By JERRY WOLFFE
When I was a child attending an orthopedic in
downtown Detroit, my dear mother would wake me and my younger sisters, Rene and
Nancy, before dawn and get us dressed up to go watch the then Hudson’s
Thanksgiving Day parade.
For myself and the 180 or so other kids with
disabilities at Leland School for Crippled Children, it was a really special
and unforgettable day.
We’d dress up warm in snowsuits and wait anxiously
for the yellow bus that said “Leland” on the side to turn down our street on
Detroit’s northeast side.
We’d climb on the bus with the other children with
disabilities and their parents and the bus would take us down to Woodward near
the former J.L. Hudson’s building. The building had the world’s largest flag on
its side. It was several stories high and looked especially immense to a young
child who was all excited about seeing Santa.
We’d stay in the bus once we got to the end of the
parade route and we had a spectacularly close view of the floats.
They would start coming our way as we heard bands
playing Christmas music. The floats were gigantic. They were colorful. The
people on them were dressed in fancy outfits, clowns, elves and the floats
would come one after the other for what seemed like forever. We didn’t mind
because we all knew that sooner or later Santa Claus would come.
The clowns would carry giant balloons or cartoon
characters. I would always wait for my late Uncle Tom Opatich who worked as Hudson’s.
But at Thanksgiving he would turn into a clown and volunteer to be part of the
parade. He would get all of the other clowns to come on our bus and give us big
hugs because we were the special children with disabilities who were receiving
loving treatment from great souls on a wonderful day.
My sisters always thought it was cool that their
big brother went to an orthopedic school because they got to go with him and
our mother, Carol who died this past June at 98, to the Thanksgiving Day parade
for a special treat.
When we started hearing “Santa Claus is Coming to
Town,” we’d really get excited because Santa would jump off of his red sleigh
and leave all the reindeer, including Rudolph, Dancer, and Prancer behind, and
hop up the three steps of our bus and go down the aisle and ask:
“Have every one of you children been good boys and
girls this year?” And we’d scream back in unison: “We sure have Santa.”
And then Santa would ask what we wanted for
Christmas. Most of the time I wanted a bow and arrow or chess set. My sisters
told Santa they wanted dolls or clothes and mother would say she didn’t need
anything as long as her children were happy.
And after a few minutes, Santa would climb off the
bus and go back and hop on his sleigh and welcome the tens of thousands who came
to downtown Detroit in the 1950s to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade.
Our bus would wait a while until traffic of maybe
a million people would clear out and then the bus would make its way back to
drop each of us off at our homes.
There never was one tear about not being able to
walk or talk or having to wear braces because we, the students, had a
disability. We were special and we knew it. We had just received the hearts of
many generous clowns and a special hug from Santa that upon looking back now at
age 68, lasted a lifetime.
Jerry Wolffe is the Writer-in-Residence and
Advocate-at-Large at the Macomb-Oakland Regional Center. He can be reached at
586-263-8950.
By JERRY WOLFFE
Special to Digital First Media
Memories of special Thanksgiving
parade for special children
When I was a child attending an orthopedic in
downtown Detroit, my dear mother would wake me and my younger sisters, Rene and
Nancy, before dawn and get us dressed up to go watch the then Hudson’s
Thanksgiving Day parade.
For myself and the 180 or so other kids with
disabilities at Leland School for Crippled Children, it was a really special
and unforgettable day.
We’d dress up warm in snowsuits and wait anxiously
for the yellow bus that said “Leland” on the side to turn down our street on
Detroit’s northeast side.
We’d climb on the bus with the other children with
disabilities and their parents and the bus would take us down to Woodward near
the former J.L. Hudson’s building. The building had the world’s largest flag on
its side. It was several stories high and looked especially immense to a young
child who was all excited about seeing Santa.
We’d stay in the bus once we got to the end of the
parade route and we had a spectacularly close view of the floats.
They would start coming our way as we heard bands
playing Christmas music. The floats were gigantic. They were colorful. The
people on them were dressed in fancy outfits, clowns, elves and the floats
would come one after the other for what seemed like forever. We didn’t mind
because we all knew that sooner or later Santa Claus would come.
The clowns would carry giant balloons or cartoon
characters. I would always wait for my late Uncle Tom Opatich who worked as Hudson’s.
But at Thanksgiving he would turn into a clown and volunteer to be part of the
parade. He would get all of the other clowns to come on our bus and give us big
hugs because we were the special children with disabilities who were receiving
loving treatment from great souls on a wonderful day.
My sisters always thought it was cool that their
big brother went to an orthopedic school because they got to go with him and
our mother, Carol who died this past June at 98, to the Thanksgiving Day parade
for a special treat.
When we started hearing “Santa Claus is Coming to
Town,” we’d really get excited because Santa would jump off of his red sleigh
and leave all the reindeer, including Rudolph, Dancer, and Prancer behind, and
hop up the three steps of our bus and go down the aisle and ask:
“Have every one of you children been good boys and
girls this year?” And we’d scream back in unison: “We sure have Santa.”
And then Santa would ask what we wanted for
Christmas. Most of the time I wanted a bow and arrow or chess set. My sisters
told Santa they wanted dolls or clothes and mother would say she didn’t need
anything as long as her children were happy.
And after a few minutes, Santa would climb off the
bus and go back and hop on his sleigh and welcome the tens of thousands who came
to downtown Detroit in the 1950s to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade.
Our bus would wait a while until traffic of maybe
a million people would clear out and then the bus would make its way back to
drop each of us off at our homes.
There never was one tear about not being able to
walk or talk or having to wear braces because we, the students, had a
disability. We were special and we knew it. We had just received the hearts of
many generous clowns and a special hug from Santa that upon looking back now at
age 68, lasted a lifetime.
Jerry Wolffe is the Writer-in-Residence and
Advocate-at-Large at the Macomb-Oakland Regional Center. He can be reached at
586-263-8950.
