I had decided the family collection of Christmas albums were like library books, tools and casserole dishes. Every time you lend one, you have a 50-50 chance of it disappearing.
So when my sister, Anne Marie Holleran, asked to borrow Christmas records from my late father’s prized collection, I winced a bit. I made it known these were not a gift, but a “loan.’’ Of course, she must have thought I was possessive and stalling because it took three weeks to arrange, pack and mail.
The delay simply was an exercise in time management, a decision on who brought what to our marriage, and identifying whether I would be loaning vinyl LPs that Mary considered Dannemiller family heirlooms. There were no scores to settle from six kids, two parents and one grandmother, and only one bathroom, suffering from cabin fever from the 1970s.
On Thanksgiving week, it was time to act. Soon there would be conflicts with Mary’s book club, pickleball games and workout classes while I would be out of the house in the evening refereeing basketball at least three nights a week. Consider the work for parish council, church rummage sale, column writing, managing the morning pickup hoops game at the Y … Hey, aren’t we supposed to be retired?
When the records were hauled out of storage and the sorting began, suddenly it became the Christmas season. One radio station tried to jumpstart our mood in the first week of November when its format switched to 24/7 Christmas music, but we deemed it too early and ignored that pre-set on the car radios.
Nevertheless, we placed candles in the windows and endured two snowfalls by the time I placed the first Christmas album of the season on my late mother’s turntable. The needle amplified the imperfections and scratches of Gene Autry, Burl Ives and The New Christy Minstrels as we sorted our prizes on the basement rug.
Mary’s father worked for Goodyear so almost every year he bought “The Great Songs of Christmas’’ compilation. Between our two collections, we had at least nine of these albums that the Akron, Ohio-based tire and rubber company issued from 1961-77 with artists of the era – Andy Williams, Tony Bennett, Doris Day, Percy Faith, Mahalia Jackson, Henry Mancini, Jose Feliciano, all signed by Columbia Records. I’d run out of space if I listed them all. Meanwhile, Goodrich, General Tire and Firestone were competing for their market share, so they followed suit.
A few hundred miles away in St. Lawrence County, Fran Holleran was trolling tire shops and Ames Department Store in Ogdensburg for the same records. Albums by Frank Sinatra, Barbra Steisand, John Gary, Eddy Arnold and Bing Crosby augmented his tire store collections.
As we sifted through the pile, up popped our own purchases – The Clancy Brothers, Eamon Kelly, The Dady Brothers, and Paddy Noonan’s “Christmas Time in Ireland.’’
“We pretty much had every Goodyear, Goodrich and Firestone album,’’ said my editor of 41 years. “The rubber capital of the world used those records as promotional tools. I don’t know why they got out of it.’’ I speculated that licensing fees became a hindrance and the companies decided the process was too cumbersome. Artists made more money releasing their own holiday albums.
One thing was certain. Sorting through these records embodied time travel to Christmases long, long ago (yes, that line was a steal from Andy Williams’ “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.’’). From her Ohio childhood, my wife recalled Christmas cards that were taped to the doorway arches.
I retain the childhood image of the stereo in the front living room, so big that it resembled a piece of furniture. My father would have about six or seven records on the rack above the turntable, one would flop down, and you’d hear the Ray Conniff Singers belting out an arrangement. Within half an hour, the carols were rivaled only by his snoring in a recliner with copies of the Ogdensburg Journal and Watertown Daily Times crumpled in his lap.
In the kitchen, my mother might be making cinnamon candy or stirring the hot fudge sauce per the recipe from her Hepburn Hospital nursing buddy Joyce Mallette. Siblings made paper chains of green and red links to string along doorways and stairwell railings. Of course, there were stories about tromping through snowy fields to cut evergreens or Anne Marie hiding a gift or three under the couch on Christmas morning so she could open the very last present.
Now 50 years later, Anne Marie received the first gift. The box was stuffed with paper and bubble wrap to prevent breakage, then delivered to the post office. About 10 pounds of albums and duplicate LPs were classified as media mail for the price of $14, a pittance when you consider the memories that will swirl. To remind her of her Irish heritage, I threw in John Gary’s “A Little Bit of Heaven’’ and a four-record set of The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem.
I’m sure they’re better than that inane, vapid “I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas’’ or “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer.’’ They weren’t included in The Great Songs of Christmas, but you’ll probably find them where they belong — in a dusty corner of a garage sale.
Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com/blog/
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