The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 88: The Missiles of December

Episode Date: December 19, 2017

It was never good new when the red phone rang - and on this December night it was ringing off the hook. 

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This is the way I heard it. Harry was having a tough day at the office. The stress was heavy in the air, and he could feel the headache forming in the base of his neck, like an early warning, biological alarm. If he didn't stop it now, he knew the dull ache would settle in for a long winter's nap somewhere behind his left eye. Welcome to upper management, he thought,

swallowing three more aspirin and another mouthful of cold coffee. Harry was no stranger to pressure or bad coffee. or the tension headaches that came with his career of choice. But this year, the stress felt sharper. Maybe it was the holidays that made people anxious, or maybe it was the headlines. Economies in Europe teetering on the verge of collapse. America's infrastructure, woefully inadequate. Taxes through the roof and the country divided among race and class.

And now, on top of everything else, Russia was at it again, meddling in America's affairs, causing all sorts of trouble. What next? Harry sighed and dropped the newspaper into the trash. Just a few miles from his office, his kids were trimming the Christmas tree, as his wife enjoyed a cup of eggnog next to a roaring fire. More than any place else, that's where Harry wanted to be, singing along with the neighborhood carolers who would be serenading his family right about now. But new jobs come with new responsibilities, and the truth is a lot of other families were counting on Harry to do his job tonight and do it well. He glanced up at the plexiglass panel on the wall in front of him and wondered how many of the people he served even knew he existed. Right on cue, the phone on Harry's desk

rang, jolting him back to reality. It was not an electronic chirp or a soft buzzing sound or some other newfangled, customized ringtone. Now, this was one of those old-fashioned rings that clanged and jangled in a way that made everyone in the bullpen snap their heads around and stare at their boss. This was a dedicated ring on a dedicated line attached to a number that very few people had. Harry's boss had it and Harry's boss's boss's boss. But that's it. And neither of them would call unless something was seriously amiss. Harry took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.

The voice on the other end did not belong to his boss or his boss's boss. or his boss's boss, but it nevertheless dripped with authority and articulated a series of carefully thought-out demands. Hello, this is Sally Jenkins. I want a Barbie doll, a pony, and a bicycle, and a hula-hoot, please. Harry tried to make sense of what he had just heard. A dozen of his people stood frozen in their places. Some held their breath. Others prayed. No one made a sound. Harry spoke very slowly and very clearly. Listen to me, young lady. I want to know exactly who this is, where you're calling from, and what it is you want.

I just told you. My name is Sally Jenkins. I'm calling from my mommy's kitchen. And I want a Barbie doll, a pony, and a bicycle. And a hula hoop, please. After five seconds of deeply confusing silence, Sally Jenkins added, This is Santa Claus, right? Harry hesitated, waiting for his brain to process the question.

Was he being punked? Was this some sort of test? Then he thought about his own children, sitting around the Christmas tree at home, missing their dad as much as he missed them. He had a little girl about Sally's age. She had wanted a bike last year, and she had gotten one. Would Sally get hers? Harry cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

Why, yes, Sally, this is Santa Claus. Ho, ho, ho! And I've made a note of your request. Tell me, is your mother home? Harry waited as Sally got her mother, and as he waited, he looked again at the frightened faces of his staff, waiting pensively, hoping for good news. Then, Harry listened, as Sally's mother explained that an advertisement in the local paper had featured a picture of Santa, along with a Santa Claus hotline, inviting kids to call the North Pole with their wish list. Harry smiled, as Sally's mother read the number back to him,

two of the numbers were juxtaposed, a simple misprint that just happened to direct calls meant for Santa to a shift supervisor named Harry. Harry thanked Sally's mother and hung up, but before he could explain the situation to his staff, the phone rang again. Harry didn't hesitate. North Pole, this is Santa Claus speaking. Ho! Ho! How can I help you? A 12-year-old boy named Johnny relayed his burning desire for a pogo stick and a BB gun. Harry looked again at the plexiglass panel. All appeared quiet. His team, however,

had crowded into his office. Certain their boss had lost his mind. I see, a pogo stick and a BB gun. Well, tell me, Johnny, have you been a good little boy? Yes, Santa. My parents said, I was even better than last year. Well, then, I'm sure you'll be bouncing around with your BBs very shortly. Ho! Ho! For the rest of his shift, the dedicated phone with a dedicated number that only rang at times of extreme crisis, rang off the hook as boys and girls all over Colorado Springs called to tell Santa exactly what they wanted.

And Harry, his headache, no longer an issue, happily assumed the identity of jolly old St. Nick and kept the Christmas spirit alive for all those who managed to get through. The most important call came from a youngster who wanted to know how it was possible for Santa to travel around the world in just one night. Harry told him that questions like that were a fine way to get on the naughty list forever. Barney, one of Harry's subordinates, laughed at his boss's response. Barney then cut out an image of Santa Claus in his sleigh, pulled by his flying reindeer, and stuck it onto the map that filled the large panel of plexiglass on Harry's wall.

Then Barney called the local radio station and explained that his boss was currently tracking Santa's progress around the world. The radio station then announced Santa's exact location to its audience. The audience went wild. Every 20 minutes, the disc jockey called back for an update. And just like that, a tradition was born. A tradition that began with a misprint in a Sears advertisement over 60 years ago. An advertisement that invited children to call Santa Claus on a number that rang a red telephone

on the desk of a colonel named Harry Shoup, a colonel who back in 1955 spent much of his time at work staring at the map on a large plexiglass panel, specifically at the North Pole, where the nuclear warheads from Russia would first appear on their way towards America. Happily, on that very tense Christmas Eve in 1955, Colonel Harry Shoup, reported no missiles launched, and no unidentified aircraft in U.S. airspace, just a fat man and a magical sleigh, pulled by a team of flying reindeer. On this Christmas Eve, decades after that fateful mistyel, you can still check the location of Santa's sleigh as he makes his way around the world. Just Google NORAD Santa Tracker. See for yourself. And when your kids smile at the thought of St. Nick,

making his way down your chimney. Perhaps you'll smile at the memory of the man remembered by everyone at NORAD as Colonel Santa, a no-nonsense soldier named Harry Shoup, who prayed the missiles of December would stay in their silos, even as he searched the skies for their imminent arrival. Even has he answered one misdial after another, keeping hope alive for children of all ages, even as he besieged his God for the only gifts that mattered on that Christmas back in 1955 and every Christmas before and every Christmas since, the gift of peace on earth and goodwill toward men.

Anyway, that's the way I heard it. Christmas Eve, 2017. If you work in University Maintenance, Granger considers you an MVP, because your playbook ensures your arena is always ready. Ready for tip off. And Granger is your trusted partner. Offering the products you need all in one place, from HVAC and plumbing supplies to lighting and more. And all delivered with plenty of time left on the clock. So your team always gets the win. Call 1-800 Granger, visit granger.com or just stop by, Granger, for the ones who get it done. The ocean moves us, surfing a wave or savoring the view. The ocean delights us as playful. otters restore coastal kelp forests.

The ocean connects us. Visit Monterey Bay Aquarium.org slash connects.