Christmas at Sagamore Hill with Theodore Roosevelt

by Helen Topping Miller

Theodore Roosevelt, governor-elect of the State of New York, marched into the little schoolhouse carrying the bowl of goldfish in his arms and followed in a train by his family, to be greeted with loud clapping by the assembled parents. With a bow he presented the fishbowl to the teacher, sweeping off his gray campaign hat as he marched back to a rear seat. Father shouldn’t sit in the back, thought Alice, who was beginning to feel more like a princess every day and felt cheated because they were not more prominently seated. Father ought to be dressed up, too, wearing his silk hat and his beautiful white vest and striped trousers, not that old gray suit and knickers as though he were merely anybody instead of the governor.

One by one the children gestured or stammered through their “pieces,” most of which had a very military quality. A young archfoe of Ted’s finished with a tribute to the governor-elect, “We’ll send you to the White House for the gallant deeds you’ve done,” which was tumultuously applauded by all the children and parents.

Then the governor-elect, who had hoped to escape by silently sitting in the rear, was called upon to speak. As he strode up to the stage, he was aware of a low whisper from his daughter, “Father, don’t talk long! Think of the poor children.”

Roosevelt did not speak of Christmas or the Holy Birth, which had been said a dozen times already. In simple language, talking directly to the young fry, he outlined his philosophy of life, counseled them to decide that they were going to have a good time as long as they lived, and that without being quarrelsome they should stand up for their rights, be honorable and fair to all people. The applause when he had finished shook the building but as he sat down he heard a loud mutter from his oldest son, “Father, we thought you’d never stop talking.”

Now came the most exciting moment. From the gay tree, decorated with wreaths of colored paper, with tinsel and strings of popcorn, the presents were distributed. Roosevelt was asked to step forward and as the gifts were handed to him by the teacher he called out each child’s name.

There were dolls and skates and sleds and sleighs, picture books and toy guns and swords, each one carefully selected by Edith over a period of weeks and each the gift of Theodore Roosevelt. As he handed down the presents into eager little hands he was no longer the governor-elect and a military hero, he was merely Neighbor Roosevelt giving a happy holiday to a group of small friends of his own children.

Edith had chosen all the gifts and Theodore had paid for them with the last army paycheck he had received for serving in Cuba. And no child hugging his present beamed more brightly than did Theodore Roosevelt as he patted every small head and spoke a pleasant word to the recipient.

His own children were not forgotten and Edith had wisely seen that the gifts were suitable even though there would be a bounteous Christmas for the five young Roosevelts later. If she had a few moments of trepidation as to how all this accumulation of holiday largess would be transported to Albany before the month was ended, she kept her anxiety to herself. Certainly Kermit could not be separated from the little mechanical ship he clutched so tightly in his arms.

They drove back to Sagamore Hill in the bitter cold of the early winter dark. The light snow that had fallen, just enough to allow Theodore Roosevelt to experiment with an old pair of skis, was now frozen hard and glittered in the chilly light from the western sky. Out toward the horizon the Bay lay flat and gray and restless, reflecting now and then a glint of dying winter light.

The children were quiet, huddling under the blankets, all but Ted who said wistfully, “I should have liked those skates you gave to Pete Murray, Father.”