There are at least one hundred octogenarians across this
county for whom the following situation could easily
apply.  Most of these live in and around Rockingham and
Richmond County.   This couple is sitting in their living
room otherwise rather bored, and then all of a sudden
one of them starts laughing uncontrollably.  It could have
been the gentleman or the lady, but let's say it was the
gentleman.  He is really enjoying himself releasing all
those good endorphins into his circulatory system.  After
a couple minutes of this, the wife is finally able to ask her
husband: "What in the world is so all fired funny?"  When
he finally regains his composure he begins to tell her
about the following true story that happened almost sixty
years ago.

For as far back as I can remember, I never believed in
Santa Claus, even at age four when this episode took
place.  Well for one thing, we were relatively poor back
then.  Not that poor; we owned our house or maybe I
should say we were making house payments with the
hope of eventually owning our own house about twenty
years down the road.  My father was furnished a new Ford
every year for use in his sales job with Sunshine Biscuit
Company.  We had enough to eat, but nothing fancy.   
There were five of us children at the time (my youngest
brother was born after we moved to Gastonia in 1954).  So
whatever resources my parents did have, it had to be
spread over the five of us.  Each year as school started, I
was supplied with a new pair of shoes, two pairs of jeans
(we just called them overalls back then), and all of my
next older brother's hand-me-down shirts and winter coat
from the previous year.  I even had a couple shirts made
from feedbags, supplied by my maternal Grandmother
who lived on a small farm in Hendersonville, North
Carolina.  This happen only once per year, and we were
expected to take care of what we had as there was no
money for replacements.  We had one pair of
hand-me-down dress paints and jacket for Church.  We
were required to polish our shoes once per week for
Church on Sunday.  Also we were required to take a bath
on Saturday night every week whether we needed it or not.

There was no money left over for Christmas.  We usually
managed to salvage a small pine tree from the wooded
area in the vicinity where the VFW club is now located,
and this was our Christmas tree.  We had one set of lights
and one set of ornaments that was probably much older
than us children.  We just didn't get Christmas presents.  
That made life difficult for us at school after New Year as
the teachers would invariably go around the classroom
and let each student briefly tell what they had received
for Christmas.  This was my first opportunity to become
an accomplished liar.  I found very quickly that you had to
be vague and modest in what you said because if you went
too far, the neighborhood kids would ask to see that new
bicycle or train set you said you received.  My parents
were straightforward in explaining the religious
importance of Christmas, and we knew full well why we
didn't receive presents.  It had nothing to do with being
good or bad, as a lot of spoiled kids I knew used to get way
too much from Santa Claus.  There is one good thing
about being poor.  If you are poor when you are a child,
you will develop fantastic ambitions in preparing for your
adulthood.  It was obvious to me even at a young age, that
education and job training was the key.  I was always good
in mathematics even as far back as the third grade in Mrs.
Blaylock's class in a Sunday school room of the First
Baptist Church in 1951-52 (a temporary annex from the
old Grammar School).    

WAYN was the only Rockingham radio station back then;
I think it is still operating today with the same call letters,
but I'm not sure of that.  The other stations were WBT in
Charlotte and WCKY in Cincinnati, Ohio, which only
came in at night.  This was all on the old AM band, as FM
didn't become commonplace until the 1960's.  We could
also pick up the "Grand Ole Opry" from some Tennessee
station on Saturday night.  WAYN was required to sign-off
at sundown.                                    

I think it was at Eford's Department Store, which was
located on the corner of Lee Street and Franklin Street
diagonally across from the Court House.  I'm pretty sure
of the location, but not the name of the store.  They were
a competitor with Belk's and J.C. Penny's, both of whom
had nice downtown Rockingham stores back then.  Sears
& Roebuck's had a small mail order site, but not a retail
store.  It was the Christmas season, and Eford's had a
Santa Claus available to talk to small children.  In
addition to that, the conversations were being broadcast
over WAYN; and with their radios on, it was very audible
throughout the store.

Now I knew full well there was no Santa Claus, and no
matter what I said, he wasn't going to bring me anything
for Christmas.  I just thought it would be a great idea to
broadcast my voice all over the County, especially to my
house at less than one half mile away.  I think I was trying
to impress my siblings or something like that.  I
remember all this quite well even thought it really was a
long time ago, and I was very young.  In fact, it is about
the most reliable memory I have going back that far in
time.  We stood in line for at least twenty minutes.  I was
with my Mother and no one else from my family.  When it
finally came my time to talk to Santa, I went up to him.  I
did not set in his lap although most of the children before
me did.  Then he asked me: "What is your name, young
man?"  I replied: "Ball".  Santa then inquired:"Ball?"   
Then I said: "No not Ball, my name is Ball.  We repeated
this exact conversation at least three times.  My Mother
and all the people in the store were really laughing by this
time.  Poor ole Santa, he was becoming exasperated,
when my poor Mother (laughing herself silly) finally was
able to tell him: "His name is Paul".  Then Santa said:
"Oh, your name is Paul".   Then I said: "Yes sir, that's
what I've been trying to tell you all along, my name is
Ball."

I think they were still laughing when we left the store.  It
did not upset me, not even a little bit.  I liked being the
center of attention.  I was proud that I had been able to
talk on the radio.  When we got home, I asked my Mother
if I could hear myself on the radio, but alas, that was not
possible as it had been a live program and had not been
recorded.  I don't remember what I asked him to bring me
for Christmas, particularly since it didn't matter.  I bet
that poor ole man remembered me until the day he died.