| | Contemporaries Of Mozart - Gyrowetz: Symphonies / Bamert CD Bamert / Adalbert Gyrowetz / London Mozart Plyrs Discography of CDs
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Muisc & lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. ...
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A Christmas Story Our home was on the 3rd floor rear over a storefront on Armitage Ave. in Chicago. We lived in a cold-water flat with stove heat, no bathtub, no storm windows or screens, and the biggest windows I ever saw. There were five of us in four small rooms: Mom, Dad, my older sister (14), my younger brother (10), and myself (12). We were very satisfied in this living condition. I don’t recall one complaint or word of dissatisfaction from anyone about our tiny apartment and we lived this way for 10 years. We were glad to be together. This was our 6th Christmas together as a family. We three children had been separatedfrom our parents for three years. What a difficult time those three years were for us, but especially for my Dad. Dad was Sunday School Superintendent as well as Associate Pastor at Bethesda Pentecostal Church. When Christmas came, Bethesda pulled out all the stops to celebrate the birth of Christ. The Church was filled every year, even the balcony, but the Christmas of 1947 was the best. We put on a published play (I was the lead that year) and sang carols. Children recited Scripture from memory. My big sister nervously sang O Holy Night accompanied by a boy she had a crush on. Solos and readings of all sorts were offered by all types of people. All this was watched over by a huge, brightly decorated Christmas tree that approached two stories, placed at the side of the podium. The Christmas lights weren’t the small lights you see today, but large bulbs that lit up the whole church. No other lighting assistance was needed. We sang our carols by their light. At the end of the pageant, in a very anti-climactic moment, we each received a small gift from under the Christmas tree that quickly lost its glow of anticipation as the program ended. Dad and I picked out the tree that year. It was my first lesson in how tall objects look short when they lie on the ground. At the tree lot, I was sure Dad had made a mistake and the tree would be too short. When men of the congregation raised it inside the sanctuary, I was amazed how swiftly it grew in height and towered over me. What a memory God has given me. I had the gift of being able to share the whole experience of that Christmas service with my father, from preparation to gift-giving. The most profound moment of the evening, however, was yet to happen. It was one Dad and I would share with each other some 55 years later. Our family was the last to leave the church that Christmas night, a habit that has stayed with me over the years. It was almost 11 o’clock. About three inches of snow had fallen and the streets and sidewalks were covered with this beautiful white quilt. It was so still, no sound, no cars, no one else. Only occasional traces of stray footprints could be seen in the new snow. We entered what seemed like our own private world. It was a short walk to Armitage Ave. where we would turn west away from the lake and go three city blocks to our home. The street was populated on both sides with small store-front businesses: bakeries, butcher shops, drug stores, candy stores, gift shops, barber shops, a florist, a movie theater, several mom and pop grocery stores, an Ace hardware, and too many taverns with newly available TVs, along with an occasional overhead door belonging to an out-of-place industrial company. All we ever needed was within ...
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