At the age of 6 months my family moved to the Bell Farm. It was a large farm of approximately 1100 acres. The farm was a hobby of a wealthy man known as John A. Bell. Mr Bell was the owner of a coal mine in the Pittsburgh area. Only certified milk was produced, and it was in high demand. That was before the time of cholestrol.

My dad was the office manager. One of his responsibilities was to keep the records of the product as it left the farm.

My Dad would come home about noon time on Christmas Eve, and he would start preparing the Buick touring car for the trip to Coraopolis which was approximately 8 miles from the farm. Mainly that consisted of putting the Isinglass curtains on the side of the car. Mother would be in the kitchen cooking up a storm. Pumpkin pies were our standard desert on Christmas. After dinner that evening we would all commence the trip to church. Loading the Buick was always a monumental task. My dad was an accomplished cellist. He was called upon to play at most social occasions whichh he attended, and church services at Christmas were no exception.

First into the car was the cello. Then the kids. We would get in and move our legs so we had room around the cello, and we were not allowed to kick it. Then Mother would tuck us in with a warm blanket, and with that we were off to church.

Now that I am older, I am starting to realize what a task that was. In those days the tires on the cars were undependable. But I can not remenber a delay of getting to church or coming home from church on Christmas.

When we arrived at church we would take our place in a pew about half way down. My mother didn`t like to sit too far up front. Then we would sit through the service, which seemed interminably long. Finally we would hear bells ringing in the rear of the church. Santa would come strolling down the aisle with a sack over his shoulder. He would take his place by the podium at the front of the church, and all the kids would line up and take turns sitting on his lap and telling him what they wanted for Christmas. Then he would give each child a box of candy in a cardboard box shaped like a church, and it would be filled with hard candy.

Naturally that was the conclusion of the service, and we had to prepare for the trip home. We would be winding our way through the hills of Pennsylvania, and the kids would be on the look-out for Santa. Periodically we would ask Mother if she had seen Santa. The answer would be, "Oh, yes, he was at the Boyd`s house."

It was always at some place behind us. Needless to say, we weren`t coaxed to go to bed. When we came down stairs in the morning, we would go into the sitting room, and there would be the tree. Dad would always wait for all the people to show up, and then he would light the candles on the tree. We would all sit and admire them for about 5 minutes, and he would put them out to relight them that evening.

We always had a large crowd at the dinner table, and the food was always ample to feed everyone.

This life I loved, and everytime I get depressed, I think of that life and everything seems alright afterward.

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