Santa Leaves a Note for Palisades Residents

By JIMMY DUNNE

A few days ago, my just-three-year-old grandkid picked out a Christmas tree for his Grandma and “P” (for Grampie) at Simon’s Meadow.
Passed all the big, tall, full ones. Saw one just about his height.
Not much wider than a hug.

This one’s the best,” Whit said.

With Whit in charge of putting on the decorations, ornaments are hung too low and clumped all together—and placed with the kind of confidence only a kid can have.
Most beautiful tree we’ve ever had.

This morning, I spotted something tucked into the branches like it had been waiting for me.

A note.

No envelope. No stamp. Just a folded piece of paper resting on a limb, as if the tree itself had grown it overnight.

On the front, it said, “To my dearest Palisadians.” It was signed, “Santa.” I’m including a picture in this story, just in case you don’t believe me. I felt like I was being asked to do one simple thing. Share it. So here it is…

My Dearest Palisadians,
I hope you all know something. It doesn’t matter where you are right now.
It doesn’t matter if you’re in a rental across town, staying with friends, living in another zip code, or another state.
I’ll find you. I’ll be there for you…
That’s not poetry. That’s a promise.

Let’s talk about the fire in January.
Over many, many years, I’ve seen a lot of ’em, all over the world.
Most of the time, the towns that burn never really come back.
That’s not your story.
The important thing about the Palisades—isn’t what burned.
It’s what didn’t.
The only thing still standing is you. Palisadians.
It’s the heart of your town. The part that was never made of wood or brick in the first place.
And that’s the part you’re going to rebuild with.

Here’s my ‘tough love’ part.
You are walking into a new year—getting to do something that almost never, ever happens.
You get to reimagine your very own town.
A one-time-only opportunity.
With new houses, new schools, new churches and synagogues, new stores, a new town library, a new town theatre, a new park…
Here’s what I’m sure of.
There’s nothing you can do to change yesterday. But you can do a lot about tomorrow.
To make it the happiest, most family-friendly, most full of heart, full of promise, full of the greatest neighbors—hometown. Not just in the city, not just in the state, not just in the country—in the whole wide world.
Built for you, for your kids, and their kids. For generations to come.
Why not?
You are one of the new founding mothers and fathers.

And I know what the secret recipe is.
It’s the thing that you need to make this happen.
It’s a thing I know a little something about…
You need to believe.
In yourself. How wonderful and gifted and joyful you are. In how absolutely incredible and unique your neighbors are, how your town truly is a one-of-a-kind.
This is your moment to close your eyes—and to dream.
And to dream big.
And to let go of what was—to create what could be.
You had a ‘library.’ Maybe it could be the Palisades Imaginarium, a spectacular home that nurtures and celebrates wonder, and the joy of learning, and a place for our amazing town to gather.
With every techie bell and whistle. A place to feel, to love life, and to evolve in every possible way. For the wee ones, for families, for moms and dads, for old folks like the Mrs. and me.
Same with the park. Same with your home. With new stores, and restaurants, and barber shops. Same with what a classroom looks like for the kids.
And all these places? It’s believing they’re not amenities. They’re the glue. They’re where neighbors turn into friends. They’re where new Palisadians become Palisadians.
And all without a single telephone pole in the town.
Just for the record, I built a pretty snappy place at the North Pole. You think that came easy? You think it was easy building that place—when it’s freezing outside? With elves?
You gotta believe you can do it.
Because if you believe you really can, things start to happen.
Not the first day, but the snow starts to give under your boots.
And before you know it, something bigger than you is growing.

Believe. It’s a big word. Comes from “to love.” To hold dear.
And that is the greatest gift I can leave under your tree this year.
Hold it close. Hold each other closer.
Love fiercely the town you have lost, love more fiercely the town you will dream into being.
Because when you believe—truly believe— you are not just rebuilding homes. You are rebuilding hearts.
You are planting seeds of wonder in the ashes, so that one day, a child just like little Whit will pick out a tree in Simon’s Meadow again, declare it the best in the world, and hang ornaments with the same fearless joy.
And on some quiet Christmas morning, someone will find a note tucked in the branches—not from me, perhaps, but from the magic you created together.
Because believing is loving. And love, my friends, never burns away.
It only grows brighter.
With all my heart—
Santa