It’s the season of cheer. Okay, I’ll grant you that.
I know Elvis Presley loved this season. And if you ask Spotify, folks still love Elvis at Christmas. But do we really wish every day was like Christmas, as the song goes?
Me? I’d just as soon Christmas be only one day out of 365.
Don’t get me wrong. The holidays are wonderful, doubly so when you have kids in the house. But during my formative years out in the TV news trenches, the season of Jingle Bells could be pure H-E-double-L.
It’s why Christmas had to figure into my novel, Last Bridge to Memphis, not once, but twice, as the story spans two years in the life of a young journalist.
It’s December 1987, and Tom attends his TV station’s holiday party only to find himself scarlet-lettered with red wine, assaulted by a jealous husband, and publicly dumped by his date … all in one night.
A few weeks later, Tom spends Elvis’ 53rd birthday with him at a Mississippi gun range, but that’s a story for another time.
You’d think the next Christmas would turn out better for Tom, but as the novel comes to a close, 1988 is a bittersweet holiday season–full of hope, but also gift-wrapped in crushing disappointments and gut-wrenching goodbyes. “A blue Christmas, indeed,” as one colleague quips.
Run, run Rudolph
In reality, Christmas in television news was always fraught with anxiety over whether the boss was going to grant you the coveted honor of actually having the day off. TV newsrooms were so woefully understaffed it was almost like winning the lottery if you got set free for Christmas Day to spend time with your family.
My first working Christmas was actually a career godsend. I filled in as anchor of the evening news at my station in Alabama. I suppose I didn’t screw up the assignment, and as a result, caught the attention of news managers. Within a few short months, they promoted me to the big time: our sister station in Memphis.
Do we really wish every day was like Christmas?
That’s not to say I haven’t had embarrassing memories, just like the fictional Tom. No, I haven’t had throw downs with angry husbands, but I have had wine spilled on me, and awkward moments with holiday dates. Just not at the same time!
Seems I was often changing jobs and leaving town around Christmas–that’s a melancholy package for sure. Now put a bow on it with folks making you weep with syrupy goodbyes set to the tune of “Blue Christmas.”
Happy Xmas (your job is over)
Probably the most lousy holiday happening took place a little later in my TV career, when a news director chose not to tell me he’d decided to let me go.
That’s right. He decided to withhold that delightful news until after Christmas. Didn’t want to spoil my holiday and all that. So, instead it was, “Happy New Year! You’re fired.”
(By the way, it wasn’t for cause. My contract was up.)
Look, I’m a “give me the bad news right away” kind of guy, and by stalling with the news, the boss deprived me of a couple of extra weeks lead time to send out resume tapes for my next job. Anyway, it all ended up fine and I landed an even better gig. But at that moment, I was steamed.
So, should we take Elvis’ advice and let that Christmas feeling go on endlessly? That’s a hard no for me.
I prefer not to have my chestnuts roasted every day of the year.