In 1965 as a new reporter for the Newark Evening News, I was on Bloomfield Avenue frantically searching for a Christmas story. I approached the manager of the township charity Christmas tree lot, asking him if he had any leads.
“Funny you ask,” he said, “just sold my usual last 10 trees to two twin brothers, something we do every year. There’s a story if they’ll tell you.”
He knew no more about them except that they showed up every year and bought 10 trees based on a list they had.
It took me past Christmas that year to track down the brothers and their mother. At first she refused to see me but then relented. She lived in a large house in Essex Fells, scant miles from Bloomfield and economically much richer.
Obviously ill, she greeted me with a warm smile. She asked me not to reveal her name or those of her family. Without that, I knew there would be no story for the newspaper. But it is a story worth retelling here because it reaffirms the belief that one good deed does result in 10 more.
In brief, this is what she said:
“My husband did not come home from the war and is
buried in Europe. That Christmas was the loneliest of
my life. With little money for tree or decorations, I
expected have a barren apartment. But as I looked at
the last trees on a lot on Bloomfield Avenue, the
owner saw me. Without a word, he picked one up,
stand and all and asked where I lived. Carrying it
along the sidewalk and up the stairs, without a word
spoken, I followed. He set it in my rooms, refused
payment, wished me a Merry Christmas and left.
With little money but two boys expecting something
on the tree, I made decorations from color paper and
a cardboard star. It might not have been the best
decorated but cheered me and the boys. My parents
came at the last minute and we had a better
Christmas around that tree. It meant so much to me
and the twins that I vowed that when I could, I would
donate 10 each year to other needy families. Over the
years, my boys suffered much until I met my second
husband. I have two daughters by him but each year
we bring those 10 trees to families who haven’t the
money for them. The only thing I regret I never
learned the name of the Christmas tree seller. He started it.”
Because it took me so long to find her, I never got to write the story. I only know years later, I happen to be in Bloomfield during Christmas season and the same yard manager was still selling trees. I asked him if the boys were coming that year.
He replied: “Didn’t see them last year and haven’t seen them this year.”
They had stopped for some reason, most probably because their mother was gone.
But through them, one good deed echoed down for decades and perhaps that is enough.
But I often think of those last Christmas Trees.
From New Jersey
The Last Christmas Trees
by Donald Mazzella