Few nicer than Mrs. Harry

Many years ago, back in the 1950s, Mrs. Harry moved into Shorecliffs.

Although her name was Dorothy, no one ever called her by her first name. She was always Mrs. Harry. She was that kind of person.

Mrs. Harry was Canadian. She was also a widow and apparently pretty well-off. Shortly after her arrival, she bought two lots in Corona del Mar and gave them to the city for a new library.

We certainly needed one. The Corona del Mar library was a disgrace -- a dinky little house on the grounds of the local elementary school (between Carnation and Dahlia, now occupied by homes).

After school let out, about a zillion kids jammed themselves into that little building, yelling, shouting, laughing. Mrs. Frazer, the librarian, was an angel of patience with all that confusion, but we needed a library, and Mrs. Harry saw to it that we got one.

While she is to be saluted for that, Mrs. Harry is probably best remembered by those who knew her not for her municipal munificence, but for her life-size Santa Clauses.

This was something she had done in Canada and she transferred it to her new neighborhood. She persuaded almost every woman in Shorecliffs to make life-size Santa Clauses. Then all the women put their Santa Clauses on their front yards -- skiing, surfing, drinking martinis.

Ours was climbing up the lamppost on the front lawn, a toy dog chasing him.

It was quite a community display. Word got out, and pretty soon we had bumper-to-bumper traffic every night as people from as far away as Azusa and Monrovia drove to Shorecliffs with their children to see our Santa Clauses.

It was quite a sight -- all those cars full of happy people and excited children driving through Shorecliffs night after night. It was almost as good as the Rose Parade.

Unfortunately, after a while, all those happy people bringing their children to Shorecliffs stole all our Santa Clauses.

I can just imagine some happy father saying to his happy son: “Junior, run up there and grab that there Santa Claus. He will look good in our front room next to the Christmas tree.”

Whoever stole our Santa Claus also took the toy dog, then tore off his head and threw his body on the lawn of a house down the street.

Mrs. Harry was devastated. She said that in Canada, the display lasted for years and no one ever stole a single Santa Claus -- which goes to show that Canadians are nicer than Americans.

To make this sad story even sadder, Mrs. Harry met a handsome, young used car salesman and married him. He took all her money and ran off, and she died flat broke of a broken heart.

In the early days in Balboa, there was a local grump whose favorite saying was, “People are no damned good.”

Maybe he was right.

* ROBERT GARDNER was a Corona del Mar resident and former judge who died this year. This column originally ran in June 2000.

20051127h9rclnkf(LA)