A Christmas Tale

[rgmwa]

'Twas the night before Christmas, and out on the ramp,

 

Not a plane was stirring, not even a Champ.

 

Each one was fastened to tiedowns with care,

 

In hope that come morning, they'd all still be there.

 

The fuel trucks were nestled, all snug in their spots,

 

The wind was from two-forty, at 39 knots.

 

I slumped at my work desk, now finally caught up,

 

And settled down comfortably, sipping a cup.

 

Suddenly the radio lit up with noise and faint chatter,

 

I turned up the scanner, whatever's the matter?

 

Then a voice heard clearly over static and snow,

 

Called in for quick clearance to the runway below.

 

He barked his transmission so lively and quick,

 

But I picked up the call sign, "Old St.Nick".

 

So I ran to the panel to turn on the lights,

 

The better to welcome this magical flight.

 

He called his position, no room for denial,

 

"St. Nicholas One, on left base for final".

 

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,

 

But a red homebuilt sleigh, with eight big Reindeer!

 

With vectors to final, down the glideslope he came,

 

As he passed all the fixes, he called them by name:

 

"Now Ringo! Now Tolga! Now Trini and Bacun!

 

On Comet! On Cupid!" What pills was he takin'?

 

The controllers weren't happy, and shaking their heads,

 

They phoned to my office, and I heard it with dread,

 

The message they left was both urgent and dour:

 

"When Santa pulls in, a call to the tower".

 

He landed like silk, with the sled runners sparkling,

 

Then I heard "Left at Charlie," and "Taxi to Parking."

 

He slowed to a crawl, turned off at three-oh,

 

And stopped on the ramp with a "Ho, ho-ho-ho..."

 

He stepped out of the sleigh, and as he switched off,

 

I ran out to meet him with eight sets of chocks.

 

His red helmet and goggles were covered with frost

 

And his beard was blackened with Reindeer exhaust.

 

His breath smelled like peppermint, fresh and not stale,

 

And he puffed on a pipe, but didn't inhale.

 

His cheeks were all rosy and jiggled like jelly,

 

His boots were as black as a cropduster's belly.

 

He was chubby and plump, in his suit of bright red,

 

And he yelled "fill 'er up, with hundred low-lead".

 

Then off he dashed from the snow-covered pump,

 

And I knew he was anxious to drain the old sump.

 

I spoke not a word, but went straight on at it,

 

Filled up the sleigh, and unclipped the static.

 

He returned from the restroom, and sighed in relief,

 

Then he picked up a phone for a Flight Service brief.

 

And I thought as he silently scribed in his log,

 

These reindeer could land in an eighth-mile fog.

 

He completed his pre-flight, from the front to the rear,

 

Then he put on his headset, and I heard him yell, "Clear!"

 

And laying a finger on his push-to-talk,

 

He called up the tower for clearance and squawk.

 

"Take taxiway Charlie, the southbound direction,

 

Turn right three-two-zero at pilot's discretion"

 

He sped down the runway, the best of the best,

 

"Your traffic's a Grumman, inbound from the west."

 

Then I heard him proclaim, as he climbed thru the night,

 

"Merry Christmas to all! I have traffic in sight."

 

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Merry Christmas

 

rgmwa