What was the inspiration for the story of Christmasville?

As documented in other sources, I began writing fiction in the attic of my mother’s house when I was eleven years old. Subsequently, I’ve maintained a substantial compilation of literary fragments - novels and short stories, poems and plays - tucked away in the drawers of my filing cabinets. The operant word here is, fragments, which I employ only insofar as underscoring the fact that, prior to the writing of Christmasville, most of my literary efforts remained unfinished. When the inspiration for Christmasville occurred to me at the end of 2001, the mandate established for myself was quite simply: should I indeed begin the arduous task of writing a novel, then I must be firmly resolved to finish it. As with any literary endeavor, persistence is paramount.

Of course, I am happy to report that Christmasville was written between the hours of 4:00 A.M. and 9:00 A.M., before departing to my “regular job” as a hotel controller outside of Boston, seventy-one miles away. The novel took four years to complete.

As for the inspiration itself - that is, the manner in which the story of a town existing and functioning on a model train platform actually presented itself - well that requires the disclosure of a bit of historical information as well. When our daughter, Meg, was born, my brother-in law gave me a Marx toy train and several Plasticville structures: a barn, a suburban train station, a house or two. That was in 1981. Over the more than twenty years that ensued, the Marx train was replaced by four Lionel train sets while the number of structures that are set upon the platform expanded to near forty. Although the train platform itself was initially only 5’ x 7’, it is an economic configuration of real estate, having four distinctly different levels.

The inspiration for the novel occurred during the week between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve. Sitting on the couch by the train platform, marveling at the wondrous world of my handiwork (if you don’t mind my saying so), while imbibing in a glass of wine as the clock approached midnight, I posed the overwhelming question: “Wouldn’t it be nice to live there?” Voila! - The first seed of Christmasville!

Why is the main character a heroine (as opposed to a hero)?

I live in a house of women: my wife, Carol; my stepdaughter, Cheryl; and our daughters, Meg and Kate. Having been employed for nearly twenty years in large corporations in the hotel and casino industry, I often noted some of the discrepancies between men and women in the workplace. When Meg was born, and then later, Kate, my wife and I were determined to raise them with the tools necessary to compete in a “man’s world.” In addition to some of the prerequisite values - compassion and tolerance - we wanted to instill independence, resourcefulness, the capacity to succeed in a quick-paced, often sexist environment. Of all my endeavors, including those of a literary nature, I am most proud of my daughters, though at times I do wonder if perhaps we over-emphasized the “independence” a bit too much.

The main character of Christmasville - Mary Jane - and the many female characters who animate the novel are compound extensions of not only Meg and Kate, but of their many friends who have traipsed through our household throughout the years.

What is the relationship between the town of Absecon, New Jersey, and the town of Christmasville?

Absecon is situated across the bay from Atlantic City, less than an hour’s drive from Philadelphia. It was quite the perfect little town for a young boy to be raised in the 50’s and 60’s. I lived in my mother’s house on 13 East Church Street - surely one of the best locations in town because the creek, which meandered inland from the back bays, was at the end of our street. In summer, it provided multiple opportunities: swimming, crabbing (with hand lines), fishing, exploring the marshlands for bits of things that flood tides had carried in for our inspection, and clamming - if you were so fortunate as to own a motorboat.

In winter? - “Wilson’s Hill” (though the word “slope” would be more accurate) was a block away and provided a modest degree of declination to use our sleds and saucers during the infrequent occasion of a snowstorm. And, less than three blocks away, ice-skating could be enjoyed at the pond (its name changing from “Punt’s” to “Jackson’s” to “Jenkin’s” as the house next to the pond was successively re-sold).

But the shining jewel in my remembrance of Absecon was New Jersey Avenue - popularly called “Main Street” and an easy five-minute walk from the front doorstep of my mother’s house. Here - along Main Street - shops and stores were often named after their owners: George’s Butcher Shop and Margaret’s Produce Store, Eyde’s Corner (a luncheonette with full fountain service) and Sica’s Pharmacy, Ed’s Pet Store and Paul’s Toy Store, Van’s Five & Dime and Wernerbrooks Variety Store, Howlett’s Hardware, Gibson’s Hardware and Weaver’s Gift Box (where we bought gifts for “mum” on Mother’s Day). There was the Avenue Bakery, the A & P and the Acme, which later - similar to Christmasville Electric - was burnt to the ground and replaced by Marone’s Furniture Store. And, of course, scattered along Main Street were the expected municipal buildings - its city hall and post office, its police station and firehouse, its elementary school.

On my train platform - as in my novels - “Maple Street” is a re-imagining of that very same “Main Street” in the Absecon of forty…fifty…sixty years ago.

What was the inspiration for the sledding hill in chapter four, “The Perennial Shade of Trees?”

Having lived in the flatlands of South Jersey for a good part of my life, I became fascinated by the rocky contours that shape much of the landscape of Rhode Island. We frequently vacationed in Newport, RI, before moving here in 1996. Though the sledding hill in Christmasville was certainly influenced by my sledding escapades as a young boy on Wilson’s Hill in Absecon (the activity of “broadsiding” comes to mind), the actual locale of the sledding hill as it is described in the novel is less than three blocks away from our previous home on Bateman Avenue. If you were to stand on Coggleshall Avenue and gaze downward across a snow-covered Morton Park, then surely you would see “…the stillness that settles in the leafless trees along the ridge, the barren branches of oak and elm spelling the word [enchantment] in a snowfall that had borrowed some of its blueness from the sky.” (p. 76, Christmasville)

What was the basis for developing the characters Mr. Mason and Stark, the iceman?

The milkman, Mr. Mason, Stark, the iceman, and to some extent, Sergeant Myers, possess attributes that originated from the same source. When I was a young boy in Absecon, I remember our milkman - particularly in summer - puttering down East Church Street in his dairy van, hopscotching to different homes along his delivery route. He was known by the moniker, “Sarge,” as a result of his service in the Marines during World War II.

In summer: If we had a quarter, we would buy a quart of chocolate milk from Sarge; if we didn’t, he would provide us with fist-sized chunks of clear ice that we would suck in the summer heat, clutching them with our shirt fronts to keep our hands from freezing. Sarge was so generous as to lend his partial baldness and occupation to Mr. Mason, his gentle gruffness to Stark and his military rank to Sergeant Myers of the Christmasville Police Department. I do, of course, remember Sarge, our milkman, with much fondness.

Of all the buildings in Christmasville, Mary Jane decribes the coaling station in chapter ten as “the most unusual.” Is there a historical significance to the coaling station?

When my grandparents sold their home on Davis Avenue in Absecon and moved to an apartment above Margaret’s Produce Store on Main Street, I would sometimes stay there for the night. What I distinctly remember is the sound of the train, pulling into the station two blocks away, announcing its six A.M. arrival with the bursts of its whistle. About fifty yards down track from the station were huge, silo-like coal bins, their contents providing fuel for the train. Although the massive coal bins in Absecon were structurally quite different from the coaling station in Christmasville, they stimulated a joyful curiosity for my friends and I as we poked and prodded, inspected and explored (when no one was around of course), trying to figure out the dynamics of filling the bins with coal, of transferring its contents to the locomotive’s tender.

An editor of a reputable publishing house suggested the elimination of chapter three, “Faith,” from Christmasville. You disagreed, electing to keep it intact and to publish the novel under the aegis of Linden Park Publishers, Ltd. Why?

First of all, I had the distinct impression that the suggestion of eliminating “Faith” from the novel was based on a marketing agenda rather than any attempt to improve upon its literary caliber. Secondly, in my exchanges with independent readers, via the Internet, they unilaterally agreed that the chapter should not be removed, its contribution instrumental in supporting Mary Jane’s character development.

Regarding the placement of “Faith” in an historical context: When I attended parochial elementary school (many years ago), part of the weekly regimen included attending Mass and participating in the sacrament of Confession every Friday morning. The good sisters would line us up and march, as in procession, from classroom to church, which was situated on the other side of the parking lot/playground. Sitting in a church pew, waiting my turn in the confessional - well, it wasn’t unlike Mary Jane’s experience: you studied the features of the stained-glass saints, their moods and facial complexions changing with the weather, you pondered the sins that some of your classmates (and nuns) may have perpetrated; and, in the moments immediately before entering the confessional, you complied your list of sins.

Mary Jane’s father, Tom Higgins, demonstrates the highest regard for trees. He is charged with the arduous task of digging up, transporting and replanting Christmas trees each year in the yard around their home. Is it true that you share this same fascination?

It’s no secret: I love trees - the textures of their barks, the scent of their leaves, the sight of their leafy configurations against the sky. The love of trees also happens to be one of the rewards for residing in Newport, RI, where sea captains once brought exotic, arboreal species - cryptomeria and katsura, sawara and ginkgo (to name a few) - from all parts of the globe to plant in the yards around their homes. [In fact, it is well documented that many of these species would not survive the harsher climatic conditions of New England were they situated on the mainland rather than on Aquidneck Island.]

Regarding our Christmas trees of years’ past: I, too - for a period of fifteen years or so - experienced the same digging, transporting and replanting efforts of Tom Higgins. I would note that on one particular occasion - digging up and dragging a Douglas fir from a mountainside outside of State College, PA - well…the onerous task may have tested the arborous allegiance of even the likes of Mr. Higgins!

Stylistically, the beginning of chapter ten, “What the Iceman Said,” is a bit different, particularly in the tone, the meter, the sound of its language. Why is that?

Stark is one of my favorite characters in Christmasville, having attributes borrowed from “Sarge,” from my father, from myself. In the passage at the beginning of chapter ten, I wanted to portray a romantic image of the iceman - one crafted by a lyrical elegance of language, by a deliberate delicacy of tone. As a result, the depiction of him as “prince of the sleepy town…” is heavily influenced by the language from my favorite poem: “Fern Hill,” by Dylan Thomas. As such, the passage may be regarded as my humble homage to the great Welsh poet.

The notion of “romantic” is poignantly apropos for the character of Stark since he is surely the last of his kind, his occupation as iceman, waning in the advent of refrigeration and ice-making machinery. In fact, it is not without undue irony that Stark says of the “whisker fish” that he has caught at the conclusion of the chapter: “But I wouldn’t take him home anyways because he might be the last of his kind.” [p. 269]

When Mr. Tolliver follows Mary Jane into the wilderness in search of the “wild beast,” he encounters a rather ferocious bear. Why a bear?

Arguably, William Faulkner is the greatest of American novelists, his works formulating an unequaled literary mythology. in his classic novella, The Bear, the magnificent beast symbolically represents the transformation of a wilderness that is becoming increasingly compromised by the advance of civilization. Although the bear is introduced in Chjristmasville as a fearsome harbinger - one that suggests a consequential threat should one drift too far from the sequestered harmony of Christmasville proper - its role is only rudimentarily developed. The full significance of the “bear” does not achieve fruition until its next appearance in Finding Christmasville.

The choice in selecting a bear - rather than a wolf or a mountain lion, for example - to fulfill the intended objective was two-fold: a) of beast in the wild, the bear is the most difficult to evade - it climbs trees, runs faster than a human, swims; and, b) the portrayal of the “beast” as a bear represents a minor homage by the author to that great American novelist, William Faulkner.

In chapter five, “A Game of Checkers,” Mary Jane brings her parents into her bedroom to show them the maple sapling, which she had decorated with the trimmings of a Christmas tree. What incident in your childhood was somewhat similar?

When my brother, Dan, and I were young boys, we slept in the unfinished attic of my mother’s house. In winter it was so cold that sometimes you could see your breath; in summer it was as hot and breathless as an oven.

My father was an abusive alcoholic who loved to pick fights with just about anyone. He was built like a brahma bull and was a boxer in the navy. It was his second nature, particularly under the influence of alcohol, to terrorize anyone in the household at the slighest provocation. Although it took me half a lifetime, I do not judge him since his experiences in the Pacific theater of World War II were horrific. Nevertheless, on the day my father departed from the household - I was fourteen, my younger brother was ten, my sister four and my mother was pregnant, and, from that point forward I would often experience that biting, nagging condition otherwise known as hunger - that day was, and continues to be, one of my “best of days.”

But…to return from the digression: When I was around thirteen, I remember going into the woods and cutting down a small cedar tree. I dragged it home, carried it up to the attic and, with lights and ornaments that were no longer used for the artificial, aluminum tree downstairs, decorated the tree. The Christmas tree - skimpy and smallish as it was - was only for my brother, Dan, and I. It was for no one else. And maybe…maybe in an odd, juvenile sort of way, it was also a prayer.