Evening Star Newspaper, December 22, 1929, Page 85

' BY GILBERT SWAN. Skeiches by ‘George Clark. P HERE the North and < East Rivers of Manhattan become a long, curving line of con- crete wharves, the December winds snapped with particu- lar cruelty at the threadbare feet of a hundred streets. Snow swirled in cyclonic spirals, tossed about in feathery clouds that half obscured the rag- ged fronts of down-at-the-heel buildings. A few blocks away, the tall buildings of Broadway halted the rush of wind and the snow flurries beat against the steel giants as ineffectually as . petals. Slowly the sidewalks and pavements took on a thin coating of slush. : “And through -this slush came plodding, just before the breakfast hour, the feet of a hun- dred beaten men. With each footstep the melt- ing snow penetrated the thin and broken soles * of shoes, as though they were so much blotting paper. The men turned up their collars against the wind as they made their way westward ' toward the river. They pulled down battered hats. And down by Tenth avenue they turn abruptly into a mission. : ITHIN 20 minutes they were emerging again. But now an amazing transforma- tion had taken place. By some magic they had achieved gay red coats and gay red hats. They wore white wigs and white beards. They jan- " gled merry little bells. And through the storm they now made their way to posts on Fifth avenue, where, to the eyes of the busy shoppers, they were so many Santa Clauses. And such is the illusioned faith of childhood that it does not look behind the beard, the mask and the costume. They see only the sym- boi of Kris ‘Kringle. Eyes may be deep-circled and cheeks gaunt behind the white beards: shoes may have become soggy sponges—but the millions give little heed. ; Mothers take tots over to “m:et Santa” and " children break away to get a closer look. While this army of ragged Santas stand throughout the day in storm and sleet, ringing little bells and chanting—‘Please help the peor —give somp'n for the Christmas dinners.” It’s really not so far in distance from the streets down by the river to the glittering heart of Fifth avenue—but physically they are sep- arated by worlds. JUST before Christmas, Fifth avenue, like “little orphan Annie,” is just as good as it can be. And when Fifth avenue is as goodhs it can be, it's a little bit better than any other high- " way in the world. It is more ornate; its windows are hypnotic and alluring; its displays are bizarre and beau- tiful: it calls upon the talent of the world for new ideas: it shows puppets and baubles; the value of its wares staggers the imagination: it " 1s jammed with a dizzy parade of humans. It nas 10-cent stores and millionaire’s de- lights. Its shoppers range from ladies in costly furs to shop girls who borrow their wraps from ° & roommate. It reeks of extravagance and luxury. 9 Every corner has its Santa Claus. Every Santa Claus has a large-mouthed pot at his side. Ev-ry Santa chants the whole day long— “Help the poor—give somp'n for Christmas dinners.” And in this small army of hungry Santas therc 1s this year, as usual, a certain “Sandy” Clems. The Similarity of names is quite strik- ing. It takes but a couple of letters to change Sandy Clcws into Santa Claus. - Like Santa, no one knows for sure where Sandy comes from. The childhood legend was that Santa came from the North Pole. To all intents and purposes, so does Sandy. THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C. DECEMBER 22: 1929. Manhattan Offers No More Bitter I rony Than the Spectacle of Its Christmas Army of Dozon-and-Out Kris Kringles, Soliciting Money for the Poor When They Themselves Are Nearly Destitute, Striking a Note of Pathos in an Otherwise Joyful Season. e OR 11 months a year he drops out of sight. But in late November, come hail, sleet or snow, Sandy wanders into one of the “Santa Claus agencies,” and after a casual salute an- nounces: “Well, here I am. Can ya fix me up?” An old clerk, accustomed to his annual visi- There are Santa Clauses, hundreds of them, transformed into bell-tinkling St. Nicks of the sidewalks. tation, reaches behind a few boxes containing threadbare clothing and digs out a uniform. That, largely, is the extent of the conversation. The. folk who conduct the humanitarian agen- cies “down by the river” don’t insist on family histories of men who arrive before Christnias looking for jobs as Santa Claus. That isn’t exactly accurate—they do try to - for two days. give the jobs 10 men who seem to need them th: most. They prefer to choose men with wives and families; men who would have mo Christmas at all did they fail to get a few weeks’ work ' just before Yuletide; men whose children’s stockings would go unfill:d if the $3 and $4 per day didn’t come in at this par- ticular moment. So, along the glittering lane which is Pifth avenue, you'll find many a Santa who is going to turn out to be a Santa after all to young- sters accustomed to munching a crust of bread; youngsters who have grown ricksty and pinched-cheeked. ¢ You'll find Santas whé wouldn't be eating if they weren't Santas. Santas who stand chant- ing “Please help the poor”—when they are the poor! It's a sort of fantastic parody on it self—the blind leading the blind and the poor feeding the poor! As for Sandy Clews, he's a g:ntleman of the rods and makes no effort to hide it. If he rates an advantage over other job seekers, it's on the ground of long service. Whatever Sandy may be during the rest of the year, on Christmas he's a sentimentalist—as who isn’t? Sandy has never taken any of his fellows or any of his questioners into his confidence. A couple of years ago, when he arrived in lower Forty-second street a bit late, a social worker casually broached the point by asking: “Whers've you been, Sandy? Thought you might be dead” “I was,” came the curt answer. “What train did you come in on?” “Train—lissen, I've been changing box cars Wasn't feeling so good. Didn't know whether 1 could make it this year.” “How far have you come?” he was asked. “Far.enough,” was the only reply as he went into an adjoining room to put on his uniform, As in the case of all mysterious personages, Continued on Nineteenth Page 3