The Miracle on 34th Street

by A. L. Singer

  Immediately Cole's telephone switchboard lit up. Operators frantically took calls. One by one, the people of New York spoke up:

  "I'm Anne Johnson, from the Upper West Side, and I believe."

  "This is Mr. Rodriguez from East 63rd Street, and I believe."

  WE BELIEVE.

  The message appeared across New York City. On an electronic billboard in Times Square. In the windows of apartment houses. On trucks, tollbooths, restaurant windows, office buildings, movie marquees.

  New York City was showing its colors true blue, for Kriss Kringle.

  That Thursday, Kriss Kringle sat in the courtroom next to Bryan, trying to keep his hands from shaking. Curious spectators jammed the gallery seats behind him.

  "You'll be fine," Bryan whispered. "All you have to do is tell the truth."

  Kringle looked toward the prosecution table, where Collins was busily setting up. "Is there anything I should know about him?"

  "He doesn't believe in Santa Claus," Bryan replied.

  Moments later, Judge Harper emerged from a door behind the bench.

  Collins hopped out of his seat. "In the matter of Kriss Kringle, Your Honor, the commitment papers are before you. If Your Honor please, I should like to call the first witness."

  Judge Harper nodded.

  "Mr. Kringle," Collins said, "will you please take the stand?"

  Kriss Kringle smiled as he approached the witness stand. "Good morning, Judge," he said. "How's that grandson of yours?"

  Judge Harper swallowed hard.

  "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" the court bailiff asked Kringle.

  "I do," Kringle answered.

  "Before you begin, Mr. Collins," Judge Harper said, "I want to explain to the witness that this is a hearing, not a trial. Mr. Kringle, you do not have to answer any questions against your wishes, or even testify at all."

  "We have no objections, Your Honor," Bryan said.

  "What is your name?" Collins asked.

  "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself." Kringle stood up and extended his hand to Collins. "I'm Mr. Kringle. Kriss Kringle."

  Giggles rang out in the gallery.

  Whack! Judge Harper pounded his gavel. "Order!" he yelled.

  "Where do you live, Mr. Kringle?" Collins asked.

  "At the moment I'm at the Bellevue Hospital. It's very comfortable."

  More giggles. Judge Harper slammed the gavel again.

  "Mr. Kringle," Collins continued, "do you believe that you are Santa Claus?"

  "Yes."

  Collins looked surprised by the answer. "The state rests, Your Honor," he quickly said, walking back to his seat.

  A low mumbling went through the gallery.

  "Mr. Bedford, do you wish to cross-examine the witness?" Judge Harper asked.

  "No further questions at this time," Bryan replied. He gave Kringle a nod.

  "It was very nice seeing you again, Judge Harper," Kringle said as he went back to the defense table.

  Judge Harper gave Bryan a sharp look. "In view of your client's statement, do you still intend to put in a defense?"

  Bryan stood up. "I do, Your Honor. I should like to call my first witness."

  He placed a thick telephone book on the witness chair.

  A little girl slowly walked up to the stand and sat on the book. Kriss Kringle smiled. He remembered her well. She was the girl who had asked him for a Patty Pollywog.

  "What's your name?" Bryan asked.

  "Dorothy Lowry," the girl answered.

  "Dorothy, what did you get for Christmas last year?" Bryan continued.

  "Um . . . a dollhouse and—"

  "Who gave you that dollhouse?"

  "Him." Dorothy pointed to Kringle. "Santa Claus."

  "How can you be sure he's Santa Claus?" Bryan asked.

  "Because he looks like Santa Claus. And he's very nice."

  Bryan pointed to Collins. "Could that man be Santa Claus?"

  "Nope. Santa Claus don't got a bald head." The gallery burst out laughing.

  WHACK! "Order!" Judge Harper shouted.

  Collins leaped to his feet. "This testimony is ridiculous. Mr. Bedford is making a mockery of this court. It hasn't been established that there is such a person as Santa Claus!"

  "Your Honor" Bryan said, "I would ask Mr. Collins if he can offer any proof that there is no Santa Claus."

  Collins stared at him. He gulped, then turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I would like to request a recess until tomorrow so that I might adequately prepare to meet Mr. Bedford's challenge."

  "Does Mr. Bedford have any objections?" Judge Harper asked.

  "No Your Honor," Bryan replied

  "This court stands in recess," Judge Harper announced, "until nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

  Grinning confidently, Bryan sat next to Kringle. "He bought it!" Bryan said. "I knew if I got him angry enough, he'd take the offensive. There's no way, in a court of law, we can prove that Santa Claus exists or that you are him."

  "But haven't you given Mr. Collins an opportunity to prove that I don't exist?" Kringle asked.

  "Exactly. And he'll go too far. Our best defense is to let Collins hang himself. But you have to promise me that you'll speak only when I tell you."

  "You have my word," Kringle said.

  "Good. I'll see you in the morning."

  Bryan walked briskly out of the courtroom. His mind was tumbling. He thought about what he had said, what he should have said, what he would say.

  But when he spotted Dorey Walker, standing by the front door, he was at a loss for words. He slowed down and gave her an uncertain smile.

  "I wanted to thank you for doing this for Kriss," Dorey said. "I was in the gallery. I don't think you saw me. I don't understand your strategy, but I trust it'll work."

  "I still have a long way to go," Bryan said. "But I have a few tricks up my sleeve."

  Dorey looked down. "Urn, about last week . . . I'm sorry I lost my temper."

  "I said some things I shouldn't have," Bryan replied.

  "No permanent damage." Dorey looked at her watch. "Well, I have to pick Susan up at school."

  "Tell her hello from me," Bryan said.

  "I will." Dorey tried another smile. "Thanks again. I suppose I'll see you around if this thing drags on."

  "Okay."

  Dorey left, waving to Bryan over her shoulder.

  Bryan leaned against the door. He felt as if she'd taken a part of his heart with her.

  Dorey was dead tired as she tucked Susan into bed that night.

  "Is Kriss going to be okay?" Susan asked.

  "I hope so," Dorey replied

  "I hope he turns out to really be Santa Claus."

  Dorey nodded. "So do I," she said softly.

  "Then I'll get what I want for Christmas."

  "Well, don't you worry about Kriss. He's going to be fine."

  "Because Bryan's his lawyer?" Susan asked.

  "That has a lot to do with it."

  "Are you still mad at him?"

  "I'm not mad at him, Susan."

  "You like him again?"

  Dorey thought about that a moment. Finally she said, "He's a very nice man. Now get to sleep."

  Then she kissed Susan's grinning face good night.

  December 23, 9:11 A.M.

  2 Days To Christmas

  Dr. Arthur Hunter droned on and on about Saint Nicholas. Hunter was a leading religious scholar, and Collins had called him to the witness stand.

  Judge Harper listened with his head propped in his hands. There were a few snores in the gallery.

  ". . . His relics are enshrined in the basilica of Saint Nicola, Bari, Italy," Dr. Hunter said. "His legend is credited with a number of miracles, the best known dealing with saving children from tragedy."

  "Miracles?" Collins blurted out. "Do you believe in miracles, Dr. Hunter? Extraordinary events in the physical world that are said to be caused by supernatural forc
es?"

  "I can't say I believe in miracles as you frame the term," Dr. Hunter replied.

  Collins paced the floor. "Dr. Hunter, is it not true that in 1969 the Church dropped Saint Nicholas's feast day from the calendar?"

  "That's correct."

  "In essence, the Church walked away from Saint Nicholas," Collins declared. "So would they not also walk away from the pop-culture figure based on him—Santa Claus?"

  "I would presume so," Dr. Hunter said.

  "No further questions," Collins announced.

  Kriss Kringle seemed ready to burst. Bryan eyed him cautiously. He hoped Kringle would live up to his promise.

  The next witness was Air Force Commander Charles Colson.

  "Have you ever been to the North Pole?" Collins asked him.

  "Yes sir," Commander Colson answered crisply. "In 1972 and again in 1984. I explored the region extensively."

  "Did you ever come across any evidence of dwellings, animal pens, barns, workshops—any

  settlement whatsoever?"

  "None, sir."

  "In your opinion, would it be possible in that region for an individual such as Mr. Kringle to create a settlement large enough to manufacture at least one toy for each of the earth's one-point-seven billion children?"

  "No, sir."

  Collins looked smugly at Kriss Kringle. "No further questions."

  Kringle suddenly rose to his feet. "There isn't any way the gentleman could have seen my workshops," he shouted. "They're invisible!"

  "Kriss? Sit down, please," Bryan hissed.

  Kringle sat. "Mr. Collins is completely mistaken!" he said to Bryan. "My workshops don't exist in the physical world. They're in the dream world. I thought this was understood."

  "Let me be the lawyer," Bryan insisted.

  The courtroom doors swung open. In walked a man leading a reindeer.

  A huge gasp went up from the gallery.

  Judge Harper's jaw dropped. "Mr. Collins, what is the meaning of this?"

  "This is a reindeer, Your Honor," Collins said. "I'd like the court to see if Mr. Kringle can make it fly."

  "He's baiting you," Bryan whispered to Kringle. "He wants you to lose your temper. He wants you to act crazy. Remember that!"

  Kriss Kringle stood up. He smiled calmly. "I'd love to oblige you, Mr. Collins, but I can't make the reindeer fly."

  "I didn't think so," Collins said.

  Bryan sighed with relief.

  "They only fly on Christmas Eve," Kringle declared.

  Laughter resounded in the gallery. Bryan cringed.

  Collins's eyes lit up. "Of course." He turned triumphantly to the judge. "Your Honor, the state of New York does not want to destroy a colorful myth. But this hearing isn't about mythology. It's about the mental competency of a man who believes himself to be a myth. Every sensible person in this courtroom would have to conclude that Mr. Kringle is, regrettably, insane."

  Kringle's face was turning red with anger. Collins glanced at him, then continued: "As a sworn guardian of the law, as a citizen, and as a father, I maintain that this man, who masquerades as a figure of warmth and generosity for profit—"

  Kringle bolted up from his seat. "That's not true!"

  "Kriss! Sit down, please!" Bryan urged.

  Judge Harper banged his gavel. "Mr. Kringle will refrain from comment, or he will be removed from the courtroom!" he commanded. "Continue, Mr. Collins."

  "It is my wish that Mr. Kringle come under the supervision of the state, so that the children of New York are not put at risk." He turned and looked directly at Kringle. "No one wants to wait until Mr. Kringle injures a child before we act."

  Kriss Kringle started to rise. Bryan held him back, but Kringle slapped his hand out of the way.

  Collins grinned with anticipation, waiting for Kringle to seal his own doom.

  "HEY, YOU BIG JERK!"

  The entire courtroom turned toward a high-pitched voice in the back of the gallery.

  Susan Walker was standing up in her seat. "MR. KRINGLE'S THE NICEST MAN IN THE WORLD!" she yelled out. "HE'D NEVER HURT ANYBODY!"

  Dorey pulled her daughter down into her seat. The gallery sounded like a hockey game now. People whooped and hollered.

  Whack! Whack! Whack! "Order! Order!" Judge Harper shouted.

  Kriss was looking over his shoulder at Susan. His eyes were bright with pride and thanks.

  Collins walked up to the bench. "The state rests, Your Honor."

  As Collins went cockily back to his table, Bryan winked at him and whispered, "Thanks."

  Collins looked quizzically at him.

  "I had nothing," Bryan said. "My only defense was your offense." He rose to his feet, ignoring Collins's befuddled face. "Your Honor, I have no further witnesses. I rest my case."

  Now it was Judge Harper's turn to look befuddled.

  Bryan knew it looked unusual—a defense attorney, just giving up. But he had to stick with his strategy.

  "I shall render my opinion on this matter at noon tomorrow," Judge Harper announced. "Until

  that time, this court is in recess!"

  WHACK!

  The hearing was over.

  December 24, 11:45 A.M.

  1 Day To Christmas

  DESTROYING SANTA CLAUS:

  YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK!

  SANTA CASE: TOO MANY NUTS

  IN THE JUDICIAL FRUITCAKE?

  IS SANTA SUNK?

  AT NOON TODAY SANTA CLAUS NEEDS YOUR HELP!

  The headlines lay across Judge Harper's desk. He had had a day to think about it. Now it was almost time for his decision.

  Harper looked glumly out his window. He was not alone. Behind him, Prosecutor Collins sat at the edge of a desk. On a sofa were Jack Duff and Alberta Leonard.

  Perched on a chair, Victor Lamberg glowered at Harper like a vulture.

  "You saw the morning papers?" Lamberg growled.

  Judge Harper nodded meekly.

  "Mr. Collins has done his work well," Lamberg continued. "A little too well."

  Collins gulped and looked away.

  "My grandchildren think I'm a scrooge," Judge Harper remarked. "The court clerk gave me a dirty look."

  "The only way out is to declare this man insane," Lamberg said flatly. "If you'd done it at once, as Mr. Collins told you—"

  "I'm the judge, Mr. Lamberg," Harper said. "A prosecutor doesn't tell me what to do."

  Collins chuckled. "There's no way out, Harper. You can't make a decent legal argument for Santa Claus. You'll look like an even bigger fool than you already do."

  "What about the people?" Judge Harper asked. "What'll they think of me?"

  Lamberg gestured toward a leather briefcase on the desk. "There's a hundred thousand dollars on your desk. Does it really matter?"

  Judge Harper took a deep breath. He looked at his watch.

  Two minutes until noon.

  Lamberg got out of his chair and lifted a newspaper off the desk. "How many people do you think are going to fall for this Cole's publicity stunt? A handful of nuts . . . some kids. Be smart, Harper. Put this guy away and let's get this thing behind us."

  Snap! Lamberg unlocked the fasteners on the briefcase. He pulled it open.

  The smell of new money rushed into the air. Judge Harper stared at thickly packed piles of crisp hundred-dollar bills.

  His eyes darted toward his watch again. 11:59.

  One minute.

  Judge Harper walked to his window again. Outside, the first snow of the year was gently falling. It muffled the car noises, the roar of the crowd . . . .

  Judge Harper's eyes narrowed. What a crowd. People clogged the sidewalks, the streets. They stood by office windows, on top of cars. They emerged from the subways, looking at the courthouse.

  And they were roaring. All of them. He couldn't tell what they were saying. But he knew what was on their minds.

  Judge Harper spun around. Lamberg was glaring at him, his eyes bloodshot and eager.

  Beep! went Ha
rper's watch.

  It was noon.

  Sweating time.

  The roar outside was rising in intensity. The snow was falling thick and fast.

  Judge Harper walked to his desk. He plunged his hand into the briefcase and picked up a fistful of cash.

  One hundred thousand dollars. More than a year's honest work.

  He examined one of the bills, flipped it over, stared at the inscription on the back: IN GOD WE TRUST.

  Clenching his jaw, Judge Harper marched into the courtroom.

  DECEMBER 24, 12:01 P.M.

  The gallery was jam-packed. And noisy.

  They all fell silent as Judge Harper stood at the bench.

  He held the money in the air. "This is a one-hundred-dollar bill," he announced. "It is issued by the Treasury of the United States of America and is backed by the government. Upon inspection you will see the words IN GOD WE TRUST. While we are not here to prove that God exists, we are here to prove the existence of a being just as invisible and yet just as present."

  He lowered his voice. In the eerie hush, every syllable echoed to the back row. "On faith and faith alone, the federal government has put its trust in God. What guides the government? The will of the people. If the United States of America can issue its currency bearing a declaration of trust in God—without demanding physical evidence of God's existence—then the state of New York can accept, by a similar demonstration of the faith of its people, that Santa Claus does exist, and that he is Kriss Kringle."

  Whack! He smashed down the gavel with all his strength. "Case dismissed!"

  The gallery exploded with cheers. Bryan jumped to his feet and wrapped Kringle in a bear hug.

  The court clerk opened a window and shouted to the throng in the streets: "CASE DISMISSED! SANTA CLAUS WINS!"

  Like a rumble of thunder, the crowd's cry swept up and down the street.

  As Bryan let go of Kriss Kringle, he came face-to-face with Prosecutor Collins.

  Collins broke into a smile and extended his hand. "Congratulations, counselor."

  "Thank you," Bryan replied, grasping Collins's hand.

  "Merry Christmas, Mr. Kringle," Collins said. "My children wanted me to remind you not to forget to stop by our house tonight."