SANTA LEFT ME A TRICYCLE

Santa Left Me a Tricycle 

Since about December of 2015, I started collecting vintage bicycles and other fascinating objects. For me, it’s never just about the item itself. What really interests me is the story behind it. Every old object has lived a life before it reached your hands. Sometimes that life is ordinary. Sometimes it’s surprising. And once in a while, you stumble onto something that feels almost like time itself has been preserved inside the object.  One afternoon while browsing Craigslist, I came across an old-looking tricycle for sale. The ad said the seller wanted $175 and claimed he had owned it since the early 1950s. The photos showed a sturdy red tricycle with wide handlebars, a metal body, and a white saddle seat that had clearly seen many years of use. It looked solid, authentic, and full of character. But what caught my attention most wasn’t the condition of the tricycle. It was the line in the ad that said he had been the original owner since childhood. That immediately made the bike more than just a bike. I called the number listed in the ad. The man who answered introduced himself as Prince. His voice was deep and calm, and we ended up talking for a while. He told me a little about where he grew up and how he had kept the tricycle for decades. I told him I collected vintage bikes mostly because I loved the history attached to them. After about ten minutes of talking, I told him I’d be interested in buying it.  “I’ll offer you $125,” I said, “without even seeing it.”  He chuckled and said he appreciated the offer, but he preferred that I come see it first. Then he texted me his address. That’s when I understood why the bike had probably been sitting on Craigslist for months. He lived in a really rough part of South Central Los Angeles. Now, I’ve lived through my share of neighborhoods. Growing up in parts of Manila and later living around Echo Park in the 1970s, I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with rough areas. But still, as I drove toward his street that Saturday morning, I could feel a little tension building. I called him when I was nearby. “Just pull into the driveway,” he said. When I arrived, I stepped out of my car and was greeted by a man who looked like he could have played offensive tackle for the NFL. Prince stood about six foot five and probably weighed around four hundred pounds. But he had a gentle demeanor and a warm smile. We talked for a while before even looking at the tricycle. He told me about growing up in Los Angeles, about the struggles he’d gone through in life, and how the neighborhood had changed over the decades. Finally, after about thirty minutes, he disappeared into the house and came back carrying the tricycle. I was honestly amazed by how well it had survived. The red paint was faded but intact. The handlebars were solid. The metal frame still had that heavy, old-school craftsmanship you don’t see anymore. It was clear this thing had been built to last. I handed him the $125. He accepted it with a smile, and just before I got back into my car he said something that caught me off guard. “You know,” he said, “I might still have the picture of the day I got that trike.” I turned around. “You do?” “Yeah,” he said. “My mom took a picture when I was a little kid. Christmas morning.” “That would be incredible,” I told him. “I’d love to see that.” He nodded and said he’d look for it. About an hour after I got home, my phone buzzed with a text message. It was the photo. I stared at it in disbelief. There was a little boy, maybe two years old, sitting proudly on the exact same tricycle. The photo was black and white, and the boy had the same handlebars in his tiny hands. But what made the photo even more powerful was the handwritten caption on the album page beneath it. It read:  “Dec 1952 - 25 months - Santa left me a tricycle.” That stopped me for a moment. I realized I wasn’t just holding a vintage bike now. I was holding a piece of someone’s childhood. Curious, I started doing a little research. I searched the brand name stamped on the frame: Hapi Time. That led me down a small rabbit hole. I learned that Hapi Time was the brand Sears used on certain toys and bicycles during the 1950s, and that many of them had actually been manufactured by Murray, one of the earliest and most respected bicycle makers in America. Then I had another idea. I searched for the 1952 Sears Christmas Catalog. It took a little digging, but eventually I found a scanned version online. Page after page of toys, clothing, appliances, and everything families might have ordered for Christmas that year.  And then I saw it. The exact same tricycle. There it was on the page, with the same wide handlebars and metal frame. Price: $14.39. I immediately took screenshots of the catalog cover and the tricycle page and texted them to Prince. Within seconds my phone rang. It was him. But when he started speaking, his voice sounded different. He was crying. Not loud crying, but the kind where someone is trying to hold it together and can’t quite manage. “Man… I can’t believe you found that,” he said between breaths. “You don’t know what that means to me.” I could hear the emotion in his voice, and for a moment I didn’t know what to say.  “I just figured you’d like to see where it came from,” I told him. He paused for a few seconds. “You know,” he said quietly, “that was one of the best Christmas mornings of my life.” He told me how his mother had surprised him with the tricycle. How he rode it everywhere as a little kid. How he kept it all these years even through the hard times. Then he said something that stuck with me. “Seeing that catalog page… it’s like seeing that moment again.” We talked for another minute or two. I told him he had done pretty well selling it to me. “You bought it for $14.39,” I joked. “You sold it to me for $125. That’s almost a thousand percent return.” He laughed through the emotion. Before hanging up, I told him something else. “I might restore it someday,” I said. “Bring it back to how it looked in 1952. If I do, I’ll let you know.” He thanked me again. After we hung up, I sat there looking at the photo of that little boy on the tricycle. Some objects survive for decades. But once in a while, they carry something even more valuable than metal or paint. They carry a memory.  And sometimes, all it takes is a photograph and an old Sears catalog to bring that memory back to life.