The man who made the bears

All Timmy wanted for Christmas was a stuffed bear. Not any bear, the one in Birkstons Department store window. For the past twenty-five years, they would place him front and center of the Christmas display. For Timmy and many others that signaled the beginning of the holiday season.

The only problem was the bear was not for sale. Another problem was that it was stolen on Christmas eve in 1947.

Timmy found out about the theft from his father, a custodian at Birkstons. Timmy would not be consoled and chose to remain sullen throughout Christmas day. Refusing to touch the gift he received, until he had an idea on how to solve the problem.

He explained his plan to his parents the next day, his mother smiled and said she would help. His father, without saying a word hugged his seven-year-old son, as tears filled his eyes. All year Timmy worked on a design. It took several tries before he was happy with the result. On the first of December 1948 he and his parents walked to Birkstons, and personally talked to the owner, Mr. Johnathan P. Birkston, who smiled and said he would be delighted to accept this gift. That day as they set up the front window Christmas display, a stuffed bear that Timmy worked on all year was presented for the world to see.

And a new tradition was born, because every year, for the next seventy-five years, Timmy created a new bear which Birkstons proudly placed in the window display every December 1st.

So, the story goes. Which is why people are gathered here today, seventy-six years later, and why each child now holds a special offering in their arms.

I am one of those children.

**************************************

I watch as people arrive, some with smiles, others with faces lost in thought as if remembering days past. My Mom is one of them, although she smiles when I glance at her. I sense her nervousness, which cannot be greater than mine. With excitement in their step, they climb the stairs in the crisp air, while the slightly overcast sky allows the setting sun to shine through pockets of clouds floating above the horizon. Foggy mist forms in the chill air with every breath exhaled.

One by one, people enter the building, a soft murmur of voices respectively echo off the tiled floor and marble walls. Little gasps of delight trickle through the crowd as each person witnesses for the first time what they came to see and celebrate. Suddenly Songs of Christmas fill the large room, warming our hearts and bringing us closer together. Shuffling my feet I silently wish for my parents to assure me, while another part wants to be left alone.

"You ok buddy?" My father asks.

Nodding my head I say. "Is this because of me?"

Kneeling beside me, my mom whispers. "Sort of. This was going to happen anyway, but what you discovered is a Christmas miracle."

Just then a voice booms over the speakers. 'Good day everyone. On behalf of the Birkston family we would like to thank everyone for taking the time to be here. showing your appreciation.....'

While the voice drones on, my mind drifts back to one year earlier, to the day I met him, December 1st, 2023.

Our family moved here, three months earlier, by December I still had not met a lot of new friends and was feeling sorry for myself. My parents volunteered us to help decorate the church, it was there I saw him. He was an old man, who stood tall, his hair though grey was full and wild. It seemed he knew everyone and helped everywhere. Cleaning, handing out decorations or bringing treats and beverages for all. Yet there was a sadness about him, I noticed it right away.

When he went outside, I followed.

The soft crunch of ice cracked under foot, echoing a cry in the quiet of night. The fresh scent of the river was carried on the frosty air, and if you listened you could hear the steady gurgle of the water as it struggled to flow through ice that would never fully solidify. My body shivered in the crisp cool dark, only the moon and a single lamp lit the back yard of the church. In the shadows, I watched as he shuffled towards an old stone shed tucked amongst the barren trees. He gave one quick glance then entered inside. A light broke through the cracks of dust covered windows which only added to the mystery.

Drawn towards the solitary building. Like a dream, I opened the door and stepped upon the wooden floor, it was larger than I imagined, the walls were made of stone. There was only a single bulb suspended in the middle of the room. Illuminating the numerous assorted boxes and bins. Sitting on an old chest surrounded by boxes of Christmas decoration was the old man. Head down, staring at nothing.

“Excuse me.” Was the only thing I could say.

If he was startled he did not show it. Instead, he raised his head and smiled.

“Hello.”

“Are you okay?”

“You’re the Thompson boy, right?”

“Yes sir. I’m Christopher, but people call me Chris.”

“Nice to meet you Christopher, I’m...”

I cut him off before he finished. “You’re Mr. Conners, you make the bears.”

Nodding his head he gave a chuckle, yet I noticed a sorrow in his eyes. “I do make the bears.”

I turned to return to the Church, but instead I asked. “Why are you sitting here alone?”

“I am getting decorations. I volunteer at the church. The real question is, why are you here talking to an old man instead of being with your friends?”

I don’t know what it was about him that made me open up, but I did. Telling him about the move, being lonely and angry with my father for bringing us here. Then I said something that surprised me.

“We watched your bear placed on display today.”

He leaned back and the smile returned to his face. “Did you now?”

My eyes focused on the floorboards as I muttered. “Everyone seemed so excited to be there, they said this is the seventy fifth anniversary.”

Looking him in the eyes I added. “It is the first time I felt Christmassy this year.”

Gesturing to me as he stood up. ”What say you help me get these decorations to the church.”

So it was, for the next three weeks, everyday after school and on weekends, I helped him around the church and town. Decorating, helping with food drives and having fun. Mr. Conners always had a kind word and a smile to share with everyone he met. Soon, I was talking to people as much as he was.

By the time Christmas eve came around I was excited to attend midnight mass. My parents were surprised when we arrived at the church, people came up to me and wished me merry Christmas. I saw the pride and confusion in their eyes as people shook their hands and said how proud they must be to have a son like me.

“It seems you’ve gotten to know a few people.” Father said.

I just shrugged, knowing the reason people knew me was because of Mr. Conners.

“I’m glad you decided to help out around town.” Added mother.

The service droned on, the choir was beautiful, and Father Allen gave a special shout out to all the volunteers. But I was restless, and couldn’t wait to get home, crawl into bed then wake up to Christmas morning. If I hadn’t had been bored I may not have seen Mr. Conners sneak out of the church. Curiosity got the better of me and I slipped out as well. Like the first time we met, he was walking to the shed, and once again I followed and watched as he entered inside.

Standing on my tip toes I peered through the dirty pane and watched as he shuffled to the back of the room, moved some boxes then proceeded to pry away at the stones. In seconds he pulled out a tiny yellow suitcase from a cavity in the wall.

Drawn to the mystery, I drifted to the door and entered. He was staring downward, like the first time, however this time he held something in his hands. Perhaps it was the way he cradled it, so gentle. I found myself speaking aloud.

“That bear looks too old to be one of yours, it’s faded and worn.”

I startled him, and he instantly set the bear down behind him. “You’re a very observant child.”

“I’m twelve.”

“So you are. What brings you here Christopher, you should be inside at the service.”

The atmosphere draped over me, like a heavy blanket holding me in place. The silence was absolute to the point we could hear the choir singing from inside the church. Walking in a dream like state, I stood next to Mr. Conners. Slowly bending down, I picked up the bear, rolling it over in my hand. Confused as to why it was hidden away and why was he holding it tonight.

“It’s the original Birkston Bear.” Was all he said.

“I thought it was stolen.”

He carefully took the bear from me. His eyes never left the ruffled furry creature. “It was.”

My heart, beat wildly inside my chest, as I tried to process this, I began to shake when I asked. “Did you steal it?”

His head shot up, and I once more saw the sadness that lurked with in him. “No, I was only seven when it went missing.”

“Then how….did you find it?”

“By accident, seven years ago. I honestly thought he destroyed it, but I guess he just hid it.”

I had no idea who he was referring too, then in a voice so soft he spoke.

“It was the only thing I wanted that Christmas. I didn’t know he couldn’t afford to buy a gift. Not that it mattered, it wasn’t for sale. I don’t know why he did it. I keep saying it was because he loved me and …If I hadn’t asked for the bear, he wouldn’t have done it….It was my fault.”

It dawned on me. “Your father stole the bear?”

The tears in his eyes broke my soul, there was such torture and pain in them, he nodded.

“When he gave it to me on Christmas morning, I was so excited. Then mother started asking questions. Their voices rising higher and higher as they argued. That’s when I found out it he took it….I set it down and walked away.”

“Is that why you made a bear, to replace this one?”

Again, he nodded. “Father would have lost his job, maybe gone to jail…all because of me.”

“Why didn’t you just return it when you discovered it?”

“I have tried, and every year I say next year. I don’t know how too…they will hate my father…and me.”

“Why are you doing this tonight?”

“Because I cannot let another Christmas go by without the truth being told.”

“So do it next year, give the bear to Birkstons then.”

Wiping his face with the sleeve of his coat he looked and me and simply said.

“I don’t have a next year.”

“Sure, you do. I’ll go with you.”

The way he looked, made me realize he wouldn't be here next year.

“Oh.” Was all I said.

I only knew this man for three weeks. Yet, there isn’t a kinder, gentler soul in this city. He was torturing himself with a dilemma that had no answer, but one.

He had to return the bear.

Sitting up straight, his fingers groomed the fake fur with a loving care. He continued to share.

“Father was a good man, but after the war he wasn’t the same. He had troubles holding a job, noises bothered him, he would lay in the dark for hours, not sleeping, only staring at the walls.”

For a moment I no longer saw an old man, but a sad child. A tiny smile creased his face as he continued.

“Then before Christmas he got a job at Birkstons. Father was happy for the first time since returning, he would come home smiling. Mr. Birkston was a good man. He hired veterans who struggled. I remember when father brought us to the store, and I saw the bear for the first time. I selfishly asked for it as a Christmas gift. If I wouldn’t have …but, after what he did, father felt unable to stay. He left Birkstons, eventually getting a job as custodian for the church. Eventually he found happiness again, but I could tell he was still haunted by demons from the war and from the one he created by taking the bear”

We sat in silence for far to long, I wondered if my parents noticed my absence. I felt his pain and was about to say something, but he spoke first. Yet, I do not think it was to me.

”I hope they can one day forgive me, and not be angry with father.”

Inside my heart broke, to hear an old man speak so loving of a parent long gone. I placed my hand on his shoulder.

Sitting next to him I spoke. ”The way I see it, you’re punishing yourself for a mistake you never made.”

”I lied and held that lie for years.”

“You were a child who wanted to help his father, that’s not a sin.”

“I’m no longer a child.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

The church bells tolled midnight, beautiful chimes rang out across the night and into our little shed. Mass was ending, I needed to find my parents and he had to resolve a problem that should never have been his.

He started to rise, but I jumped up first.

“I have an idea.”

Choosing my words, I slowly laid out my plan, and then waited. Without saying a word, he stood, smiled at me in such a way, my heart healed. The anger I held towards my own father, for dragging me to this place, vanished. I now understood, he did what he felt was right.

As he passed by me, I felt a squeeze upon my shoulder, “Merry Christmas Christopher.” The door opened, and he exited into the night.

The bear remained upon the chest.

Christmas came and went. I returned to school but spent time with Mr. Conners when I could. I think he finally enjoyed life, as he should have. I made new friends, but Mr. Conners will always be my best friend.

Later that year, there were two outstanding headlines in the paper.

October 2nd, 2024, Timothy William Conner- Maker of the bears, passes away.

November 28th, 2024, Original Birkston Bear found by local boy.

I discovered the bear by ‘accident’ while assisting with decorating, hidden in the wall of the church shed. If people suspected something wasn’t quite right, they remained silent in their views.

So, now we gather to honour a man who brought Christmas joy to a city. Birkstons brought out of storage every bear he made, from 1948 to his last in 2023. Which the children placed in a glass case surrounding the Statue of Timothy William Conners- Maker of the Bears.

I feel a gentle encouraging push upon my shoulders as my father lets me know it’s my turn. I have the honour of laying the original Birkston bear in his hands.

The only one he ever wanted.

Merry Christmas,

Jason