JCP
12-12-2003, 03:05 PM
I just love this editorial. One of my favorite Christmas things, and I wanted to share. It's a little long, because I like the background material as well.
Editorial Page, New York Sun, 1897
We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a sceptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus?Thank God he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
From The People's Almanac, pp. 1358-9.
Francis P. Church's editorial, "Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus" was an immediate sensation, and became one of the most famous editorials ever written. It first appeared in the The New York Sun in 1897, almost a hundred years ago, and was reprinted annually until 1949 when the paper went out of business.
Thirty-six years after her letter was printed, Virginia O'Hanlon recalled the events that prompted her letter:
"Quite naturally I believed in Santa Claus, for he had never disappointed me. But when less fortunate little boys and girls said there wasn't any Santa Claus, I was filled with doubts. I asked my father, and he was a little evasive on the subject.
"It was a habit in our family that whenever any doubts came up as to how to pronounce a word or some question of historical fact was in doubt, we wrote to the Question and Answer column in The Sun. Father would always say, 'If you see it in the The Sun, it's so,' and that settled the matter.
" 'Well, I'm just going to write The Sun and find out the real truth,' I said to father.
"He said, 'Go ahead, Virginia. I'm sure The Sun will give you the right answer, as it always does.' "
And so Virginia sat down and wrote her parents' favorite newspaper.
Her letter found its way into the hands of a veteran editor, Francis P. Church. Son of a Baptist minister, Church had covered the Civil War for The New York Times and had worked on the The New York Sun for 20 years, more recently as an anonymous editorial writer. Church, a sardonic man, had for his personal motto, "Endeavour to clear your mind of cant." When controversial subjects had to be tackled on the editorial page, especially those dealing with theology, the assignments were usually given to Church.
Now, he had in his hands a little girl's letter on a most controversial matter, and he was burdened with the responsibility of answering it.
"Is there a Santa Claus?" the childish scrawl in the letter asked. At once, Church knew that there was no avoiding the question. He must answer, and he must answer truthfully. And so he turned to his desk, and he began his reply which was to become one of the most memorable editorials in newspaper history.
Church married shortly after the editorial appeared. He died in April, 1906, leaving no children.
Virginia O'Hanlon went on to graduate from Hunter College with a Bachelor of Arts degree at age 21. The following year she received her Master's from Columbia, and in 1912 she began teaching in the New York City school system, later becoming a principal. After 47 years, she retired as an educator. Throughout her life she received a steady stream of mail about her Santa Claus letter, and to each reply she attached an attractive printed copy of the Church editorial. Virginia O'Hanlon Douglas died on May 13, 1971, at the age of 81, in a nursing home in Valatie, N.Y.
"Yes, Virginia" -- One Hundred Years of Santa Claus
By Rick Horowitz, September 21, 1997
She was a girl with a problem. He was a man with a job to do. Together, they produced a legend: perhaps the most famous piece of writing ever to appear in an American newspaper.
And it happened exactly 100 years ago today -- out of season, and out of nowhere. Are you up for a little time travel? Good! Grab your holiday hat and hold on tight.
Our tale begins in New York City, where in 1897 one Dr. Philip P. O'Hanlon, coroner's assistant, came face-to-face with a minor family crisis. It seems that O'Hanlon's daughter -- his only child -- had approached him in some confusion; she'd been talking to her friends, and what she'd heard from these friends worried her. Could her father help her out?
Her father, of course, did what any father would do under the circumstances, what fathers have done for generations: He passed the buck.Instead of answering her question himself, he suggested she write a letter to one of the local newspapers -- to The Sun. (After all, that's what he often did when he had a question.) The Sun would have an answer she could rely on, he told his daughter.
"If you see it in The Sun," he liked to say, "it's so."
So that's what she did: Eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon sent her letter off to the newspaper.
Now, working at The Sun at that moment was a certain Francis Pharcellus Church. Once upon The New York Times, Church had been a Civil War correspondent; he'd also served as editor of The Army and Navy Journal and of the literary magazine Galaxy. In the fall of 1897, Francis Church was an editorial writer, commenting deftly, if anonymously, on a whole range of issues. (Not often on politics, though -- the man just didn't care for politics.)
When Church's boss handed him Virginia O'Hanlon's letter and suggested he draft a reply for the editorial page, Church was less than thrilled. In fact, his boss later reported, he "bristled." He "pooh-poohed." It's hard to blame him: After all, journalists have far better things to do with their time (or so they say) than responding to letters from eight-year-olds.
But he did it anyway; that was his job.
His response, written quickly, was no big deal. In fact, on the day it appeared in The Sun, it was the seventh(!) editorial on the page. It ran below editorials on New York State politics and New York City politics and even Connecticut politics. It ran below an editorial about increased British naval strength in the Atlantic. Below an editorial about plans for a railroad to help link eastern Canada with the newly discovered gold fields of the Yukon.
It even ran below an editorial about a newfangled "chainless" bicycle that would soon be available. ("(W)heelmen and wheelwomen," the writer declared, "have been impatient to know all about the new machine.")
Church's editorial ran below all of those. But it ran -- on September 21, 1897. And for its title, it used Virginia O'Hanlon's own question: "Is There a Santa Claus?"
You may have seen the thing once or twice.
You're not alone. Virginia's question, and Church's reply, struck a chord. A major chord.
"Yes, Virginia," Church assured the little girl, "there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist."
"Nobody sees Santa Claus," Church admitted a few lines later, "but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see."
And he ended this way: "No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."
People were delighted at the news, at Church's little celebration of faith over skepticism. They wanted to read it again. And again. The Sun obliged them, reprinting the piece year after year (somewhat closer to December 25th, presumably) until the paper went out of business a half-century later. Other papers did the same even after The Sun went down.
For a century now, readers have loved what Church created -- but no more than journalists do. They're ecstatic that they don't have to crank out another Christmas essay of their own every year; they can just slap Francis Church and his "Yes, Virginia" up there on the page and go straight to the office party.
Of course, maybe they should take a crack at it anyway. Sure, it's been done to death, but you never know. You never know which of your efforts is going to touch someone, which of your thrown-together phrases might be headed for immortality.
Francis Pharcellus Church wasn't crazy about his assignment either. He didn't do too badly.
Editorial Page, New York Sun, 1897
We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a sceptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus?Thank God he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
From The People's Almanac, pp. 1358-9.
Francis P. Church's editorial, "Yes Virginia, There is a Santa Claus" was an immediate sensation, and became one of the most famous editorials ever written. It first appeared in the The New York Sun in 1897, almost a hundred years ago, and was reprinted annually until 1949 when the paper went out of business.
Thirty-six years after her letter was printed, Virginia O'Hanlon recalled the events that prompted her letter:
"Quite naturally I believed in Santa Claus, for he had never disappointed me. But when less fortunate little boys and girls said there wasn't any Santa Claus, I was filled with doubts. I asked my father, and he was a little evasive on the subject.
"It was a habit in our family that whenever any doubts came up as to how to pronounce a word or some question of historical fact was in doubt, we wrote to the Question and Answer column in The Sun. Father would always say, 'If you see it in the The Sun, it's so,' and that settled the matter.
" 'Well, I'm just going to write The Sun and find out the real truth,' I said to father.
"He said, 'Go ahead, Virginia. I'm sure The Sun will give you the right answer, as it always does.' "
And so Virginia sat down and wrote her parents' favorite newspaper.
Her letter found its way into the hands of a veteran editor, Francis P. Church. Son of a Baptist minister, Church had covered the Civil War for The New York Times and had worked on the The New York Sun for 20 years, more recently as an anonymous editorial writer. Church, a sardonic man, had for his personal motto, "Endeavour to clear your mind of cant." When controversial subjects had to be tackled on the editorial page, especially those dealing with theology, the assignments were usually given to Church.
Now, he had in his hands a little girl's letter on a most controversial matter, and he was burdened with the responsibility of answering it.
"Is there a Santa Claus?" the childish scrawl in the letter asked. At once, Church knew that there was no avoiding the question. He must answer, and he must answer truthfully. And so he turned to his desk, and he began his reply which was to become one of the most memorable editorials in newspaper history.
Church married shortly after the editorial appeared. He died in April, 1906, leaving no children.
Virginia O'Hanlon went on to graduate from Hunter College with a Bachelor of Arts degree at age 21. The following year she received her Master's from Columbia, and in 1912 she began teaching in the New York City school system, later becoming a principal. After 47 years, she retired as an educator. Throughout her life she received a steady stream of mail about her Santa Claus letter, and to each reply she attached an attractive printed copy of the Church editorial. Virginia O'Hanlon Douglas died on May 13, 1971, at the age of 81, in a nursing home in Valatie, N.Y.
"Yes, Virginia" -- One Hundred Years of Santa Claus
By Rick Horowitz, September 21, 1997
She was a girl with a problem. He was a man with a job to do. Together, they produced a legend: perhaps the most famous piece of writing ever to appear in an American newspaper.
And it happened exactly 100 years ago today -- out of season, and out of nowhere. Are you up for a little time travel? Good! Grab your holiday hat and hold on tight.
Our tale begins in New York City, where in 1897 one Dr. Philip P. O'Hanlon, coroner's assistant, came face-to-face with a minor family crisis. It seems that O'Hanlon's daughter -- his only child -- had approached him in some confusion; she'd been talking to her friends, and what she'd heard from these friends worried her. Could her father help her out?
Her father, of course, did what any father would do under the circumstances, what fathers have done for generations: He passed the buck.Instead of answering her question himself, he suggested she write a letter to one of the local newspapers -- to The Sun. (After all, that's what he often did when he had a question.) The Sun would have an answer she could rely on, he told his daughter.
"If you see it in The Sun," he liked to say, "it's so."
So that's what she did: Eight-year-old Virginia O'Hanlon sent her letter off to the newspaper.
Now, working at The Sun at that moment was a certain Francis Pharcellus Church. Once upon The New York Times, Church had been a Civil War correspondent; he'd also served as editor of The Army and Navy Journal and of the literary magazine Galaxy. In the fall of 1897, Francis Church was an editorial writer, commenting deftly, if anonymously, on a whole range of issues. (Not often on politics, though -- the man just didn't care for politics.)
When Church's boss handed him Virginia O'Hanlon's letter and suggested he draft a reply for the editorial page, Church was less than thrilled. In fact, his boss later reported, he "bristled." He "pooh-poohed." It's hard to blame him: After all, journalists have far better things to do with their time (or so they say) than responding to letters from eight-year-olds.
But he did it anyway; that was his job.
His response, written quickly, was no big deal. In fact, on the day it appeared in The Sun, it was the seventh(!) editorial on the page. It ran below editorials on New York State politics and New York City politics and even Connecticut politics. It ran below an editorial about increased British naval strength in the Atlantic. Below an editorial about plans for a railroad to help link eastern Canada with the newly discovered gold fields of the Yukon.
It even ran below an editorial about a newfangled "chainless" bicycle that would soon be available. ("(W)heelmen and wheelwomen," the writer declared, "have been impatient to know all about the new machine.")
Church's editorial ran below all of those. But it ran -- on September 21, 1897. And for its title, it used Virginia O'Hanlon's own question: "Is There a Santa Claus?"
You may have seen the thing once or twice.
You're not alone. Virginia's question, and Church's reply, struck a chord. A major chord.
"Yes, Virginia," Church assured the little girl, "there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist."
"Nobody sees Santa Claus," Church admitted a few lines later, "but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see."
And he ended this way: "No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood."
People were delighted at the news, at Church's little celebration of faith over skepticism. They wanted to read it again. And again. The Sun obliged them, reprinting the piece year after year (somewhat closer to December 25th, presumably) until the paper went out of business a half-century later. Other papers did the same even after The Sun went down.
For a century now, readers have loved what Church created -- but no more than journalists do. They're ecstatic that they don't have to crank out another Christmas essay of their own every year; they can just slap Francis Church and his "Yes, Virginia" up there on the page and go straight to the office party.
Of course, maybe they should take a crack at it anyway. Sure, it's been done to death, but you never know. You never know which of your efforts is going to touch someone, which of your thrown-together phrases might be headed for immortality.
Francis Pharcellus Church wasn't crazy about his assignment either. He didn't do too badly.