On this special day I offer two of my favorite Christmas columns
One is for Star Wars fans of all ages and the other for those who are familiar with the game of "Horse"
Taking the day off for Christmas Eve, I’m happy to repeat two of my favorite Christmas columns, both of which ran in this space last year. We have had a number of new subscribers recently, so it’s likely they haven’t seen them before.
I want to thank all of you for your incredible support in the last year. It’s been a wild and wonderful ride, with big plans for the New Year.
The Night Before Christmas in a Galaxy Far, Far Away
A favorite Christmas memory from long ago
A few days ago I received an email from a man who is both an English professor and a freelance writer in Cleveland. He said he was conducting some research for an article he was writing for the “Official Star Wars Website” and had somehow tripped across a column I had written at Christmas time in 1978.
The column was titled “The Night Before Christmas in a Galaxy Far, Far Away” and was written as Star Wars mania was sweeping the country.
My newfound friend from Cleveland wondered “whose idea was it to incorporate Star Wars into a Christmas story?” and also wanted to know “how did you come up with it and why did you write it?”
The answers to those questions are simple. The idea came about because my 4-year-old son, Ted, was incredibly taken with Star Wars, and his unbridled enthusiasm pulled me along as well. I wrote it as a Christmas present of sorts that I could read to him.
Because Ted was much more attuned to Star Wars than I was, he served as my technical adviser on the project, which started on a Saturday afternoon and stretched almost to the stroke of midnight.
Much to my surprise, the day after the piece ran in The Davis Enterprise, the folks at United Press International called and wondered if they could “put it on the wire.”
In those pre-internet days, this would be the equivalent of posting it online, given that UPI was a large news service that many newspapers across the country subscribed to.
No, it didn’t go “viral,” but the first evidence I received that it had traveled beyond the Davis city limits came in a phone call from my Uncle George that he and Aunt Sally had seen it in the Ukiah Daily Journal in Mendocino County.
Soon thereafter came reports from aunts, uncles, cousins and friends in Oregon, Ohio, North Dakota, South Dakota and deep in the heart of Dixie that they too had seen it in their local newspapers.
None of them said that it was very good, just that they had seen it. Nevertheless, I was thrilled at the attention and certain that a Pulitzer could not be far behind.
Ted is no longer 4 years old, but he now has three little boys and a little girl of his own, all of whom marvel at the wild collection of Star Wars toys that Ted has lovingly held onto from those wonderful days so many years ago.
So, at the risk of being accused of self-plagiarism, here is that piece from Christmas of 1978.
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS IN A GALAXY FAR, FAR AWAY
‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the void, not a creature was stirring, not even a droid;
The stockings were hung in the Starship with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
Chewbacca was nestled all snug in his bed, while visions of Stormtroopers danced in his head;
And Princess Leia in her kerchief and I with my pipe, had just settled down for a long winter’s flight;
When out on the X-Wing there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my command post to see what was the matter;
Away to the window I flew like a blazer, threw open the shutters and pulled out my laser;
What to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature Land Speeder and eight tiny reindeer;
With a little old driver so lively and quick, I feared for a moment this was a Darth Vader trick;
Soon up to the Starship so quickly they flew, with a Land Speeder full of toys and St. Nicholas too;
I drew in my head and opened the latch as jolly St. Nicholas squeezed through the hatch;
He was dressed all in fur from his toes to his snout, and his clothes were all tarnished with meteor fallout;
He had a broad face and a big black shoe, and his body was so round he looked like R2-D2;
But the wink in his eye and the dimple on his chin soon gave me to know the Force was with him;
He drank all our milk, but he ate just one cookie, then unpacked his gifts for C-3PO and Wookiee;
He spoke not a word but left piles of toys, then roared off in his Land Speeder to a deafening noise;
He took to the sky without giving his name, but before he disappeared I heard him exclaim;
“For the children of the universe these toys are well suited, but I’m sorry to say, batteries are not included.”
A precious game of basketball behind bars that never took place
A simple game of “Horse” can be a great equalizer
A number of years ago, 51 to be precise, I took a class at UC Davis that inadvertently introduced me to a unique group of athletes. I wrote an essay about that experience and later shared it with readers of The Davis Enterprise.
The athletes in question were able only to practice their skills and few would ever be given the chance to use them in legitimate competition.
These athletes were prisoners, behind bars for a variety of crimes, none of which had anything to do with their athletic ability or lack of it. Those of us in the class were not there for any athletic purpose. Like I said, I met these guys accidentally. Our purpose was in another area, though I’m sure we learned more from them than they from us.
One afternoon, as I walked by the prison canteen where the men could buy such things as potato chips or candy bars - if they could afford these luxuries - I noticed that this prison had a gymnasium. It was a small gym and was strictly off limits to us in our easily identifiable non-prison garb.
I stood by an open door to the gym and watched a group of inmates in a pick-up game of basketball. It didn’t look much different from what happens in any gymnasium or on any playground anywhere in the country. There was a lot of showboating and self-interested shot selection, very little passing to one’s teammates, and a whole bunch of accidental fouling that was supposed to be self-policed, but wasn’t.
There were some good athletes and some not so good ones.
While I watched, one of the inmates caught my attention. He held the ball up high and signaled me to come in and shoot a few. He knew I was from the outside, and I knew he was to be inside a good deal longer. I expected resentment from him, but I found only a smile and a desire to match his skills with mine.
He probably knew he could beat me and then maybe we’d be on even footing, though I doubt that was his motivation. He was simply being friendly to another human being about something as simple and ordinary as shooting a basketball.
I took one tentative step inside and he called out to me.
“C’mon, we’ll play Horse.”
Now there’s a game I could never win. I’d always lose when the other guy got the upper hand and started making layups that I somehow couldn’t match. I lost a lot of ice cream bars making nickel bets on Horse games while I was growing up and shooting baskets outdoors on the hardtop at West Davis Elementary.
“I’m not supposed to come in,” I replied. “We’re supposed to be in the next wing in five minutes.”
“Who cares?” he shot back. “What can they do, put you in prison?”
That would have seemed like a sick joke from anyone else, but he was justifiably proud of his humor.
I took a few more steps into the room and toward the hoop. He threw a ball my way and I expected him to bet me a quarter on a 30-footer.
A prison guard approached, shook his head in disapproval, and told me in no uncertain terms to “get outta there.”
He suggested that it might be dangerous for me in the gym, and he was right. I was in grave danger of losing a quarter. But never in my life had I wanted so badly to play basketball, and this one time I couldn’t.
It wasn’t that this guy couldn’t get a game. I’m sure he had plenty of challengers. But this would have been a special game. When you win on a basketball court, you can isolate it. It doesn’t matter whether you’re a prisoner or an outsider. In this case, the past is wiped away and for the length of the game at least, you’re the same.
I was sorry I didn’t have a chance to show him my best underhanded free throw or to see his best hook shot. Horse is that kind of game. Ordinary shots aren’t allowed.
A ball bounded my way again and I rolled it back as I waved goodbye. I could see he was as disappointed as I was, but we both laughed as I left, realizing that the same fate that had put him where he was and me where I was, would now prevent us from playing a simple game of basketball.
It would have been a good game, too. The disadvantages that put him there and the advantages that had kept me out would not have counted once the first shot was taken.
Unfortunately, it never happened.
I returned to the prison several times after that and looked for him in the gym each time. I even wore my high-top basketball shoes once, just in case.
But I never saw him again.
Maybe I just missed him. Or maybe, just maybe, he was shooting baskets on the outside.
On Christmas Eve, I hope he is.
Reach me at bobdunning@thewaryone.com
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