THE CHRISTMAS CRY
BABY
By Teresa Martin
Klaiber December 2019
Growing
up, I quickly realized that each of my friends had traditions that differed
from our own. Some, with Christmas
trees, would have stars topping their glory, others a pretty angel or ornate,
fragile pointed glass topper. My
neighbors, the Steele’s, had pretty bubble lights that fascinated me.
Dad
and I always went to the same tree stand, as a father/daughter outing (13th
Street, Ashland, KY. Still selling trees
for various organizations nearly 70 years later) while mother got the ornaments
out. Our tree sat in the picture
window when I was smaller, where one Christmas I had to wait fidgeting, knowing
Santa had already come, for my father, who had been called out to deliver a
calf. When I was a bit older our tree
was placed in a finished basement recreation room. I remember that my mother insisted that each
tinsel be hung “perfectly” and it was dad’s job to string the lights. I must
admit most Christmas were not the norm in our household. We often had circus performers who helped
celebrate with us.
One
tradition was constant. Once the
presents were opened it was off from Ashland, Kentucky, following the Ohio River,
to Portsmouth, Ohio to share a holiday dinner with grandparents. My paternal grandmother Martin’s tree was
always large and the house was full of cousins and laughter. At times we played with the electric train
that had been my dad and uncle’s when they were small. We had already written Santa Claus at
Thanksgiving, while at her house, sending it up the chimney on a puff of smoke,
for Santa to catch (I will give my readers time to think then chuckle at that
tradition).
My
maternal grandparent’s home, on Gay Street, was a bit more sedate. Their
beautiful tree sat between the vestibule and living room. Each tinsel individually hung carefully along
with antique, German blown, ornaments. Cranking
my head, I would see it was topped, not with a star or angel, but a crying
baby. I never once asked, as a child, why the baby was crying, nor, why they
did not have a star on the top of the tree.
The
dining room on Gay Street was carefully set with starched white table cloth,
napkins, polished silver and crystal goblets.
The table usually included Clayton and Graham cousins, including Lucille
Graham, my first cousin 3 times removed.
She was a teacher and author who wrote poetry and would be asked to
recite at least one during dinner.
On
my last Christmas, as a single lady, my grandmother shared Christmas with us in
Kentucky. She no longer was able to decorate as she had when raising her own
family. Shortly after the birth of my
first son mother brought me a box. When
opened I was holding the crying baby.
Why was the baby crying? Why did
my grandparents have the baby on the tree?
Mother had no idea, only saying that the baby had been on a tree as long
as she could remember.
Mother
was born in 1921 in Portsmouth, Ohio.
Her older sister Betty was born in 1919 in Honolulu, where my
grandfather was stationed at the time.
Betty told me that she had replaced the crepe paper gown and ribbon
several times during holidays when she was growing up. Betty also stated that somewhere in the back
of her mind she thought the baby could be her father. The baby had a tiny bit of real hair taped at
the cap.
Howard
Clayton Feyler was born 10 September 1893 in Portsmouth, Ohio.[ii] He was the only child of Edward Leopold and
Dessie Mae Clayton Feyler. He started
kindergarten when he was five and the same year according to a social article
in the local paper had been seriously ill.
His father’s jewelry store, on 2nd Street, ran ads by 1889
including photo supplies and cameras.[iii] Utilizing many online photograph dating sites
it is probable that the photo could fall into place in the same timeframe of
Howard Feyler when an infant. The
earliest confirmed photograph I have of Howard, a toddler, was taken by A.
Willis on 2nd Street Portsmouth. One might ascertain that the baby’s
hair is brown and the nose could be the same. Maybe.
Howard Clayton Feyler
My
husband was transferred to New Jersey while our youngest son was still a
baby. I was already immersed in family
history, traditions, and genealogy. With hubby’s blessing the then fragile
crying baby graced our Christmas tree until 1980.
My
youngest son was now five and the crying baby was at the very least, seventy or
older and terribly fragile. If I placed the baby on the tree for another year,
I feared it would fall apart. The tiny
hands were flexing, the tissue thin, tape brittle and yellowed, the ribbon
faded. With trepidation I left it with a
professional framer who in turn did a wonderful job mounting and sealing
it.
I
have seen one other picture of a baby tree topper sold on Etsy, described as
one of a kind. The baby also had a crepe
paper skirt.[iv] Once again I wonder who the baby is.
Our
cry baby has travelled from my birth place of Portsmouth, Ohio up river to
Ashland, Kentucky, to New Jersey, back to Ohio, and finally to eastern
Kentucky. I have never let go of it and
while he cries, he warms my heart, not just at Christmas time but all year
long, one of many treasures I cherish for the memories.
[i]
Christmas, Ashland, KY left to right , the compiler, Jimmy Lloyd, Victor Lewis and Coco the clown.
[ii]
Portsmouth Daily Times, 16 Sep 1893
[iii]
Porstmouth Daily Times, Oct 1889
