The Ornament Maker

Dedicated to my brother Davey, the real-life “Ornament Maker”

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To this very day I don’t know what his name was. To us kids he was just “The Ornament Maker,” but, to be truthful, none of us were certain he really was. Factually, all we know is that each Christmastime up until about 1966, every family in the neighborhood would wake up on that special morning to find hanging on their front door a small, draw-stringed bag, and inside would be an exquisite hand-made ornament for their tree. It got to be a ritual for most of us in the neighborhood, that the first thing we’d do on Christmas morning, even before coffee (for the parents) and checking out the gifts, was to open the front door to retrieve our latest ornament. We never saw them being delivered, and so could only speculate as to their source; but as the years went by the neighborhood Christmas trees more and more reflected the artistry, skill and good will of the “Ornament Maker.”

Back then we lived on a dead-end street in the suburbs, in one of those neighborhoods built in the 1950s baby-boomer era, where every house, with a few exceptions, had more or less the same design. Our family, which would eventually include six of us kids, arrived in 1954; and shortly thereafter came the Healys, the Landons, the Jellefs, the McCorkles, the Morrises and the Doberwitzes. For a kid, it was a great place to grow up, with lots of other kids to play and roam with. Nearby there were plenty of undeveloped areas that, being still heavily wooded, were perfect for our camps and tree houses. In those woods our imaginations ran wild; one day we’d be western heroes galloping hither and yon, our six guns blazing, while the next we’d be a group of intrepid explorers challenging the unknown, or a platoon of soldiers battling an evil enemy. I was killed many times in those days, but I can tell you I had a great time, despite dying so much.

Not every house in the area was one of those recently built baby-boomer houses. A few looked like they had been there for 30 years or more, and so did the people who lived in them. One of these houses was situated in the woods, beyond where our street ended. There was no direct route to it from our neighborhood, except through the woods, which tended to make it a bit cut-off from us. Thus, the old man who lived there was never involved in our neighborhood activities. I saw him a few times, when our childhood ramblings took us close to his old house; and a couple times I spoke to him. The first time I was 8 or 9 years old and was crying because I had fallen and scraped my knee during one of our heroic charges. The old man, having witnessed the accident, came over and helped me get up and dust myself off. Miraculously, he even had a band-aid for my knee. I’ve always wondered about that. Did the old guy usually carry band-aids around with him, just in case? Anyway, within a couple minutes I was as good as new and ready to re-join my friends. I looked up at him to thank him, and saw a face, old and weathered, but kind; its crow-feet eyes twinkling, its mouth etched in what seemed a permanent smile, the rest of the face wrinkling in response to it. Instantly, I liked the man. Shaking my small hand, he accepted my thanks, and I took off again to find my friends. When I found them I told them about the old man helping me, and several of them told of similar experiences of their own with him. None of us knew his name, however, and for the most part the old guy remained a mystery to us. Perhaps you can see, then, that it was logical for us to wonder about him being the unknown artist, when the ornaments started appearing.

I recall the ornaments showing up for the first time at our doorstep on Christmas morning in ’56 or ‘57. That initial ornament was a simple image of Santa Claus. Made of fired clay, the laughing figurine was brightly painted, with a red suit, black boots, white beard and hair and rosy cheeks. The artwork exquisite, it was obvious whoever made this ornament was a master. Our mystery as to where the ornament came from was surpassed only by our wonder at its beauty, and soon it was hanging on our Christmas tree, prominently featured.  Later that day, as we made the rounds of the neighborhood, we found we weren’t the only ones who’d been visited during the night. Every family on our dead-end street had woken up Christmas morning to find their own version of the Santa Claus ornament hanging on their front door. No two of these Santa ornaments were exactly alike, which meant the artist was not mass producing them. Instead they appeared to be hand-made, with Santa’s pose and expression being slightly different in each. None of our neighbors knew where or whom the ornaments came from, any more than our family, and for the next couple of days the mystery was a common topic amongst us. Eventually, as that Christmas faded into the recent past, we all forgot about the ornament mystery, and got on with our lives.

That is until the next Christmas was upon us. I remember that I awoke that morning, excited to see what I had gotten for Christmas, but also remembering the mystery ornament from the year before. Now, I didn’t really expect to see the small, draw-stringed bag on our door knob that year, but decided that, before plowing into my gifts, I would check anyway. So, you can imagine my astonishment when, upon opening the door, there was another small bag suspended there. I immediately brought it into the house, called my parents and siblings over, and withdrew the contents from the bag. Once in view, we could all see another beautiful ornament, this time of Rudolph the Red-Nose reindeer in a prancing pose, with one eye winking at us. Again of fired clay, Rudolph was painted with a master’s touch; brown, with darker hooves and antlers, a brown and white tail and a bright red nose. All of us marveled at the skill of whoever had created this Rudolph; but, as with the year before, it was a mystery. Later that day we checked with the other neighbors just to be sure, but we already knew they most likely had received their own versions of the fabulous Rudolph ornament. We were right, and so the mystery began in earnest. Just who was it that was delivering these exquisite Christmas ornaments to our doorsteps, unseen, the night before Christmas morning? Whoever it was had to be incredibly talented art-wise, but also expert in the skills of stealth. At no time did any of us or the neighbors hear anything, or were there any barking dogs to arouse anyone. No one saw anything. It was almost as if the ornament bags simply appeared, ready-made on each doorstep. But that couldn’t be…or could it?

The years went by, and the 1950s merged into the 1960s. Many changes were happening, and the kids on our dead-end street were growing up; but one constant was that each year the families in our neighborhood would find a small, draw-stringed bag on their door knobs on Christmas morning, with a unique, hand-made ornament inside. In the few weeks leading up to Christmas the ornaments were always the subject of much discussion amongst the neighbors. Would they be coming once again this year? Would we at long last find out who was making and delivering them? In our speculation as to who could be the person behind the beautiful ornaments, my friends and I kept coming back to the old man who lived in the house in the woods. We would still see him from time to time, puttering around his garden or fixing something on his house. Invariably he would wave at us, and we would wave back. It must be him that is making them, we thought. While we didn’t know just what creative skills the old man possessed, we knew for sure that none of our parents or anyone we knew made them. None of them, except our Mom, who was an excellent artist, had the necessary art chops for the ornaments; and none, including our Mom, had the time to make and deliver them. Who did that leave as the likely suspect?

One time, on a dare from my friends, I got up the courage to ask the old man about the ornaments. Had he heard about them? Did he have any idea who was creating them and then hanging them on the neighborhood doors the night before Christmas? In response, the old man just looked at me and smiled his omnipresent smile. After a moment he said that he really had no idea who the ornament maker was, but that he was glad that each family in the neighborhood had their Christmas brightened by the gift. His eyes twinkling with delight as he spoke; I got the distinct impression that he was withholding something, but I did not query him further about it.

In retrospect, I wish I had, for I never had the chance to speak to the old man again. In the spring of 1966 we heard that he’d passed away. I wasn’t surprised by the news; I mean the guy was already old when I first met him. By 1966 my friends and I were well into teenage-dom with all that implies, and had been for some time. Our childhood games long since behind us, we didn’t get up to the woods much anymore, and so had little chance to cross paths with the old man. However, our suspicions about him being the “Ornament Maker” were somewhat confirmed later that year when, for the first time in 10 years, we did not find a beautiful Christmas ornament in a small, draw-string bag hanging on our door on Christmas morning. None of the neighbors did either. Partially due to me spreading suspicions about him, most everyone on our dead-end street concluded that the old man must have been the “Ornament Maker,” and left it at that. I did too. For us the mystery was solved, more or less.

As I write this, many years have come and gone since the “Ornament Maker” mystery.  My own parents have now passed on and the beautiful hand-made ornaments have been handed down to their children and their families.  My wife and I have several of them, and every year we put them on our tree, prominently displayed; still as exquisite as the day they were crafted.  Our Christmas guests are always commenting on them, and I enjoy telling them the “Ornament Maker” story.

With this last Christmas, however, the story took on a startling twist; which, even though I swear it happened, I still can’t quite believe. We had some guests over for Christmas eve, and so got to bed a bit late. Sometime around 3 AM I awoke with a start. I thought I heard something and went out to the living room to inspect. Everything was quiet and seemed to be in order, but just to be certain I switched on the front porch light, and opened the door. The snow outside glistened in the dim light, reflecting a mild glow in the otherwise dark night. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary; but then my attention seized upon the front door knob and froze; for there, gently swinging back and forth, was a small, draw-string bag.

Initially stunned, after a few moments of shock, I started laughing. The old man must be losing it, I thought. Back in the old days we could never hear him make his night before Christmas deliveries.

Content to let my wife open the small bag later that morning, I went back to bed for some much needed sleep.

Merry Christmas!

Copyright © 2019

By Mark Arnold

All Rights Reserved