“You know Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen” – but do you
know the story of how one of the most beloved stories was written: a simple
Christmas story from a father to his daughter. From the bottom of his heart,
and to teach a simple lesson – Rudolph has become as much a part of Christmas
as candy canes and Christmas oranges. And so much more than the cute Christmas Special always shown on tv this time of year.
Now that I know the story behind the story, I think I’ll
enjoy Rudolph just a little bit more.
RUDOLPH—THAT AMAZING REINDEER
On a December night in Chicago several years ago, a little
girl climbed onto her father’s lap and asked a question. It was a simple question asked in a child’s
curiosity, yet it had a heart-rending effect on Robert May.
“Daddy,”
four-year-old Barbara asked, “Why isn’t my mommy just like everybody else’s
mommy?”
Bob May stole a glance across his shabby two-room
apartment. On a couch lay his young
wife, Evelyn, racked with cancer. For
two years she had been bed ridden; for two years all Bob’s income and smaller
savings had gone to pay for treatments and medicines.
Bob May and Little Barbara, 1938 |
Bob May knew only too well what it meant to be
“different.” As a child he had been weak
and delicate. With the innocent cruelty
of children, his playmates had continually goaded the stunted, skinny lad to
tears. Later, at Dartmouth from which he
was graduated in 1926, Bob May was so small that he was always being mistaken
for someone’s little brother.
Nor was his adult life much happier. Unlike many of his classmates who floated
from college into plush jobs, Bob became a lowly copywriter for Montgomery
Ward, the big Chicago mail-order house.
Now at age 33, Bob was deep in debt, depressed, and sad.
Although Bob didn’t know it at the time, the answer he gave
the tousled haired child on his lap was to bring him to fame and fortune. It was also to bring joy to countless
thousands of children like his own Barbara.
On that December night in the shabby Chicago apartment, Bob cradled his
little girl’s head against his shoulder and began to tell a story:
"Once upon a time there was a reindeer named Rudolph, the
only reindeer in the world that had a big red nose. Naturally, people called him Rudolph the Red
Nosed Reindeer.” As Bob went on to tell
about Rudolph, he tried desperately to communicate to Barbara the knowledge
that even though some creatures of God are strange and different they often
enjoy the miraculous power to make others happy.
“Rudolph,” Bob
explained, “Was terribly embarrassed by his unique nose. Other reindeer laughed at him; his mother,
father, and sister were mortified, too.
Even Rudolph wallowed in self-pity.”
“Why was I born with
such a terrible nose?” he cried.
“Well,” continued
Bob, “One Christmas Eve Santa Claus got his team of husky reindeer—Dasher,
Dancer, Prancer, and Vixon—ready for their yearly trip around the world. The entire reindeer community assembled to
cheer these great heroes on their way.
But a terrible fog engulfed the earth that evening, and Santa knew that
the mist was so thick he wouldn’t be able to find the chimneys.
“Suddenly, Rudolph
appeared—his red nose glowing brighter than ever. Santa sensed at once that here was the answer
to his perplexing problem. He led
Rudolph to the front of the sleigh, fastened the harness, and climbed in. They were off! Rudolph guided Santa to every chimney that
night. Rain and fog, snow and sleet,
nothing bothered Rudolph for his bright nose penetrated the mist like a beacon.
“And so it was that
Rudolph became the most famous and beloved of all the reindeer. The huge red nose he once hid in shame was
now the envy of every buck and doe in the reindeer world. Santa Claus told everyone that Rudolph had
saved the day; and from that Christmas, Rudolph has been living serenely
happy.”
Little Barbara laughed with glee when her father
finished. Every night she begged him to
repeat the tale until finally Bob could rattle it off in his sleep. Then at Christmas-time he decided to make the
story into a poem like “The Night Before Christmas” and prepared it in book
form with crude pictures for Barbara’s personal gift.
Night after night Bob worked on the verses after Barbara had
gone to bed for he was determined his daughter should have a worthwhile gift,
even though he could not afford to buy one.
Then as Bob was about to put the finishing touches on
Rudolph, tragedy struck. Evelyn May
died. Bob, his hopes crushed, turned to
Barbara as his chief comfort. Yet,
despite his grief, he sat at his desk in the quiet, now lonely, apartment and
worked on Rudolph with tears in his eyes.
Shortly after Barbara had cried with joy over his handmade
gift on Christmas morning, Bob was asked to an employee’s holiday party at
Montgomery Ward. He didn’t want to go,
but his office associates insisted. When
Bob finally agreed, he took with him the poem and read it to the crowd. At first the noisy throng listened in
laughter and gaiety. Then they became
silent and at the end broke into spontaneous applause. That was in 1938.
By Christmas 1947, some 6,000,000 copies of the booklet had
been given away or sold, making Rudolph, one of the most widely distributed
books in the world. The demand of
Rudolph-sponsored products increased so much in variety and number that
educators and historians predicted Rudolph would come to occupy a permanent
niche in the Christmas legend.
Through the years of unhappiness, the tragedy of his wife’s
death, and his ultimate success with Rudolph, Bob May has captured a sense of
serenity. As each Christmas rolls
around, he recalls with thankfulness the night when his daughter Barbara’s
question inspired him to write the story.
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