(Editor’s Note: Dick Ryan of Woodland Drive and a frequent visitor to the STAR shares his memories of Christmas growing up on Holston Ave. “The story is true and the people are real, many of whom have passed this life. However, they will always be a part of our memories,” said Ryan.)

Residents of Holston Avenue took a second look out their windows that Saturday evening, Dec. 25, 1956. A light snow was falling and lights sparkled on trees in living room windows as Santa Claus trudged up the sidewalk, minus his bag of toys “for all the good little boys and girls.” Seemed to be in a big hurry. Then, at the top of the hill he hurries onto the porch and into the home at 409.

Let’s go back a few weeks. Monday morning, Coach Frank Baker’s seventh grade homeroom at Elizabethton Junior High. It’s Coach Baker’s turn to put on the annual Christmas pageant to be held in the school auditorium. Assignments are being made. Jimmie Lou will be an angel. Roy will be a shepherd, David an angel, no wait, not an angel. David will be the innkeeper. Pierce will be Joseph. Trudy will be Mary. Me, Santa Claus. No, no, I don’t want to be Santa Claus. That means I am to be the biggest and plumpest kid in Mr. Baker’s homeroom. It is an ego buster for a 12-year-old, but, you cannot say no to Mr. Baker. Julie Beth says “HO HO HO” every times she passes me in the hall.

Coach Baker is our seventh grade homeroom, science teacher, and basketball coach. He towers over us and is former Army Infantry. When he gets mad his eyes get big and bulge out and his face appears to grow larger. You do not want to get Coach Baker mad. But, we all love Coach Baker also. Another reason not to tell him no.

Demonstrating how to shoot a lay-up in basketball practice, cigars go flying out of his shirt pocket. Cricket and Lunsford grab them and try to hide them so they can smoke them later. He grabs Lipford by the seat of the pants to show him how to play defense. Bill is too short to play, yet Coach Baker helps turn into a future all-stater. Bunny is tall and good and a main recipient of the wrath of Coach Baker. Me, I am the plumpest, a perfect Santa for the school pageant and I’m not too far from Bunny as a recipient of the wrath of Coach Baker, also.

We practice and practice our Christmas play. At least we get out of class some. We have dress rehearsal. I look fatter than I am because I have a pillow strapped around my tummy. The angel looks like well, angels. Pierce and Trudy are Holy looking as Joseph and Mary. Harvey keeps knocking over the bales of hay and I practice my lies, HO HO HO.

The big night arrives. The auditorium and balcony are full of parents, grandparents, students, teachers, and our band fills the first three rows. Nervously, Coach Baker directs us from behind the curtain which stands closed with fake fireplace in front of the curtains where they part. My classmate Brenda stands next to the fireplace and begins reading THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS. When Brenda gets to the part “and down the chimney” Santa, etc. I was to toss my bag of toys through the opening in the curtain, through the fake fireplace, climb out myself, and stand glowing in the admiration of the audience. And, at the end of Brenda’s narration, I would proclaim “Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight.” That was the plan. You gotta remember, I didn’t want to be Santa. I would have been a good lamb or camel.

Brenda hit her cue, I tossed the bag of toys through the opening in the curtain. It hit the fireplace and knocked it into the second row of the band scattering sheet music and the oboe section. I heard the audience rock the walls with laughter. The sound seems to roll around the auditorium, through the balcony, out into the halls through the heating ducts, and knocked the dust off the ceiling rafters. Trooper that she was, Brenda went on with the show and when she got to the end, from behind the curtain, I shouted Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night, and I went out the back stage door across the athletic field and up Holston Avenue, to home.

What a miserable holiday I had hiding in my room. Coach Baker didn’t come looking for me, but you can imagine what happened at school in the new year. Or, can you? I became a Junior High Christmas legend. For the teachers I was the example of what not to do. Coach Baker helped develop me into a pretty good, slimmer basketball player, increasing my self-confidence, and Bunny and I were brought to the eighth grade team by Coach Hathaway for the season ending tournaments.

Frank Baker went to coach and teach for many more years. He was principal at Duffield Academy, the last principal before it closed, and retired as principal at East Side Elementary. He was a fantastic influence of the lives of many including this little Santa.

The old Junior High at the bottom of Holston Avenue is long gone. Now, the area includes the Charlotte Taylor Center, the health department, the Senior Citizens Center, and the Walter Curtis Memorial Park. Yet, in my mind and memory the school is still there. I see it every time I pass that way. Mrs. Armstrong, Miss Nell Curtis, Coach Hathaway, and Coach Baker and all the others are still there. Our principal, Mr. Large, still patrols the halls. Mr. L.D. Chambers has the paddle ready, and the Elizabethton Junior High Pirates, the GREEN WAVE will live forever.