For many kids of the 1960s and ’70s in Chicago, the Christmas season officially started when the children’s shows “Ray Rayner and His Friends” and “Garfield Goose and Friends” began to air old-timey Christmas cartoons. For this child of the ’60s, the cartoons arrived in a clear order of appeal, the worst being the black-and-white “Frosty the Snowman” (a failed Rankin/Bass Frosty wannabe) followed by “Hardrock, Coco and Joe.” (Hardrock’s song was catchy, but the sharp-nosed elves and an ever-squinting Santa kind of creeped me out.)
The best was “Suzy Snowflake,” which was the gentlest of the three, presented in flat 21/2 dimensional stop-action animation with a Disney harmonics song that was at the same time as cheerful as it was sad and as optimistic as it was mournful.
For me, Suzy was Christmas.
“Here comes Suzy Snowflake, dressed in her snow white gown. Tap, tap, tappin’ on your window pane to tell you she’s in town.”
In early December, Suzy was a harbinger of the season to come. Snow. Christmas trees and lights and heirloom ornaments. Old artificial holly garlands that dropped berry clusters off leaves turned sticky from season after season of storage. Kitschy cloth decorations on walls, banisters and mantles and tabletops. Jars wrapped in plastic mesh. Candles that smelled more like cardboard, wax and dust than the pine and cinnamon their labels promised.
“Here comes Suzy Snowflake, soon you will hear her say, ‘Come on, everyone, and play with me. I haven’t long to stay. If you want to make a snowman, I’ll help you make one, one, two, three. If you want to take a sleigh ride … Whee! The ride’s on me.'”
Grandparents coming in from out of town to stay overnight for a week or two. Other relatives paying visits and crowds around a table.
Loud breakfasts. Loud lunches. Loud dinners. Cookies to decorate. Presents to wrap, count and to wonder about as they sat temptingly under the tree. Late bedtimes. That comforting way Christmas lights glowed when room lights were off. Board games and card games. Rudolph and Charlie Brown (sponsored by Dolly Madison treats Mom would never buy) and the joyful real Frosty on TV, all brought to you in living color.
“Here comes Suzy Snowflake. Look at her tumblin’ down. Bringing joy to every girl and boy, Suzy’s come to town.”
In the early part of December, it was exciting to hear the song, but quickly Suzy faded into morning background noise, wisping in and out while the hustle and bustle of the season took precedence. Like a ghost, Suzy was seen and not seen. Heard and unheard. She’d tap-tap-twirl underappreciated for a couple of weeks until December counted down from 19 to 20 to 21 and Christmas came ever closer. And suddenly Suzy — once the harbinger of a season to come — morphed into an omen of the season about to end.
Suzy sings her lyric twice in the song, and harbinger Suzy meanders relaxingly, her pace lazy and optimistic like the first part of December when there’s time to spare. The song merrily lulls us into Christmas complacency, and it bridges to its second lyric via a slow “Suzy’s coming,” as if Suzy’s sighing along with you, “Aaahhhh, Christmas.”
But abruptly, omen Suzy’s second lyric picks up the pace, starting a bit rushed and arriving at “I haven’t long to stay” before anyone’s ready. And unready like you as the season nears its end, Suzy tries to slow down, to cling to all she can before she has to melt away, which she does, mournfully, descending into acceptance as she arrives at that inevitable destination — that final “Suzy’s come to town” — sung in a lingering wistful vibrato as the underscore fades to mist and the cartoon dissolves into “The End.”
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For this overly aware child of the ’60s, every time Suzy Snowflake played during those last days of December, I was fully cognizant this might be the last time I’d see her. And I was reminded that Christmas was nearing its end, and the grandparents would soon head home.
Games would be over, decorations boxed and the tree taken down as the house grew still and school started again.
No, no, no. Please, no.
In those last days of December, Suzy would simultaneously warm and break my heart.
And some 50 years and 500 miles later — with Ray and Garfield long gone, but Suzy resurrected on YouTube — she still does.
Mark Holmberg lives in Minneapolis and the past.
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