Our State/December/1104 words

By Ralph Grizzle

Dear Son and Daughter,

In the fall of 1999, I had been assigned to do a story about letters to Santa. I was to determine what happened to all the mail that children like you sent to the plump old man in the red suit. My job was to talk with the people at the postal service and try, if I could, to interview Saint Nicholas himself. I was to find out how Santa handled the deluge of mail sent to him.

You're probably eager to know if I got to talk to Santa–I did not But in the course of my research, I did learn his secret for handling the letters: He has help. Of course, that will come as no surprise to either of you, as you two already knew that Santa employed a staff of elves.

But the helpers who assist Santa with his mail aren't elves. In fact, if you saw them on the street, you'd never suspect them for being Santa's helpers. I'll tell you more about them in a minute, but first let's consider the volume of mail that Santa is dealing with.

Last year, the mail facility at Greensboro received more than 6,000 letters to Santa. Think about it. If that one facility alone received that much mail, how much do you think the entire state, no, the entire nation–make that the entire world–sent to Santa? It must have been in the hundreds of millions.

I learned that the post office does not send all of those letters directly to Santa. Some of the mail goes to his helpers. I talked with two, Alice Johnson and Clara Kniffin. Both spend time at a United Way Agency called United Services for Older Adults, known locally as the Greensboro Senior Center.

Each year, Alice, Clara and other Greensboro-area senior volunteers respond to about 700 letters to Santa. They read each letter and have the authority to sign the responses for Santa. I wanted to pass Clara and Alice's stories along to you in this letter. As you grow older, their stories will take on more significance.

Clara Kniffin moved to North Carolina from Florida in 1993. She started working for Santa shortly after moving here to our state.

Originally from Maine, Clara once was a columnist for a small newspaper there, the Waterville Sentinel, so she had a good background for the type of work that Santa required.

Clara told me that she went to work for the old man because it made her feel that she was "doing something good." Not that Clara fell short in that department. With a heart as big as Santa's toy bag, Clara cares for three disabled women–in her own home.

It started while she was in Maine. There, Clara went to work for a lady who owned a large home where she provided a nurturing environment for 22 disabled women. Clara enjoyed the work–and particularly the people. "There's so many people who don't understand the handicapped or retarded," Clara told me. "They're afraid of them, but they don't know what they're missing. They have so much joy and love to give."

Clara eventually started her own home in Maine, caring for three women there. She made a vow to give them a home for as long as she was able. Two moves and 25 years later–from Maine to Florida and then from Florida to North Carolina–Clara still feels she is able–even at age 73. "They're more like family to me," the soft-spoken Clara said. "I miss them whenever one of them is gone for the weekend."

In providing a home for the ladies, Clara is fulfilling a childhood dream. As one of 17 children, she once told her father that when she grew up, she wanted to run an orphanage. "In a way," Clara said to me, "I now have one."

As for the letters she helps Santa with, Clara says some are funny, others are sad. "Kids will tell you about their brothers and sisters or about themselves," she says, "or how well they're doing in school or that they only got one F."

But she also has received letters from children asking if Santa could give them a new brother or sister or return a lost loved one–a mother, father or brother who had died. All Clara can do in those situations is respond with love and encouragement.

With those who are financially destitute, Clara often dips into her own purse to send them gifts. If a child asks for socks, Clara knits them herself.

Like her friend Clara, Alice Johnson knows about large families. Although there were only four in her family, Alice was the mother of 20–13 of which lived to be raised by this caring woman.

Alice spent her pre-senior years raising her own brood. There was no time for her, but she always hoped when she was done rearing her kids she would have time to join the social events at the Greensboro Senior Center. At 68, Alice Johnson's time has arrived.

Unlike Clara, Alice does not write responses–she fixes the addresses on the letters. But she does something else that she feels is vitally important. "I pray for them all," Alice says, "and I ask God to bless the ones who are less fortunate."

When we were done talking, Alice said she would ask God to bless me. Little did she know that I had already been blessed–I still think of Alice's faith and her deep sense of caring. Through the stories of both women, in fact, I learned the lesson of true selflessness, a blessing, no doubt.

And that is the reason I wrote this letter to you, son and daughter. I wanted to let you know that no matter what you read on the front pages of newspapers or see on the evening news, there is still goodness in the world. I knew this was true when I wrote this letter at the end of the millennium, and I know that it will true when you read it as young adults, a dozen or so years from now, and it will true again when your children read it.

The world is made richer by people like Clara and Alice. And as I look upon your young faces this holiday season, I know the world will one day be made richer because of you, particularly if you remember that all of us have the capacity to be Santa's helpers.

Merry Christmas. Love, dad.