Shirley Temple Dolls and Other Holiday Wishes

Jim's Musings from Paris December 2022

Paris is grayer and much colder than last year at this time. The festive holiday lights have been reined in because of the feared energy shortage and I’ve been holed up in our cozy apartment nursing a painfully frustrating slipped disc. As the Spotify playlist cycles through French, Italian, Colombian, and American carols, images of past holiday seasons become mixed up in my memory: roasting a turkey with Italian collaborators during a month-long Performance Ecology work session in Akron; drinking hot brandies with my dear friend Janet at a candlelit bar in St. Paul; looking for a midnight mass in Warsaw; dragging a last-minute Christmas tree home through the frozen Minnesota tundra; waiting with strangers for the Pope to appear in Vatican Square and then walking alone through the empty streets of Rome; playing Santa for my nieces and nephews; singing “villancicos” with Jairo’s family at the beach house in Colombia; laughing with Grotowski during a late night, cognac-fueled discussion; cooking a delicious holiday dinner for our NWPL family at the house on Overwood; dancing with friends and family at Casa Cenci; eating baby-eel pasta with Carla in Pontedera or lasagna with my mother and Jairo in Akron. All Christmas Eves to remember.

My first real memory of Christmas is one of contrasts, magic, and wishes unfulfilled. It was 1958 or 59. Our family had just moved back to Wisconsin after three or four years of living in Illinois, in the suburbs of Chicago. My dad lost his job due to the Eisenhower Recession of 1958 and, rather than wait out the economic downturn, which only lasted eight months, he decided to return to Stanley, our hometown, and help my grandfather (my Mom’s dad) on the farm. My dad always had a fondness for farming. When I remember my dad as happy, he was either playing music, driving a tractor, or shoveling manure. My mother, on the other hand, hated farming. I often wonder how my parents negotiated these kinds of decisions in their relationship. I remember hearing them talk in low tones to each other in bed at night as my brother and I fell asleep in the next room. So I guess they did discuss things. But one of them always seemed disappointed by the turns their lives took and I think it created a lot of resentment between them in later years. This particular time I would say that my dad was allowed to follow his dream and we all moved back and lived with my grandparents, upstairs in the old farmhouse. We eventually moved into a house trailer that we parked on a lot on the farm, adjacent to the orchard and near the new barn. That was fun until my mom’s clothes froze to the walls of the closet. Then it was back to the farmhouse. During this period of moving back and forth, before my dad realized he couldn’t work with Papa, my grandfather, and my parents bought a house in town, I experienced my first memorable Christmas.

The Sears Christmas Catalogue, called The Wishbook, cast a spell over me each year. I waited impatiently for the book to arrive in the mail and, when it finally came, I would spend hours leafing through its many colorful pages, carefully marking each game or toy that I coveted. In the late fifties and early sixties, television advertising had not quite come into its own and, while I remember Saturday morning cartoons sprinkled with ads for Chatty Cathy and Betsy Wetsy, only the Sears Wishbook really captured the excitement, possibility, and excess of holiday gifts. Some of my favorite toys from this time include a really cool three-dimensional haunted house game that had a special owl spinner; Vac-u-Form, a small machine that melted tiny sheets of plastic into various shapes; a game called Musingo! (I don’t recall anything else about the game, only its name); a Civil War set of Blue and Gray plastic soldiers, horses, and cannons; Mr. Machine, a robot that you could take apart and put back together; a replica service station with cars and trucks; an electric train that never worked; a ViewMaster projector; and a large cardboard chest full of various card games and board games like Authors, Old Maid, Bingo, and Parcheesi.

I found online this digitalized version of the 1959 Sears Christmas Wishbook. What a trip to leaf through all 483 pages once more. The glamour, the fashion, the cowboy outfits (I had one), and six pages of toy guns! I wonder how much influence The Wishbook exerted over my generation’s dreams and fantasies? It’s a little scary to think about it.

Besides the usual toys, my brother and I both enjoyed playing with dolls sometimes, especially when we were with our cousin, Cheryl. She owned what seemed like hundreds of dolls. This was before the era of action figures. Even GI Joe hadn’t appeared on the scene yet, so for boys to play with dolls was not as socially acceptable as it is now. My mother never discouraged us, however, and this particular Christmas, she said we could each ask Santa for a doll if we wanted. In The Wishbook, my eyes fell upon the display ad for the Shirley Temple doll. She was amazing and came with different outfits for each of her movie roles. Shirley Temple’s movies were often on television on Saturday mornings or Sunday afternoons and I think I had seen them all. I was also enchanted by her weekly television series, “Shirley Temple’s Storybook” (1958-1961), during which an adult Shirley introduced new versions of classic fairy tales. How can anyone resist Jonathon Winters and Agnes Moorehead in an excellent adaptation of the Oz stories?

I really wanted a Shirley Temple doll. That particular Christmas, it was at the top of my list. But somehow, it was Christmas Eve and we still didn’t even have a tree or any presents. My brother and I were very nervous. What was going on? Meme, my grandmother, told us we had to take a nap and I remember we laid down on her and Papa’s bed. Somehow we fell fast asleep. When we awoke, I remember walking groggily into what was then the TV room. I was amazed to find that a tree now magically filled the room, glittering with lights and ornaments. How did that happen? Underneath the tree were all sorts of presents. The adults were grinning and laughing. They felt very proud of themselves for having pulled off this little trick, but I could only think that one of those presents had to be a Shirley Temple doll. Sadly, it was not. I don’t remember what presents I received that year, but I know that I did not get my number one request.

The story does have a happy ending though. Many years later, when I was already a university professor and had worked and traveled around the world, I was visiting my parents at Christmas. I unwrapped one of my presents on Christmas Eve to discover a Shirley Temple doll!

My nieces and nephew were very amused, but I was happy. My mother had made good on an old promise. Thank you, Mom! Shirley Temple is now in Paris. Happy Holidays everyone!