CHRISTMAS BICYCLE By Betty Anne Belt Sadler

Located in the East Texas piney woods, Silsbee was hardly big enough to call a town. Even I, as a six-year-old, I knew all the businesses: The bank with white marble counters, a drug store with a fountain in front and a doctor's office in back, and the Post Office with little doors for each family's mail, a five and ten cent store, and the Chevrolet dealership with two shiny new cars in the windows. A little further out near the Santa Fe depot was the icehouse, where big blocks of ice were delivered to waiting customers and chips and slivers of ice were waiting for the taker.

But the biggest store in town was Collier's, a general store. I recall many things I thought were huge in my childhood. They surprise me at their smallness when I see them again as an adult, but Collier's must have been large to hold all the things it sold. I think it may have taken up the equivalent of half a block across the front and extended a block to loading dock in the rear. A porch reached across the entire front and double doors and their screen doors opened into one huge room. Worn wooden floors ran between aisles with every kind of goods. On one side I remember clothes and shoes for men, women, and children. Next were sewing materials, thread, and patterns, then pans, dishes, towels and sheets for the house. The other side had a display of farm equipment and tools: plows, rakes, and hoes and hammers, nails, and saws. The groceries and meat counter were in the back. Large cotton bag with colorful prints held flour, sugar, cornmeal, and rice, probably weighing twenty-five or fifty pounds each. My mother selected these with an eye to using them as dishtowels when they were empty. Several bigger sacks with matching prints could be used for curtains, dresses or pillow covers.

I liked to wander the aisle and look in the glass cases and on the counters while mother shopped for groceries. I especially liked to look in the candy case, though we didn't buy any store candy.

Since we lived about a mile from town, my mother didn't shop often but bought lots when she did. Then Mr. Collier's deliveryman would bring them to our house in his truck.

The men in Silsbee mostly worked for the sawmill or the railroad or had big farms. The wives all had vegetable gardens and Collier's supplied almost everything else the families in and around Silsbee needed. In the mid 30's, nothing was booming because the country was still struggling out of the Great Depression. My father was an engineer for the Santa Fe Railroad, but that whole year when I was six, he was in the company hospital. He had been injured in a train accident and was a hero of sorts for saving two of his crewmen. However the small injury he ignored, developed a stubborn infection they called "blood poisoning" and company doctors were trying to "cure" it, a real challenge in those days before "miracle drugs" like penicillin.

The safety net for families during those days was not the government, but friends and neighbors. When my father was taken to the company hospital more than a hundred miles away, Mr. Collier, the general store owner, and Mr. Thompson, the bank president, told him not to worry about the mortgage or the necessities the family needed. They declared they knew he would pay if he recovered and if he did not, well the family needed food, clothing, and shelter. Truthfully, no one knew whether or not my father would ever be able to work again.

Before Christmas, Collier's was filled with the things Santa Clause would pack in his sleigh for kids whose fathers were working. I loved to look at the Shirley Temple dolls, the toy of the year. My friend Verlie Bea hoped to get one. I had been coached by an older sister to wish for new clothes for my doll. My mother was a wonderful seamstress and made all our clothes.

Weeks before Christmas, Mr. Collier put a bright red bicycle on display just inside the front door so everyone could see it and next to it he put a big round cage the size of a keg made of wire so you could see through it. A sign announced in big red letters the date a "drawing" for the bicycle. With each purchase, mother received a two-part ticket, half of which went into the cage and the other half she put in her purse.

Though my family was "running a tab" on groceries and clothing while my father was hospitalized, mother was still given her lottery tickets. With a family of six children, she collected quite a few tickets before the day of the drawing. I watched her organized them by number and place them in an envelop.

Finally, just days before Christmas, the time came for the drawing. A big crowd, not just townspeople and farmers from around the area, but people from other towns, collected around the platform where Mr. Collier put the big cage. He joked with the people and turned the handle on the cage that shuffled the tickets. He said anyone who wanted to take a turn on the handle could come on up. A couple of farmers in overalls took the challenge and gave the handle a few turns and I watched the tickets tumble around. More teasing followed. Everyone was excited and hopeful.

Finally, it was time for the drawing. I stood close to my mother and looked up and Mr. Collier caught my eye and asked, "Would you like to draw the lucky ticket?" I nodded and smiled because I knew he was g something special to be asked. I eagerly clambered up to the platform. The Mr. Collier gave the cage one last turn and opened a small door in the side of it.

My mother gave me an encouraging smile and said, "Dig deep, Betty Anne, you might draw my ticket." Other voices cried out, "No, mine." "Close your eyes." "I've got my fingers crossed." And there was more laughter.

I reached through the little door and let my hand dive down in the middle of the tickets and drew one out and gave it to Mr. Collier. He made a show of looking at the number and prolonging the suspense.

Then he called out the number and everyone shuffled though tickets. He called the number again. Then my mother let out a little yelp, "I've got it. I've got it." She carefully read out the number and the managed nodded, "We have a winner." "Not fair. Not at all fair. That kid must have cheated," a loud male voice complained. I froze. Cheating was bad; just to be accused frightened me.

Mr. Collier quickly introduced my mother as the wife of the hero/victim of the railroad accident. The red faced accuser turned away and Mr. Collier and one of his clerks started handing out bags of candy to all the children standing around. Still bewildered and embarrassed, I didn't know where to turn. Mr. Collier found me and gave me the biggest candy cane I'd ever seen.

Christmas morning, we stood around the Christmas tree looking at the presents from Santa. The red bicycle was nowhere to be seen. I looked in my stocking, counted the nuts and candy, and polished big apple on my robe. Under the tree there were other presents for me: new doll clothes, a new red dress with white lace, and a Shirley Temple paper doll book. When mother sat beside me to look at my presents, I whispered in her ear, "Did we have to give the bicycle back?" "No, I told Santa that I had six children and one bicycle would not work for us, could he give it to someone else and find something for each one of you." I was only five, going on six and very confused how Mr. Collier, Santa, and my mother all worked together. The answer was obvious when I gave up believing in Santa and knew mother had made the decisions.