Flight of the Reindeer: The True Story of Santa Claus and His Christmas Mission (15th Anniversary Edition)

145 Pages·2010·56.2 MB·English

by  Robert Sullivan

F L I G H T O F T H E
R E I N D E E R , 1 5 T H
A N N I V E R S A R Y
E D I T I O N
THE TRUE STORY OF SANTA
CLAUS AND HIS CHRISTMAS
MISSION
R O B E RT S U L L I VA N
Copyright © 2010 by ROBERT SULLIVAN Book design by J PORTER
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner
without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief
excerpts in critical reviews or articles.
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SKYHORSE PUBLISHING,
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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
9781616081515
Printed in China
Dedication
TO MY PARENTS,
who first taught me about Santa Claus—R.S.
TO LILLIE AND SARAH,
who make it easy to believe—G.W.
TO MARGIT,
who showed me that reindeer really do fly—J. P.
A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S
DEEPEST THANKS AND BEST CHRISTMAS WISHES are extended to my
partners, artist Glenn Wolff and designer J Porter. Merry Christmases go, as well,
to the experts and Helpers who shared their knowledge regarding The Mission.
Special appreciation is extended to literary agent Jeannie Hanson, and to our
talented and sympathetic editor at Macmillan, John Michel. The author,
illustrator and designer would like to acknowledge the patience, support and
inspiration afforded by their wives while they were off chasing reindeer. They
would also like to recognize assistance graciously given by the following
individuals and institutions: Doreen Means; Adrienne Aurichio; Dave
Ziarnowski; Hank Dempsey; The Potter Park Zoo in Lansing, Michigan; the
Michigan State University Museum; Baker Library and the Institute of Arctic
Studies at Dartmouth College; The Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence,
Rhode Island; Joe Mehling; Jim Brandenburg; Doug Mindell; Tim Hanrahan;
Erick Ingraham; Tonia Means; Craig Neff; the Grose family; Doug Meyerhoff,
Paul Traudt, Mary Anne Spiezio and Quad Graphics.
Final thanks to Dan Okrent and all colleagues at LIFE magazine for allowing
the time to pursue this project.—R.S.
TA B L E O F C O N T E N T S
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
INTRODUCTION - The Reindeer by the River
PART ONE - The Echo of Hooves
PART TWO - The North Pole Today
PART THREE - The Miracle of Reindeer Flight
PART FOUR - Eight Tiny Reindeer (Plus One)
AFTERWORD - Like Down on a Thistle, Evermore
The End
Credits
I N T R O D U C T I O N
The Reindeer by the River
It Was a Wondrous Thing
AS A BOY, I knew with certainty that reindeer could fly. As I grew older, I had
my doubts. But now—matured and sound of mind—I know again that reindeer
can fly. Surely, it is strange. It is strange and marvelous and altogether
phenomenal that these deer can spring from the earth and, snouts high and
antlers back, mount to the sky.
IT SEEMS NOTHING SHORT OF MIRACULOUS, but miracles do happen,
and that this miracle serves mankind at Christmas seems to lend it all some
sense. Reindeer do fly. Many have seen it happen, and you yourself may one
day.
I have seen it happen—once. I think I may have seen it happen twice.
I grew up in New England in a time when our countryside filled with snow
each winter, when the golds and reds of autumn always, always yielded to an
ice-blue, frosted-windows tableau. The snow would be ankle deep, then knee
deep, then hip deep, ever deeper, deeper, deeper. It doesn’t snow like that
anymore, not most years.
I loved the winter, and I loved snow. I was an all-afternoon sledder as a kid,
schussing the hillsides in back of our old white-clapboard house until each
evening’s sun had set. Then I would trudge home with my trailing sled, heading
for the yellow warmth of the distant kitchen. In the finger-aching cold of five
o’clock, I felt most alive. My mind would race, and I found myself wondering
about all sorts of things.
Are all snowflakes truly unalike? Is there even more snow farther north?
What’s it like at the North Pole?
Towards December I would wonder as any kid wonders : Do reindeer really
fly?
One evening, making my way slowly home after an exhausting session of
sledding, I saw something undeniably unusual. It was awfully cold, and the
northern lights were at play. Suddenly, silhouetted against those greens and
blues, I saw something. . . a very large bird, I thought, flying very fast—not too,
too far away. As I peered intently, I could have sworn I saw legs dangling from
the underbelly. The bird disappeared into the shadows of the horizon.
On my way home I saw something very strange.