One Lucky Guy.

Jack Sand spun magical gifts of joy.

As a prepubescent, I perched easily on our living room rug, with my Irishly lily-white, and—yet to evolve for very slow half-marathons—legs crossed, topped by my interlocked fingers extending from Norwegianly large-palmed—only visited but never worked on my cousin’s farm—farm hands.

“Ha! Look at this knucklehead sitting funny,” whooped big brother Teddy as he swatted the back of my head while trotting by.

Corresponding curiously to our inflatable, weighted-bottomed, red, white, and blue Bozo punching bag when swatted, my head and torso bounced back from Teddy’s shove. With resilience that would summon admiration from any 1960s Transcendental Meditation practitioner or evoke exasperation from a Bozo boxer, I resumed my yoga-like pose and stared straight ahead.

“What’s wrong with her,” Teddy asked, stopping in his tracks and relative wallops.

“Ah, she learned to sit that way in kindergarten, didn’t you Judi? It shows the teacher you are paying respectful attention,” brother Danny said, revealing more of his future acolyte aspirations than understanding the reason for my trance. To be fair, Danny had been in kindergarten a mere three years before me and excelled in getting “S”s in Conduct and Courtesy.

“Nope. I’m just getting ready for ‘Toyland.’ Santa will be on!” I exclaimed as I stared at our one and only, large, Zenith black and white television.

“Tempo Toyland,” later called “Santa’s Toyland,” was a locally aired television show in the 1960s and 70s hosted by Jack Sand. The show ran in December, counting down the joyous days to Christmas. Jack's full-time job was as a weather reporter for WDAY in Fargo. But mostly I remember him, as that lucky guy, Santa’s sidekick.

My yuletide excitement was contagious; it spread quickly. Like Londoners who would gather four years later to listen to the January 1969 Beetles rooftop performance, my siblings plopped mid-motion to enjoy the show.

Teddy and Danny leaned on either side of the doorway between our front room and kitchen. Connie, Larry, and Monica mimicked my pose, and stared at the TV to watch for Santa and his advance man, Jack. Angie and Jon continued to wobble and coo as they were too young to understand the enormity of the moment.

Suddenly, the cute and effervescent Jack Sand was on air, talking to us in our living room and to the kids on the TV set.

In his kid-friendly manner, Jack asked if we were excited for Christmas, if we had been good this year, and best of all, what we wanted for Christmas.

Mesmerized, we watched him spin a cartoon cutout of Santa’s face. When it stopped spinning, magically, we saw the face of a kid in the live TV audience. That fortuitous tot received a present.

“Hey, do you hear that?” Jack asked after he had handed a couple of prizes to lucky kids.

“Ho-Ho-Ho,” boomed a voice off camera.

“I think someone special is here!” Jack said with his eyes twinkling.

We squealed along with the kids on TV. Angie, and Jon stopped wobbling and cooing to look. Teddy and Danny refrained from comment and watched the screen. Even Bozo the punching bag stood steady in the corner.

“Ho-ho-hellooo kids! Hello Jack. Merrrrrrrry Christmas,” thundered Santa.

“Well, hi Santa and Merry Christmas to you. It’s good to see you again,” Jack said loudly amid cheers and clapping.

“It’s good to see you as well, Jack my friend,” Santa boomed again and patted Jack on the back.

“Wow, Santa and Jack are friends,” I thought. “Jack’s one lucky guy!”

“And Santa, all these kids are happy to see you too. Aren’t you kids?” Jack asked.

“Yeah!” Connie, Larry, Monica, and I cheered along with the TV kids.

For the next 20 minutes or so, Mom was free to secretly, safely, wrap Christmas gifts in her bedroom, plunk a meatloaf in the oven, or just take a break from the brood as the faces of her eight offspring were as good as Elmer-glued to the Zenith tube.

I admit the thought of Santa has returned to me each year, but I have thought only fleetingly about Jack Sand in the past 50+ years.

Until January 15 of this year. That Saturday, still fresh from the last Christmas holiday, I read the lead story of Fargo’s online newspaper, “InForum.” It read, “Jack Sand, former WDAY weatherman, dies at age 82.”

I surprised myself as I began to cry. “Oh no, not Jack,” I whispered.

I held Jack in the esteemed realm of Marv Bossart, Dewey Berquist, Verna Newell, Boyd Christensen, and Jim Adelson. They were special TV personalities in the 1960s and 70s who reflected the grandness, talent, kindness, and humor of Fargo.

The InForum article was a very good tribute to Jack. As it should, the lead-in said it all: “Jack Sand’s purpose in life was to make people laugh and bring them joy.”

I surprised myself again, noticing that as I read the article, I physically held myself in a hug. I was sad but touched, reading all that Jack did beyond his Christmas shows. Beyond my childhood.

He performed magic during his weather reports, and in-person shows into his retirement. He served 30 years on a board of directors for a local homeless shelter. He traveled. He lived life well. He was survived by a loving family. It was clear that those lucky kids on the TV show weren’t the only ones who received a gift from Jack. Seems like anyone who knew Jack received his magical gift of happiness.

So, my life lesson? We’d be the lucky ones to borrow Jack’s purpose in life. Make people laugh. Bring them joy. Live well.

Judi Stoa’s Donchyaknow Life Lessons to see and bring out the best in yourself and others.

Read More:

Minneapolis Star Tribune: Fargo's Jack Sand, who worked his magicyMagic’s on screen and off, dies at 82

Website: Judi Stoa Books

Blog: Donchyaknow Life Lessons