According to tradition, the Three Magi were the bearers of the first Christmas gifts. If only they'd known what their gold, myrrh and frankincense were starting, they'd have been much wiser men.
The annual holiday buying binge predictably plays out to a small chorus decrying the commercialization of Christmas and urging a return to a more pristine, spiritual observation of the Nativity. But the fact is, the loudest bells of Christmas have been attached to cash registers for a time long past living memory.
Winona was still a raw-boned frontier town in 1860, three years before Thomas Nast produced the first of his sketches that fixed that image of Santa Claus in the American mind. The pre-Claus columns of the Winona Republican reflect a business-as-usual attitude among the village retailers in the days leading up to Christmas. The Rollingstone Distillery was seeking supplies of top-quality corn, rye and barley and seeking buyers for its "pure, double rectified whiskey ... offered at prices in competition with either Chicago, Milwaukee or St. Louis," though no mention is made whether their product was intended to elevate the community's Christmas cheer or whether it was to be consumed for medicinal purposes. The holidays go virtually unmentioned. The only hint that youngsters might have had a special interest in the season was a notice that the Winona Wagon and Plow Factory was offering bobsleds for sale.
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A decade later, there was a new spirit to the season. Santa Claus had set up his Winona headquarters at E.F. Mues' store, "where can be found a large variety of holiday presents suitable for young and old."
S.W. Morgan directed subscribers to "Select your presents! Christmas is at hand!" and suggest ed a gold watch chain as appropriate "for the gentlemen" and "stylish opera chains for the ladies."
For the youngsters, J.M. Schreit Mueller's on East Third Street promised "a splendid assortment of German imported toys."
Gifts of a more pedestrian sort were also available. H. Choate & Co. offered "great reductions" on underclothing for men, women and children, indicating that that unmistakable Christmas morning smile of disappointment is of long standing vintage.
In 1882, Mues' still laid claim to Santa's favored location in the city, but Mrs. M. Niedenhofen insisted Santa had also paid a call at her shop to deliver a selection of "Imported Canary Birds" just in time for the holidays.
Cummings and Vila's at 17 E. Third St. boasted of their stock of "gloves, slippers and mittens for holiday presents. Prices way down!"
Choate's appealed to the exotic, suggesting friends and family would be delighted to find "ostrich plumes, silk umbrellas, Japanese curios, Russian leather fans" and "elegant horse blankets from $1 to $10 each."
But if Choate's selection of Japanese curios didn't satisfy a shopper's curiosity, they were invited to contact Miss Helen Lester of Chicago. "Having long experience and facilities for advantageous buying, I offer my services to those at a distance who are in want of the better grade of good not normally found in smaller places." Orders could be placed by telegraph -- online shopping, 1880s style.
One hundred years ago, the unadvertised Christmas imagined by contemporary holiday critics was already very much a thing of the past. In the full page-ad from the Interstate Mercantile, Santa had already abandoned his sleigh to take the tiller of a curved-dash Oldsmobile, as his reindeer looked up from their pasture in dismay, "alas, our occupation's gone."
"Toys and dolls in profusion," the ad proclaimed, explaining how "Santa himself opened our toy department, and hundreds of little boys and girls told him what they wanted for Christmas, and most received presents. Our entire base ment is a great bazaar with things to allure, amaze, delight and surprise the widest-eyed youngster at prices to astonish the closest of buyers."
Sale prices and a big selection weren't enough to woo the increasingly worldly shopper -- it took a special effort, a gimmick to get the customer to come in and get his money out.
E.S. Gregory at 101 E. Third St. advertised doll buggies and go-karts from 19 cents to $5 with an added incentive: "Cut out this card and bring in any morning to my store and I will give you a discount of 25 per cent on any toys you may purchase."
If Gregory's wanted the customer in the morning, Choate's lured them later in the day, pledging to stay open evenings from Dec. 15 until Christmas.
And at Elmer's Music Store, customers were awarded with "Green trading stamps on cash purchases."
Merchants paraded a seemingly endless variety of potential presents, though the woman whose husband heeded C.A. Baeuerlen's admonition to show his affection with the gift of an "asbestos sad iron" may well have spent the night after Christmas on the parlor sofa.
With the turn of the century, Christmas gifts with cords started making more and more frequent appearance in holiday ads. Piped gas and electricity offered attractive alternatives to coal stoves and kerosene lamps to those who could afford them. Gift-seeking husbands were urged to bring home a gas table lamp or a "Caloric fire-less" cook stove, "put up in a handsome special Christmas package."
"What better Christmas gift could you desire?"
In 1917, the country's declaration of war took imported German toys off Americans' Christmas lists but did offer a patriotic alternative -- War Savings Stamps. Offered in 25-cent denominations, a Thrift Card of 16 war stamps with 12 cents were exchangeable for a War Savings Certificate payable with 4 percent interest on Jan. 1, 1923.
"Your country is at war and needs every penny you can lend in order to feed, clothe, arm and equip the soldiers and sailors of America. The purchase by each one of us of but one 25 cent stamp means 25 millions of dollars to the government."
"A country worth fighting for is worth saving for!"
The war brought with it a revolutionary development in men's fashion. Allyn S. Morgan, Jewelers, advertised: "Who was the bravest man? Some say it was the hardy individual who ate the first clam. Others lean to the man who wore the first wristwatch. Today, however, even the hardest worked of cartoonist fears to poke fun at the man who wears a wristwatch. On the battle fields of Europe, they will be seen on the wrists of men who look death calmly in the eye nearly every day. -- Priced from $4.50 to $40."
With the war won, the roar of the 1920s might well have been the sound of the Mom's vacuum cleaner threatening to drown out the Victrola or the family radio -- any one of which might have ended up under the tree as a "perfect Christmas gift."
Electric toasters, waffle irons and percolators took advantage of the latest in 20th century technology. The One Minute Ocean Wave Washer was the answer to mother's Blue Mondays, and the General Electric Refrigerator boasted no belts, fans, drain pipes and never needed oiling. A Majestic Electric Radio could be had for $10 down and easy payments, while the tree glowed with strings of electric Christmas lights -- an eight-light string was $2.25, and bulbs were 15 cents each.
Or perhaps "The Year 'Round Gift," a subscription to the Winona Republican-Herald -- - $6.50 a year delivered in the city of Winona.
To pay for it all -- a Christmas Club account. Merchants' Bank Class 1 club members had the option of starting their account with one penny the first week, 2 cents the second week, 3 cents the third, adding a penny a week for 50 weeks, yielding them $12.75 to spend the next Christmas season. As an alternative, a customer flush with Christmas cash could start his account with 50 cents, the, decrease the amount 1 cent a week for the same annual yield.
For many folks, Christmas Club accounts were hard to come by in 1932. It was the third year of the Great Depression, and even if president-elect Franklin Roosevelt insisted that "Happy Days are Here Again," failing banks and long lines of unemployed people didn't reflect it. The Conrad Fur Co. insisted that "A gift of furs is the gift she wants," but a 50-cent pair of Silk Gift Hose from Stevenson's was more likely the best she hoped to get, and he would do well to find one of the 5,000 Christmas ties, specially ordered by the S.S. Kresge store and offered at 39 cents apiece, along with a free gift box.
But many families considered themselves fortunate to afford "A Christmas gift that will be appreciated" from the D.F. O'Brien Lumber Co. -- a ton of coal.
