Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1961)

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by DORIS DAY as told to JANE ARDMORE I not only believed in Santa Claus — I believed in two of them. One was a stout, jolly Santa who appeared at school during the tenthirty recess when we had milk and cookies. He walked up and down each aisle and in a barrel-house basso asked what each of us wanted for Christmas, and had we been good little boys and girls? The other was a very tall, very skinny Santa who usually came to our house some time during the week before Christmas, loaded down with presents to put under our tree and be opened on Christmas Eve when the whole clan gathered at our house. I loved them both and believed in them until a smart-aleck schoolmate told us the Santa Claus business was a fake. None of us spoke to her for a whole year after she told us that. But the legend was killed for me. And only then did I find out who the two Santas were. The stout, jolly one was my mom, bless her, stuffed with pillows and having a ball. I might have known — Mother was in on everything at school, she went trick-or-treating with us at Halloween, all done (Continued on page 68) SHE: Marty do you know what I want most for Christmas? HE: Doris, I’ll get you anything in the world. HE: Oh no! SHE: SNOW!