figures. One by one, he inspected the Holy Family, the cow and donkey in the stable, the Wise Men and their camels, the multitude of hovering angels and, finally, the shepherds and their flock. As he worked, Chris’s words haunted him. People are suffering. Who knows what’s going to happen? He walked down to the boulevard sidewalk to view the scene as if he were a visitor. In the theatrical lighting, the reverent figures always filled him with a sense of awe. He rested his hands on the split rail fence and recited the tenet by which he lived: “I have faith in the possibilities that lie before us.” He waited for the embrace of spiritual assurance those words always gave him, but the feeling remained elusive. The possibilities that lay before them, he had to admit, seemed few and grim.
Last Christmas season, opposing sides of a divided America had been hunkered down in their ideological trenches, just like in 1914 when British and German soldiers occupied opposing trenches along the Western Front, separated by No Man’s Land. On Christmas Eve of that year, weary soldiers from both sides had ventured into No Man’s Land to exchange food and small gifts. As 1915 began, trench warfare had resumed, lasting all year. As Christmas approached, both British and German artillery had shelled No Man’s Land to keep soldiers in their trenches and thwart any unofficial overtures toward peace.
This Christmas, Matt thought, felt just like 1915 on the Western Front. The only thing both sides agreed upon was that it was the other side’s fault. Leaders on both sides of the ideological divide hurled insults, charges and accusations like cannon shot. People were numb, as if the constant ideological shelling was something normal. No one seemed willing to risk stepping out into No Man’s Land to make overtures towards solutions acceptable to all.
His eyes fell on the shepherds and their flock. What was wrong with people anyway? Were they all just sheep, allowing their leaders to herd them blindly toward . . . what? Who knew what would happen? What could they do?
Matt checked the food donation barrels at the end of the driveway. They were still nearly empty. It’s early in the season, he reasoned. But he worried that under economic stress people would not be generous this year.
*****
Every Monday morning, Matt had breakfast with his friends Handyman, who ran Open Cupboard, and Carter, a retired police officer. Today, they were meeting downtown at Mickey’s Diner. At the Seventh and Fifth Streets intersection, Matt stopped for a red light behind a white van. Just ahead on his left, a man and woman, bundled heavily against the cold, stood on the meridian. Each wore a red Santa hat trimmed with white fur and pompom. The man held a homemade sign. The woman held a bundle against her shoulder. The van rolled forward when the man stepped toward it, extending his sign. Avoiding the couples’ eyes, Matt read the crude black letters, barely legible against the brown background: LOST FEDERAL JOB! PLEASE HELP. He suddenly realized that the woman’s bundle was also wearing a Santa hat.
Normally, Matt drove by such pleas for assistance, preferring to support the needy through Open Cupboard, but the sight of a baby wearing a Santa hat out in the cold tugged at his heartstrings. Who were they? What happened? Did they have enough to eat? Did they have a place to stay? He reached for his wallet, conscious that the light had turned green. He pulled out a twenty, tapped his horn and rolled down his window. The man stepped forward and reached for the bill, mouthing a thank you. The light turned yellow, then red. Behind Matt, a horn blared a sustained blast to express the driver’s annoyance at having to wait through the light again. The light changed to green. Before Matt could move, the car behind him shot past him on the right. The driver flashed an obscene gesture as he sped away.
Handyman and Carter were sipping their coffee when Matt slid into a seat. As the server poured his coffee, he told them about the family and the angry motorist.
“Well, at least they’ll have something to eat tonight, thanks to you,” Handyman said.
“That motorist,” Carter sniffed. “I’ll tell you, these days I’m glad I’m not walking a beat. When things in Washington, D.C., get crazy, it trickles down. I’ve seen it before. People get angry, blow up over the littlest things, because they can’t do anything about the big things that are really bothering them. You never know these days when someone’s gonna explode.”
Matt told them about Christmas along the Western Front in 1915. “It’s just like 1915. Everybody’s pinned in the trenches, afraid to come out. Nobody knows what to do.”
“Oh, we know what to do,” Handyman countered. “People just don’t have the power to do it. Until leaders on both sides of the aisle put people above politics, nothing’s gonna change.”
“So what do we do?” Matt asked, “Besides stand around like a bunch of sheep!”
“What we do is take care of each other as best we can.” Handyman said. “Like you did with your twenty.”
“They needed more than a twenty,” Matt said.
“Every bit helps,” Handyman said.
“I’ll drink to that!” Carter raised his coffee mug.
On the way home, Matt drove through the intersection again, but the family was gone. He was still thinking about the family when he arrived home.
“How was breakfast?” Deidre asked.
“Fine.”
“Did I hear a silent ‘but’ behind that word ‘fine’?”
“I saw this family downtown. A man, a woman and a baby. They were panhandlers.”
“Panhandlers,” Deidre echoed. “Ugly term.”
“I don’t know how else to describe them.” He reached for his phone and checked an online thesaurus. “Synonyms for panhandler: ‘vagrant, vagabond, ne’er-do-well, moocher, deadbeat.’”
“We do take a dim view of people in need asking for help,” Deidre agreed.
Matt nodded. “Anyway, all three were wearing Santa hats. The man’s sign said he’d lost his federal job. The Santa hats are what did it. I gave them a twenty. I wish, now, I’d been more generous. I drove through that intersection on the way home, but they were gone.”
“Every little bit helps,” Deidre said.
“That’s what Handyman said. But—” He shook his head.
“What?”
“I just . . . here we sit safe in our comfortable home. We congratulate ourselves because we collect a little food for the needy. We can weather shifts in the economy, but what about people living paycheck to paycheck? People like this man, who lost his job and is on the street begging for money. At Christmas! I hate even the thought that this baby might spend its first Christmas on the street, let alone the reality of it. It’s a family decision, but if it was up to me, I’d give them our Christmas money. Chris said we’d know it when we saw it. Well, I saw it.
“A baby,” Deidre said, “You’ve convinced me. Why don’t you text the kids on the family text?”
Matt composed a lengthy text describing the couple, the man’s sign, the baby and the Santa hats, finishing with “If I can locate this family, could we give them our Christmas money?”
Allison’s answer arrived almost immediately. “Love the idea! We could be Secret Santa for them!”
An hour passed before Chris replied. “Was in a meeting. Sounds like they really need the money. I’m in if you can find them.”
Matt was excited by the possibility that lay before them. If only he could find the family. Like Handyman said, people needed to take care of each other.
***
Where to start looking? He knew nothing about them. Would he even recognize them without their Santa hats? He tried to picture them in his mind. The man and woman were about 30. The man wore a black beard. Black hair extended beneath the woman’s Santa hat. Did they have possessions with them? He couldn’t remember; it had all happened so quickly.
Shelters for the homeless seemed a good place to start. Handyman, a social worker by trade, would have a list of shelters. At breakfast, he’d said he was working remotely today, so he would be at Open Cupboard. Matt loaded the food donations into the back of his SUV and drove over to the food shelf.
Open Cupboard was housed in the double garage behind Handyman’s house. Matt parked on the apron. A handmade sign on the service door warned patrons to “Watch out for the ice!” Inside, six rows of shelves held canned goods and nonperishables, arranged by ethnicity. Along one wall, a cooler housed milk, eggs and, when available, fresh produce. On one wall, red letters spelling out “Merry Christmas” hung in an arc in front of posters reading “Black Lives Matter” and “Can’t We All Just Get Along?” Under the holiday greeting stood a Christmas tree, decorated with candy canes, there for the taking.
Handyman greeted him from his desk. Matt explained that he wanted to find the family wearing Santa hats. “Do you have a list of shelters?”
“I do,” Handyman said, “But be forewarned: staff members won’t tell you who’s staying there. Safety reasons. You can leave a message that staff may or may not give the family. If they come in.” He tapped the keys of his laptop. The printer on his desk came to life. “There you go.”
Matt stocked the shelves with the food he had brought in. Too often these days, there were empty spaces on the shelves. As he was finishing, a young Latino man entered through the service door. He looked around apprehensively.
“Can I help you?” Handyman asked.
“I heard I could get food here.”
“You heard correctly, my friend.”
“Do I fill out a form?”
“No, forms.” Handyman’s voice shifted into the tone Matt knew well. “Everybody has the right to a full belly. We got no income or work requirements, no applications, no waiting. We don’t care if you’re rich or poor, black, white, brown or polka dotted. Documented, undocumented, makes no difference to me. No limitation on how much you take. Just honor the sign.” He pointed to a nearby sign: TAKE WHAT YOU NEED, LEAVE SOME FOR OTHERS.
The man picked up a basket and turned down an aisle. When he was out of hearing, Matt leaned toward Handyman.
“I love hearing you recite that speech.”
“Just taking care of people,” Handyman replied. “So, you’re gonna look for this family?”
“We decided to donate the money we’d normally spend on Christmas presents for each other to something or someone who really needed it.”
“Good for you! Try the shelters. Better yet, look for them on the streets. People living on the streets tend to stay in the same general area. I’ll let you know if they come in here.”
***
He drove downtown to start his search. In succession, he drove the east-west streets and then the north-south streets. Nothing. He drove the city’s freeways, taking exits where he had seen people asking for assistance. Again, nothing. That night he posted a note about the family on his social media accounts, asking anyone who had seen the family to contact him.
Since he had given the family a twenty at Seventh and Fifth, he hoped they would consider the intersection a place of good fortune and return there. Every day for the next week, he drove through the intersection, hoping to spot them on the meridian. This time, he would put on his flashers so he could talk to the couple and offer the family’s assistance. He then drove all of downtown’s streets, scanning the sidewalks for the family.
In winter, where did people go to stay warm? He walked the skyways, searching the tables near the food courts. He asked people eating their lunch if they’d seen a family of three wearing Santa hats. His queries were greeted with suspicion. “Why?” one diner demanded, “You gonna arrest them?” He felt like a stalker.
At the St. Paul Union Depot, he searched the headhouse and walked down the concourse and searched the waiting areas. Nothing. At the central library he walked through the public areas on each floor. He asked the librarians and clerks if they had ever seen the family. None had.
It was as if the family was invisible.
Through Carter’s contacts at the police department, he learned that there were no large homeless encampments in the city. Periodically, when too many homeless people had gathered in one place, the city stepped in and dispersed the residents. But as he drove about the city, he spotted little camping tents set up on public land or tucked into a stand of trees. Every time he saw a tent, he stopped and checked it out. He always gave its occupant $2 to compensate for the interruption.
Every night he checked social media for posts about the family. He texted updates to Allison and Christopher, receiving words of encouragement in return. One night Christopher texted back a frowning emoji.
At bedtime, he went out and tucked in the creche for the evening. He checked the food donations and wished there were more. Standing on the boulevard sidewalk and looking at the Holy Family, he thought about the Santa family. Where were they sleeping tonight? Inside, he hoped. Did they have enough to eat? Had one of them found work? Should he keep searching? They could have left town for God knows where. But their predicament seemed to symbolize all that was amiss in the country. He recited the tenet of his faith and prayed that among the possibilities that lay before him was one in which he would find the family around the next corner, or that a post would pop up on social media from someone who could tell him how to contact the family.
***
One evening, Matt and Deidre decided to look at Christmas lights. From their house on Pinehurst Avenue, they wound their way through the streets. Many houses had trimmed their rooflines with multicolored lights. White lights turned stately evergreens into Christmas trees. Leafless oaks and maples were transformed into trees of light. In some houses a single candle glowed elegantly in every window.
“I think there’s more lights this year,” Matt said. “It’s as if people are determined to spread a little light into these dark times.” In one yard, Santa’s sleigh and reindeer had landed. Santa waived at passers-by.
“So how are you coming on your Secret Santa gifts?” Deidre asked.
He wasn’t. Secret Santa gifts came from the heart. Each gift seemed to capture the essence of the relationship between giver and receiver. Past Secret Santa gifts consisted of original songs, music playlists, coupons for services, poems, proclamations, baked goods and crafts. It was a challenge each year to come up with one perfect gift, but four!
“OK,” he fudged. “How about you?”
“I’ve got ideas for everyone. It’s a matter of execution.” They drove on in silence.
“There’s only 10 days until Christmas,” Deidre reminded him.
“I’ll be ready!”
***
As the days passed, he recognized some of the same transients in the same places. In Rice Park, a man wearing an army field jacket sat on the same bench every day, his possessions piled beside him. At his feet sat a plastic bucket, a sign propped against it. ANYTHING HELPS.
Matt parked and approached the man respectfully. He smiled and placed a five-dollar bill in the bucket.
“God bless you, sir.”
“You’re here every day?”
“No law against it. Yet.”
“I’m looking for a little help.”
“Ain’t we all?” The man glanced at his bucket. Matt dropped another five into it.
“I’m looking for a family, a man, woman and a baby. They’re around thirty with black hair. The man has a beard. The woman is carrying the baby. When I saw them, they were wearing Santa hats.”
“Saw them a couple hours ago.”
“Where?” Another five-dollar bill went into the bucket.
“Walking that way.” He pointed west.
Matt felt his spirits rise. That would take them toward the intersection where he first saw them. He dropped one more five into the bucket. “Thank you. Merry Christmas.”
“I’m here every day!” The man called after him, rattling the change in his bucket.
Matt hurried back to his car. At Seventh and Fifth, he saw only cars. He circled the block and drove through the intersection again, wondering if he’d been given accurate information or the man had simply told him what he wanted to hear so he would be more generous.
***
If he couldn’t find the family, maybe they could find him. He decided to follow Handyman’s suggestion to visit shelters and leave a message. He carefully composed a message. “Hello. I saw you and your baby recently at Seventh and Fifth in downtown. You were wearing Santa hats. I gave you a twenty-dollar bill. My family and I want to help you if we can.” He added his address, house and cellphone numbers and printed multiple copies. He studied the note, then signed each copy and wrote a postscript. “This is not a trick to locate and arrest you.”
One by one he visited the shelters, described the family and his motive to a staff member and left the message.
***
With only days until Christmas, he had to get cracking on his Secret Santa gifts. His wife was easy. Deidre bemoaned the lack of good news. So, every day he would find a piece of good news on the Internet and send her a link. Seeking out good news would be therapeutic for himself as well. With any luck, his first good news story could be finding the family.
Over Thanksgiving, Erik struggled to remember who was who in the extended family. For his future son-in-law, he could make a family directory that included his siblings and their spouses, their children and grandchildren. Everyone’s contact information.
When Allison was a child, he often tucked her in at night with stories about Bunny and Goose, shadow characters he created with his hands on the bedroom wall. For old times’ sake, he would point his phone at the wall in Allison’s room and record a new story about Bunny and Goose, now adults.
Chris remained a problem. The perfect idea popped when he heard Bruce Springsteen’s raucous rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” They had planned to attend Springsteen’s concert in 2023, but Chris had been transferred to San Francisco. Audio of the concert could be purchased from the artist’s website, but Secret Santa rules applied. On YouTube he found 11 videos from the concert. He’d give Chris the YouTube links and his ticket stub from the concert.
He felt ready for Secret Santa.
Christmas Eve morning. Matt picked the kids up at the airport and broke the news that he still had not located the family. But he would keep looking. There was always the possibility that the family would turn up in the new year. For those still needing food for Christmas, he made a final delivery of food donations to Open Cupboard. On impulse, he drove the streets of downtown St. Paul one more time. Disappointed, he headed home.
***
On Christmas morning, Deidre was already up when Matt came downstairs. They wished each other Merry Christmas. Halfway through their coffee, Allison and Erik joined them. The minutes ticked by as they waited for Chris to come down so they could open their Secret Santa gifts.
“Where is that boy?” Matt wondered. “It’s Christmas morning!” he headed upstairs to wake him.
“He’s not here!” He hurried downstairs, a concerned look on his face.
“Last night he was still working on one of his Secret Santa gifts,” Allison said. “Maybe he’s out doing something related to that.”
“On Christmas morning? Nothing’s open.” Through the picture window, Matt saw the SUV swing into the driveway and disappear into the garage. They heard the door that led from the garage into the kitchen open and bang shut.
“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Chris proclaimed as he entered the living room. “Sorry, I had to run an errand.” He winked at his mother.
“If you’re ready, then let’s open our Secret Santa gifts,” Deidre said. “I’ll start.” She disappeared into the kitchen and a moment later returned, followed by a man and woman. The woman cradled a baby against her chest. They were wearing Santa hats.
“Oh, my God!” Matt exclaimed.
“Matt,” Deidre said, “I’d like you to meet Michael, Jessica and Isaac. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited them to spend Christmas Day with us. Merry Christmas from all of us.”
Michael extended his hand. “Mr. Bartholomew, it’s an honor.”
Matt seized his hand and didn’t want to let go.
“Call me Matt! Of all the possibilities in the world, I never expected this! My prayers were answered!”
“So were ours,” Jessica said. “I’m so glad to meet you.”
“How did you find them?” Matt demanded.
“Yesterday, someone at the shelter where they were staying saw their Santa hats and remembered your message,” Deidre explained. “Michael called yesterday while you were making your delivery to Open Cupboard. It took all of us to pull this off. Allison and Erik went over to meet them and explained everything to them. Chris was supposed to slip out and get them during the night, so they would be here when you got up, but he overslept.”
“Sorry, Mom!”
“I should have contacted the shelters earlier,” Matt lamented.
“You wouldn’t have found us,” Michael said. “We’ve been sleeping in the storage unit where we keep our furniture. Jess didn’t want to spend Christmas there.”
There would be time later to hear their story in full and learn how the Bartholomew family could assist them. They’d open their other Secret Santa gifts and embrace all of their Christmas Day traditions. But first things first.
“May I?” Matt held out his arms for the baby. He cradled Isaac against his chest.
“Hello, Isaac! I’ve been looking for you! Merry Christmas!”
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