Old Timey Magic

Christmas becomes less exciting the older one gets. Not the religious part. That remains unchanged.

But for the other part, the part where Santa holds dominion, the twinkle grows more dim as the years progress.

Those of us who were fortunate enough to welcome in the 1960s and ‘70s – those of us in North America at least – eagerly awaited THE BOOK, the one filled with toys and happy people enjoying life, women in their fancy dress or bundled up in their parkas and snowboots. Christmas, at least for the young me, would never have been Christmas without The Sears Wishbook Catalogue.

Of the department stores that published mail-order catalogues, that was the big one, the one most eagerly anticipated by children and parents alike. It was full of ideas, hints, treasures and so much promise ahead. Kids would make their way through the pages, often with pencil or pen in hand, leaving tiny marks beside the things they wanted to see under the tree. It was a blatant exercise in the true spirit of commercialism. And it was fun.

Parents welcomed The Big Book as a means of finding whatever it was their little (and not so little) ones were describing and, then, picking it up at a Sears catalogue office days, or maybe a few weeks, later.

Though the department store, Sears, cornered the marketplace and hearts of many with The Wishbook Catalogue, other franchises weren’t strangers to the catalogue business. And what a business it was.

Eaton’s, one of Canada’s prime retail chains, was a big name with a big catalogue published throughout the years, at least the years from 1884 to 1976. In 1893, Simpson’s joined the fray, notching up $100 million in annual revenue by 1951, when acquisition by the American-based Sears Roebuck and Company gave us Simpson’s Sears and its first catalogue.

I imagine the competition among the mogul concerns was fierce. Simpson’s had assured customers, “You’ll enjoy shopping at Simpson’s” while the more practical-minded Eaton’s proffered “Goods satisfactory or money refunded.” The sublime meeting the not-so-ridiculous.

The mega partnership of Simpson’s and Sears made it to 1978, when Sears began shouldering the marketplace solo.

Nearly all this happened in my lifetime. I don’t claim to have been witness to everything that transpired in the 19th Century, nor was I on terra firma in 1951, but I can lay claim to full familiarity with every publication of the Simpson’s, the Sears’ and the Eaton’s catalogue offerings from the early 1960s to 1993.

Of these, no one else could touch Sears’ Christmas Wishbook Catalogue for a home-style welcome. Every child I knew - and I - began the countdown to the cherished Book in November. Oh, the anticipation, then the excitement when, on return from school one glorious afternoon, There It Was, in all its holiday glory. Within its covers were untold treasures – toys and games and, for the not so lucky youngster, clothes. Excitement over clothes came substantially later.

Even now, just the memory of the Wishbook takes me back to those days and how eagerly I’d comb its pages, playing a game with myself, one I’d transfer to the clothes section a few years later. Pretending I absolutely HAD to order something from each page, I’d spend hours poring over exactly which I would fancy from every collection. And there were oh so many. I can’t quite recall but I imagine I left my share of seemingly inconspicuous pencil marks beside any toy or item that piqued my interest in hopes that one or other parent, or grandparent would get the hint.

In later years, I played the same game, substituting clothes I’d like for the toys of youth. One dress, one red dress that I simply had to have had me coveting it shamelessly. That it was modeled by the star of a kids’ program I still watched - whom I found gorgeous - made it all the more compelling. To my dismay, I was crestfallen when no such garment was revealed from under the holiday wrappings on Christmas morning.

(Sidebar: The same dress was advertised in The Sears Spring Catalogue. I got it for my birthday.)

These sturdy tomes played many roles besides that for catalogue ordering. More than a few Canadian boys found that, once outdated, the discarded books made great hockey shin pads. I didn’t know one boy in any of my grades who had actual pads. Those ‘padalogues’ were tailor-made for the purpose. I’ve heard some used them for home insulation and others for teaching ESL to newcomers who had chosen Canada as their new homeland.

The big BOOK played a huge part in making the Christmas season an exciting two-month ritual in the lives of us way back when. In its pages were contained more than a touch of Christmas magic.

And the magic of Christmas never really goes out of publication.