By: Barbara Spear
Many years ago, I had the distinct pleasure of visiting Santa
Claus at the North Pole. Ever since that visit, Santa and I have kept in touch. One
Christmas, when his reindeer were sick, he even called upon me and some of my Corvette
friends to help deliver his gifts. Santa and I both share a love for Christmas and a great
enthusiasm for Corvettes.
It had been a long time since my last visit to the North Pole, so when Santa invited me to return, I jumped at the chance. It was a week before the big day, so I knew everyone at the Pole would be rushing to get things ready.
Mrs. Claus greeted me with her usual bounty of fresh-baked goodies and some hot chocolate. She and I were still chatting when Santa burst through the door with a perplexed look on his face.
"We're having trouble again this year. Each year it gets tougher to grant the wishes of the Corvette lovers."
I looked quizzically at Santa, who continued, "It's easy to get accessories, like t-shirts and books, but the parts are getting scarce. Some of my Corvette children (Santa calls everyone "children.") are happy to get good reproduction parts. But there are always a few who really want original or NOS parts. I hate to disappoint them."
I was surprised by Santa's comments. I always thought he only handled new goodies. "Santa," I began cautiously, "How do you get used or NOS parts?" I knew I was treading on thin ice, and fully expected Santa to tell me that his sources were his secret. Instead, he motioned for me to follow him.
Santa led me past his toyshop, past the huge building that houses his personal collection of red Corvettes and Corvette toys, and past the runway where he takes off every Christmas eve. Finally, we stood in front of a gigantic building that looked like a series of giant igloos. We entered and I found myself in a large arched room with a doorway leading to an ice-block tunnel. I followed Santa through the tunnel until we reached a door marked "Misfit Toys."
Before we entered, Santa turned and said, "You remember that cartoon with the Burl Ives snowman?" I nodded. "Well, sadly, there was once an island for misfit toys. After Rudolph brought it to my attention, I worked closely with the king to place every toy on that island. In this room, we have a massive computer system to match toymaker's mistakes with children who will love them."
Santa led me through the room, which was filled with a combination of computer screens, keyboards, and printers, and all sorts of one-of-a-kind toys. As we walked silently through, my eyes scanned quickly and rested on a beautiful model of a '73 Corvette convertible -- with a red rear bumper that matched its interior. Santa saw me hesitate, shook his head, and motioned for me to move on.
We passed through another long tunnel, at the end of which was a door marked "Corvette Parts." Inside this room were more computers, and the largest assortment of original and NOS parts I'd ever seen. Santa stopped in front of one of the huge computer screens. On it was a picture of a dungaree clad fellow talking to a Corvette part dealer. I recognized the dealer; he was a friend of mine from New Hampshire. I stared glued to the screen while the customer presented the dealer with a list of parts he needed. The dealer walked through his warehouse, picking parts from the list. A few minutes later, I saw the customer depart with a full pickup truck of parts.
Santa explained, "That customer is one of my elves. He visits various Corvette dealers and hobbyists and collects the parts I need to satisfy the wish lists of other Corvette enthusiasts. I have elves all over the world collecting parts right now."
Santa pointed to another computer and said that wish requests were entered into that computer, then matched with a world-wide parts inventory that Santa keeps on file. As I watched the printouts pop up on the screen, I thought of a few dealers I knew who'd love to tap into Santa's computer!
Suddenly, the printer beside me began spitting out a report. Startled, I jumped backward into Santa, who gently reached in front of me and tore off the printout. As he read the report, he just shook his head.
"The list is getting smaller, but we're also running out of time," he said.
The "list" he referred to was the unfilled wish list. I took a quick glance at the list, but figured that if Santa couldn't find the parts, there wasn't much chance that I could help.
The "wisher's" names were coded, so I couldn't tell who was asking for what, but the first part I saw was some seatbelt webbing. I hesitated to say anything, but finally volunteered the names of some dealers I knew who specialized in seatbelts, and who I knew had rolls of old webbing. Santa invited me to sit down at one of the computers and type in the dealers' names. The first three were already on file, so I knew they'd been checked. The fourth, however, caused a message to appear: ***NEW NAME***PLEASE ENTER MORE INFO***
Santa instructed me to type as much information as I could. Having left my cardfile at home, all I could remember was the state and town where the dealer was located. To my surprise, that was all it took. Suddenly, there were lights blinking everywhere.
The video screen beside me came alive with another picture, this time a different elf was entering the shop I'd just named. A few minutes later, he emerged smiling, with a handful of parts.
Santa smiled, then winked at me and said, "That was wonderful! Thanks to your quick thinking, we just satisfied 28 wishes!" It was then that I realized that Santa's computer had re-scanned the entire unfilled wish list as soon as I entered the dealer's name -- I just didn't know how the computer knew what the dealer had in stock. Somehow though, I knew that Santa's computer, like everything else at the North Pole, had a touch of Christmas magic in it.
Another printout jumped out of the printer, and Santa brought it to me. This time, I didn't feel so clever. I had no idea where to locate any of the first six parts I saw. I began to feel like I was going to let Santa down, until a sudden inspiration popped into my head.
My fingers flew over the keyboard as I began to enter the names or descriptions for junkyards I'd visited, or passed by during my travels. To my surprise, none were in the computer. As I finished entering each one, the lights and video screens sprung into action. I'd entered about a half a dozen, when Santa tapped me on the shoulder.
"There's an easier way," he advised me. I watched while his pudgy fingers pressed the keys until a message on the screen read: ***ENTER DEALER CATEGORY***
Santa quickly typed: JUNKYARD, SALVAGE YARD, SCRAP METAL, then looked at me for other suggestions. I added a few, then Santa pressed a key which sent the computers whirring. All the computer lights and video screens lit up, and we watched while elves all over the world collected parts.
Eventually, the lights went out and the screens went dim. The long-silent printer came to life and spewed out one last report. It read:
***ALL WISHES SATISFIED***
Santa smiled broadly and said, "I'm starved, lets go eat!"
When we emerged from the modular igloo building, it was dark. I'd lost my sense of time, so I didn't know whether we'd been working for hours or days. Mrs. Claus was waiting for us with a scrumptious holiday meal. Santa glowed as he told her of our accomplishment. Mrs. Claus smiled, then commented, "Well, I hoped you were meeting with success; you were out there for four days! I began to wonder whether you'd finish in time for Christmas eve."
Santa's magic had worked its charm. I'd stayed awake and alert for four days straight, but now, sitting in the glow of a warm fire with a full stomach, the gremlins of sleep were quickly working their magic.
I awoke in the same cozy bed I'd stayed in once before. Santa must have carried me there, because the last thing I remembered was the flickering of the fire. I looked out my bedroom window and realized that it was night, but the lights and activity in the yard suggested that I'd slept for more than just a few hours.
I dressed, then raced downstairs and into the yard. One of the elves pointed to the runway, where I saw Santa climbing into his sleigh. I raced forward, slipped on a patch of ice, and skidded on my derriere, until I stopped beside the sleigh. Santa reached his gloved hand down to help me up. "I knew you'd wake up in time for the take-off," he chuckled. With a quick wink, he was off, with a sleigh-full of gifts for all his children. I smiled as I watched him fly into the crisp night air, thinking of all the Corvette enthusiasts who'd wake up Christmas morning to find their wishes fulfilled.
For myself, I was just happy to have once again played a small part in helping Santa.
When I reached Santa's house, Mrs. Claus was waiting for me on the front porch. "Santa left this for you," she said, handing me a wrapped box.
With child-like enthusiasm, I tore open the paper and opened the box. Inside was a note from Santa that read:
I thought I knew what you might like this year, but after we visited the computer complex, I was sure. There were several others who would have been happy with this gift, but when I saw the sparkle in your eyes, I knew you were the best match.
Beneath
the note was the silver '73 with the red interior and matching red rear bumper.
When my Corvette friends view my model collection, some snicker when they see a bright red bumper where chrome should be. And I always wonder whether those friends were the ones whose Corvette wishes almost didn't get filled...
Copyright 1996 Barbara Spear
