Merry Tifton by D. James Kennedy

I heard D. James Kennedy tell this story 25 years ago on the radio and it stuck in my head. I found it and thought you might enjoy reading it to your family this Christmas.

 

Merry Tifton
By D. James Kennedy
djameskennedy.com

 

Once upon a time, long ago and far away in a strange land, there lived a man by the name of John Baresford Tifton—a man of incredible wealth beyond your wildest dreams—who had the strange habit of giving a million dollars to individuals whom he carefully chose.

His associate, Michael Anthony, who carried a briefcase, umbrella, and hat, made his way to the objects of this generosity and bestowed upon them the gift from their great benefactor. Of course, their lives were transformed.

At first there were just a few, but soon there were dozens, hundreds, and finally thousands of people in his land and in lands around the world.

At his death, Mr. Tifton left explicit instructions in his will that from the countless holdings of his vast estate, this practice was to be continued down through the years.
So it came to be that all over this Earth there were those who had their circumstances unbelievably transformed as they were suddenly catapulted into the rarefied atmosphere of the millionaires who received the gift.

Now it came to pass as the centuries went by, that these people (who had also received Tifton’s name because he had adopted them into his family and had granted them other privileges as well) decided that it would be well if they would get together occasionally—because they did have so much in common now. It would be especially good if they had a celebration of the birth of their great benefactor, Mr Tifton.

So they celebrated. Of course, it’s obvious that the only people who had the slightest interest in celebrating the birth of Mr. Tifton were those who had received his gift. They were virtually a club for millionaires.

As the years went by and the celebrations continued, there were essays written about Mr. Tifton’s great character and benevolence. There were hymns written and sung to his praise. There were pictures drawn and many other ways devised to celebrate the memory of this man who had altered so many lives by his generous gifts.

In the process of time, at one of the celebrations of Mr. Tifton’s birth in America, a couple of people (who not only had not received the gift but didn’t have the foggiest idea that such a gift even existed) somehow wandered into a Tifton birthday celebration.

This couple didn’t quite grasp what was going on, but they did pick up the idea that somebody had given some wonderful gifts to these people who were celebrating. Although the couple didn’t understand at all, they did think it sounded like a good idea, so they told their friends, and they told their friends, and they told their friends, and so on, and so on, and so on. And believe it or not, the idea spread. Before long, almost everybody in America was celebrating Tifton Day.

The department stores even picked up the idea. (They had a keen eye for that sort of thing.) Before you know it, there were Tifton specials all over the place. And other things arose. There was the Tifton card, of course, and then came the Tifton tree. Strange to say, the tree didn’t even grow in the land where Mr. Tifton was born. You may not believe this, but it is actually true that in time Tifton Day became a national holiday. Everybody was celebrating it.

One day years later, on Tifton Eve, two gentlemen who had been recipients of the Tifton gift happened to land in New York Harbor. As they walked down the gangplank, one of them said, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could find someone in America who is a Tifton recipient? And we could celebrate tomorrow with them on the birthday of our benefactor.”

The other said, “Ah, yes, but in such a large land as this, it’s highly unlikely that in so short a period of time, we should be so fortunate.”

To their utter amazement, as they walked down the street and looked into the window of the first department store that caught their eye, there was a sign shouting out, ONLY ONE MORE DAY UNTIL TIFTON! And in the next window, TIFTON SPECIALS: HALF OFF.

The two men said to each other, “Ah, we are in luck. We have found a Tifton. But isn’t it strange that he calls himself Macy? Well, these Americans are an odd lot.”

They started into the store to find the owner, when across the street they heard someone cry, “Merry Tifton!” Startled, they turned. Then from their own side of the street came a chorus of voices all around them saying, “Merry Tifton and a Happy New Year.” With that they were absolutely dumbfounded.

“Certainly,” they said, “Mr. Tifton has been extremely generous with his gifts in America, unlike anything we have ever seen in his own land.”

It came to pass that in the evening they found themselves invited into a large home where there was in progress another American innovation, a Tifton Eve cocktail party, in full swing. They noticed as they were standing in the corner that some of these people were absolutely falling down drunk, which they thought was very strange because they were quite confident that Mr. Tifton would not approve of that sort of conduct, and they could not see how this would be honoring to his memory.

One of them said to the other, “My dear brother, this afternoon on the street when all of those people were shouting, ‘Merry Tifton,’ did you notice the way some of them were dressed?”

“Why yes, I did. I didn’t want to say anything, but surely they did not look like millionaires to me.”

“That’s just what I thought. I can’t understand it. Have you noticed here on the mantelpiece all of these Tifton cards? I’ve just been looking at them, and the thing that absolutely astounds me, and I find it completely baffling, is the fact that most of them don’t say anything at all about Mr. Tifton. In fact, they have this picture of this fat man in this red suit in a chariot drawn by eight reindeer, one of which has a very bright nose.”

The other man said, “Oh yes, I noticed that. I inquired about it, and it seems that this is some character they have invented. His name, I believe, is Surper. Yes, St. Surper. I think his first name is Uriah. I believe they call him simply by his initial, uh, U. Surper. St. U. Surper, I believe, is the full name. It seems that so many of their Tifton songs are not about Tifton but about Mr. U. Surper. I find this very difficult to understand. Perhaps one of these people here at the party could enlighten us.”

And so they turned to the man who was closest to them and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Tifton.”

The fellow looked at them and said, “You must be tipsier than I am. Mike’s the name— Michael Mythology. What can I do for you?”

They said, “Would you kindly explain something to us, Sir? We’re a little bit confused. I do suppose that you have received the million dollars.”

“The what?”
”The million dollars?
“Yes, the gift from Mr. Tifton?”

“A million dollars? Man,” he said, “I had to borrow three hundred dollars from the finance company to buy my Tifton gifts this year! What are you talking about?”

They said, “Well, why are you celebrating Tifton Day? What is it all about?”

“Oh ho!” he said. “Well, that’s easy. You understand that there was this fellow, they say, named Tifton, who had a way of giving presents to people. I don’t know what they were— ties, neckties, handkerchiefs, pajamas, that sort of thing. And, uh, of course, uh, some people think that he really lived, but we today in our sophisticated, modern world know that it’s all a myth. Nevertheless it is a nice idea. We picked up the idea and we give gifts and we sort of change it around a little bit. But that’s basically the idea. You don’t really think there’s anything to that old idea that he really lived and actually gave some important gifts to people? Of course we don’t, but it is nice.”

“Yes,” said the visitors, “I can see from that purple tie with the orange stripes you’re wearing that this is a very significant day in your life.” Mike staggered away leaving them even more baffled than before.

They said to another gentleman, “Sir, could you please help us? Could you tell us, have you received the gift of a million dollars?”

“Huh?” he said, “Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

They said, “Tell us, Sir, why do you celebrate Tifton Day?”

He said to them, “Well, that’s an absurd question. Everybody celebrates Tifton Day. When I was just a child, I used to hang up my Tifton stocking on the mantelpiece. My parents and my grandparents celebrated Tifton Day. Everybody celebrates Tifton Day. What’s wrong with you foreigners coming over here questioning our customs?” And he sort of wandered away.

The two still could not understand. They decided they should make one last effort. Having talked to this gentleman, Mr. Traditional, and not getting much help, they asked one other man who introduced himself as Mr. Bootstraps. “Benny Bootstraps,” he said his name was, and he’d be glad to help them. Sure, he could explain the meaning of Tifton Day.

“Well, you see there was this fellow named Tifton; started out very poor, I understand. His whole life was written up in a big black book. Most of us have them, but nobody reads it much anymore. Anyway, it tells the principles of success he used to make a million. The idea is that we will read that book and follow those principles so we can become rich, too. I think that’s the basic idea that’s found in the book. You know, sort of reach down and give yourself a good tug.”

They said, “What about the gift?”
Mr. Bootstraps says, “What gift is that?”
About that time, there was a knock at the door. And when no one answered, the door opened, and there appeared the perennial descendent of Michael Anthony, umbrella under his arm and briefcase in his hand.

Our two faraway friends were delighted to see that here at least at this party someone was going to receive the gift. But no one seemed to pay any mind to Mr. Anthony. And since no one paid him any mind, Mr. Anthony said, “Excuse me.” Still, no one heard him over the laughter and the hubbub of the party and the tinkling of glasses.

Mr. Anthony spoke again, “I beg your pardon, but I have here with me—” His voice was drowned out.

He made one more effort, and then disgusted, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. No one had seen him come. No one had listened to his voice. And no one had received the gift.

By D. James Kennedy

djameskennedy.com