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.
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 May 20, 2012. Advertisements, (left) the Toronto Star , April 22, 1966 (right) the Globe and Mail , July 26, 1967. In an August 1967 article, the Globe and Mail ’s Blaik Kirby set the scene for anyone curious about entering one of Yorkville’s oddest coffee houses. “The Mynah Bird is a fetid room in a former Victorian home, with a tiny triangular stage behind bars in one corner. There are two other rooms in reserve if needed. You enter through a hallway, passing the piranha and the caged mynah bird after which the place is named. Hanging rushes conceal the high ceiling. The walls are red flecked wallpaper. The lights are low, with candles on each table. One of the two friendly go-go girls ushers you to a seat, and soon reappears on the stage. She is slightly plump, with lo
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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