Slide 5

The Slide: Helmer Larson is pretending to be angry at the annual Christmas Smorgasbord. This particular year the event was held on the second floor of the Grange Hall.
The Date:  1960
The Photographer: Probably my dad

When I was very young, each December, on one particular Saturday afternoon, my Dad and I would have lunch and then walk down to the church to meet Helmer Larson who would arrive shortly with a gorgeous Christmas tree in the back of his pickup. Throughout my early boyhood old Helmer Larson was an endearing and enduring presence in my life. In church I always chose to sit in front of Helmer. When I began to squirm, even the slightest bit, (as I always made a point to do) I would feel his big hand on my shoulder. Without looking back, I’d reach into that old hand, and remove a neatly wrapped red and white peppermint candy, which if sucked carefully could last me through the sermon, the closing prayer and clear through the benediction.
Helmer worked for the gas company, driving, and hiking the gas lines that cut ribbon like over the rugged Allegheny Mountains. It was along those desolate lines high on the hillsides that Helmer found his Christmas trees for our church, though to say he “found” them is not quite true. It would be more accurate to say that he grew them, even nursed them, often for years. If he found a tiny evergreen along the edge of the line, he’d trim it. Returning the following year he’d trim it again patiently waiting until the tree had reached nine or ten feet. Then he’d cut it down and deliver it to the church. It was a lovely gift that only he could give.
As he grew past retirement age, it became apparent that Helmer would not be able to clear the gas lines much longer. His driving became a problem. He could no longer distinguish colors and had several minor mishaps involving traffic lights. The company said it was time to retire and he agreed to resign at the end of the year.
I felt so sad that Saturday at the church when, for the last time, Helmer delivered perhaps the most beautiful tree I’d ever seen. Thick full branches, Deep summer green.
“And there’re more where that came from,” he said. “It’s a shame I won’t be able to get ‘em ”

My dad spoke up, “Helmer, you don’t have any six or seven footers up there do you? I haven’t gotten our tree yet. I wouldn’t mind hiking up myself.”
Helmer’s face lit up. “No need for you to bother Bob. You and Bobby go ahead and decorate here. I’ll go get you one and bring it up to the house. I’ve got one in mind and it’s beauty.”
Dad and I finished at the church and got home mid- afternoon where I took my post at the front window peering into the light snow, waiting to see Helmer’s truck winding up our road. My family always loved putting up the Christmas tree but this year the excitement was palpable. This year Helmer was bringing a tree. Not a little scrawny one like one we could afford. Not partial trees like my dad and I found on the hill behind our house, two little misshapen ones we had to wire together to look symmetrical. No Helmer was bringing a tree this year.
When I saw him spinning his back tires, fighting his way up our snowy street and into the driveway I ran out to meet him followed closely by my mom and dad. Before Helmer was out of the cab I was gazing down from my perch a top the wheel well.
“What do you think Bobby?” Helmer asked dropping the tailgate, “Isn't she a beauty?”
“The most beautiful beauty I’ve ever seen,” I said honestly.
As Helmer dropped the trunk onto the ground and held the tree upright I saw my father’s face drop and I thought I saw tears in my mother’s eyes.
“Oh my! Helmer,” she stammered and then hugged him around the neck. “Helmer thank you so much. It is just… ,“ she seemed at a loss of words, “ … beautiful.”
It was the perfect tree. It was Helmer’s perfect gift. And I remember feeling so happy. We’d gotten his last and best tree. My dad patted him on the back and thanked him again and then Helmer got in his truck and drove off with a smile on his face. It was then that I realized that something was wrong.
“Oh glory,” my mom said to my dad. “Bob what are we going to do? We can’t have that tree in our house.”
I thought she must be joking. I said, “What do you mean Mom?”
“Bobby,” she said, “It’s bright yellow. There’s not a bit of green on the whole thing. None at all. Poor Helmer couldn’t see the color.”
Well I’d known my colors for several years so I too had seen that it was yellow. I just happened to think it was a stunningly attractive yellow tree. Who ever said a Christmas tree had to be green?
“Mom,” I protested feeling the tears filling my eyes. “We have to put it up. It’s from Helmer. It’s his very best tree. When he comes for supper he’ll know. Dad and I could wire together a dozen puny things trees from our hillside and never make one like this.”
Since they both knew I was right, we put it up. And it was the most beautiful yellow tree. But I don’t think my mom and dad saw it that way. Oh the shape! Yes certainly they knew that the shape was exquisite. But I don’t think they ever saw the beauty in the color. They’d had too many years of expecting green.
Fortunately I wasn’t the only one who was impressed. All my friends gasped at the beauty of the yellow tree. One buddy mentioned that his family had been hoping to get a yellow one but then his dad got laid off so they had to stick with green.
Adults who visited our home noticed too. As soon as they walked in the door I could tell they noticed the color, but none said a word. Once I overheard my mom in the kitchen. In her quiet voice she shared the tree’s story with a guest. No grownup said it was beautiful.
I guess it was an advantage that year to be a child. Only the children recognized the stunning beauty of Helmer’s perfect gift.
He only lived another year or so. One autumn evening my dad asked me to go for a ride in the car. We drove up Mill St. to Helmer’s house. Dad parked by the ditch and we walked around back where he knocked on the door. Helmer answered and invited us in. It was evident to me that he wasn’t feeling well. He and dad spoke in soft tones about some illness “coming back” and both men seemed very sad. Then my dad took Helmer’s hands in both of his. I couldn't hear what he said. On the way home I remember asking, “Dad, what’s a prostate?