Hilary Ward Schnadt

My brothers and I each have a sleeping Santa bank, gifts from our maternal grandparents, Francis and Genevieve Griffin. The back of Santa’s chair advertises Holyoke Savings Bank, “Cor. Suffolk and Chestnut Streets Opposite Victory Theater.”  The removable metal bottom plate has my name and the year 1959 in my grandfather’s neat printing.

My grandparents kept the banks at their house.  They would host monthly parties for us grandchildren during which the banks were taken down.  7-Up was served along with Twinkies, often starting an argument over who should get the Twinkie on its white cardboard square in lieu of a plate.  My grandparents would referee and then give each of us the same number of coins to put in our banks.

During December’s party, my grandfather would point out that Santa was now awake in his chair and preparing for his annual task of distributing gifts. He would detail how the joy of giving animated Santa.  Then he would unscrew the base of each bank and give us our own Christmas funds so that we, too, could give gifts.

After Grandpa’s death in 1980, as we helped Grandma to pack up the house, I asked her where the other banks were, the ones with the awake Santa Claus that must have been swapped out in December.  She didn’t know what I was talking about.  Embracing, we again admired the power of my grandfather’s storytelling. I remain grateful for the gift of my grandparents’ presence in my life.