Do you have your Christmas shopping finished yet? How about a few suggestions, tips and advertisements from local stores in Buckhannon through the years? And some hopes and dreams and a letter to Santa from Wesleyan Students?
1900
A quality photograph is always a good choice. Or some school supplies!
1901
Shoes, slippers, umbrellas……or maybe a Mandolin.
Hats are popular, or other Gents’ Furnishings. And money saved on every purchase at Levinstein’s.
Or, you could have headed on down to John H. Fisher across from the Court House to pick up a High School Spoon or an Ink Well. This is a Jeweler, Optician, and Engraver with much to offer the shopper.
1904
But, while doing your shopping, don’t forget to think of others as well. Buckhannon has long been a place where generosity lives as you can tell from this ad in the Pharos in December 1904.
1934
During the Great Depression, the Pharos included an article urging students to look around them to see who might be needing some compassion and Christmas cheer. Still great advice!
1942
This letter from student Angeline Saunders in 1942 shows that all along students have had many of the same thoughts and requests of Santa Claus. Hers, however, does show that World War II was impacting her life at the time. The print is small on this image, so I will transcribe the letter below.
Only three more weeks, and Wesleyan’s students can already hear the sleigh bells ringing (also the drone of the buses and trains) and hear the booming hearty laughter of one Mr. Chris Cringle, alias Santa Claus. Wash your faces, children, and don’t worry about the consequences. Santa Claus knows everybody and in spite of all camouflage, never forgets a face. Yes, sir, Wesleyan students are awaiting eagerly the arrival of the old philanthropist from the North Pole, and a co-ed has taken time off from her busy daily routine to write a letter to him telling him of her immediate needs, omitting those non-essential things. Here it is:
Buckhannon, W. Va.
Tuesday, 9:30 p.m.
Dear Santa Claus:
It’s been such a long and trying year, that it seems ages since I last wrote to you. I’ve been having a pretty hard time, too, and I’m really going to need help from you in order to survive. I’m being convinced more and more that in college, too many people believe in the theory of the survival of the fittest. Need I say more? You are the only one I can really appeal to. There are a few things I want to you to give me for Christmas, things that only you can give.
First of all, I want you to give my professors soft, kind hearts and heads (or am I asking for the impossible?). Anyway, make them stop giving me so much work to do, and realize that I am really working myself to the bone and I can do only so much and no more. Make them feel sorry for me, and start patting me on the back instead of bawling me out when I’m not prepared.
Because, really, Santa, I can’t help it. I study harder than I should, but my schedule has so many osophy’s and logy’s in it that I’m in what a philosopher would call a dilemna. Well, what I want you to do in some way is to take me out of this bewilderment. Fix it up so that I get it a little easier, make me a little bit smarter (am I being tactful?) I want to be warmed by the fire of learning but I don’t want to be left holding the torch.
There are a few things I would like for you to do for my personal comfort, too. I understand that you have a mechanic who rigs up strange devices and can remedy almost anything. Please have him go around to all of the rooms in the dormitory and either fix the alarm clocks so that they go off at once, or fix them so that they don’t ring at all. (That’s best). It’s hard enough to have to get out of bed at the crack of dawn at the jangling of your own clock, but to have it followed by twenty-five others equally as jangly is anything but funny. And while he’s in the dormitory, have him check the showers while he’s there. I complained to you of this last year, but they’re acting up again. They’re hot when they should be cold, scalding warm when they should be nice and warm, and most of the time just freezing. You’ll really have to have this remedied if you expect me to be alive to write you another letter.
Send me, in or out of a box, a nice, big handsome boy friend. It doesn’t matter where you find him as long as you don’t send one of your Eskimo cronies. He doesn’t have to be smart, just good-looking. I don’t expect to have this wish granted because of the government priorities.
Make me a true friend who will be able to laugh at those rotten jokes that my friends insist on telling and going into hysterics over, make me stop being the inspiration for moron jokes, and don’t let me be a guinea pig for life’s experiments anymore.
I suppose you’re tired of my I-wanta complex, but I’ve really been a good girl. I have been behaving, have said no mean things to anyone, and am in bed by 10:00 o’clock every night except Saturday, then I go to bed at 10:30. In addition to that, I do two good deeds for people every day, and I still have my girl scout badge, and can sing the Indian scout song.
I really feel that I can count on you for these wishes. See, I’m not asking for simple things that anyone could grant, I’m asking for essential things. The only material thing I ask for is a booklet on “How To Knit In Ten Easy Lessons”. What with the war and everything, a girl has to have something to take her time up with. However, if you’re out of stock, as I imagine they’re in demand, send me a copy of “Live Alone And Like It”. That should serve the purpose.
Well, I guess I’d better quit, before I wear out my welcome. I will leave you, on Christmas eve, a Coca-cola and a bar of Baby Ruth candy, because the advertisements say you like them best, also a razor blade in case the trip is hard and you need a shave. I will not forget you, please do not forget me.
I hope you do not mind other people reading your mail. They will not tell anyone anything, so don’t worry. I’m looking forward to seeing you, and I hope you appreciate the fact that your reindeer don’t use tires or run on gasoline. You might run into difficulties.
A hopeful Helper, Wishful Winona.
P.S. In case the Pony Express up in the North Pole delivers this too late, I will celebrate two Christmases. You go right ahead. WW.
Happy Shopping!