“Mick alias ’Nick’ filled hearts, empty stockings” from the December 10, 1974 Door County Advocate
Mick alias ’Nick’ filled hearts, empty stockings
By KETA STEEBS
Once upon a time, when the world was young and people still thought highly of politicians and policemen, there lived an officer of the law who led a double life.
When he wasn’t ticketing cars or arresting drunks and vagrants, Sgt. Milton “Mickey” Stephenson emulated jolly old St. Nicholas. For 23 years, beginning in the late 1940’s, Mick became Nick and nobody, including the late Monty Wooley, played the role with more enthusiasm.
It all started one Christmas season when in the course of making his daily rounds Officer Stephenson became aware of the fact a lot of kids would be waking up to empty stockings Christmas morning. Determined to make at least one bulge in the foot, Mickey went out and bought “a bunch of popcorn balls” which found their way into the socks and tummies of a dozen or so little children.
Mick and kids
That was the first year. By the time Thanksgiving rolled around the following year, Mickey had scrounged up enough banged-up, decrepit old toys to fill a small warehouse and with the help of Police Chief Romy Londo and his fellow officers had them in A-number one shape by Christmas.
From this modest beginning, within the city, Mick’s annual toy drive gradually spread throughout the county. No matter where they lived, if family circumstances warranted help, Door county’s small fry were assured a bounteous Christmas.
“I’ll bet we emptied every attic in town,” the now-retired-policeman declares. “We were also able to buy nuts and candy from local merchants at very fair prices and never lacked volunteer help.”
Two of these volunteers, skilled painters and craftsmen, made sure they got in on the fun. For years, just as the toy repair season was about to start these two gentlemen got themselves arrested (for public intoxication) and happily accepted the judge’s inevitable “30 days.”
“This was the highlight of their year,” Mick recalls. “They made sure the judge gave them a long enough sentence to allow them to get some work done. And those two could work; they worked real good.”
Describing this period as “the most beautiful time of his life,” Mickey Stephenson gravitated naturally enough to the role of a department store Santa Claus. His rotund figure was a familiar sight to Prange’s customers for several years, an era rich in pleasant memories and lovingly preserved for posterity in a wealth of treasured photos.
“I’ll bet I have at least 500 pictures of me holding little kids on my lap from just about every state in the Union besides a lot of foreign countries like Korea, India, New Guinea, and Sweden,” Stephenson says proudly. “All kinds of people visited here during the holidays and they made sure their little ones had a chance to visit Santa.”
He smiles when he tells about one little girl who wanted no part of Santa or his commodious lap. Finally talked into sitting gingerly on one knee by her over eager mother, the timid child retaliated by giving her supporter a good soaking.
“I got two duckings that same afternoon,” Mick grins. “Both from scared little girls. I’ll tell you one thing, playing Santa is no job for anybody who doesn’t like kids.”
It’s no job for anyone who has to drive his own car either. Burdened as he was with bulky boots, a cumbersome suit and concealing face mask, Mickey had to depend on his understanding wife for transportation. With Marion Stephenson at the wheel, the indefatigable Mickey spent Christmas eves traveling to hospital wards, private homes, parties and wherever else his unique services were required.
A question that had been bothering him for some time was answered when he spent an evening at the extended care unit of Door County Memorial hospital. “I had wondered where all the old folks had gone and I found them,” he says sadly, “The old men and women I used to see downtown were all there. I’d take their little hands in mine or put my arm around their shoulders, and say ‘this is Santa, remember me?’ and some would laugh and some would cry but they were all so happy to see me they hated to let me go.”
Stephenson talks about the other bedridden hospital patients he’s visited; the little boy being prepared for emergency surgery; the sick, so terribly sick, children who brightened visibly when he stuck his head in the door; the worried parents; the crying babies; the way he felt when he left. “I wouldn’t have taken a thousand dollars for the experience. Just knowing I made these old friends of mine and those poor little kids feel that Santa still cared, made me feel real good inside.”
Mickey unknowingly provided the answer to one little girl’s prayers when he brought a heaping box of toys to the home of her needy mother. He had, at the last minute, added a doll and small high chair to the box’s overflowing contents not realizing that these two inexpensive little offerings were just what the child had been praying for. “Oh, mama,” she exclaimed. “God and Santa must work together.”
Stephenson retired eight years ago and with his retirement and the passing of Police Chief Romy Londo, the “toys for tots” program quietly expired. “It’s too bad it did,” Mick says stoutly. “It was the best public relations program the police force ever had. The chief sent me after the worst roughnecks in town alone and they’d never take a swipe at me. They remembered how good I was to the wife and kids.”
Marion, Mick’s faithful helper died a little over a year ago and the Stephenson’s only child Lilly Ann Fabry lives in Green Bay where she is employed as a registered nurse at St. Vincent hospital. Mick’s legendary love for children is now lavished on two grandchildren, aged 11 and 15.
He is now in his seventies, but Sturgeon Bay’s indomitable Santa Claus hasn’t called it quits yet. He’ll no longer be visiting the city’s grade schools as he’s done so often in the past, but he will be paying a visit or two to private homes.
“Times change,” Mick muses. “Kids I used to hold as babies on my lap hand me their babies to hold now. Times change and the world goes on but you know something. The magic of Christmas stays the same.”
Courtesy of the Door County Library Newspaper Archive
Articles by Keta Steebs
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Christmas-related articles
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