The True Story of Rudolph

 **True Story of Rudolph**

A man named Bob May, depressed and brokenhearted, stared out his drafty apartment window into
the chilling December night.


His 4-year-old daughter, Barbara, sat on his lap quietly sobbing.

Bob's wife, Evelyn, was very
sick and he knew she would die.


Little Barbara couldn't understand why her mommy could never come home.

Barbara looked up into her dad's eyes and asked,

"Why isn't Mommy just like everybody else's Mommy?"

Bob's jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears.  

Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger.


It had been the story of Bob's life.

Life always had to be different for Bob.  

Small in stature when he was a kid, Bob was often bullied by other boys.  

He was too little at the time to compete in sports.

He was often  called names he'd rather not remember.  

From childhood, Bob was different and never seemed to fit in.


Bob did complete college, married his loving wife and was grateful to get his job as a
copywriter at MONTGOMERY WARD during the  terrible Great Depression.

Then he was blessed with his little  girl.

But it was all short-lived.

Evelyn's bout with cancer stripped  them of all their savings

and now Bob and his daughter were forced to live in a two-room apartment in the
Chicago slums. Evelyn died  just days before Christmas in 1938.


Bob struggled to give hope to his child,

for whom he couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas gift.

But if he couldn't buy a gift, he was determined a make one

- and so he made a storybook!  

Bob had created an animal character in his own mind and told the animal's story to
little Barbara to give her comfort and hope.


Again and again Bob told the story, embellishing it more with each telling.

Who was the character? What was the story all about?


The story Bob May created was his own autobiography in fable form.

The character he created was a misfit outcast like he was.

The name of the character?

A little reindeer named Rudolph, who had a big shiny nose.  

Bob finished the book just in time to give it to his little girl on
Christmas Day. But the story doesn't end there........


The general manager of Montgomery Ward heard about the little storybook and he offered Bob May a nominal fee to purchase the rights to print the book.

Wards went on to print, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer"

and distribute it to the children visiting Santa Claus in their stores.

By 1946 Wards had printed and distributed more than six million copies of Rudolph. That same year, a major publisher asked to purchase the rights from Wards,  

to print an updated version of the book.


In an unprecedented gesture of  kindness, the CEO of Wards returned all rights of ownership back to Bob May. The book became a best seller.

Many toy and marketing deals followed and Bob May, now remarried with a growing family, became wealthy from the story he created to comfort
his grieving daughter. But the story doesn't end there either.


Bob's brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, made a song adaptation to Rudolph.

Though the song was turned down by such popular vocalists as

Bing Crosby and Dinah Shore, it was recorded by the
singing cowboy, Gene Autry.

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was released in 1949 and became a
phenomenal success, selling more records than any other Christmas song, with the exception of "White Christmas."


The gift of love that Bob May created for his daughter so long ago kept on returning back to bless him again and again.


Bob May learned the lesson, just like his dear friend Rudolph,

that being different isn't so bad..........

In fact, being different can really be a blessing.




The HERO of this story is BOB MAY.
The PATRIOT of this story is MONTGOMERY WARDS !!

The MORAL of this story is THE GIFT OF LOVE .........

The Cab Ride

The Cab Ride

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I walked to the door and knocked.
"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print
dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.

By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All of the
furniture was covered with sheets.

There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a
cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist
the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way
I would want my mother to be treated."

"Oh, you're such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked,
"Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued in a

soft voice. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

"What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once
worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.
She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone

dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the

darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home,

with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her

every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" She asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound 

of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day I
could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift?

What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us

unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID, BUT THEY WILL ALWAYS

REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

What I'm REALLY thankful for!

I probably should have started with these, since if I were listing my blessings in order of importance, as I see them, these would be at the top.  But that isn't the way it turned out.  These next few are the things that are always uppermost in my mind when I think of gratitude, though, so I wanted to get them on list before I go any farther. 

18.  My Savior Jesus Christ.  His atonement and resurrection, and providing the way for me to return to live with my Heavenly Father again.
19.  My membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  I love knowing that the Lord restored His church on this earth to bless his children, and to provide all the ordinances necessary to return to Him.
20.  Temples that let us participate in those ordinances.
21.  A loving and supporting family.  Especially my parents that have remained active in the church and provided me with the opportunities to attend.
22.  My own family with my husband and children, who bless my life every day, and help me learn the lessons I need to learn in this life.
23.  Wonderfully supportive friends, who are always there when I need them.  What would life be like without family and friends? 

Okay, those are my favorite things, but the list will continue. 

Merry Christmas! 

Gratitude, The Secret to a Happy Life

I am reading the most amazing book.  It's called One Thousand Gifts.  I downloaded the PC Kindle application to my computer so that I could read the Kindle version, since the hard copy won't be available for a few weeks yet. It's all about one woman's lessons learned while accepting a challenge to write down one thousand things she is thankful for.  She has an awe-inspiring way with words that reach to the depths of my soul every time I read them.  Because of this book, I've decided that I, too, want to write down one thousand things I'm thankful for, and if I keep the list going on the blog, there's less chance of losing it in my too-full-of-stuff house.  Did that sound like a complaint?  Well, I'm grateful to have this house, so I'll start with that one.

NUMBER ONE:  a house with enough room for 10 people.

I actually decided to start this list while I was in the shower the other day.  Here are a few other things I came up with:

2. HOT running water!  Woohoo!  I remembered back 20+ years to my mission to Argentina, and having to take cold showers, or scalding hot ones, since we never could get those gas flames heaters to work right.  I can stand  in my shower every day and enjoy it at whatever temperature I want (as long as I time it right, and don't do it on Saturday night after the children have had their turns).

3.  Indoor toilets!  Another memory from my mission in Argentina, and one day visiting a family we were working with, and feeling an insuppressible urge.  I ask to use the bathroom.  They all looked at each other a bit uncomfortably, but they pointed me toward a little building toward the back of their yard area.  I went in and found myself staring at nothing more than a hole in the ground, and me standing there in my dress.  Well, I'll spare you any further details, but suffice it to say, I am happy for indoor toilets high enough off the ground to be able to sit comfortably.

4. Soap--just love that feeling of being clean!
5. Shampoo--my hair loves it, too.
6. Fluffy, clean towels to dry off with. 
7. An enclosed shower.  Much nicer than having to shower in the same area with the toilet, and then squeegee the floor afterward. 
8. Mirrors that let me show mercy to the world by trying to look better than I otherwise might before heading out into it.
9.  Combs, brushes, curling irons.  (If I get to 997 and can't think of anything else, I'll split this one up.  I'm not worried that I'll have to, though.)
10.  Linoleum to step out of the shower onto. 
11.  Better yet--a rug or towel on top of it. 
12.  Toilet paper.  That could almost be first on the list.
13. Today, with a foot of snow having fallen in the past 24 hours, I'm grateful that the Lord is seeing fit to bless us with moisture.  And it's so beautiful!  (I can say that now, after having to shovel so much of it to get the van out.)
Yesterday I ended up scraping the car off from the first 1/2 of that eventual foot of snow, and I could feel myself feeling a little whiny about it.  I remembered what I have been reading about gratitude, so I decided that rather than let my thoughts go into complain mode, I'd try gratitude mode instead. I said I was grateful for the moisture, as I just mentioned, but I also listed:
14.  Warm gloves that are keeping my hands warm.
15.  A warm coat and boots, for the same reason.
16.  I was grateful that it had stayed above freezing so that the snow came off easily without having to be chipped away.  It also made the job not be so cold, also.

I am beginning to think that when the scriptures tell us to keep a prayer in our hearts, they might mean to spend our days thanking and praising the Lord for our many blessings.  Sometimes there are things that we feel the need to ask for, either for ourselves or for others, and when those times arise, certainly those prayers are appropriate.  I find that the more I focus on gratitude, the less I find to complain about. 

So there's the start to my list of 1000 gifts.  It's kind of like having Heavenly Father tell me Merry Christmas!

Christmas Eve 1881

The following heart-warming Christmas story was written by Rian B. Anderson.*
It was Christmas Eve 1881.  I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn’t been enough money to buy me the rifle that I’d wanted for Christmas.  We did the chores early that night for some reason.  I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible.  I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn’t in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn’t get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn’t figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn’t worry about it long though. I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.  Soon Pa came back in.  It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard.
“Come on, Matt,” he said. “Bundle up good, it’s cold out tonight.” I was really upset then. Not only wasn’t I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see.  We’d already done all the chores, and I couldn’t think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this.  But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one’s feet when he’d told  them to do something, so I got up and put my boots  back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens.  Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house.  Something was up, but I didn’t know what..
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled.  Whatever it was we were going to do wasn’t going to be a short, quick, little job.   I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load.  Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand.  I reluctantly climbed up beside him.
The cold was already biting at me.  I wasn’t happy.  When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed.  He got off and I followed. “I think we’ll put on the high sideboards,” he said.  “Here, help me.”  The high sideboards!  It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever  it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.
After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood – the wood I’d spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing?  Finally I said something.  “Pa,” I asked, “what are you doing?”  You been by the Widow Jensen’s lately?” he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road.  Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight.  Sure, I’d been by, but so what?
Yeah,” I said, “Why?”
“I rode by just today,” Pa said. “Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They’re out of wood, Matt.”  That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him.  We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.  Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.  When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand.
“What’s in the little sack?” I asked.  Shoes, they’re out of shoes.  Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning.  I got the children a little candy too.  It just wouldn’t be Christmas without a little candy.”
We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen’s pretty much in silence.  I tried to think through what Pa was doing.  We didn’t have much by worldly standards.  Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it.  We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn’t have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy?  Really, why was he doing any of this?  Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn’t have been our concern.
We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door.  We knocked.  The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, “Who is it?”  “Lucas Miles, Ma’am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?”
Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in.  She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.  The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all.  Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.
“We brought you a few things, Ma’am,” Pa said and set down the sack of flour.  I put the meat on the table.  Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.  She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time.  There was a pair for her and one for each of the children – sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last.  I watched her carefully.  She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks.  She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn’t come out.
“We brought a load of wood too, Ma’am,” Pa said.  He turned to me and said, “Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile.  Let’s get that fire up to size and heat this place up.”  I wasn’t the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too.  In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn’t speak.
My heart swelled within me and a joy that I’d never known before filled my soul.  I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference.  I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone’s spirits soared.  The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn’t crossed her face for a long time.  She finally turned to us. “God bless you,” she said. “I know the Lord has sent you.  The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us.”
In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again.  I’d never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true.  I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth.  I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others.  The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left.  I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get.  Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that  the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.
Tears were running down Widow Jensen’s face again when we stood up to leave.  Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug.  They clung to him and didn’t want us to go.  I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, “The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow.  The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals.  We’ll be by to get you about eleven.  It’ll be nice to have some little ones around again.  Matt, here, hasn’t been little for quite a spell.”  I was the youngest.  My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.
Widow Jensen nodded and said, “Thank you, Brother Miles.  I don’t have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will.”
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn’t even notice the cold.  When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, “Matt, I want you to know something.  Your ma and me have  been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn’t have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square.  Your ma and me were real excited,  thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that, but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do.  Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand.”
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again.  I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it.  Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities.  Pa had given me a lot more.  He had given me the look on Widow Jensen’s face and the radiant smiles of her three children.
For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.
The author of this story is uncertain. Some list “unknown” as the author, one lists Rian B. Anderson.