The Day Santa Died

The Day Santa Died by Danny C. Wash It was a dark day in December 1955; the day my mother broke the news to me. “Santa is dead,” she said. Well, perhaps I remember it wrong. Maybe she didn’t say “Santa is dead.” But whatever she said, I knew that the jolly old elf had expired. He was no more. He was gone forever, so he might as well have died. Santa was now dead in my mind. For awhile, I had suspected something was amiss with the old bearded fat man. Dreaded thoughts slipped into my mind as to Santa’s health, but I didn’t want to face any realities along that line because of the loss of Santa’s faithful gift giving. I can remember the day I heard the news, like it was yesterday. My mother was hanging sheets on the clothesline. She brought up the subject of Santa Claus and I thought, “uh, oh” here it comes. And boy did it come, wh...