The Miracle on 34th Street

by A. L. Singer

  Smiling, Kringle crossed the street toward him. "How was your night?" Bryan asked.

  "Very pleasant," Kringle said. Raising an expectant eyebrow, he continued, "You didn't call me over here to ask me that. What about our plan—me baby-sitting so you could have a date with Mrs. Walker?"

  Bryan sighed. "Your idea was good, Kriss. It just didn't work. We had a good time, but the problem was, I . . . improved on your idea a little bit. I bought her an engagement ring."

  Kringle grimaced.

  "She didn't like it," Bryan went on. "Actually, she said she doesn't like what the ring stands for."

  "Perhaps your timing wasn't particularly good," Kringle suggested.

  "Not at all." Bryan snapped the box shut. "You know, Dorey doesn't tell me too much about herself. But I do know she was married in college. Her husband had problems. When Susan was born, he took off and hasn't been heard from since."

  Kriss Kringle nodded sympathetically. "And she doesn't want her heart broken again."

  "I thought if I gave her a ring, she'd see how serious I was. I thought it would make her feel secure."

  "A noble plan."

  "She won't open up," Bryan complained. "She's filled with cynical ideas and bitter thoughts, and the real tragedy is she's dragging Susan into it with her."

  "Sometimes I think Susan wants to believe in me," Kringle said, "but she's a good girl and loyal to her mother's wishes. If I can't convince the mother, I can't hope to convince the child." He sighed. "The Tooth Fairy taught me that."

  Bryan smiled at that. "You know, I've been in love with her for two years," he said. "I thought if she'd open up a little, if she'd escape this battle with her past, she'd fall in love with me. But she never will—and I can't spend my life waiting."

  "You don't have it in your heart to keep fighting for Mrs. Walker?" Kringle asked.

  "I don't," Bryan replied.

  He got up and signaled for a cab. As a taxi rolled to a stop in front of them, he gave the ring box to Kringle. "Here. In your line of work, I'm sure you can find some lucky guy to give this to."

  Kringle sadly took the box. "I'm very sorry, Bryan."

  "I'm a big boy," Bryan replied. "I'll get over it."

  "But will Susan?" Kringle said.

  Bryan didn't know how to answer that.

  Kringle opened the door and stepped into the taxi. "I know what you want for Christmas," he said. "I'll see what I can do."

  Bryan nodded and waved good-bye.

  As the cab drove away, Bryan felt hope. He believed Kringle.

  Thirty-four years old, and Bryan Bedford still believed in Santa Claus.

  It was hard to find Tony Falacchi. He had no known address. Jack Duff and Alberta Leonard looked for days.

  On December 17 they finally tracked him down.

  "Yeah, I did good work for Cole's last year, and they fired me," Tony complained. "They see this old wacko in the crowd and hire him."

  "Tell me about him," Duff said.

  "The old guy? A loon," Tony replied. "He climbed on my float, he was in my face. I had the cops clear him out."

  "Did he get aggressive?" Duff pressed on.

  "He had a cane. He tried to give me a whack with it!"

  Duff smiled. He pulled a one-hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket. Leaning toward Tony with a big grin, he said, "I've got a little job for you."

  December 18, 3:37 P.M.

  7 Days To Christmas

  "How's business, pops?" Kriss Kringle's smile faded. It had been a busy, jolly day at Santa's Workshop.

  The last person he expected to see was Tony Falacchi.

  But Falacchi was at the head of the line, among all the children, leering. His chin was unshaven, his clothes ragged.

  "Sir," Denice said, "this is for children. Could you please step aside?"

  Tony turned around to face the waiting line of kids. "That guy up there ain't the real Santa Claus," he announced. "He don't live at the North Pole. He lives in a nursing home on West 114th Street. He's a fake!"

  Kriss Kringle was boiling. He started to rise. Denice quickly brought over the next kid in line, a little boy.

  "Merry Christmas," Tony said with a cackle. He barged back through the line, elbowing his way past the children.

  The little boy climbed into Kringle's lap. He looked up in awe and said, "You live on my street!"

  Kringle had cooled down by the end of the day. He left Cole's, tired but happy, and began walking home.

  He didn't notice Jack Duff, Alberta Leonard, and Tony Falacchi following hm.

  "Hey, goofball!" Tony shouted.

  Kringle stopped walking.

  Tony swaggered up behind him. "Tell me something, you sorry old cripple. Why's a guy your age playing this kind of game? Are you just a lonely, pathetic old mental case?"

  Kriss Kringle turned around. Falacchi was grinning at him.

  That did it. Kringle lifted his cane and charged.

  Shielding his head with his arms, Tony screamed and fell to the sidewalk.

  Alberta Leonard was prepared. Hidden in the crowd, she pressed 9-1-1 on her cellular phone.

  "Stop that man!" Jack Duff bellowed.

  Reeeeoooo-reeeeoooo!

  A siren wailed. Passersby crowded around. Tony moaned on the sidewalk. Alberta kneeled over him.

  Across the street, a photographer stepped out from a shadow and began flashing away.

  Kringle stood there, frozen, bewildered at the sudden swirl of events. "I didn't intend to injure him!" he pleaded.

  "Get the cane away from him!" Duff yelled.

  A man in the crowd took Kringle's cane. Another man and Duff grabbed Kringle by the arms. A police car pulled up to the curb.

  "He provoked me!" Kringle said.

  "Save it for the cops, sir," Duff replied. Alberta looked up from Tony with concern. "He's hurt bad." Then, widening her eyes at the sight of Kringle, she shouted, "Wait a second—you're the Cole's Santa Claus!"

  A murmur went through the crowd. A toddler started to cry. Several parents pulled their children away in disgust.

  Kringle looked around him. His jaw was quivering. Duff was yanking on his arm now, pulling open his coat. A policeman slapped handcuffs on him.

  Click! Click! Click!

  As the policeman pushed Kringle into the car, the photographer's flash exploded in his face.

  All he could do was bow his head.

  And try to ignore the hurt, betrayed, and angry faces in the crowd.

  December 19, 8:57 A.M.

  6 Days To Christmas

  COLE'S SANTA CHARGED WITH ASSAULT!

  The next morning, every newspaper headline in New York screamed the news about Kriss Kringle.

  On page two of every newspaper was a fullpage ad for Shopper's Express—including the words YES, NEW YORK, THERE IS A SANTA over a photo of Victor Lamberg. Grinning happily next to Lamberg were a smiling Jack Duff and Alberta Leonard.

  On the eighth floor of Cole's, a sign hung across the entrance to Santa's Workshop: Santa Has Gone To Feed The Reindeer.

  Denice and Tricia sat by Kriss Kringle's empty throne, sobbing softly with the rest of Santa's helpers.

  "Excuse me . . . excuse me. . . . please—"

  Outside, Dorey Walker wound her way through the small crowd at Cole's front door. She gazed into the sad, disappointed eyes of the shoppers.

  All she could think about were Kriss Kringle's words. The words that had haunted her all night in her sleep: "I'm a symbol of the human ability to suppress the selfish, hateful tendencies that rule so much of our lives. If you can't believe, if you can't accept anything on faith, then you are doomed to a lifetime dominated by doubt."

  Dorey knew the words by heart now. She found herself whispering them.

  Dominated by doubt? Not anymore.

  When she got inside, she sprinted to her office and shouted to Myrna, "Get Mr. Bedford on the phone!"

  By the time she took off her coat and threw it on the chair, the phone rang.
r />   "Bryan!" she shouted, grabbing the receiver.

  "I know," Bryan's voice replied. "I read the papers.

  "I want you to help him," Dorey barged on. "He's at Bellevue, the psychiatric ward. I don't know what's happening, but he's alone and he shouldn't be."

  "What's Cole's position?" Bryan asked. "Do their attorneys have an opinion?"

  "This isn't about Cole's," Dorey retorted. "This is about someone who's had something very wrong

  done to him. It's about someone you care about—someone you believe in."

  Bryan's reply was firm. "I'll get on it right away.

  Judge Henry Harper sat heavily behind his desk. He scanned the docket of cases he'd be facing this morning.

  His eyes stopped at the first one:

  December 19, 9:00 A.M.

  New York State v. Kriss Kringle

  He vaguely remembered Kriss Kringle. He was the old man who spoke to his grandson Ryan at the Cole's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The old geezer who claimed to be Santa Claus.

  The court clerk peeked into the empty room and asked, "Do you have a moment for Ed Collins?"

  Collins was the prosecutor. He was as crooked as they came. He could be bought with a bribe.

  But he liked to share his bribes with judges, too. "Send him in," Judge Harper said.

  Collins marched in. His thinning hair was slicked back, his expensive suit freshly pressed. He dumped on Judge Harper's desk a sheaf of papers marked Mental Competency Report—john Doe/Kress Kringle.

  "Commitment papers," Collins said. "For the Cole's Santa. Sign them. It's a slam dunk. The guy's out of his mind. He failed his mental exam. We'd like it over quick."

  "We?" Judge Harper asked.

  Collins gave a sly smile. "Victor Lamberg."

  "Oh, yeah." Judge Harper figured Lamberg was up to something. "Justice will have to prevail, of course," he reminded Collins.

  "Of course. The publicity will burn itself out soon. This Kringle has no family. No funds. And I doubt Cole's is interested in supporting a Santa Claus impersonator who's about to be committed to a mental hospital."

  "I suppose Cole's difficulties benefit Mr. Lamberg, hmm?" Judge Harper asked. "A quick resolution would make his takeover attempt easier, wouldn't it?"

  "I'm sure it would," Collins answered.

  Judge Harper raised an eyebrow. "Money makes the world go round, Mr. Collins."

  "Uh, speaking of money—" Collins leaned doser to Judge Harper—"Mr. Lamberg wanted me to mention that he's aware you're up for re-election in the spring."

  Judge Harper smiled. "Tell him I would welcome his support."

  The court clerk poked her head into the chamber once more. "A Mr. Bedford here to see you, sir? He says he's Kriss Kringle's attorney."

  Collins and Judge Harper gave each other a puzzled look. "Send him in," Judge Harper said.

  Bryan strode into the room. "Your Honor, there seems to be undue haste in this case. I wish to protect my client's rights, as I'm sure you do."

  Judge Harper nodded. "Mr. Bedford, this is Prosecutor Collins."

  Bryan quickly shook Collins's hand, then barged on, "If Your Honor please, I request a formal hearing to which I may bring witnesses."

  Judge Harper looked at Collins. Collins shrugged. "All right," Harper said. "Thursday morning, nine o'clock."

  "Thank you, sir," Bryan said with a grin.

  He nodded to Collins and walked briskly out of the chamber.

  "I thought you said the old man didn't have an attorney," Judge Harper remarked.

  "Does it really matter?" Collins said with a shrug. "It's a hearing, not a jury trial. You're the one who has to be convinced."

  Judge Harper chuckled. This Bedford guy would have to do a lot of convincing.

  After the courthouse, Bryan went straight to Bellevue. He was shown to Kringle's room by a hospital orderly.

  "Do you believe Mr. Kringle is dangerous?" Bryan asked.

  "No, not this guy," the orderly replied. "Maybe he's a little off the rails, but he's no thug. If he wants to call himself Santa Claus, then God bless him."

  The orderly unlocked Kringle's door. "Thanks, Bryan said, ducking into the room.

  Click. The door was locked again.

  Bryan shook his head. They were locking Kriss Kringle inside. As if he were a menace.

  A gasp caught in Bryan's throat when he saw Kringle. Some menace. He sat in a chair, glassy-eyed and slumped, staring out a window.

  "Hello, Kriss," Bryan said

  Kringle looked at Bryan blankly. Slowly his eyes focused, and he gave a weak smile. "Hello, Bryan. What brings you out on a miserable day like this?"

  "A friend in need," Bryan replied.

  Kringle's smile widened.

  "You failed your mental exam on purpose, didn't you?" Bryan asked.

  "Why would I do that?" Kringle replied.

  "I don't know. Maybe you've served people long enough. Maybe you've given all you have to give."

  Kringle shook his head. "No."

  "Then why did you do it? The charges against you were dropped. The man you hit suffered no injury. You could have been out of here if you'd passed your exam."

  "I've disgraced myself," Kringle said.

  "I read your transcript. You defended your honor. You stood up for the dignity of every child. That isn't a disgrace, Kriss. That's decency."

  "If I'm seen as a crazy old man, the public will dismiss me and the good name of Santa Claus will be spared."

  "That's not true, Kriss," Bryan insisted. "If not for you, there is no Santa Claus. You are him. Crazy or not, here or gone, you're Santa Claus."

  Kriss Kringle shook his head. "Only if the children believe that I am. And what kind of Santa Claus would they be believing in, after seeing and knowing what happened last night?"

  "Think about last night," Bryan said. "A man was there to photograph the incident. The man you hit was the man you replaced. One of the men who held you is an employee of Shopper's Express. The cops told me this, Kriss. The cops believe in you. A lot of people do. More will when we're finished."

  "Finished with what?" Kringle asked.

  "We're going to court," Bryan answered. "There's a hearing Thursday to decide if you're to be committed. I'm going to defend you. We've got three days. Together we're going to prove that there is a Santa Claus and you are him!"

  Kriss Kringle slapped his knees and stood up. "I'm ready, counselor!"

  Dorey barged into Shellhammer's office. She smacked down a piece of paper on his desk. "Has this press release gone out yet?" she asked angrily.

  "At noon," Shellhammer replied.

  "Cole's is going to deny any responsibility for Kriss?"

  "We're not going to endorse what he did. He's obviously unbalanced, Dorey. You said it yourself."

  "And if I remember correctly," Dorey shot back, "you said it wasn't a problem! This store is going to stand by Kriss Kringle. If they can prosper with him, they can suffer with him."

  She spun around and stormed out of the room. Shellhammer bolted up from his desk and followed her.

  Dorey wound her way through the hallways, straight toward the ofi~ce of Mr. Cole.

  Shellhammer's eyes popped. There was a board meeting inside. She couldn't—

  Dorey pushed through the big oak doors and walked right in.

  "We must distance ourselves from this scandal—" Mr. Cole was saying. He interrupted himself and glared at Dorey. "Mrs. Walker, we're in conference!"

  But Dorey stepped up to his desk. "I just read your press release and I think you're all a bunch of cowards. You don't deserve to run this store."

  The other businesspeople murmured in protest. "You're entirely out of order!" Cole retorted.

  "We've spent millions telling people we're the store that cares," Dorey went on. "What do we care about? Profit? Ourselves? What about one of our own, who needs us now? We sang his praises. We said he saved the company and our jobs and careers. Now we want to pretend we never knew him!"
/>   "He's at Bellevue," Cole said. "He's crazy!"

  Before Dorey could reply, Shellhammer spoke up. "Who but a madman would spend his life believing that every man, woman, and child on the face of the earth is worthy of his love and understanding?"

  Dorey turned around in surprise. Shellhammer gave her a friendly but nervous wink.

  Cole's angry expression was softening. "What can I do?" he asked. "The public thinks Kriss is out of his mind. They think he's dangerous."

  "We have to change what they think," Dorey said. "If we stand with Kriss, if we challenge the rumors, if we force the truth, we'll win. We'll save Christmas for Cole's and for everybody. Kriss is going into court with the best attorney in the city—and he's going to prove that Kriss isn't crazy."

  Dorey took a deep breath. Yes, she said it. And it was true. Bryan was the best.

  "I may be thirty years old," she went on, "but today I believe in Santa Claus. How about you, Mr. Cole?"

  Cole looked around the room. Everyone else was nodding.

  He tapped his pencil and sat deep in thought. Finally, with a sigh, he said, "I'm sixty-three. I believe in him."

  Dorey wanted to scream with joy. She glanced at Shellhammer, who was beaming.

  Cole clapped his hands. "All right. Cole's stands with Kriss. Sit down and let's get to work."

  December 20, 7:32 A.M.

  5 Days To Christmas

  The new Cole's commercial aired on the morning news. It was simple. Striking. First the Cole's logo, then the words A Message From Our

  Chairman.

  Next, Mr. Cole appeared on the screen.

  "Today was the first time in seventy-five years that there has been no Santa Claus at Cole's," he said. "Why? Because he is about to go before a court of law where he must prove his identity or face detainment in a mental institution. Questionable circumstances and unknown motives have tarnished his reputation. We at Cole's don't believe the rumors. Cole's believes in Santa Claus. We will stand by him. He has done nothing but serve the children and families of New York City—and the world. We invite you to stand with us and ask yourself one simple question: Do you believe in Santa Claus? Thank you and Merry Christmas."