Luke Skywalker
Super Moderator
{vb:raw ozzmodz_postquote}:
This generic photo of St. Nick is not one of the Kingsley Spooks, an anonymous and mysterious group of secret Santas that began 132 years ago in northwest Iowa.(Photo: The Des Moines Register)
KINGSLEY, Iowa — Rumor has it that the winter of 1882 was so harsh in the northwest Iowa town of Quorn that the merchants sat together that Christmas Eve and devised a scheme of stealthy charity.
"They were having a toddy and were talking about how tough it was for some of the people around the area," my source said, "and they decided they should do something about it."
So the shopkeepers collected necessities off their shelves, boxed up the items and delivered them to some of their neighbors. (Supposedly they included an orange for each child.) They knocked on doors and dashed away through the snow so that nobody would know the true identity of the Christmas benefactors.
Thus was born an annual tradition that came to be known as the Kingsley Spooks, likely Iowa's oldest and oddest seasonal civic charity that also has been completely clandestine.
They're the "Kingsley" Spooks because the mysterious group outlived the town of Quorn, which fell by the wayside after Kingsley was incorporated in 1884 a mile east, closer to the new railroad.
The late 19th century was the era of the saloon, livery, butcher shop, general store, and so on. But these secret Santas — about a dozen of them — endure today in the town of 1,400 with hair salons and all the other modern conveniences.
You'll notice that I didn't attach a name to the quote in my second paragraph.
As a journalist I worship on-the-record quotes, fact-checking and public documents. But the Kingsley Spooks are a special case in which I had to play by Deep Throat Watergate rules to get more of the story.
Also, the calculus of journalism ethics demands that I weigh my objective: I'm not trying to drag the Kingsley Spooks into the daylight to right a wrong. On the contrary: By all accounts they're a beneficent bunch, and I don't want to be the inadvertent Grinch who creates trouble for them 132 years after the fact.
I simply was amused that I managed to grow up in Iowa without ever hearing about them.
It's not as if these spooks have been utterly ephemeral. They're listed (without contact info) on Kingsley's website among "local organizations."
Kingsley Mayor Rick Bohle acknowledges their existence.
"It's kind of a good-guy organization that's been going on since the town started," said Bohle, who helps run his family's construction firm. He grew up in the town that essentially boasts its own bonus local Santa lore — where gifts suddenly appear minus the hassle of sliding down a chimney. "It's kind of hard to talk about when it's supposed to be a secret organization, or whatever," Bohle said. "You get kind of hesitant about bringing it up."
“Blue-collar people helping blue-collar people: That's the best way I could describe it.”
Anonymous Kingsley Spooks source
Yes, there has been the occasional vague news account. "Pictures are taboo," said a 1958 wire story about the spooks that spread at least as far as New York. "The men never hold a meeting. … Of the eight men composing the group, only one of them knows who the other members are. There are no written records."
A similar story from the same era told of how gifts in the early 20th century had been delivered by horse-drawn bobsled.
Incidentally, from what I have been able to determine, nothing about these spooks has racial or racist connotations. (Considering the group's name and 19th century origins, no doubt the thought had crossed your mind?)
Santa masks became the Kingsley Spooks' traditional disguise. One of the members would even stand down the street and beat on a bass drum to signal that the spooks had visited.
"Up until about five years ago we had guys dressed up as Santas and elves to deliver," this spook said. "We've all kind of gotten old and outgrown the elf stuff."
Last year Judy Hayworth of Kingsley wrote a small item on the spooks in Our Iowa magazine. That piece drummed up extra donations that allowed the spooks to distribute more goodies throughout the entire year. (The group also in the past has extended its charity to Moville, Lawton, Pierson and other nearby towns.)
How do townsfolk donate cash or goods to an anonymous group without structure? The local bank and civic and church groups somehow know how to route resources. They also pass along names of residents most in need of help. Canned goods and the like are stored in a local teen center known as the Dwelling.
Not every recipient is so inclined to accept these donations. A spook one year who was slow to flee after a door knock reportedly was greeted with a shotgun.
"This family had a lot of pride," my source explained. "They didn't want (the gift), and get off of their land!"
So there's a faint chance of danger. But there's no secret handshake or elaborate initiation.
"It's mostly blue-collar-type people," my spook said. "Blue collar people helping blue collar people: That's the best way I could describe it."
There is one unwritten rule: After all the goods have been slipped onto the porches and doorsteps (not necessarily on Christmas Eve these days), the spooks who did the work must share a holiday meal of sardines and crackers.
Santa Claus with his ritual cookies and milk definitely claims the better Christmas menu compared to his kindred spirits in Kingsley.
Just remember: I don't want to ruin a good thing. Could this quaint corner of rural Christmas magic please remain unspoiled?
"You never heard of me," said my anonymous spook.
Heard of whom?
Powered By WizardRSS.com | Full Text RSS Feed