Twas the night before Christmas and the newsroom was dour,
There’d be no Christmas cheer for another two hours.
The paper was edited and not far from done.
All that was left was a checklist and sending A1.
Then out of the quiet came an alert on the wire.
Editors lurched to their screens to see what was on fire.
For half a minute, they read … with nary a peep.
Then the news editor let out with a “nuts!” and a bleep!
“There’s been an accident somewhere over Atlanta,
A sleigh has been found but there’s no sign of Santa!”
Adrenaline kicked in, editors sprang into action.
The newsroom filled up in a collective reaction.
“Crumb!” said the proof-reader, “Darn” said the slot.
“Someone call the bosses, tell them what we’ve got.”
Orders went out, there was tension to spare.
Cuss words ebbed and flowed in the dusty old air.
The Opinion folks peeked out from their half-opened door,
looking for controversy, which they adore.
“What’s all the hubbub, what’s all the drama?
pretty-please, tell us it’s the fault of Obama.”
Then the clerks piped up: “There’s a man on the phone.
It’s someone with an obit from the North Pole Funeral Home.
They’re sending a fax, so get on the stick.
We’ll have to copy-edit it lickety-split quick.”
“Kris Kringle Claus,” the obit said, “one jolly old elf,
flew up to heaven and made a gift of himself.”
“Wait,” said the wire editor, “I think we’ve got a mess.
The byline on this story says North Pole Press.”
What is North Pole Press? the editors did wonder.
That’s when the freight elevator started to thunder.
It cranked and it groaned and it sputtered to rise.
Was it a basement ghost? No, can’t a ghost fly?
Then the beast of a thing stopped and the door opened out.
And out stepped Santa all velvety and stout.
“Whee,” he bellowed, “That was one crazy ride.”
His eyes sparkled with what resembled some pride.
“Did I surprise you?” he asked. “Did I give you a shock?”
And the news editor shouted: “Why you crazy old crock!
You’d better be bleeding or the victim of crime!
We’ve called in seven editors. Who’ll pay the overtime?
“The presses are stopped, the news is all over.
We’ve got someone out for stress candy from Kroger.
The graphics guys are coming in to create us a chart.
The photogs are hustling to dig up some art.
“The online folks are Facebooking and tweeting
We’ve started strong coffee, it’s over there heating.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa bellowed with giggling glee.
“All of this hustling for little old me?”
He looked at the editors all gathered around.
Most were glaring and some had some seriously big frowns.
“Oh, get over it,” Santa said, growing quite cross.
“It was a little fun, and there was no real loss.”
“I just flew in after taking much flak.
I almost got killed flying over Iraq.
The Mideast, you know, is angry and a-boil.
Iran wouldn’t even let me set foot on its soil.
“So, your candy and your deadlines, I really don’t care.
Has anyone tried to shoot you out of the air?”
The copy editors sighed and said, “Pardon us.”
And Santa smiled and said, “No muss, no fuss.”
“I come with some gifts,” he said, reaching into his pouch.
“So you don’t have to be such a grouchy old grouch.
I have some Maalox, aspirin and Tums.
Coffee and creamer and sugar and yums.
“I have almost everything a newsroom could want.
I even brought the designers a new Helvetica font.
And new AP stylebooks, they’re 2014s.
I know an elf who knows an elf who can get me such things.
“And for the whole crew, I’ve bought comfy new chairs
So folks will quit borrowing the good ones and taking them as theirs.
And a new refrigerator that in one mighty surge,
cleans itself . . . so there’s no need to purge.
“And sports gets a TV and wide-screen 3D.
And it’s on a swivel, so they all can see.
I did my best to get the Hogs to win a few,
but there are some things even Santa can’t do.”
So the tempers around him cooled, then cooled off more.
The editors couldn’t think what to be mad at him for.
They smiled and they chuckled and they gave him a hug.
And while he was there, the photogs snapped a fresh mug.
Then Santa stepped into the elevator, gave a big wave.
And said, “Among all the newspapers, you’re my real fave.”
For the long road, he took tomorrow’s 1A page proof,
and the next thing you know, he was up on the roof.
And up on the skylights, the editors saw his big sleigh.
“If that thing falls through, they’ll be hell to pay.”
And then he was gone in a flash and a vroom.
And he shouted in the night, “Merry Christmas, newsroom!”
Editorial, Pages 14 on 12/24/2013