When Buck Rogers Lied to Santa

I walked out of the Lynn Theatre in my hometown of Marshall, Texas in complete awe. I had just seen the most spectacular movie ever -- so realistic that it would still frighten me a week later. Four men had left Earth in a rocket ship bound for the moon. As they cleared the Earth's clouds, the movie changed from black and white into Technicolor. The space men wore brightly colored suits, each a different color to identify their role on the mission. To repair cosmic damage during the voyage, they donned bubble helmets and a backpack, and tethered themselves to the mother ship to prevent floating away into space. I did not know it then, but the imagination of that day was a precursor to real life.

The space travelers were also armed with ray guns. I had seen the guns before, because Flash Gordon and Buck Rogers each had one. They were awesome weapons -- capable of dissolving anything in their beam. The gun made a noise like the hum of a fluorescent bulb, followed by a pop similar to today's bug-zapper.

Carrying ray guns along was good planning, because in the movie the moon was inhabited by more than rocks and dust. Indeed, it was a repository of misfits from around the galaxy -- banished there for crimes on other planets too despicable to tolerate. No two demons were alike, and the only limits to the creation of their horrid features were the imaginations of Hollywood science fictionists. I would not again see such a smorgasbord of beauty-challenged creatures until the nightclub scene in Star Wars I.

Most of the popcorn still remained in my sack when I left the Lynn, and a damp chill had fallen over me. Unlike most films, these heroes did not return home to a victorious ticker-tape parade. Alas, even their ray guns were no match for the superior and hostile inhabitants of another world -- an early lesson of what colonists could face in the blackness of the unknown.

That movie was still on my mind when something called "Santa's Rocket Sleigh" came to town. Its scheduled appearance was advertised in the News Messenger for an entire week ahead of time. The news account said that the craft was slated to blast off on Saturday from the Piggly Wiggly parking lot, and the ship's Captain was to be no less than Santa Claus himself.

That morning I put on my Sunday corduroy pants and the yellow striped shirt that Aunt Flossie gave me for my birthday. I could not show up for this voyage in anything less than my best. The walk to town took forever, despite an occasional sprint to make up time. My pace was being hampered by what today would be called a wardrobe malfunction. It seems that both my pant pockets had holes in them. The holes were just large enough for my finger, and I kept reaching in to reassure myself that my fifty-cent piece was safe. After all, that coin would soon free me from the tirelessly same landscape of Earth.

I saw the spaceship from a block away. Its silver rocket body was much larger than I imagined -- even bigger than Flash Gordon's Universe-Patrol craft. The hull was lined with a row of oblong windows that extended from nose to tail fin, a far better design than spaceships containing only cockpit glass. Everyone, even the lowliest of crewmembers such as I, would be able to witness the marvels of the heavens unfold in flight.

The parking lot was crowded with spectators, and I had to squeeze my way to the ticket line. My palms were wet and the hairs on the back of my neck bristled with excitement as I gave the leather-clad elf my money. He handed me a set of plastic crew wings in return. That made it official. I was boarding the flight.

I took my place on a seat halfway back into the cabin. The layout was oddly similar to the interior of my school bus, and it gave me pause for a moment. The windows I had so marveled at were painted black as night and adorned with silver-colored star decals. I thought ... surely these are just blast-off shields of some kind, and would be removed before the actual voyage.

The rocket ship filled up quickly and the door was closed. All the kids aboard were eerily silent -- there was none of the din and laughter that typifies twenty kids massed together. I think everyone on board was anxiously waiting on the pilot. Just then the door opened again and two green-suited elves stepped inside, escorting Santa. There was a gasp from the eager crowd, then a patter of applause to honor his arrival. It was the old man all right, dressed in red leather with four gold braids encircling the sleeves above his fur cuffs. His traditional Santa nightcap was replaced by what looked like a motorcycle helmet with a loop of vacuum cleaner hose connected to the sides. He took his place in the Captain's seat and raised his arm to quiet the applause.

The loudspeaker cracked with static. Santa began with an explanation that his annual trek through the heavens on Christmas Eve had become a task too great for simple reindeer and sleigh. It must have been because of the population-explosion thing I had heard about. For example, if one could dig that far, I knew that China was located beneath Texas, and it had even more children than we. And Chinese were more needy. My grandmother told me that the kids down there would be thrilled with socks or rain boots instead of toys at Christmas. I was satisfied that Buck Rogers was doing a good deed with the loan of his ship so Santa could do practice runs.

Santa began flipping switches on the dashboard with his gloved hand and the cabin lights began to flicker. A roaring rocket noise filled the cabin, and Santa began to describe the progress of the voyage. Meanwhile, the rocket rocked from side to side, and the elves held on to the first row seatbacks to brace against the sway. The engine noise was interrupted by the Captain's voice:

"We just passed over Africa and are accelerating to ten thousand miles per second." I held tightly to my seat cushion in anticipation of the power surge. The kid sitting next to me had his eyes closed and his teeth clenched.

"That's the Big Dipper to our left, and the Milky Way off to the right," Santa explained. I tried to find the slightest crack in my coach window from which to get a glimpse, but to no avail. At any moment, I thought, the window shades would be removed.

The rocket shook and shuddered as Santa narrated us past the moon, Mars, and beyond. Then, at Uranus, he said we were turning for home. The return trip took us through other constellations, with two or three near misses by comets.

"Boys and girls, get ready for Earth landing. It may get a little rough through the asteroid belt. We'll be coming in over Canada before we set down at Piggly Wiggly." Still, the windows remained shuttered.

When the jostling stopped, the cabin lights came on and Christmas music began to play on the speakers. The elves ushered us off the rocket ship while Santa waved at us with some "Ho-Ho-Ho's." As I stepped outside, I squenched my eyes to shield them from the bright sunshine. Then I took a few minutes to walk around the rocket ship. Just as I thought -- it had the same number and rows of rubber tires as my school bus.

Another crew was already piling on, so I walked over to one of the benches in front of the grocery store and sat down. I watched the elves board first, followed by Santa just like before. The cabin door closed. Soon I could hear the sound of a gasoline engine, and the rocket ship began to pitch back and forth. It swayed for ten minutes. Then the door opened and the crew of kids got off. A third crew was waiting, half dollars in hand.

Disappointed but satisfied with my detective work, I started for home. That night, I said an extra prayer that Santa hadn't sold his reindeer yet.

Author's note: The "Rocket Sleigh" in this story was one of several in a fleet of amusement rides that were based in Tyler, Texas and toured the area. As this photo depicts, they are now but a memory.