PART THREE: On the Third Week of Christmas….
It may have been hard, but Jennifer survived her five-day suspension from school.
There had been many dirty dishes, a few grocery errands and many telemarketers soliciting everything from magazine subscriptions to sweepstakes. Nevertheless, Jennifer really did survive. Susan and Angela did not call her at home – they got drunk on the same field trip – but Sally visited Jennifer's window around 3 a.m. on Thursday night. The reason: she overheard Uncle Johnny talking to her aunt. They wanted to send Sally to Fort Jefferson Military Academy .
“Call it Fort Tehran ,” complained Sally, crawling into Jennifer's bedroom while the kids slept. Sally referred to a city in Iran , which was probably the world's most hated country at the time. “You know what they do at that hole? Wake everyone up at five in the morning, make them clean toilets and floors with a toothbrush, feed them slop, give you tons of homework, and schedule lights out at 9:30. Man, life like that sucks.”
“Dad saw you on TV the other night,” said Jennifer quietly, so that no one else in the house could hear. “It was bold of you, Lindsay and Lisa to stand up for a cause like that.”
“Thanks,” said a relieved Sally. “My uncle, on the other hand, thinks I'm a disgrace to the human race because I torched Reagan at the demonstration. That old fart – I'd tell you. Did you see The Day After on TV last month?”
Jennifer replied, “That movie scared the living Jesus out of me. Unfortunately, dad couldn't see it because he was on a run at work. But he's heard about it.”
Suddenly, both Jennifer and Sally heard Roy ask loudly, “Jennifer, what's that noise?”
Sally started through the opened window. “I have to get going,” she announced quietly. “See you later. We'll do that Christmas shopping thing on Saturday, eh?”
“Sure thing,” smiled Jennifer, relieved that by Saturday her life sentence, sort to speak, would disappear. Sally climbed down the tree and disappeared into a waiting van. She was on her way home from another school prom that she crashed – the one that Jennifer, Susan and Angela wanted to attend.
That Saturday, Jennifer and her friends walked to the Palisades Center for Christmas shopping and lunch in the food court. When they returned home, they were surprised to see an ancient Volkswagen bus with equally ancient Peace logos painted on it.
“Cool,” proclaimed Sally, as she approached the bus. “So ‘60s!”
Jennifer wasn't so sure. That bus looked familiar. She knew it belonged to her eccentric Uncle Lloyd, who didn't seem sure whether the year was 1983 or 1968. “Guys, let's sneak in through the back door,” she said, before they entered the gate enclosing the back yard.
In the meantime, five people stepped excitedly out of the van. A man wearing long reddish blond hair, a scraggly beard and oily worn jeans beheld the decorations that now twinkled in the darkening atmosphere. His equally sloppily dressed entourage crowded him.
“Man,” said a dark-skinned man wearing worn love beads, headband and leather vest with fringes, “your brother sure knows how to play into the hands of those corporate fat cats.”
“What I see here,” said the red haired man, “is our home for a while, you dig?” And the five leftover hippies headed towards the doorway. The station wagon stopped on the driveway, and Roy and Joanne stepped out, carrying their own wrapped Christmas gifts. So did Agnes and Archie. They all looked confused, astounded and disgusted at once.
“Your home decoration even attracts beach bums,” reported Agnes Lucchese. “I'm taking the back door.”
Roy stopped her. “I know these people,” he assured. “They may be crazy, but they're harmless.” He started towards the front door. Joanne, her mother and Archie stayed next to the car, in case Roy 's intuition proved wrong. They didn't really trust people who dressed like bums.
The redheaded bum cheered, “Are you my long-lost little brother?”
“Yes,” smiled Roy , “and this is my castle. You like it?”
“Like it? I love it, man! All sorts of Christmas cheer, and those singing elves in the garden – didn't know you have that Motown thing goin'.” The mechanical elves sang songs from A Motown Christmas , which was a compilation of Christmas songs performed by The Jackson Five, Diana Ross and the Supremes, The Temptations, and other popular Motown groups of the 1960s and early 1970s.
“A friend put these elves here,” smiled Roy . “They've attracted a lot of attention here so far.”
Uncle Lloyd had to introduce his friends: “Of course, my name is Lloyd. My black buddy here is Lincoln , call him Link. This girl doing the Janis Joplin thing here is Flower, and her friend is Ebony. And, my best buddy of all, Gimp.” Gimp looked even weirder than Uncle Lloyd did, with greasy black hair, pockmarked and weathered skin, a beard that grew from his chin to his chest, worn blue jeans, and shoes that were so scuffed and holey that they looked salvaged from a garbage can. He also walked with a noticeable limp, perhaps because of an untreated broken leg that he sustained years ago.
Now that strange crowd proved it was harmless, Joanne and her party joined Roy at the door. Immediately, Joanne felt taken aback by their smell. They had not washed in years, she thought. She and her party quickly stepped inside the house, fearing it would turn into a drop-in center for down-and-outers if Roy had his way.
“We were on our way to Big Sur to find a new home,” announced Uncle Lloyd, “but it grew dark and we decided, ‘Hey, it would be nice to crash at my brother's place for awhile.' So, that's why we're here, you dig?”
Bunch of freeloaders , thought Roy , but he was too polite to blurt what he felt. Instead, he said, “Come right in, guys. There's plenty of room. And, you look hungry, too, guys. We have lots of health food – granola, yogurt, and organic vegetables, everything a hippie would want. Everything,” he added nervously, “but LSD and pot, but I'm sure you'll understand.”
“That cat is cool!” “This place is the Beverly Wiltshire!” “Man, we'll really have a Merry Christmas!” “They even have cable TV!” A clamor of voices entered the DeSoto household, and then disappeared.
Roy and Uncle Lloyd drank their eggnogs in the dining room. In the living room, the hippies sat cross-legged on the floor and watched TV. Reruns of The Partridge Family and The Mod Squad were all they wanted to see, much to the chagrin of Christopher and the kids.
“Can't we watch the movie channel,” complained Christopher. “ Friday the 13 th 's on right now.”
The hippies ignored the boy. Instead, they laughed heartily at the ancient humor of The Partridge Family – a humor that Christopher did not notice. Neither did Brooke and her sister. “They're all wearing funny clothes on TV,” noticed Alicia, who held on to her Hug-a-Lot Care Bear.
“Can't we watch MTV,” asked Brooke.
“MTV,” cried Link. “Kid, MTV doesn't show real music with real meaning.”
“It's all pretty rich kids who dress and dance funny,” added Flower. She munched into her bag of Chips Ahoy, a decidedly un-hippie thing to eat. “Real music has to have a message for the world to listen to. Like the message that it's wrong for Mr. President to use atomic bombs on innocent people.”
Brooke turned to her teenage cousin. She whispered, “These weirdos scare me.”
Joanne entered the living room and announced to her son and nieces, “Kids, Chet has re-installed that video game set in the rec room. He's inviting you to play Space Invaders with him.”
Feeling paroled, Christopher stood up and left the living room. His knee-high cousins followed.
That left Roy alone in the living and dining rooms with five hippies. He and Uncle Lloyd walked into the living room area, still carrying their cups of eggnog. Higgins and Popsicle followed them, and then jumped onto the sofa. Ebony stroked on their fur, and Higgins licked her hand. Popsicle purred and rubbed his head against her hip.
Uncle Lloyd noticed the Christmas tree standing in front of the window. “It's great that people are turnin' back to nature,” he said, admiring the tree. “It seems like only yesterday that people were puttin' up those ugly shiny aluminum trees around this time of the year.”
“I cut this tree down myself,” said Roy proudly. “We used to have an aluminum tree ourselves, but Jennifer nearly poked her eye out with one of its branches when she was two, and we had to throw it out. Besides, they stopped manufacturing those things by the late ‘60s.”
“Real cutie, that Jennifer,” complimented her uncle. “How old is she now?”
“Thirteen. She turns 14 in March.”
“And that young man who just left the room?”
“He just turned 15 on November 23.”
“Kids, they just grow too quickly these days,” observed Uncle Lloyd. “Does Chris have a part-time job?”
“He works part-time at Clown Burger,” replied his father.
“Tough break,” said the hippie. “Wasn't it the place that had that food poisoning epidemic back in '76?”
Roy answered, almost sadly, “Yes, it was. Jennifer almost died from salmonella poisoning, and her cousin died. It's hard to believe that Katie would have been 12 in October. The last seven years have been hard for her parents, but they moved on. Scott quit Clown Burger to take an executive job at another burger conglomerate, Teresa is now an activist urging health departments to enforce tougher food safety guidelines, and they have had three more children. They even had to move to Chicago because L.A. brought back too many bad memories. And Chris doesn't work at the same Clown Burger that sold those people the bad food – they closed that location down last year.”
“I don't eat fast food,” proudly proclaimed Uncle Lloyd. “I call them Frankenstein food because of all the un-natural stuff they put in ‘em. Gimp and Flower go dumpster divin' all the time, and it is amazin' that people throw away good food. Yesterday, we feasted on perfectly good tacos from a wonderful East L. A. greasy spoon that somebody threw away after they closed for the night, and found some Nestle Crunch bars that just passed the expiry date. Who cares? They still tasted good.”
Ugh, thought Roy , reflecting on the thought of picking food out of a dumpster or garbage can. Uncle Lloyd ate old tacos that contained ants and maggots in the ground beef – who knew with throwaway food. Suppose he found a box of candy that had fire ants and mealworms mixed in with the chocolate.
Roy 's stomach nearly churned with these thoughts – and churned even more when Uncle Lloyd blurted, “My buddies and I plan to stay here ‘til the tourists leave Big Sur next month.”
There goes the neighborhood!
Uncle Lloyd and his hippie friends spent the third week of Christmas in the garage, sharing sleeping space with Chet Kelly and Marco Lopez. As a result, Chet and Marco hardly got any sleep. Instead of hearing vintage country music on the transistor radio, they listened to rock music from the Vietnam War era: Crosby , Stills and Nash; Credence Clearwater Revival; The Doors; and Three Dog Night. No big deal in itself, since Chet liked psychedelic music and Marco's favorite all-time music group was The Doors. However, Uncle Lloyd and his entourage decided it was appropriate to leave the garage door open, set a bonfire in the backyard, and celebrate their carefree lifestyles. Who cared if the neighbors, or even the other houseguests, hated the all-night events?
Wednesday was garbage collection day on Elm Street , and residents who have not gone away on vacation left their garbage bags on the curb. Roy, who did not have to work that day, left his trash on the curb the night before. He woke up around 7 a.m. and, dressed in a plaid shirt and pale yellow sweater because it was a cool day, he walked down the stairs, past the kitchen. There, Christopher and Jennifer argued once more.
“I didn't pour mom's expensive perfume in my bath,” shouted Jennifer.
“Well, someone did,” countered Christopher. “I swear that Pepi LePeu took a bath in Chanel No. 5 again. I thought I was going to puke!”
“The kids were screwing around again,” cried his sister. “Mom's room is off-limits.”
Brooke joined in: “Well, I see mom pour perfume into her bath.”
“I wouldn't be surprised if one of those bums took their first baths in their lives in that thing,” shouted Christopher. “The bathroom reeks.”
Roy ignored the argument, walking into the living room instead. At the window, Joanne joined him. “Hungry, honey,” she asked.
“Not really,” said Roy . “What's the situation in the kitchen?”
Joanne sighed, “The kids got into my perfume tray again. I spoke to their mothers about this, but all they said were ‘kids will be kids.'”
“Penny and Meredith have always been soft touches around kids…” Roy noticed five bums scurrying though the neighborhood garbage – including his own: “We also have five a-holes picking garbage in our neighborhood. If they want to pursue that hobby, they should have found themselves a nice $15-a-night room in the South Side.”
“ Roy , they don't have much money and they don't qualify for food stamps in this state because they don't live in a fixed address.”
“Well, Lloyd should know that garbage picking is illegal in Carson ,” indicated Roy . “I don't know how politicians come up with those rules, but they do.”
Roy and Joanne looked out their window. At least one neighbor, a kindly looking elderly woman with silver grey hair and dark-framed glasses shooed Flower from her pile of trash after she opened it – and found a loaf of moldy Wonder bread to eat. “Get a job, you dirty bum,” the woman cried, throwing a kumquat at Flower's direction, but missing her. Flower walked away with the stale bread and nothing else.
Link dove into a garbage can and struck gold. He found a half-eaten whole fish and some cold kernels of corn in the can, which he pulled out. Good thing the DeSotos' next-door neighbors were at work, and Link came armed with a Glad bag to put his food.
Uncle Lloyd and Gimp climbed onto an orange tree on the front yard of the DeSotos' across-the-street neighbors. Ebony gathered all the fruit they threw down to her. That was, until a group of kids who were home from school for the holidays noticed what was going on.
“Hey, stinkers,” cried one of the kids, “why are you dressed for Halloween?”
Another kid shouted, “Why are you still dressed like you're on The Brady Bunch ?”
“Aren't you retards too old to be climbing trees?” That kid threw a rotten orange at Uncle Lloyd, who was perched 10 feet above them. Gimp grabbed his crotch to express contempt for the rude and mouthy brats. The kids ran away.
“ Chester , the child molester,” cried the first kid.
“Get a haircut, hippies,” shouted the second kid.
“Freaks on the loose,” mocked the third kid.
At home, Roy shook his head: “Kids are getting ruder every day.”
“Those Millers don't know how to discipline their mouthy brats,” added Joanne. “They'll be busy handing out lumps of coal on Sunday.” That Sunday, of course, was Christmas Day.
“Principal Brokaw might have had a handful with Jennifer and her friends,” discussed Roy , sitting on his reclining chair, “but the Miller kids will be at Orange Grove soon. The lady will get a nervous breakdown when she deals with them.”
From the kitchen, Jennifer cried, “Mom, dad, Brooke and the kids are having a food fight.”
Brooke cried, “Yuk! I hate eggs!”
“Don't you have apple juice,” shouted Ryan. “Orange juice sucks.”
“Land O Lakes margarine,” whined Jessica. “I hate Land O Lakes! I want Country Crock!”
Matthew Kelly screamed, “I want hotcakes and sausage!”
After a brief moment of silence, Brooke suddenly sobbed, “Whaaa! Stinky Matthew's thrown bacon and eggs on my new dress!”
“No, I didn't, you dumb blonde!” Even at age three, Matthew Kelly knew every G-rated insult in the book. “Ryan did it.”
“You know what they do with liars in Saudi Arabia ,” cried Chet Kelly, who apparently had orange juice splashed on his shirt. “They cut their tongues out.”
The kids said together, “Ugh! Gross!”
Irena Lopez raced out of the kitchen with Ana Maria in her arms. “Those kids in there are monstruos ,” she complained, “monsters. They need a good spanking.” She walked upstairs with the baby: “Mouthy brats. I hope you'll not end up like that, bebe chica .” Irena used the Spanish translation of the words “baby girl.”
“Mouthy brats notwithstanding,” said Roy , as the kitchen catastrophe continued, “I get the feeling that our Christmas this year will be a mess. We have nearly 30 people in this house, the kids are arguing, my crazy brother looks like Charles Manson and scares everybody who looks at him, and my Christmas bonus check from the fire department is late this year.”
“Don't worry, Roy . It'll come.” Joanne sat on the sofa. “The fire department has often been late with their bonus checks.”
“Disorganized is more like it,” grumbled Roy . “Ever since I got transferred out of Station 51, I'd get my Christmas bonuses either on December 26 or the day after New Year. One year, I didn't get it at all despite an excellent performance review – the nice girl over at the county records department reassured me that my check was in the mail. What a crock.”
“Is Johnny having the same problems with the bonus checks,” asked Joanne.
“I spoke to him last night,” said Roy . “He's also having problems with them. One year, they paid him $1000 less than he was entitled. Another year, they gave him a voucher for the Soda of the Month Club instead. Johnny's performance review suffered this year because he doesn't get along with his assistant captain, and guess who his assistant captain is.”
“Craig Brice,” remembered Joanne.
“Bingo,” said Roy sarcastically. “The Walking Rulebook drives almost everybody he works with nuts. One of the most effective paramedics we have in L. A. County , but definitely no people person. He's nitpicking on almost every little mistake that people make, and Johnny wants to hang him every single time. His fine qualities rub off on everyone in his family: his brother Chuck sucks the fun out of every County Employee 's Picnic that we've ever had, and his nephew is so fussy that he'll die of a heart attack before he's 20. What's more, Craig Brice put up the biggest, flashiest Christmas decorations for that contest our department's holding.”
Joanne wondered, “How could Craig afford them on his salary?”
“I wonder myself. I'll have to ask Johnny.”
John and Roy drove to K-Mart that afternoon for more Christmas shopping.
“Brice's other brother runs a sign making business,” explained John, putting a box of Trivial Pursuit into his shopping cart. “That guy makes some brilliant signs for Brice for free, using scraps from rejected orders.”
“Well, that's a smart way to reuse materials,” said Roy . He stopped to admire a bottle of perfume, but realized that it was nothing but some cheap knockoff of a well-known French perfume. “He wouldn't have to send everything to the Los Angeles Dump – you know, plastic takes roughly 150 years to break down in the ground.” He and Johnny resumed walking along the aisle.
Stopping in the candy section, Johnny finds a large bag of Brach's assorted candies on one of the shelves. He puts it in his cart, while Roy picks up boxes of Russell Stover chocolates for himself and each of his family members. “Don't you have 30 people at your place,” asked Johnny.
“I'm not sure what everyone else wants,” replied Roy , putting Terry's Chocolate Orange into the cart. “All I know is that my mother-in-law doesn't like chocolate and her boyfriend doesn't have teeth. I also know that one of the kids staying with us is allergic to nuts, which rules any candy out for her. Joanne will take care of everyone else's treats by Saturday, but I told her that any residue of nuts that Brooke comes into contact with could kill her.”
“That's awful,” sympathized John Gage. Both paramedics endured heartbreaking runs that involved children succumbing to food allergies, including something as innocuous as peanuts. “These kids can't go to sleepovers, have birthday parties, eat Halloween treats, or even share schoolyard lunches because they could die after eating a cake or something.”
Stepping back into the toy section, Johnny and Roy find a queue of other shoppers clamoring over Cabbage Patch Kids, the hottest toys that holiday season. They joined that queue, and were elated to pick up three of the dolls for $35 each. That was, despite another shopper's desperate attempt to snatch the dolls from Johnny's hands. “It's for my daughter,” she cried.
It was too late. Johnny and Roy quickly ran into another aisle in the toy section, picked out a few action figures from the Rambo series and, from the games section, a box of Hungry, Hungry Hippo and, for Christopher and Jennifer, Asteroids and Miss Pac-man. In that section, they saw Dixie McCall, the head nurse at Rampart General Hospital . A blonde girl in pigtails accompanied her, about seven years old. She carried a box containing a Care Bear.
“Samantha doesn't like Cabbage Patch Kids,” smiled Dixie , holding the child's hand. “By the way, Samantha is my niece. My family's staying at my house for the holidays.”
“I have family and a few friends staying over myself and, I'd tell you, it's a full house,” related Roy , not telling Dixie about the mayhem that happened that month so far. “So far, my family's spent upwards of $3000 on Christmas. With 30 people and then some on the list, I hate to think about how my credit card statement is going to look by January. I'm in debt, like everybody else.”
“Join the club,” said Dixie . “I have a snobby sister who won't accept presents that were bought at places like this – she won't even accept stuff from Sears, for heaven's sake. For her, I must have spent $30 on a large box of Godiva chocolates, upwards of $500 worth of accessories at Bloomingdales, and a gift certificate for a day at one of the finest spas in Beverly Hills . Her husband must consider filing for Chapter 11 protection because of her expensive tastes.”
Roy replied, “I don't have that kind of problem in my family, although I insist on paying top dollar for any perfume I buy for Joanne. I don't like cheap perfume – they smell funny and don't give a good message about the giver.”
“Sally buys presents for herself,” added John. “She thumbs her nose down on anything that's not recorded by Billy Idol or Depeche Mode or any of those groups.”
Dixie nodded, “Sally looks like she's into new wave or punk. I saw her at one of those trendy stores at the Palisades Center the other day. It was only yesterday that I saw her in pigtails and glasses.”
“That's Sally alright.”
“I've been thinking,” said Dixie . “We're looking for a Santa Claus to visit kids who won't be coming home for Christmas at the hospital. Hershel, who had been our official Santa for years, has just died of a heart attack. Do you know somebody who'd be available on Saturday night?”
“You could be Santa,” Johnny told Roy .
“We have a family get-together at my place that night,” warned Roy . “I have to be there for Joanne and the family.”
“Do you have a brother?”
“If you could call him one,” said Roy . Then, he looks to Dixie : “My brother Lloyd used to be a Big Brother years ago. If you look past his, er, appearance, then you'll see that he's great with kids.”
“Then, I'd like you to bring Lloyd to Rampart General Hospital for an orientation tomorrow night at seven,” smiled Dixie. “I look forward to seeing him there. I'm sure he'll be the knight in shining armor, like you are to so many people in L. A. County .”
“I try to be.”
“See you tomorrow.” Dixie and her niece walk away, with the latter waving at Johnny and Roy. They waved back.
Recommending Uncle Lloyd for that plum volunteer job at Rampart General Hospital was one thing. Convincing him to do it, however, was another, as Roy DeSoto learned that night.
“I didn't come here to be Santa Claus to a bunch of kids,” cried Lloyd, his Wolfman Jack-like voice sounding plaintive. “All I and my buddies want here is to have fun – and you're pushin' this commercialism shit on me? That isn't cool, you dig?”
“I know you haven't had a job since Johnson was President…”
“Damn right. Work stresses you out, makes you worship material things, and shortens your life. Why people don't relax and have fun anymore? Money's not as important as you people think it is.”
Roy said, “Lloyd, what the hospital's giving you is a chance to share your love with kids who won't be home this Christmas. You hippies give lip service to words such as peace, love and harmony. This is the chance to put those words into action. But what they want you to do,” Roy demurred, “is wash up and at least look presentable.”
“I'm not walkin' out lookin' like that filthy rich cat J. R. Ewing,” snapped Lloyd.
“You don't have to,” replied his brother. “Santa Claus has long hair and a beard. Wear them, but just get rid of the tangles and seaweed and stuff.”
Roy immediately put his brother in a three-hour cleaning ritual. That consisted of a long hot bath with plenty of soap, water and shampoo. Next, Roy took Lloyd to a barbershop, where Roy 's longtime barber made sense of the knots and dirt that marred Lloyd's hair. Then, it was back to K-Mart, where Uncle Lloyd selected a pair of Levi's, a black Harley Davidson T-shirt and a black leather vest. When it was over, Lloyd looked more like a biker than a hippie – which actually pleased his hippie friends.
“My! Don't you look like a million bucks,” proclaimed Flower, back in their garage dormitory.
Ebony smiled, “You'll knock'em dead at that hospital tomorrow night.”
Gimp only gave Lloyd an “a-okay” sign with his thumb and forefinger.
Link gave Lloyd a high-five with his hand. “You look real good for a white cat,” he said.
“I don't care if the cat's black or white or purple,” proclaimed Lloyd, “he's part of the human race. Everyone's the same, you dig?”
“Big time,” agreed Ebony. “Why do these dumbassed, ignorant losers at the KKK think different?”
“Why Santy Claus ain't black,” Link said rhetorically. “And Jesus couldn't have been born white, like people say. He came from an area where there are mostly brown-skinned people.”
“Don't ask me, kids,” smiled Lloyd. He settled into his sleeping bag, munching into his box of saltine crackers, dipping some of them into a newly opened jar of Jif. He offered the crackers and peanut butter to his friends: “Want some, guys?”
The hippies shared this snack, but not before Lloyd said, “Here's to the best holiday season we've ever had – so far.”
“And here's to Rampart General Hospital 's newest fake Santy,” concluded Link, lying on top of his sleeping bag.
Roy accompanied Uncle Lloyd to Rampart General Hospital the following evening. Lloyd wore his new vest, Harley Davidson shirt and jeans, but also wore a new pair of aviator sunglasses.
“This place makes me nervous.” Lloyd said quietly, looking at the activity that surrounded him and his brother. The main floor was in the middle of major renovations, but doctors still whisked from one treatment room to another. Nurses in white, pink or pale blue pantsuits or overcoats walked briskly through the halls – they were not required to wear the traditional nurse's caps anymore, so they did not look much different from the doctors. Patients wheeled into treatment rooms, in varied medical conditions. Roy noticed two female paramedics wearing Squad 51 hats, badges and credit card-sized nametags. He knew they were A-shifters, with one paramedic going to medical school full-time. Visitors seated in the waiting room, watching Dan Rather on the CBS Evening News, or reading either the latest issue or a recent back copy of Time , Newsweek or People .
Roy was used to this kind of activity at Rampart. “Don't worry,” he assured. “This isn't one of Rampart's busier times. The people here are very friendly and they will make you feel at home right away. I think you'll like it here.”
Dixie McCall, who stood patiently in the reception area, greeted the two men. “So, you are the knight in shining armor that Roy 's been talking about,” she smiled. “My name is Dixie McCall, and I'm the head nurse here at Rampart.”
“And you're the pretty little angel that Roy talks about all the time,” Lloyd said.
Dixie blushed, “I try.”
Dixie accompanied Roy and his brother into the elevator. Stepping out on the second floor, she began her orientation. “This is Rampart's children's ward,” she said, waving “hi” to the pre-teenagers who stayed in a semi-private room. “We serve all children from birth to age 16 on this floor. We're in the wing that serves older children and teenagers up to age 16 – they're the terrible teens who don't believe in Santa Claus anymore.”
“Terrible teens,” joked a teenage girl, who sat in the lounge with other girls around her age, perhaps Jennifer's age, thought Roy . They watched Wheel of Fortune on the overhead TV set, but paid more attention to their apparently exciting game of Trivial Pursuit. “We may talk and dress funny, but we're not so bad.”
Roy thought that one of the girls in the crowd looked familiar. Monica Babinetz? Jennifer mentioned once that Monica had a medical condition, but not once did Roy assume that she ever needed hospitalization. That was, until tonight, when Roy noticed her at the table, wearing an IV unit and wearing a feeding tube, but still spirited. “I'll stay right here,” announced Roy .
“See ya,” smiled Lloyd, giving his brother a peace gesture. He accompanied Dixie out of the teenagers' wing, with Dixie announcing, “Next, I'll show you the children's wing. This is where you'll meet people who believe in Santa Claus.”
Roy smiled, “Hi, Monica.”
“Hi, Mr. DeSoto,” greeted the teenager. “I look like crap, don't I?”
“I wouldn't say that,” said Roy , sitting behind one of the chairs at the table. “So, what brings you here?”
“Remember when I told Jennifer that I have a medical condition,” began Monica. “Well, it's way more serious than that.” She paused for a moment, and then she spoke delicately, “I have leukemia.”
“I'm sorry,” sympathized Roy . “My cousin had leukemia herself when she was your age.”
Monica's spirited face turned sad and reflective. “Why was I given this death sentence,” she said. “When I'm at home, I can't eat salty foods and have to take medicine every two or three hours. But, at least, I can have a normal life now – I do lots of things in the community to keep my mind off my leukemia. Well, I relapsed yesterday, and that's why I'm here.”
“Which is a lot more than what I can say about my cousin,” Roy spoke. “Back then, leukemia was almost always fatal. Nobody really knew how to treat it back in the ‘50s because people knew little about leukemia, so she lived for one or two years after she was first diagnosed. During that time, everyone just knew that something was wrong with her – there was no way to hide it back then, and people didn't talk openly about cancer in those days. I'm glad that we have a different attitude towards it now.”
“I'm also waiting for a bone marrow transplant – maybe that'll make things easier for me,” reflected Monica. “They tested my parents and my kid brother, but their bone marrows don't match mine, so they're talking to my relatives in Seattle and Winnipeg . They want to narrow their search to people of Ukrainian or Polish ancestry – I'm Ukrainian American. But if they don't find a match, what then?”
“You will find a match, you'll see.” Roy smiled confidently, but his heart told him that such hope might be futile for Monica. Why was leukemia such a cruel, vicious and ugly disease that cut a person down in the prime of their youth?
Monica continued, “This Christmas, Mr. DeSoto, I don't want presents like cassettes and clothes and stuff. I just want another chance to live. If I don't get this bone marrow, I may only have a year to live at best. When other teenagers are having fun, I'd be in this dump waiting to die, and that sucks.”
While his family and friends wanted material things, thought Roy , this young girl wanted something much more significant: the gift of life. Since Monica was one of Jennifer's friends, Jennifer would try to help her as much as she could. So, after wishing Monica her best, Roy stood up and looked for his brother. However, when he stepped into the children's wing, he was delighted that Lloyd had quickly bonded with the kids. As Dixie and Joe Early looked on, Lloyd read How the Grinch Stole Christmas in a way that would have put Boris Karloff to shame. The kids giggled and laughed at Lloyd's narration. Dixie and Joe joined Roy at his side.
“The kids love him,” reported Dixie .
“We've found our Santa Claus,” added Joe. “I think your brother missed his calling in life. He should have been an actor, or at least gone into something that involves kids.”
“Lloyd's a big kid at heart,” says Roy . “Kids pick that up just like that. They don't relate well to people who seem too grown-up or stuffy. Lloyd's anything but.”
After Lloyd recited the popular Dr. Seuss story, he and Roy drove home. First, they drove into a nearby neighborhood to see what Craig Brice was up to as far as Christmas decorating was concerned. Brice may have been in his early thirties, but he moved back with his parents after rent at his apartment increased significantly Apparently, his folks didn't seem to mind the elaborate holiday decorations at their home. There was a Santa's Workshop theme against a California night: Santa Claus and his eight reindeer, plus Rudolph, on the front lawn; the windows, doors and trimmings covered with lit white, red and green candy canes; fake snow on the ground, even in the backyard; and an illuminated sign reading “North Pole – Santa's Workshop.”
“That Brice has finally lost it,” said Roy .
“Who's Brice,” asked Lloyd.
“Oh, one guy who the kids would have hated at the hospital. He's one of the most rigid, inhuman people I know.”
Lloyd concluded, “That cat'll be dead before he's 40.” Then, he and Roy drove off.
At home, Lloyd dressed in his Santa suit and rehearsed his role in the living room. There, the kids watched yet another repeat of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on TV.
“Santa lives here,” whispered Brooke, during another commercial break. “Think Rudolph lives here, too?”
“Kids,” smiled Johnny Gage, yet another person staying at the DeSoto household for the holidays. “The reindeer are around here someplace, but you don't see them. They appear by magic.”
“Magic,” wondered Matthew Kelly.
“Wow,” said Jessica.
“Do presents appear by magic, too,” asked Ryan.
“Think Santa will give me a Cabbage Patch doll for Christmas?”
“And Rambo?”
“Shhh,” said John, “if Santa hears you guessing, you might not get what you want for Christmas.” He saw the show go back on after commercials. “Rudolph is back on TV. Let's see him meet the Misfits somewhere.”
Johnny and the kids watched TV and made fake snowflakes on the coffee table at the same time. Agnes sat on the chair, latch hooking a Christmas star. Archie joined the kids at the coffee table, making crafts with them.
“Having fun,” smiled the old man.
“I love it here,” cheered Brooke. “There are lots of things to do here, like making snowflakes. Grandma Aggie even taught me how to do rug hooking.”
“How is it?”
“Oh, it's a little hard,” analyzed the little girl. “But Grandma Aggie's real patient. She says I always have time to learn how to do it. But mom didn't let me make the cookies and candies with the other kids – I can't eat or touch nuts.”
“What'll happen if you eat peanut butter?”
“Mom says that I'll not wake up anymore. I don't eat cakes and cookies because I'll get real sick.”
The phone rang in the kitchen. Joanne picked up the receiver, and visitors in the living room heard that Christopher was not coming home that evening. He had a closing shift at Clown Burger that night, and decided to stay over at Jeremy Kelly's afterwards.
“I'll have to talk to your manager about this,” said Joanne. “It's not safe for a 15-year-old boy to be scheduled closing shifts unless a responsible adult is present. A girl your age was walking home from her fast-food job last week, but she went missing instead. They have just found her body in the Carson Ravine today. The whole world has gone crazy. There are sick people walking around when they should be in jail or at Shady Acres.”
Even Joanne realized that the hippies staying over at her place may be weird, but would not hurt anyone.
One of them is trying to be Santa Claus in her own home.
Just after Joanne hung up, Jennifer walked into the kitchen. “Monica Babinetz has leukemia,” she began. “Dad told me just now.”
“I've heard the bad news myself,” Joanne agreed. “Tomorrow, you and I will go down to the clinic and we'll have our bone marrows tested. That girl needs all the help she could get right now.”
“I've just gotten off the phone with Susan,” said Jennifer. “She's coming along with Lisa and Sally. I also called Angela and Lindsay, but Mr. Stanley says they're out of town. They're going to New York City after all to see their brother.”
Joanne and Jennifer began a household campaign encouraging family members, friends and visitors to get their bone marrows tested. Most agreed to meet them at Rampart General Hospital 's laboratory the next day. Even Johnny, Roy and their colleagues found time despite their being scheduled to work 12- or 24-hour shifts that day.
Meanwhile, battalion 8 Chief Andrew Belliveau and fire department Chief Pat McConnikee visited the homes of the firefighters who participated in the outdoor decorating contest. The two men wanted to see the decorations at day as well as in their evening splendor.
Uncle Lloyd and his hippie friends rehearsed their roles as Santa Claus and his elves. He learned that Rampart General Hospital also wanted elves to hand out presents to hospital-bound young patients. The hippies washed up for their parts in this secular Christmas pageant.
The DeSotos' bratty neighbors, the Millers, began their vicious campaign of damaging Christmas decorations the previous evening. It had to continue that morning, with their popping Christmas lights, denting plastic Santa, Frosty the Snowman and Grinch decorations, and even stealing wreaths from doors, garages and lampposts. At least three homes along Elm Street had broken windows, and the Stokers found their garage door spray-painted with graffiti: “Kiss my ass Stoker.” Mike Stoker did not participate in the holiday decorating contest because he had little confidence in his ability to turn a strand of Christmas lights into a work of art.
Christmas was only two days away – and those real-life miniature Grinches would not help matters.