christmas 1920: have yourself a creepy little christmas
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Los Angeles Express, December 25, 1920.
While the editor thought this was an adorable page three picture, it can't help but come off as creepy these days. Is this child having a nightmare? Is Santa secretly a giant demon who takes on the form of a friendly holiday figure? Was Fred Coffey really angry at the Venice Publicity Bureau and decided to come up with the creepiest image possible?
Elsewhere on this page, readers were told that Los Angeles "contributed to more Christmas dinners than any other city in the world" thanks to food harvested in Los Angeles County. "It has been told by a California traveler and adventurer that in the trading posts of the South Sea islands he found canned products bearing the labels of Los Angeles." At the Los Angeles County Prison, jailer George Gallagher declared that "the 375 guests in his hostelry had one of the finest spreads in the entire city - not only the entire city, but in all the region west of the Rocky Mountains."
Perhaps this Santa joined the jailhouse feast after he was arrested for peering into children's windows.
The creepiest Santa I ever encounted was on a road trip several years ago. My mom, sister, and I had spent a few days in Ottawa, and decided to explore some small towns on our way back to Toronto. We stopped in a holiday gift shop in Merrickville. While my mom was finding all kinds of things she liked, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I encountered this statue.
The rest of my family had a similar reaction.
Perhaps the artist was watching slasher flicks when creating this, or "And All Through the House" from Tales From the Crypt (either the 1970s film version or the television series).
Ottawa Citizen, December 24, 1920.
Back to 1920, where Los Angeles wasn't the only city with stalkery Santas staring at or hanging over children. Kids had similar issues in Ottawa, where Santa also admitted he had an accomplice, Mr. Sandman (who may or may not have turned on his magic beam).
Washington Star, December 24, 1920.
This illustration seems innocent enough: a child requesting a doll for Christmas. The cartoonist, Robert Ripley, was a rising star, having launched his Believe It or Not! strip for the New York Globe the previous year.
But...
Vancouver Province, December 24, 1920.
...this Ripley cartoon was also syndicated at the time, presenting a slightly ghoulish/gothy street urchin clutching a doll that (presumably) Santa delivered. If you don't view the squiggles on the lettering as fresh snow, this "Merry Xmas" could easily lead a horror story.
From November 2011 through July 2012 I wrote the "Past Pieces of Toronto" column for OpenFile , which explored elements of the city which no longer exist. I've republished all but two of those pieces on this website. Here's the first of the final pair, both of which provided good lessons for future writing. Prepare yourself for a lengthy preamble.
While dodging back alley drunks in downtown Kitchener a month ago, I noticed that the back door to a Shoppers Drug Mart bore the mark of its previous identity as part of the Big V pharmacy chain. Years of hearing their slogan "an amazing part of your life" have burned it into my brain, along with images of their comical crusading knight mascot, 25 cent cans of Coca-Cola and the free lunch cooler bags sometimes offered up with the latter. Big V was started in the mid-1960s by a group of Windsor pharmacists who joined together to pool their purchasing and marketing. Most locations were pharmacist-operated, with names reflecting the owners (DeRe, Pond's , Cornett), the neighbourhood (Seminole in Windsor) or town. The chain grew to 135 stores by the time it was purchased by Shoppers in 1995. Amherstburg's store was originally Haslehurst's Big V, then switched to the more generic "Amherstburg" by the time I started shopping there with my parents. Loc
From November 2011 through July 2012 I wrote the "Past Pieces of Toronto" column for OpenFile, which explored elements of the city which no longer exist. The following was originally posted on December 2, 2011. The Starbucks at 675 Yonge Street isn’t your typical branch of the corporate coffee giant. The walls are lined with sturdy old wooden bookshelves while the floor is a checkerboard of black and white. Why this location is not like the others is hinted at on the façade. Look up to the second floor and you’ll notice a legendary name in Toronto bookselling: Albert Britnell. The quality of the literature on the shelves inside doesn’t always match the standards the Britnell family maintained for over a century of book retailing, but it’s a nod to the building’s past that comes in handy while waiting for a friend or first date. English native Albert Britnell entered the book trade by working in his brother John’s bookstore in London. Both brothers moved to C
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