My father, Laurence Chabot, worked at the First National Bank in Ontonagon, Michigan—first as cashier and later as president. For several years, as part of our small-town Christmas, he had local artisans carve an ice horse in front of the bank. Of course, Dad couldn’t resist doing a little shaving himself.
The horse was complete with real reins, a sleigh and a lap robe, and many people in our Upper Michigan town posed for pictures with it. Several of Dad’s friends had their own tradition of dumping fresh manure under the horse, which brought big laughs.
We five kids had jobs at Christmas, too. The decorations were kept in our attic, which we reached with a pull-down ladder. Our mom, Mae, stored her cardboard fireplace there, along with her altar-boy…