1980
He Won’t Last till Christmas
December 1980


“He Won’t Last till Christmas,” Friend, Dec. 1980, 40

“He Won’t Last till Christmas”

Bus drivers came and went on the school bus. Then, when Mr. Turner took over the job as the newest driver, people said, “He won’t last till Christmas! Those kids are the noisiest bunch in the world. They’re enough to drive any driver crazy!”

But this bus driver came and he stayed. The first day, when the noise got to the explosion point, he stopped the bus and stood facing the children, wearing a big smile. This really scared all the kids. No bus driver had ever smiled at them before.

“Watch it,” whispered one boy. “He’s going to take us hostage.”

“You’ve been watching too many news broadcasts,” commented another.

Suddenly there was a flash of lightning and then a roll of thunder. Huge raindrops were pelting the top of the bus. “Do any of you know ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’? I always sing that song when it rains,” said Mr. Turner. “The back three rows will lead off, the middle three rows will go second, and the rest of us up front will finish off the round. All right now, one time through. Row it!”

The kids were so startled by this strange turn of events that they were already sitting with their mouths open. It was just natural for them to let the words come out, and they began to sing.

Mr. Turner took his seat—still singing in a booming voice—and continued driving toward school in the midst of a happy, glorious sound.

Well, soon these kids found out that there were a lot of things that Mr. Turner always did. Besides singing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” when it rained, he always waited a bit longer at each stop if some girl had to make a mad, wet dash for the bus. He always sang “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight” on very cold days. He would sneak a hand warmer to children who had to walk the farthest to the bus stop or had holes in their mittens.

Mr. Turner was no doubt the biggest tease in all the world. When someone got on the bus, he’d say, “What are we having for lunch today? I appreciated that apple yesterday, for I was getting downright burned out from a steady diet of caviar sandwiches. Don’t you kids eat anything but caviar? Boy! I’d settle for a mustard-soaked sardine once in a while.”

No one had really given him an apple. And no one ever gave him their lunch, but it never stopped him from teasing. It kept them guessing and it kept them quiet, just wondering what he was going to say to the next one who got on. He begged for everything, from peeled turnips to frog legs. He accused them of being blackhearted scoundrels for not bringing him toasted croutons and bib lettuce. “Yuck!” he snarled. “One more of your egg salad sandwiches and I’ll turn in my driver’s license.”

When it came Christmastime, the children sang carols loud and long. And Mr. Turner would say, “Hold back a little. You’re getting too good. Let’s hear a rusty note or two. You have the whole countryside jealous already, and if you come out with just one more perfect pitch, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir will be on our backs. OK, let’s hear some Gravel Gerties now!” So everyone tried even harder to sing beautifully.

Right before Christmas, he demanded that they walk through “security” like at airports, so he could X-ray their lunch boxes for any hidden Christmas goodies. He placed a tall, round wastebasket just inside the front door and demanded that they empty all their goodies into it. No one did. They laughed and threw in gum wrappers instead.

Mr. Turner mocked, “Now you kids cut that out. I can only take so much laughter and then I break out in hives.”

The children stopped laughing long enough to whisper. But soon their whispers became so rapid, so intense, that their driver grumbled, “Cut that out! You sound like a bunch of bees when their hive has been mortared shut. I can’t stand secrets. It brings out the worst in me.” He didn’t scare anyone.

The last day before school closed for Christmas vacation, the kids got on the bus, put their noses in the air, and walked silently by him, even while he begged for strange foods, threatened them with wild punishments, and flashed his pretend X-ray machine at them.

When they came to the first stop on the trip home, the rider didn’t get off. He stopped short of the door and said, “All right, Mr. Turner, this is it. We’re a bunch of wild and woolly kids, and we’re not going to let it get out that you lasted as our bus driver until Christmas.”

All the other kids leaped from their seats and shouted agreement. The shouts were so loud that Mr. Turner grabbed some earmuffs from one of the boys and socked them onto his own ears. Then he demanded, “What’s this? You kids hijacking my bus?”

“Nope, Mr. Turner, we’re hijacking you. Turn around and don’t move and …

“HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS!” they all shouted.

Instantly two girls’ umbrellas went up and tinsel dropped from the ribs, making fascinating Christmas trees. Lunch boxes were opened and out came a marvelous array of Christmas cookies. Some were shaped like sardines, others like frog legs or mushrooms, and just about every other silly thing he had teased them for. When someone pounded on the front door of his bus, Mr. Turner was forced to open it. There stood some mothers with a thermos of hot chocolate, cups, and Christmas napkins. Then the singing of carols began.

“Stop the music! Stop the music!” I can’t have this sort of thing happen to my perfect record. I’ve never gotten a child home late this year, and now you’re throwing a blast that is shooting my record right through the roof.”

But everyone kept on singing, and Mr. Turner kept on stuffing cookies into his mouth, his shirt pockets, pants pockets, and a couple even into the tops of his snowboots.

Said one of the mothers, “A man that crazy just might last as our kids’ bus driver until June.”

Illustrated by Dale Kilbourn