Santa’s reindeer were all together out in their favorite pasture. There was the usual Team, the “famous eight” which most people know by name. Rudolf, of course, was there. There were a lot of old, retired Team members, too, as well as a bunch of new recruits – younger reindeer who were being trained to replace the current Team members if anyone got sick – became too old to fly anymore.
The herd had spent the day working hard.
Cardio. Drills. Learning signs. Studying maps.
And much, much more…..
Santa’s Team had been working with some of the younger ones on flying.
Basically, teaching them how to fly.
Not everyone was going to be able to fly and pull Santa and his sleigh, of course, but those who could needed a lot of practice. They also needed to spend time studying routes: how they got from place to place, all over the world, in just one night.
Summers were busy. It was really a lot of work getting ready for The Big Night!
But right now, everyone needed a break. This was a time for telling stories.
Fun. Sometimes scary. But also educational. Stories.
The stories usually started with, “Remember the time…?”
“Remember that big Thanksgiving Day parade when….?”
“Remember when Santa told everybody that…?”
“Remember that time when he forgot…?” “…he lost a bag…”
Stories like this one.
“Remember that one year when we got caught in the terrible storm?” There were nods and grimaces all around from the older reindeer. “Tell us about it!” the younger ones said. “Boy, that’s a good one! Lots of lessons to be learned. OK, then…here goes.”
Comet started telling the story.
It was a very cold and windy Christmas Eve many years ago. One of the coldest and windiest anyone could remember.
It was not the kind of night that the reindeer wanted to be flying around the world.
But because it was Christmas, they had to!
So they got ready.
The elves were busy loading toy bags into the sleigh.
Santa was busy dressing as warm as he could.
Mrs. Claus was busy brewing up some hot tea for the trip.
The reindeer were busy with their pre-flight warm-up, and going over the route Santa had given them for that year’s trip.
Everybody was excited, but it wasn’t the fun kind of excitement they usually felt before Christmas Eve. No, it was more of a nervous excitement.
(Oh, by the way, Comet noted, this was before Rudolf joined the Team.)
When the last of Santa’s bags were in the sleigh, when the Team was all harnessed up, and when Santa was just about ready to climb aboard, the old man whispered to Donner and Blitzen, the two lead reindeer, “This storm is really bad! We can’t even see the stars to help us navigate.
Got any ideas how we should do this tonight?”
“Well,” started Donner, “we could fly the route in reverse. Maybe we could stay ahead of the wind and snow.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” Donner said.
“Instead of flying into the storm,” Blitzen suggested, “what if we head a little north first, then west, and try to fly around it?”
“We’ll be flying by the seat of our pants,” Santa noted. “In this storm, even our old compass doesn’t work well. But….”
So that’s what they decided to do.
Remember, this was before Rudolf!
Throughout that Christmas Eve, they did get blown off course,
got lost once or twice,
got to some places a little later than usual, and
generally had a tough time delivering all the gifts.
It was NOT a fun trip. but in the end, they made it home safely.
Boy, did they ever need a rest after that night!
“Phew! We never want to do that again!” Santa said when they were safely home.
“Did we learn anything tonight?”
Comet was quick to reply, “We need some new safety stuff!”
In the spring, Santa got a new compass and a couple big flashlights.
Oh, and guess who joined the Team soon after that.
On the other side of the field, Vixen started to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a full, loud laugh.
“What’s so funny?” one of the new guys asked.
“I was just thinking about Rudolf,” Vixen answered. “Remember that time when….?”
That’s when Vixen started to tell a new story,
one that the young reindeer had not heard before.
It was late in the summer a few years after that terrible, stormy Christmas Eve. The whole herd was just relaxing before they really had to start their pre-Christmas exercises. All the regular sleigh-pulling Team was there – and by now, that included Rudolf.
There were also a bunch of new recruits being trained to join the group.
On that afternoon, they were relaxing, just tossing a frisbee around.
(A frisbee? Yep! Can you imagine a herd of reindeer playing frisbee?)
Well….
Wingnut, one of the new young bucks, let his frisbee fly. He gave it a good hard throw. And wouldn’t you know, but it hit Rudolf in the nose. His nose.
It broke his nose, in fact!
Oh sure, Rudolf’s nose was still red, but now it was a swollen, bruised-up red. Not the kind of bright, headlight red Santa needed to lead the Team on Christmas Eve.
“Oh, no!” they all thought! “What are we going to do now? What are we going to tell Santa?”
“Maybe he won’t notice,” one of the young reindeer said.
“Are you kidding?!” came the reply – from almost everybody.
Trudy, one of the old, old-timers, trotted off to get some bandages and some ice. When she got back, she packed on the ice and wrapped up Rudolf’s nose. “How does it feel?” she asked.
“I can’t feel anything,” Rudolf answered. “I can’t smell.
And I’m pretty sure I can’t light up!”
The whole Team just about freaked out!
The older reindeer and the young trainees all agreed not to tell Santa – yet. Rudolf would have to kind of hide, stay inside their barn, eat alone, and just rest for a while. They did have time before Christmas, so they just hoped – and prayed – that
Rudolf’s nose would heal up in time.
In the meantime, they tried to come up with some ideas:
“Maybe we can all get some flashlights….”
“Maybe the elves can make us something….”
“Maybe we can find a flying car to lead us….”
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe….
It took almost all the time between that day and Christmas for Rudolf’s nose to heal. Trudy was in charge of that. The hardest part was keeping it a secret from Santa while making sure that Rudolf was staying in shape to fly.
It was a couple weeks before Christmas when Rudolf was well enough to come out with the others, and to see Santa. His nose was almost back to normal – but almost wasn’t quite good enough.
It looked fine in the daytime, but not all that bright when it got dark.
It was a serious story, but the way Vixen told it, everyone was laughing so hard! Santa even laughed when the reindeer finally told him…..a few years later!
“OK, you guys.” It was Rudolf talking this time. “That was a good story. But I have a real doozy! And it’s a good lesson for all the newbies!”
Rudolf didn’t really talk very much, so when he did everybody listened really hard.
“So … you heard about that terrible trip before I joined the Team. You heard about my nose, my bright red nose. It was broken, but it healed up. Well, noses don’t usually shine like mine does, but they do usually smell things.”
That was all it took.
The Team knew what was coming next, and they started to laugh so hard that the others could barely hear Rudolf.
It all happened many years ago.
That year, Santa and Mrs. Claus had sent out a note to their helpers around the world. The note let people know that Santa and the reindeer really, really appreciated the snacks and goodies that folks left Santa and his Team. Cookies. Coffee cake. Lots of carrots. Sometimes celery. Shots of whiskey…
But the Clauses wanted everyone to know that the reindeer cannot eat the raw, crunchy vegetables. Especially those carrots! Reindeer just don’t have the right teeth to chew them up. And they can really mess up a reindeer’s tummy!
Every Christmas, Santa had to load lots of carrots back into his sleigh and bring bags and bags – and bags – of them back to the North Pole.
The elves would eat some, cook some, and give lots to food banks and friends.
The reindeer do like to eat other things, though. They love raisins. And cranberries. And mushrooms. And of course, moss and their favorite: lichens.
Children didn’t usually leave those things out,
but every once in a while, the reindeer got some great treats.
Rudolf went on with his story.
That Christmas Eve many years ago was cold. Not as windy and stormy as the year they almost got lost, but just plain cold.
Mrs. Claus wanted Santa and his Team to be warmed up, so she made big pots of nice, sweet baked beans for everyone. There was plenty to go around, and everybody was warm and full before they had to fly out that night.
The sleigh was loaded and ready just before midnight. Routes were checked. The Team was harnessed. Santa climbed aboard.
At midnight, they headed out – flying west toward the Pacific, then south toward Australia. There were many, many stops along the way.
There were many, many treats along the way, as usual. After the baked beans, Mrs. Claus had also packed some of the Team’s favorite mosses and other goodies to eat, and there were more raisins and fruits that year than usual.
Team had to stay energized and full all night.
Santa and the Team made good time that year. Where it was cold, it was very cold, but where it was warmer, it was quite pleasant. Flying over Europe got pretty chilly, though.
Finally, after all their stops in England, then Ireland, they continued westward over the cold Atlantic toward North America. One of their last stops would be Hawaii.
Rudolf, of course, was in front, leading the way.
That meant it was cold. It also meant that the Team had to fly harder and faster to be sure they got Santa to the homes in America on time.
That’s when all the “fun” started.
That’s when all the beans and raisins, fruits and moss kicked in.
Rudolf was the first.
He started with just a little “pfpfffftt!” Hardly enough to notice.
But Donner and Blitzen did notice!
“Eeeough!” they snorted. “What was that?”
Rudolf said nothing. He just kept lighting the way.
Soon there was another. A little bigger and louder. It came from Rudolf again, but another one also came from Blitzen. And then Prancer. Then Comet. Dancer. Pop-pop-pop! Parumpppp! Ssssssttttt! Frraaaapppp! On and on…..
It turned into a flying, farty fantasy! A bum burp symphony! A Christmas cacophony!
A nose-nasty nocturn that seemed to just go on and on!
All the reindeer – except Rudolf, of course – tried to not breathe in the air.
But they had to fly hard and fast, and the wind carried the farts
right back toward them.
Of course, the fragrance was stronger and stronger for the pairs of reindeer the farther back in the Team.
But it was the worst for Santa, himself.
And there was nothing he could do about it. He had to drive the sleigh.
He had to keep the Team on course.
He had to stay focused.
He had to breathe – and that got harder and harder to do.
Santa Claus almost passed out!
Somewhere before they reached Newfoundland, things began to settle down. At least a little bit.
Rudolf finished by saying, “Finally, by the time we got to Canada, the stinky symphony stopped. Everybody was relieved, but nobody was more relieved than Santa himself. He could breathe again!”
“One more thing,” Cupid added. “After that trip, Santa made a new rule:
No beans before take off!”
And that’s been the rule ever since.
Needless to say, the whole herd of reindeer was rolling on the ground laughing!
There are lots more reindeer tales. Lots more!
For everyone at the North Pole, summers are busy. There is really a lot of work getting ready for The Big Night!
There is also time for stories. The stories are fun, funny, and educational.
The stories often start with, “Remember the time…?” “Remember that big Thanksgiving Day parade when….?” “Remember when Santa told everybody that…?” “Remember that time when he forgot…?” “…when he lost a bag…” “When……”
Wait….lost a bag?
Ah, yes. But that’s another story for another day.
“Spray!” Andy’s wife, Annie, called across the bedroom. Andy was about to enter the bathroom that Sunday morning. A second earlier, he had told her that he had to go really bad. #2. He added that it was kind of unusual that his “Sunday friend” was visiting so early in the morning, but the tacos they had eaten the night before had apparently woken up before he had.
“I always do,” he called back.
“Yes. You sure do. You’re doing it now. Bum burps don’t count,” she clarified. “I mean afterwards – but be sure use the air freshener after you’re done, too!”
Busted. Andy went into the bathroom, sat down, remembered his orders, and started to think. (He had read all the magazines.)
The “use the air freshener” reminder brought back memories of other airs. For starters, Andy remembered those rare occasions when he was a kid and his mother would cook rutabagas. Apparently, for some reason, his dad liked them. Whenever she cooked them, Andy had to leave the house. Literally leave. Go outdoors. Regardless of the weather. Get away from the smell. The stench. It made him sick. Turned his stomach. Those damn rutabagas stank. He thought of them as God’s bad joke on humanity.
However, on the other hand, on other occasions, his mom would fry up some liver. The smell of liver often has the same effect on others that rutabaga had on Andy. In contrast, he absolutely loved the smell of cooking liver. Liver and onions. Liver and bacon. So good! Funny how that works, huh?
To shake that nasty rutabaga memory, Andy remembered years ago when Annie was pregnant for the first time. It was a whole new experience for both of them. Pregnancy changes a lot of things; however, little did either of them know the impact pregnancy would have on Annie’s nose. She had always had a very sensitive nose, totally attuned to all those little odor molecules that float through the air. Sometimes that was really helpful, but at other times, it could be a pain in the schnoz. During pregnancy was one of those times. Two of the smells which all but turned her stomach were the smell of rice cooking in a rice cooker, and the fragrance of Andy’s favorite, lime-scented after shave. Of all things! One a warm, comfort-food aroma; the other a usual turn-on fragrance. For nine months, they ate no rice, and he wore no after shave. That was followed by the sweet smell of a newborn…and diapers.
Andy’s eyes floated around the bathroom, and his mind shifted yet again. Seeing the laundry basket in the corner of the bathroom made him think about BO. He suspected that no one with functioning olfactories really liked the smell of stinky diapers or body odor. Otherwise, stores would be selling a lot less soap, deodorants, and perfumes – and after shaves. People would not be changing underwear or washing our clothes as often, and, God knows, they wouldn’t change our bed sheets. Luckily, the laundry basket had a lid.
So, what else is out there, he thought, right under everybody’s noses.
He shook his head as if to clear his mind. And this time, his mind flipped to those smells which almost everyone loves, fragrances which generate pleasant, happy memories. Roses. Lilacs blooming in the spring. Fresh baked cookies coming out of the oven. Hamburgers grilling on the barbeque. He thought of the holiday smell of a freshly cut Christmas tree when it is first brought into the house. That “pleasant” list could potentially become quite long. It struck him, though, that the one smell may have different impacts on different people. One man’s fragrance may be another man’s stink.
“How are you doing?” Annie called. “Fine,” he called back. That’s when he his mind started to sniff around some of those other things.
Back in the day, English Leather had been a popular cologne for a lot of young guys. Andy had thought it smelled great. He thought he smelled great. He remembered one day, noticing a friend’s cologne – (after shave, really, but who shaved?). It was not bad, but he did not really like it. He asked what it was. When the friend told him that it was English Leather, Andy wondered, “Is that what I smell like to other people?” That was when he changed his cologne to the new great fragrance – Canoe. Powerful. A teenager and his after shave. Overwhelming, perhaps?
Sitting there on the john, Andy then remembered a perfume that his mother used to wear. It, too, had a very nice fragrance. Everyone seemed to like it. However, one night on a date, and the young lady he was with happened to be wearing that same perfume. It turned out to be their first and last date.
Still there on the poop stoop, Andy thought of some of his own personal favorite nose teasers. Some may also be universal, he thought, popular at any time. Some, like the Christmas tree, may be seasonal. Some may be well known, but less often thought of as nose favorites. Then, too, other may well be very person-specific.
Andy thought this might sound strange, but each smell carried a memory or a story. For example, dog poop. But only in the spring. This one seems to have gotten lost over time, somehow, though. His mind wandered, stepping carefully. A peculiarly springtime smell, Andy re membered that the aroma of dog poop used to fill the air as it thawed in the warmth of early spring. As strange as it may seem, as the snow and winter cold gave way to the season of renewal, all the poop which dogs had dropped, and had frozen during the winter, began to thaw and melt into the softer earth. In doing so, it gave off the mellow fragrance of natural fertilizer. By the time anyone might walk where it had been dropped, frozen and finally defrosted, it was gone. The aroma lingered for a short time before it dissipated. The earth was richer for it.
Moving from spring to summer, Andy thought of thunderstorms. He loved the smell of ozone before a good, summer storm. It reminds me of when he was a kid, watching thunderstorms roll out of the west over our little hometown. It is a tingly, exciting smell of nature preparing us for a downpour. Then, after the storm passes, the sun comes out, and the air smells fresh and clean. Plants, trees, and flowers grow. Grass grows, too. And before long, grass needs to be mowed. Mowing may be a chore, but he also loved the soothing, green smell of a newly mown lawn is, a strong scent of summer.
Still thinking of summer, chlorine came to mind. Clorox is OK, but here, he was thinking of swimming pools and of the chlorine used to keep the water safe. These days, Andy swims in an indoor pool which has a more powerful aroma than an outdoor pool, but the aroma of pools, in general, is welcoming. It may sound strange to some people, but after a good swim in a well-maintained pool, Andy almost hesitated to shower off. He loves the residual fragrance which the chlorine leaves on his skin.
Still sitting on the toilet, still thinking of summer, Andy thought, “Skunk!” That is one hell of a stinky smell! As long as he hadn’t been sprayed directly, as long as there is a bit of time and space between the skunk and him, Andy somehow liked the stink. There are probably only a very, very small handful of people on earth who can say that. To him, though, the smell of skunk is closely associated with summer, with driving down the highway, windows open on a warm July evening. It is also realizing that someone else had the bad luck to actually hit or run over a skunk. (That’s the nasty, never-goes-away smell of skunk.) But in that warm distance, the smell of skunk is comforting and warm.
And from summer into fall, another seasonal fragrance Andy loved was burning leaves. Back in the day, his house was on a corner lot, surrounded by big, old, leafy elm trees. In autumn, the leaves would fall. Raking the fallen leaves was one of the seasonal chores which the kids had to do. But once raked into piles around the yard, there were two – no actually three – follow-up actions. The first, of course, was to jump into big piles of soft, golden leaves. That had its own special autumn fragrance. The next was to take bundles of leaves and pack them around the bottoms of the decorative shrubs which surrounded the house. Big house, lots of shrubs. They took plenty of the leaves. But not nearly all of them. As the final follow-up, with parents’ help, the kids got to burn the rest. There were always more than plenty left to burn.
That process involved toting the remaining leaves to the street on one side of the house. There was no actual curb on the side, and they just dumped the leaves into a big heap – and set them afire. As the first fire get smaller, the kids added more until all the leaves were gone. The smell of burning leaves filled the neighborhood – indeed the whole town, as neighbors near and far did the same. Sometimes the kids would stand close to or in the path of the smoke so that they would carry the aroma with them when the work was done.
Speaking of smoke, Andy’s next though was of incense. Do you like incense? Some people do; other definitely do not. Growing up, Andy had been an altar boy. For years and years, during various services, incense was part of the ceremony. Easter, funerals, some novenas, some other special Masses all called for burning incense. Altar boys would vie for the role of thurifer, the acolyte who carried the censor, and who often even got to light the fire. It was a cool job which usually went to the more senior among the servers. When the time came in the service, the altar boy would sprinkle incense on the burning charcoal inside the thurifer, and watch the smoke rise up. He would let the lid slide back down into place, and then swing the burning incense so that the smoke and smell spread as far and wide as we could make it go. Later, after the service, that altar boy got to put out the coals and cool the thurifer. A variation of a spray, and great fun for a kid! Great fragrance. “Maybe that’s what I need right now,” he thought.
Sticking with the smoky theme, most people do not really like the smell of cigarette smoke. Although as kids, most of the adults around Andy’s family smoked, the never smell appealed to him. Nor did cigar smoke. Occasionally, pipe tobacco had a pleasant aroma, but not enough to make him want to try it. However, there is one smoke-smell which Andy remembered that he did like. He suspected that most everyone had experienced this one, but he also suspected that almost no one considers it pleasant. The smell: old cigarette smoke mixed with stale beer. It is a smell which wafts out the door of a cheap tavern. The memory of that ‘aroma’ brought back memories of riding with his father to the Flatiron Grill on Lehigh Avenue, a block beyond the end of downtown.
Andy’s dad was not a big drinker by any stretch of the imagination. But their hometown was in Pennsylvania, and the only places where one could buy take-out beer were from beer distributors, or bars and taverns. The quantity was limited, but, every once in a while, his dad would drive the few blocks to the Flatiron for some take-home beer. Sometimes, Andy got to go along with him for a ride. His dad would go into the bar; Andy would stay in the car. As he sat there in the car for the five or ten minutes, Dad was inside, he would roll down the window and take in that stale cigarettes and beer smell. Soon, his dad would be back in the car, and they would head home. Andy loved the ride, their time together, and that funky smell which brings back memories of both.
Sitting there on his throne, Andy realized that he was remembering all the smells, aromas, odors and fragrances. He was also remembering situations, people, and good times. He knew that was not actually smelling them; his olfactory senses were not really picking up those various bouquets. Andy realized that the scents were in his head, not in his noses. Interesting, he thought; he had not considered that before.
By now, Andy’s Sunday friend was leaving, the paperwork was done. Good-byes were said. He flushed, walked out and washed up.
“Did you spray?” Annie asked as he exited the bathroom.
“Sure did,” he said – and winked. “You’re gonna love it!”
I have no song for this story. Nothing necessarily brings it to mind. Truth is, I have been trying to either forget or tell this story for nearly 50 years now. I have been pretty good at one of those things – forgetting. By and large, the events are tucked away deep in the recesses of my mind. It’s only every now and then that something happens which opens doors better left closed and shines light into dark corners. I have tried to tell this to people from time to time. It never works. My family knows of it, but they don’t know it. Every so often, they will ask that I tell them. The story scares me to this day. Something recently happened.
What happened? A message. Like an old Tweet: I’m back. Yes. I’m back. Simple. Short. Out of the ether.
Yes. He’s back. That’s all I know. And now I am compelled to tell the story. Let me start with some background.
It all took place during Christmas Break, 1966, in our little home town in Pennsylvania. It was a cold, wintery white Christmas, but then, most were. My friends and I were all home for the holidays – just like the song. This was our sophomore year, and the first extended time away from our college classes that year, Winter Break. Star Trek and Batman were cool; the Mamas and the Papas were groovy. Ho Chi Minh was in our vocabulary. Coming together after the first semester of school was going to be a blast – stories to tell, brews to throw back, new moves to try out.
We were a tight knit group who’d pretty much grown up together. There was Jimmy. He had a sort of tough life but a large extended family. There’s a whole separate story there, but that’s for another time. Tim was his neighbor, short, cute, totally Irish. Liz and I were from families which had such a long history together that we almost could have been brother and sister. Fran & Frank were the only real couple of our group. Their relationship was fairly new; basically, they started officially going together when they ended up going to the same university. It was a little bit romance and a bit more convenience. Two of the group were MIA. Kenny, Diana’s long-distance boyfriend, had not gone away to college. He had stayed home and gotten a job in town instead. The rest of us were not sure just why he’d stayed. Money? Grades? Fear? Whatever the reason, he still lived at home. The other absentee was Enos, the guy with the name which opened him to a lot of grief when spoken aloud, had the farthest distance to travel home. His university had a slightly different schedule, as well. These two points, combined with the weather, had made it harder for him to get home on time. Finally, there was Diana, the oldest child and only girl in a family of four kids. It was at Diana’s house that the events of the story began.
We had all arrived home in the days before December 25th. With little time, we’d all done our shopping for family and friends – what little we could afford, helped with some final house decorating, cookie baking, and gift wrapping … basically gotten ready for Christmas. At that point, we had not had a lot of time to catch up. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were for family.
After Christmas, however, it was time for our group to get together. Our plan was to meet at Diana’s home before heading out to Tommy’s In Crowd just across the New York State border. Tommy, the owner, was an old friend; his place was, in fact, the “in” place to see and be seen in the late ‘60s, and the drinking age in NY was still 18.
Diana’s home, with four children ranging in age from about 10 to 18, was fully decked out for the season, a beautiful tree, holly sprigs in Christmassy vases, festive ceramic Santas, angels and reindeer in place of the ‘regular’ nick-knacks. Their tree was huge, bright with lights, tinsel and all sorts of glass ornaments. Under the tree, piles of opened and still-wrapped presents were clustered into what we learned were “people piles”, one pile for each member of the family.
First to arrive at Diana’s house were Jimmy and Tim at about 7:30. Fran and Frank were a few minutes later, followed shortly by Liz. I got there just before eight. Seven friends. Hugs and kisses. Greetings and laughter. Instant catching up and eyeing one another evidence of the infamous “freshman 15”, the notorious extra pounds students often pack on in their first year or two of dorm food. Seven friends and a quandary. What to do? Wait for Kenny and Enos, who might not even make it, or leave and let them catch up later?
“Call ’em,” Liz said. In the days before cell phones, that meant calling their home phones and hoping that someone was home to answer or that the line wasn’t busy.
“Tried that,” Diana told us. “Got a busy signal. Got a no-answer. Tried again. Kenny’s mom said that he wasn’t there. Nothing on Enos. So basically I got nowhere.”
We decided to hang out for a while, reconnect and wait for Ken and Enos. Diana’s brothers had gotten some new board games for Christmas, so, if conversation lagged, we could also play a game or two. There was also lots of food in the house, and pop and eggnog, so we were set. Fran noticed one game in particular. It was a Ouija board, a fortune telling game. She said that she had played it with the girls in her dorm and that it was fun. “Game”, we would all soon learn, is not the right word for a Ouija board.
Setting up, Frannie explained the process. She volunteered to handle the planchette, the pointer, but needed a partner. Jimmy volunteered. The rest of us had jobs, as well. I was the recorder. I tracked the path of the planchette and wrote down letters in the response sequence.We would ask question of the board. Anything at all. Fran suggested that it was usually good to start simple to sort of test the process. In addition to asking questions, we would read what the all-seeing, talking board Ouija had to say.
The board, itself, was a large rectangle. Arched across the upper half of the board were the letters of the alphabet in two rows, A-M and N-Z. Below the letters were numbers 1-0. The upper left corner of the board had a shining sun with the word ‘Yes’; on the upper right was a crescent moon with ‘No’. The bottom of the board simple said, “Good-bye.”
Frannie and Jim sat facing each other on dining room chairs, the board lay flat on a small TV stand between them.
“OK, then….no cheating, you guys,” the rest of us admonished. Smirks.
“Course not!” they replied. Winks.
“OK, who goes first?”
“Wait. Wait! What’r the rules?” Diana asked?
“Rules?” Jimmy said.
“Yeah. I mean…what do we ask? What kinds of questions? Who looks? Who doesn’t?”
“Hell, damned if I know,” Frannie said. “What do you want to know. Like I said, just ask us a question. Start simple. We both have fingers on the pointer. We close our eyes and the pointer moves around the board to letters that spell the answer. You read the answer. That’s about it!”
“Right. Ask you a question!” I retorted.
“Go,” Jimmy said.
So I started. “Hi, Mr. All Knowing Seer Weegee, what can you tell us?”
Frannie and Jim closed their eyes. They seemed to go into a trance. They squinted. Slowly the planchette moved. It spelled out AOYTGING.
“Oops,” Frannie chuckled. “I think that means ‘anything.’ We hafta warm up our fingers.”
“Ok,” Tim said. “So we can ask anything. Right?”
The planchette moved to YES.
“Shit, Man, this is too tough. My turn. Can I ask?” Still Tim.
NO
“Why not?” Tim continued.
“Fran looked over, “’Cuz it said no to you, doof.” We all laughed. “Ok, Timbo. Ask Away. We’ll see what we can do.”
So Tim asked, “Will I ever find love?”
YES
“Phew, that’s a relief!” Tim said. “What kind?”
Fran and Jim looked at each other. There was a semi-nod between them.
DEEPFNKYHARDCOR
“I like it,” Tim said when he saw the answer. Cute as he was, Tim had never been what one might call a ladies man. His dates had always been friends, not even kissing friends. Just girls who said yes to the dance, the date, the evening because it would be safe and there would be lots of other people around. And he was definitely cute. But, too familiar. “I can go deep. I can get funky. I can be hard core. Thanks,”
Again we all laughed.
About that time Diana’s parents came into the room to say good-bye. They were headed out the door to visit some neighbors, have a holiday drink and come home. It was about 8:30 or so.
We said a round of good-byes, and Diana asked what time they thought they would be home. Not that it mattered. We were probably going to be gone, but she asked out of curiosity. “About 10:30 or so,” they said. They were just going to visit some friends in the neighborhood.
After they left, Diana turned toward the board and said, “I have a question, oh all seeing Ouija. What time will my parents get home?”
“927,” came the answer. Jimmy and Fran looked at one another as if to ask, “Who did that?”
Back to the board, Liz asked, “So what about me?”
WADBOUCHU
As the planchette moved, and the letters identified, one of us spoke each one aloud. I wrote them down. We looked at the string, repeated Liz’s question and stared at Fran and Jim. They shrugged back. We attempted to pronounce what we saw. After a few tries, we settled on a translation of “What about you?”
“Cool, guys,” Frank said to the planchette movers. Referring to the seemingly effortless movement from random letter to random letter, he asked, “You guys practice this before?”
“Hell, no!” they said in unison. “Guess we’re just totally synched with the board.”
“So anyway,” Liz followed up. “What about me? Will I find love?”
YOUWILLNOBDYANBDYHERENOSDWNTRODINTHFUCHRGODUN
That had proved to be too many letters to track in our heads, so the board was asked the same question again. This time, I, alone, was tasked with writing down the response, letter by letter.
It took a couple minutes of translating again, but we finally landed on: Dumb shit get smart. You will. Nobody anybody here knows. Down the road, into the future. Good one.
So, two question down and two positive replies. It felt like we were off to a good, fun start. We complimented Jimmy and Frannie on their ability to coordinate so well. “It’s not us,” they said. “Of course not,” we agreed. It was the All Seeing Ouija.
“By the way, Ouija,” I asked. “Who are you?”
DONAX
That took us aback. What did it mean? DONAX “Don’t ask.”
“But you are supposed to answer our questions. So, who are you?” I figured that the few seconds which passed had given Fran and Jim some time to create a reply.
UCTHNDLTHEANSRICLDLI
Translation: You can’t handle the truth, or I could lie.
I looked at Fran and Jim; they looked back at me. “Cute!” I said. They were about to say something back to me when the front door opened. It was Diana’s mom and dad. Before we said a word, we look at the clock on the wall. 9:27.
“Mom, Dad, what are you guys doing home so soon?” Diana asked. Her parents explained that they’d walked down the block to visit with some neighbor friends, and when they got there, nobody was home. That surprised them as they had made arrangements earlier in the day. So they went to other neighbor’s home, and they were there. They went in and had an egg nog, but as their friends were leaving early the next morning to visit family in another state they didn’t stay long. Rather than just wandered the neighborhood looking for someone to take them in, they decided to come on home. At 9:27.
As Diana’s parents walked toward the kitchen, Fran’s face lost some of its color. She looked at the rest of our group and said something to the effect that she and Jim had not been moving the planchette. Their finger tips had been on it, but it had moved by itself. They weren’t tracking the letters, we were. And on top of that, there was no way in hell that they could have known that Diana’s parents would walk through the door at 9:27!
There followed a moment of silence. We looked at one another. Was this a game?
“So, again, who are you?” I asked the board again. “And do you always tell the truth?”
PUNKYNMYBE – Punk. Yes. No. Maybe.
To tell the truth, we were all beginning to be taken aback by all of this.
“OK, guys,” Liz said, “Let’s go deeper.”
We were a bit more reluctant, but we addressed the Ouija, “So where’s Kenny? Why is he so late?”
It was a challenge to track the letters. It was even more of a challenge to translate into regular words. The closest we would come to that was something to the effect that Kenny was not here because he was embarrassed that he wasn’t in school like the rest of us, and that he was out playing around with somebody else instead of being with Diana.
If that was the message, this was no game, and it was no longer fun.
We decided that we needed to test the board. We decided to press the question about who we were communicating with, who was sending responses to our questions.
“Who are you?” Frank asked. “Who is answering our questions?”
UDONWANANO (You don’t want to know)
“Yes, we do,” Frank persisted.
FKUDSHTFUKNU
That reply took some work. We finally settled on, “Fuck! You’d shit if you knew.”
“Who are you?” Liz persisted.
GDMTIMJSTAANGL
More time to translate. “Goddamn, I’m just an angel.”
“No. You’re not. Angels don’t curse like that.” It was Liz again.
No reply.
We thought about our next question. We wondered if we should ask anymore, at all. Finally, we all decided to change the line of questions.
“Where’s Enos?” Diana asked.
“Good question! Yeah, where is he?”
DONKNODONCAR (Don’t know; don’t care)
“You may not care, but we do.” This time it was Tim. “We just want to know where he is and if he’s coming over tonight.”
YEPSN (Yep, soon)
The doorbell rang. “Ahhh, there he is!” Diana said. “Soon, all right.”
SNOTHMITSJANEE
No one had asked a question; no one had directed anything toward the board. As Diana got up to go answer the door, the rest of us decoded the message. “It’s not him. It’s Janie”. Janie was Mary Jane, another friend who live across the street from Diana. She was supposed to be out of town with her family.
Diana was surprised when she opened the door and saw Janie. She welcomed her in and brought her to the dining room where the rest of us were gathered. She was also surprised by the stunned look on our faces as they came toward us. Stunned. Almost frightened. Dead silent.
Diana hadn’t seen what the board had said as she was going to the door. “What?”
We showed her – them – the note we’d taken down. Diana sat, almost fell, down. Janie didn’t understand. We tried to explain, but she just laughed.
It was getting late. There’d be no Tommy’s In Crowd for us that night. I, for one, just wanted to get home and feel safe in my own house. I was not alone feeling that way. Although Janie had just arrived, we started to all say our good-byes for the night. Tomorrow would be another day. Another cold, winter day.
I drove home very carefully. Liz, Frannie and Frank also all drove home, Liz alone, Fran and Frank together. Jim and Tim both lived a block or two away, so they walked together. Only Diana and Janie remained.
It was an anxious, nerve wracking night. Later conversations noted that none of us slept well at night at all. And if we slept at all, there was jarring, disturbing dreams.
The next morning, we checked in with one another by phone. No texts back in the day. It was one call at a time, hoping to get through. Strangely enough, as unsettling as the previous night had been, we all knew that it was not over. We knew that we had to come back together and finish what we had started. Looking back, that was a very unwise, dangerous even, decision. But that second evening, we were back at Diana’s house.
Diana’s parents were in the family room watching TV. Her brothers had all gone to friends’ houses. We gathered again in the dining room.
Janie did not come back. Apparently, her family did leave town for a few days to visit relatives. Enos still hadn’t joined us, although he told Jim that he planned to do so in a phone call earlier in the day.
“So, should we do this again or not?” That was me. I knew that the question was rhetorical. We were all there for one reason. But I raised the issue anyway.
Frannie and Jim took the same positions they’d had the night before.
“How do we know that you guys aren’t just jerking us off?” Tim asked.
“You read those things last night. There’s no way we could have known some of that stuff. But if you want to be sure, blindfold us.” That was Jim. We took him up on that. Moving forward that night, Jim and Fran were blindfolded.
First question: Where’s Enos?
CMGHRAT759 (Coming. Here at 7:59) It was 7:48 at the time.
“Who are you?”
TLDUIMANGLODRKANGL
That took some figuring out. (Told you I’m an angel, dark angel”)
“Do you have a name?”
LOTS
“Like what?”’
CLDBEMKLCLDBERFLCLDBEBLZABB (Could be Michael. Could be Raphael. Could be Beelzabub)
This was both challenging and, as we soon learned, frightening.
(Call me dark Angel. Call me Lucifer. Call me Zoroaster. Call me Beelzabub. Call me Satan. Call me Hell Fire)
I should point out that as Fran and Jim were blindfolded and could not see where the planchette was pointing, we had also turned the board itself. Letters and numbers were facing a different direction than they had been the night before. Also, as some of these messages were long, and as I was tracking the letters as best I could, the others didn’t always see what had come through right away.
“OK, Dark Angel, do you always tell the truth?”
The planchette pointed to the sunny “Yes.”
“Do you lie?” Another yes.
“Great! So how do we know when you are telling the truth and when you are lying?”
ASHOLUDNTBTIDO (Ass hole. You don’t but I do)
We paused. We went through the most recent responses. Most were brief but pointed. We discussed continuing the “game” and what line of questioning we wanted to pursue.
The doorbell rang. 7:59. When Diana answered it, it was Enos. When he got settled a bit, we filled him in.
By way of background, Enos was a really smart guy. Scholarship. Pre-med. Prestigious school. Wicked funny sense of humor. When he heard our story, he was all in. “I got a few questions,” he said.
“OK, board, tell me about the world today. What’s up and how are we doing with everything?”
(That’s a big question. The world sucks right now. Johnson is an SOB but trying. Wait until the next president, Nixon, a disaster. Never win in Viet Nam. Mr. Clean is good but nothing happens. What else? The USSR is dangerous)
“What? Can you speak in full sentences? Who are you talking about?
URDNOKWSASSALRDYUGTSENTNCSPRSJHNSNNXNNXTUTHNT
(You are doing OK, Wise Ass. Already you get sentences. President Johnson. Nixon is next. U Thant)
OK, so we knew Johnson. We knew of Nixon, but he was an old vice-president. Why he was included here we didn’t know. Yet. U Thant was the United Nations secretary general; for some reason, we referred to him as Mr. Clean. Not bad for a board game.
“Who are you again?” This was Enos.
SATAN
This time, it was pretty a straightforward, pretty scary answer.
“Are you lying?” That was me.
YES
“Are you telling the truth?”
YESNOYESNOYESNOYESNOYESNOYESNOYESNOHAHAHAHAHAHA
The planchette slipped back and forth, back and forth across the board between the sun and the moon. To tell the truth, we were all getting really scared. It was obvious that Jim and Fran were not controlling the pointer; they couldn’t even see the surface of the board.
All of a sudden the planchette started to move.
ASKMEBOUTYURLIVS (Ask me about your lives) Pause.
GTPRSNL (Get personal)
We looked at each other. Did we dare? After what we’d been seeing, did we want to get into personal lives and maybe our futures? Tim ventured first.
“Who am I and what will happen to me?”
TIMTINYTIMSADLONLYLFFARAWYFRMHRE (Tim, Tiny Tim, a sad lonely life far away from here)
That was not what Tim – or any of us – wanted to hear. Tim was a happy, popular guy from a great family. Did he want to pursue details about the reply?
“Are you lying or telling the truth?”
YES
“OK, change of scenery!” Diana jumped in. “Board, where the hell is Kenny these days?”
RELLYWNT2NOHESHKNGWSMBMBONELMRA
(Really want to know? He’s shacking up with some bimbo in Elmira)
Tears welled in Diana’s eyes. She had been suspecting something like this, but never expected to get it from a board game.
And so it went for a while. We each dared the board and asked personal questions. Some of the answers were on target; others were quite different. The follow-up questions did little to satisfy our needs. But we were all sucked into the miasma of “fortunes.”
Lies. Truths. Mis-information. Dire predictions. Never knowing what was true and what was a lie. The board had trapped us. It felt evil. Frankly, we were all terrified, and we didn’t know how to escape.
After some more questions, we finally stopped. The board was boxed up and re-placed under the tree. We had made a decision, a pact, that we would never “play” with the board again.
Until the following evening. Curiosity, addiction, fear, a giddiness factor – whatever it was, we all came back to Diana’s home the next night. The days between Christmas and the New Year were winding down, but like addicts needing a fix, we wanted one more hit.
URBKSKRSINEWITUCNTSTOPSNGYRSWTDRKANGL
The questions became deeper. Some were general; others were as specific as we dared ask. The answers were, in turn, as dark, as bright, as ugly and as pleasant as the imagination can fathom. The board foretold world events. Of course, at the time, we had no idea what those prophecies meant. It spoke of things not yet done – in real time. It spoke of plagues, volcanoes, the Berlin wall, suicides and diseases. We decoded the names of Greek gods, kings, warlike terrorists, and much more. The board named names, now historical, which, at that time, were unknown to us. We learned of the happiness and sorrow, the life and death, the triumphs and tragedies of one another and those we loved – or were to one day love. Of course, as always, we checked. We double checked on the veracity of the details and the trustworthiness of the Dark Angel. And as always, it always told us the truth. And it always lied. What we learned about our futures both excited and scared the hell out of each one of us. Sheer terror would usher in in the New Year.
And that night, we stopped for good. We again made a pact among ourselves to never “play” this game again. This night, we swore it. Truth be told, we were terrified. Like the bell that can’t be unring, or the vision that can’t be unseen, we’d experienced things we could never forget.
Our decision was made. The planchette slid down to the big “good bye” at the bottom of the board. Fran had deliberately done that.
UCNNVRSYGDBYTOME (You can never say good-bye to me) But we were done.
We never did make it to Tommy’s that night, again. We barely made it home. As I had been translating the notes as they came through the board, I decided I would destroy them as well. The board itself stayed at Diana’s house; it was her brothers’ after all. However, Diana tried to tuck it away where they couldn’t find it.
Decades later, as my brother and I were packing up the house that our family had lived in for close to 100 years, I was cleaning out the junk in a closet. To my shock, I pulled out a Ouija board. Where it had come from and how long it had been in the closet, I had no idea. What I did know, though, was that it had to go, fast. It was thrown out and destroyed as fast as I could pull it out.
This story may not capture the full extent of the trauma it brought to our group of friends. In looking back, I realize that some of the predictions it had made for some of us did come true. Some good; some less so. We did eventually go to Tommy’s. We celebrated the New Year with family and friends. We went back to school for our 2nd semester. Life did go on.
To this day, except for the time in the closet, I have never touched a Ouija board again.
