Deck the Halls
Beverly Hills. Palm Springs. The Hamptons. Greenwich, Connecticut. All these places conjure up images of mansions and money. There are numerous towns and cities around the world where the wealthy congregate. Pine Brook, Massachusetts, is not one of them. Unlike Concord, Lexington, Salem and Plymouth, Pine Brook won't be found in the pages of an American history book. Nor does it pull in crowds of summer vacationers like Hyannis, Provincetown and Nantucket.
In short, there is nothing remarkable about Pine Brook that sets it apart from other towns in the Bay State. Braxton Lehane, the man who had been elected mayor for six straight terms, had spent the majority of his adult life trying to change that. It was his political and personal goal to put Pine Brook on the map. The only problem was he didn't know how—not until the letter arrived.
Oddly enough, the letter came on Monday, February 2. Estella Spragg, who had been Braxton's secretary for more than twenty years, found it in the in-box on the corner of her desk that morning along with other mail addressed to the mayor. Not realizing the significance of this particular piece of correspondence, she calmly reached into her top desk drawer, took out her steel letter opener and inserted it into the envelope's flap. She then laid the two pages flat on her desk and stamped the date at the top of the first sheet. It was only then that she scanned the contents to see if it was a matter that should be brought to the mayor's attention or one that could be forwarded to one of the town's civil service employees for handling.
The letterhead identified the sender as Myron Mannix, a Hollywood producer well-known for his popular competition-form reality television programs.
Why is he writing to the mayor of Pine Brook? Estella wondered and quickly read the body of the letter.
"Mayor Lehane!"
The volume and pitch of his secretary's voice startled Braxton. He immediately suspected the worst.
Has a gun-wielding nut broken into the town hall? he wondered fearfully.
"What is it?"
"You've got to see this letter!" Miss Spragg exclaimed as she ran into the mayor's private office.
"I'm not being sued, am I?" he asked, searching his memory for any recent indiscretions he might have committed in either his public or private life.
"No. It's good news. Look."
While his secretary had been drawn to the producer's name upon her initial viewing of the letter, Braxton's eyes went directly to the figure mentioned in the second paragraph.
"One hundred thousand dollars?"
"If we win the competition."
Intrigued, the mayor read the letter from the beginning.
"This Myron Mannix fellow wants Pine Brook to compete on a television reality show."
"I know. Isn't that wonderful!" Estella exclaimed.
"A Christmas lights and display contest," Lehane mused, his mind exploring the possibilities being offered. "We'll appear on national television, possibly even in other countries. And if we win? Imagine what it would mean to tourism. We could advertise Pine Brook as New England's Winter Wonderland or the North Pole of Massachusetts! And that would be just the beginning. We could approach Six Flags about opening a Christmas theme park here."
"But does anyone in Pine Brook know how to design an award-winning light display?"
That's a good question, thought the mayor, who had difficulty stringing the miniature lights on his Christmas tree each year.
"I want you to schedule a special meeting," Braxton directed. "I want to form a new committee, a Christmas display committee. Call the town engineer, the head of the town planning board and Judge Adelson's brother—he's a master electrician. Also invite the owner of that electrical supply store on Roosevelt Avenue."
"What about a representative from the power company?" Estella asked.
"Good idea. We'll probably need a lot of power. I plan on lighting up Pine Brook like Las Vegas. I want our display to be visible from outer space!"
* * *
"You can't be serious," Orrin Coulter, the town engineer, declared after the mayor announced his intentions to enter the Christmas light display competition.
"Why not? The prize is a hundred thousand dollars, not to mention the benefits we can reap from the television coverage."
Coulter was not the only one in the room who was skeptical about another one of Braxton Lehane's schemes.
"Don't you remember the music festival that was held here five years ago?" one of the councilmen asked. "The town was covered in garbage. It took the sanitation department three weeks to clean everything up."
"And Old Man Kennett's barn was set on fire," the engineer added. "After all that, the town didn't make a cent. In fact, it cost us money to put things back to normal after all the kids went home."
"I admit the music festival turned out to be a bad idea," Braxton conceded. "But what harm can come of Christmas lights? It's long been a custom for the town to decorate the big Douglas fir in front of the library and have a tree lighting ceremony the second Saturday in December. And I notice many people in this room put lights on their houses every year."
"But this competition isn't about a few sets of lights and some ornaments," Orrin argued. "Have you ever seen one of those extreme Christmas light displays? It's not uncommon to have several hundred thousand lights being used, all controlled by a computer program. There's no one in this town with the skill to complete such a project."
Wally Noonan, the owner of the electrical supply store on Roosevelt Avenue, rose to speak.
"That's not necessarily true," he argued.
"Oh, you can do it, can you?" Braxton asked. "How much would you charge for this service?"
"I'm not referring to myself. I'm talking about Hendrick Wellman."
"The guy who lives in that dilapidated old Victorian house on Chestnut Lane?" the engineer asked.
"From what I hear he's a cantankerous old hermit," the mayor said.
"He may not be the friendliest person in town," Wally said, "but he was a Hollywood set designer when he was younger. Even won an Oscar for his work back in the Eighties."
"What's he doing in Pine Brook?"
"I don't know, but if anyone in town can build an extreme Christmas display, Hendrick Wellman is your man."
"If no one here has any objections," the mayor said, "I'll pay him a visit and see what he would want to take on the job."
"Just be sure to talk to me before you agree to any conditions," Theodore Renfield, the town attorney advised. "We'll want to have a proper contract drawn up and signed—just in case."
* * *
This place ought to be condemned, the mayor thought as he gingerly stepped on the porch of the old Victorian, fearful he might fall through the rotted boards.
He rang the doorbell, half-expecting a creepy butler right out of The Addams Family to answer.
"Yes?"
It was not Lurch who came to the door; it was the hermit of Chestnut Lane himself.
"Mr. Hendrick Wellman. I'm Braxton Lehane, mayor of Pine Brook."
"What do you want with me? I paid my taxes, didn't I?"
"I'm sure you did. That's not why I'm here. Would you mind if I came in and sat down? There's something I'd like to discuss with you."
Hendrick reluctantly stepped aside.
"In there," he said, indicating a living room to the right of the foyer.
The interior of the house—at least what Braxton could see of it—was in no better shape than the exterior. The walls needed painting, the hardwood floors needed refinishing and the furniture needed to be replaced.
"I understand you used to work in Hollywood," the mayor began.
"Yeah."
Unlike the small-town politician, Wellman was a man of few words.
Braxton took Myron Mannix's letter out of his pocket and handed it to the homeowner.
"I received this in the mail a few days ago."
Hendrick scanned the letter and returned it without comment.
"We'd like to create an extreme Christmas light display here in Pine Brook. I'm talking lights, music, trees laden with ornaments, a nativity—a veritable Disneyland of holiday decorations. And given your experience and area of expertise ...."
The stone-face man said not a single word.
"Well? Can you do it?"
"Can I do it? Sure. It would no doubt be an easy job for me. Will I do it? No."
"Why not?" the mayor asked indignantly.
"Because I don't celebrate Christmas. I haven't for more than twenty-five years."
"You sound like Ebenezer Scrooge."
"I'm no Scrooge. There was hope of redemption for Dickens' old miser. I assure you, the same cannot be said for me."
"I don't see what the big deal is. I'm talking about hiring you to do a job. I'm not expecting you to do it out of the kindness of your heart or in the name of the holiday season."
"Mayor Lehane, my answer is no. As for my reasons for not celebrating Christmas, they are my own and not open for discussion."
Hendrick stood up, indicating that the conversation was over.
"I'm a persistent man, Mr. Wellman. I will do my best to change your mind."
"Goodbye, Mayor."
* * *
Machiavelli once said, "Politics have no relation to morals."
Such is the case not only in the corridors of international power but also in the workings of small town government. Mayor Lehane didn't win six straight elections by being a nice guy. He often had to resort to less than ethical solutions to solve problems. After meeting with Hendrick Wellman, he returned to his office and phoned Theodore Renfield, who, as a successful lawyer, was not beyond some shady dealings himself.
"I want you to do me a favor," Braxton told the attorney. "See what you can find out about this Wellman fellow. He doesn't want to play ball, and I need a means of persuading him to see things my way."
"He was from Hollywood, right?" Renfield asked.
"Yeah. He was an Oscar-winning set designer. The fact that he's living like a hermit in Pine Brook tells me he's got at least one skeleton in his closet."
"If he does," the lawyer assured him, "I'll find it."
"Could you make it your number one priority? It's already the end of February. We need to have the display completed by the middle of December."
It took only a week for Renfield to get back to the mayor.
"Did you find out anything?" Braxton asked.
"His wife, Leanna. She's his Achilles heel."
"Really? What did she do, leave him for another man?"
"No, nothing like that. It seems Mrs. Wellman had a problem with alcohol back in the Eighties. One day while her husband was working on location in Mexico, Leanna was at home alone with their three-year-old son. Mama Bear got wasted and passed out in the lounge chair in the back yard. Meanwhile, Baby Bear fell into the swimming pool and drowned."
"Damn! No wonder Wellman has got no people skills."
"Needless to say, Leanna had a tough time of things after that. She was in and out of psychiatric facilities for a few years. Finally, Wellman left Hollywood and brought his wife here, hoping to get away from everything."
"So he's still with her?"
"Yes. They live together in that architectural monstrosity on Chestnut Lane."
Although Renfield could not see the smile that spread across the mayor's face, he could easily imagine it.
"You've done your part well," Braxton said. "Now it's up to me to exploit that Achilles heel."
* * *
Two days later Braxton Lehane returned to the Victorian house on Chestnut Lane. The homeowner seemed more annoyed than surprised by the mayor's second visit.
"I don't think we have anything to talk about," Wellman said from the doorway, issuing no invitation to enter his house.
"Oh, I disagree. I think we have a lot to discuss. How is your wife, Leanna, doing, by the way? Does she still have a drinking problem?"
Anger flashed in Hendrick's eyes.
"I don't care to bring my wife into this."
"I'm sure you don't. God knows if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't want to dredge up all the pain of my wife's alcoholism and my child's tragic death."
"I'm sure you didn't come over here to inquire about Leanna's recovery. I assume this is your way of getting me to reconsider your offer."
"I'm sorry it had to come to this, but yes. I'll stop at nothing to get that light display in our town."
Hendrick turned away, unable to face the man who was so cruelly blackmailing him.
"Well?" the mayor pressed. "Will you do it?"
"I work alone. I set my own hours and my own schedule."
"Fair enough, as long as it's completed by judging day, which is December 15."
"It will be."
"And what do you like to be paid for this job? The council will want to know so that they can include your fee in the town budget."
"Not a red cent. I just want you to leave me and Leanna in peace."
"Agreed."
There was no amiable leave-taking, no cordial goodbyes. Hendrick Wellman shut the door without any comment, and Mayor Lehane walked away with a smile of satisfaction on his face.
* * *
Several times during the months of March and April, Braxton tried to contact Hendrick to learn what progress had been made. True to his reputation of being a hermit, the former Hollywood set designer did not respond.
"How do you know he's even working on the display?" Estella asked her boss.
"I don't know, but I'm trusting in his promise to meet the show's deadline."
Lehane did not tell his secretary of the means by which he had obtained the other man's services, nor did he elaborate on what he would do if Wellman failed to keep his promise.
With the advent of the warmer temperatures of May and the threat of snow behind them, people noticed a growing number of LED lights strung from the trees on the town common. As other Americans' thoughts went to the approaching summer season, the residents of Pine Brook counted down the months until December.
The mayor was so delighted to see work on the display had begun that he walked into his office singing, "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."
"You're in a good mood," Miss Spragg commented.
"Isn't Christmas wonderful? I feel like a kid again."
"I haven't seen you this excited since you were planning the Miss Pine Brook beauty pageant seven year ago."
A look of excitement suddenly crossed Braxton's face.
"You know, we could hold another pageant, a Miss Christmas beauty contest. What do you think?"
"Well," the secretary replied after giving the question some consideration, "at least if it's held in December there won't be any chance of another wardrobe malfunction."
By now the mayor's enthusiasm was mounting.
"And a huge parade down Main Street with floats and balloons. We could also construct an ice skating rink in front of the town library."
"We could have carolers dressed in Victorian attire," Estella added, finding the mayor's zeal contagious. "What about chestnut venders? It could be just like a Dickens Christmas."
"There could be a live performance of A Christmas Carol."
"And perhaps The Nutcracker as well."
"Splendid idea! Grab your notepad," the mayor instructed, "and come into my office. We've got to start making arrangements if we want to have all this done by December."
"But I have to finish typing the minutes of the last mayor and council meeting," Estella objected.
"That can wait. Our Christmas pageant takes priority."
Given that it was only the middle of May, the secretary had more than enough time to finish what she was doing. However, the mayor was on a roll, and there was no stopping him.
* * *
June, July and August passed, and the citizens of Pine Brook thought less about swimming, boating and sunbathing than they did about ice skating, sleigh riding and snowball making. Baseball was forgotten as were Fourth of July fireworks, church picnics and backyard barbecues. Every resident, man or woman, young or old, thought only of Christmas and his or her role in the upcoming celebration. The burning desire they all felt was fueled by Hendrick Wellman's expanding light display on the town common.
"How do we know all those lights are going to work?" Theodore Renfield asked the mayor. "Have you tested any of them?"
"No, but I trust Wellman has."
"You trust a contractor? Oh, wait. He's not officially a contractor since you never asked him to sign a contract."
"Relax! He knows what he's doing. There's no need for you to get upset."
The lawyer was not the only person in Pine Brook to feel the strain of the competition weighing down on him. As September and October faded into the past, tempers flared. Husbands fought with wives. Neighbor feuded with neighbor. Parents argued with children. The mayor snapped at his secretary, and she in turn took her displeasure out on those around her.
"I'll be glad when this whole damned Christmas nonsense is over!" she complained to the town clerk. "Honestly, I wish I would have thrown Myron Mannix's letter right into the garbage and not shown it to Mayor Lehane!"
Amidst the mounting turmoil, only Hendrick Wellman remained calm. He labored diligently, albeit silently. The only time he stopped working was over the Thanksgiving holiday. The following Monday, he was back on the town common splicing wires and stringing lights. Few people knew that his wife finally put an end to her misery on Black Friday by hanging herself from a rafter in the attic of the old Victorian home. There was no funeral or memorial, no obituary in the local paper. Leanna Wellman's body was taken directly from the hospital morgue to the crematorium.
Physical labor is often therapeutic. This was obviously so in Hendrick's case. Not only did the lights continue to go up despite his grieving, but he also began installing other elements into the display that he had made at home during the early spring months and at off times during the summer and fall. These included an eight-foot-high Santa's workshop, a nativity manger, an ice palace and a faux gingerbread house. He lined the footpaths through the town common with oversized wooden toy soldiers, snowmen, nutcrackers and elves. There were also a dozen small shed-like buildings that housed animatronic figures set in Christmas-themed dioramas such as a Victorian London street scene, the Night before Christmas, Ebenezer Scrooge with Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim and Santa filling the stockings that hung from a fireplace.
Meanwhile, as Hendrick transformed the town common, the rest of the town was not neglected. Lighted wreaths were placed on every streetlamp along Main Street, and red and white lighted candy canes were placed on all the utility poles. The owners of the shops tried to surpass one another with window decorations. Not to be outdone, the hospital, the high school and even the fence and gates of the cemetery were festooned with lights and garland. The town was indeed shaping up to be a Winter Wonderland.
* * *
Pine Brook's official countdown started on December 1. As each day passed, tensions grew and squabbles escalated. The director of A Christmas Carol was no longer speaking to the choreographer of The Nutcracker—which was awkward since they were man and wife. The church choir director threatened to resign her position. The tuba player in the high school band actually had a fistfight with one of Santa's helpers.
December 15 (the day Heath Parr, host of Deck the Halls, his crew and the judges were scheduled to arrive in Pine Brook) was declared an official town holiday. Schools and many businesses were closed. Residents who worked outside the town limits took a personal leave or vacation day in order to join in the planned festivities.
Early on the afternoon of the fifteenth, the cast of A Christmas Carol met at the school auditorium for one last dress rehearsal, and in the town hall, the dancers had one last run-through of The Nutcracker. Meanwhile, the marching bands and carolers practiced in the school gym, the cafeteria and the three municipal courtrooms.
Mayor Lehane, dressed as a proper Victorian gentleman, paced in his office, keeping careful eye on the clock. Estella, also attired in eighteenth century garb, was going through a printed checklist.
"You and your wife will be seated on the grandstand," she told her boss, "along with the councilmen, Father Vinson, Reverend Bowes, Heath Parr and the three judges. The bleachers on either side of the grandstand will be filled with VIPs: the president of the chamber of commerce, members of the board of education, the school superintendent, the town engineer, the head of the planning commission, the editor of the Tribune ...."
"What about Hendrick Wellman?" the mayor asked, interrupting her. "Where is he going to sit?"
"He returned his invitation saying he doesn't want to be including in the ceremonies."
"What? But he's the one who designed the whole thing?"
Braxton was suddenly filled with fear. What if Wellman had been so angry at the mayor's attempts at blackmailing him that he would take revenge by sabotaging the light display?
What if—Oh, dear God!—what if it doesn't light up?
Braxton's eyes went to the clock. Heath Parr was due to arrive in less than an hour. He walked to his window and looked down at the street. People were already lining up along the parade route and around the town common, hoping to get a good view.
"It's too late," he mumbled to himself.
"Too late for what, Mayor?"
"Nothing. Let's go down to the grandstand."
As he made his way through the crowd, Lehane passed a group of men transporting a large wooden cube measuring ten feet on each edge, painted to resemble a giant wrapped Christmas present.
"What's that?" the mayor asked.
"It's the last of Hendrick Wellman's decorations," one of the workmen replied. "He just put the finishing touches on it this morning. We're to put it in the center of the town common so the judges will be sure to see it."
"Well, be quick about it. The people from Deck the Halls will be here shortly."
* * *
Georgia Ingram, a reporter for a national entertainment magazine, left her hotel room and walked down Main Street toward the town common. This was not the first competing town she was covering. She had already been to six, yet Pine Brook was the most beautiful so far. What surprised her were the people she passed. Not one of them was smiling. It was as though there was a complete lack of Christmas cheer.
Where's their holiday spirit? she wondered. They all look mad as hornets.
Georgia took her seat in the press section of the bleachers five minutes before a red limousine with a wreath on its grill turned onto Main Street and made the short journey to the reserved parking area in front of the town common. The chauffeur, dressed in a green tuxedo and Santa hat, opened the door, and Heath Parr emerged to the applause of the crowd. The television cameramen followed him as he strolled down the red carpet.
"Merry Christmas, everyone!" he called.
"Welcome to Pine Brook," Braxton said. "New England's Winter Wonderland."
Miss Spragg signaled to the high school band leader. He stood and raised his baton.
"A one and a two ...."
The band began playing the first of the songs on its program: "Deck the Halls."
Mayor Lehane held his breath. The lights were to go on when the song came to an end.
Please let them work, he prayed silently.
As the last note echoed in the air, people looked expectantly at the dark display.
Oh, please, please, please!
The mayor suddenly stopped praying, and his eyes opened wide with delight. The town common exploded in a burst of colored light. This was followed by thunderous applause and a chorus of ewh's and ah's.
"This is amazing!" Heath Parr exclaimed.
With the judges and camera crew in tow, he walked along the paths, examining the display from different angles.
"Your design team did a fantastic job," he said. "Where are they?"
"Actually," the mayor began. He cleared his throat before continuing, "This is the work of one man, and he's not here tonight."
"Too bad. To put forth such a monumental effort and then miss the great moment."
Once the judges finished marking their grading sheets, the group returned to Main Street to watch the parade, led by the newly crowned Miss Christmas, and enjoy free refreshments: everything from mulled wine to roasted chestnuts, from hot cocoa to freshly baked Christmas cookies and gingerbread.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the mayor announced when the parade came to an end, "the night's entertainment is far from over. I invite you to step across the street into the town hall and enjoy a special showing of A Christmas Carol followed by a performance of The Nutcracker."
There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the evening was a success. Despite all the bickering and bad feelings of the previous weeks, the long hours and hard work paid off.
"Well, Mayor Lehane," Heath Parr said when the festivities finally came to an end, "on behalf of Deck the Halls, I'd like to thank you and the good people of Pine Brook for your wonderful hospitality. And—I'm sure the editors will cut this out from the broadcast—I'd personally like to thank you all for the best Christmas celebration I've ever had. Now, as you know, we have several more towns to visit before the judges make their final decision. We will announce the winner live on December 24, so we may be coming back to Pine Brook then. Good luck and Merry Christmas everyone."
* * *
Tensions remained high on December 16. Although the judging was over, people had something new to argue about: what should be done with the prize money? Everyone had an opinion. Some believed it ought to be used to build a youth center. More practical residents suggested it go into the town's coffers, which would mean homeowners could look forward to a rebate on their property taxes. There were even a handful of people who, in the true spirit of Christmas, felt it ought to be donated to a worthy charity.
The mayor refused to add his input since, he emphasized, the judges hadn't made a decision yet.
"We shouldn't count our chickens," he advised. "After all, we may not win."
Finally, it was December 24. The suspense was about to come to an end. Braxton paced the floor in his office all morning, waiting for the phone to ring.
"Is there a letter from Myron Mannix?" he asked his secretary as she was sorting the mail.
"No, but Heath Parr did say the winner would be notified in person," Estella replied.
"Yes but when? It's nearly noon, and we haven't heard a word yet."
"Well, since the show comes on at nine, I would assume that's about when Heath Parr will arrive at the winner's town."
"Nine o'clock?" Braxton exclaimed. "That's hours away."
"Relax, Your Honor. Why don't you go home and spend some time with your family. It's Christmas Eve, after all."
"Who can think about Christmas at a time like this?"
The irony of the question eluded the mayor and his secretary. This was understandable since not a single person in Pine Brook had given serious thought to the holiday or to anything else beyond winning the Deck the Halls competition.
Somehow, Braxton made it through the afternoon without going to the local bar and tossing back a few just to pass the time. When the sun set, the lights went on throughout the town—everywhere that is except on the town common. He headed across the street and took his seat on the empty grandstand. Other people soon began arriving either alone or in small groups.
Everyone's nerves were on edge. Theodore Renfield was chain-smoking, crushing out his cigarette butts on the pavement. Estella Spragg was biting her nails, a habit she had broken twenty years earlier. The high school principal was tapping her foot on the bleachers, and Orrin Coulter was cracking his knuckles. Even Judge Adelson's eyelid was twitching.
"I can't believe someone had a better display than we did," Father Vinson said.
"How do we know the competition wasn't rigged?" Renfield asked.
Reverend Bowes was aghast.
"Do you think it was fixed?"
"It wouldn't surprise me. Do you think reality shows are on the level? I'll bet ...."
The lawyer stopped talking when he saw the red limousine with the wreath on the grill turn onto Main Street.
"He's back!" Estella screamed.
"I knew we'd win!" Braxton exclaimed.
At least a dozen vans followed the limousine. In addition to the crew of Deck the Halls, there were cameramen from television news shows and reporters from both newspapers and magazines.
When Heath Parr got out of the car, the cameras zoomed in on the oversized check he carried.
"Hello, Pine Brook," the show's host yelled to those gathered on the town common.
As the people cheered, a stranger stepped out of the crowd, walked up to the mayor and handed him an envelope. Braxton opened it and read the letter inside.
"This is from Hendrick Wellman," he said into Heath Parr's microphone, "our brilliant designer."
"Do you expect him to join us tonight?" the TV host asked.
"Yes, he said he's going to make a surprise appearance. He also says here that the large cube in the center of the town common is not a Christmas present as we all thought; it is a jack-in-the-box."
"Why, yes!" Estella said. "Look, there's a small crank on the side."
"Who will turn it?" Renfield asked. "You, Mayor Lehane?"
"No," Braxton replied. "Let the host of the show have that honor."
"Thank you," Heath said, and then walked up to the jack-in-the-box and began to turn the crank.
"Jingle Bells" filled the night, and spectators joyously clapped their hands and sang along.
Anticipation mounted as the song came to a conclusion. When the last note sounded, the lid of the jack-in-the-box flew open. The mayor stared at what he thought was a cruel prank, Hendrick Wellman's petty revenge for the threats he'd made against Leanna. It was only when he heard the screams from those nearest to the display that he realized what he'd assumed was a Halloween dummy was actually the body of the former Hollywood set decorator, dead for the past ten days, bobbing up and down on its spring.
No sooner did the horror of seeing the macabre figure sink in than the true nightmare began. The plastic icicles that hung from the trees fell to the ground and shattered like delicate glass. The snow people, gingerbread men, candy canes and toy soldiers simultaneously melted. Sparks flew from the animatronic figures in the sheds, setting the dioramas ablaze. The shiny ornaments that were suspended from hooks on the giant evergreens exploded like firecrackers.
While the people of Pine Brook stood staring dumbly at the terrible destruction of their extreme Christmas light display, television cameramen and photographers captured the chaos for posterity. Even the reporters took out their cell phones to take pictures.
Finally, after all of Hendrick Wellman's beautifully handcrafted decorations self-destructed, the more than half a million LED lights went out, leaving the town common in an eerie darkness.
* * *
The late night news carried the tragic story of what magazine journalist Georgia Ingram referred to as New England's "Winter Horrorland." The story appeared not only on local television and radio stations, but on national ones as well. When the spectators' videos were uploaded onto the Internet, they went viral. People around the world watched uncensored clips of Hendrick Wellman's gruesome jack-in-the-box on YouTube, Facebook and Instagram.
Thanks to the popularity of mass media and social networks, Mayor Braxton Lehane finally achieved his personal and political goal of putting Pine Brook, Massachusetts, on the map. But his constituents showed no gratitude. The voters did not want their municipality to be known as "the town where Christmas died." The following November they turned up at the polls in record number and brought an end to Braxton Lehane's days as mayor.
I just love Christmas! (Except when I have to get Salem out of the tree.)
