I was fidgety standing in front of Fiddlesticks Toy Emporium, a mom-and-pop toy store on the verge of collapsing after being undercut for years by the internet and big box stores. Cora reached out and squeezed my hand.
“You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” I exhaled a hot breath, and we walked to customer service to find the owner.
“I can’t believe it,” the balding shop owner enthused. He held out a hand to me and pumped it up and down like I was the mayor. “It’s been a rough year. I thought we were going to have to close our doors and then you called.” He teared up, and his neck flushed red. “I just don’t know how to thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. I’ve always been a huge fan of the underdog,” I answered, “having been one my entire life.”
A channel nine news van pulled up, and a well-dressed woman and a denim-clad cameraman crawled out of it and walked toward me. I brushed my fingers across my forehead and pasted a smile on my face that felt fake, but that Ma always said made me more approachable.
“Marcia Moore.” The woman introduced herself confidently as her immaculately groomed hand popped out from the crisp cuff of her red power suit.
“Marcia! Marcia! Marcia!” I teased in my best Jan Brady voice. It didn’t land. I had miscalculated her age, rendering my pithy pop culture reference invalid. She blinked at me, and the air got sucked out of my lungs.
Loss Column. Check.
“Freddie Angel,” I pushed on. “Gotta say, I am a little nervous. I’ve never been on TV before. I know that’s hard to believe with a face like this.”
A small smile played at the corners of her mouth, and I was able to breathe again.
Nice recovery.
The cameraman busied himself finding the correct lighting and setting up his tripod as Marcia gave me instructions. “Just answer the questions calmly and slowly. When people get nervous, they tend to talk faster. This story has a lot of heart, so we just need to get out of the way and let it shine.”
Two extended vans from Agape Shelter downtown pulled up, and mothers with small children alighted from them and lined up outside the store. Babies on hips, little boys with buzz cuts and dirty shoes. Frazzled mothers who were equal parts exhausted and wary. The roadmap of lines on their faces revealed a life of struggle, and worry lines chiseled deep elevens into their foreheads.
Marcia was in stark contrast, her perfectly pressed suit, immaculate and shiny dark hair cut into a chic bob. I watched her fish a red lipstick from her designer bag and begin to professionally apply it, holding up a small compact mirror for reference. Then she tucked it away and grabbed her microphone.
“Let’s go get some interviews from the women,” she barked her order at the cameraman as the women and children shuffled into a haphazard line at the front of the store.
For the next twenty minutes, she interviewed them for sound bytes as I watched, trying to calm my nervousness.
“Freddie, this is amazing!” Cora said as she looked over at the women in line. “These kids are going to have a real Christmas this year all because of you.”
“I hope so,” I admitted. “I have to say, this is the best part of giving it all away.“ I locked eyes with a little boy no more than four standing in line with his mother. He waved at me, and I gave him a salute and a smile.
“Do you have a plan?”
“I was kind of thinking of making it a game. Giving each kid a five-minute timed shopping spree, you know, like grocery games.”
“That’s so much fun.” Cora smiled. “And crazy expensive.” She grimaced.
“That’s the thing. The money keeps flowing in faster than I can spend it. It’s like I am a conduit, directing it, but it’s the donations from fans that allow this to happen.”
Marcia finally finished with the women and landed back in front of me. “Are you ready for your interview?”
“Never been more ready.” I gave her a charming smile as my heart fluttered in my chest.
She waved the cameraman over, and he turned on his video light that reminded me of the stage light at The Punch Line.
“I’m here at Fiddlesticks Toy Emporium with Freddie Angel, who you might know as the Funologist.” She turned slightly and swept her manicured hand back toward the line of women and children gathered behind her. “He’s spreading early Christmas spirit in an incredible way today. Behind us are residents of the Agape Women’s Shelter who have been gifted a generous shopping spree. Freddie, can you tell me how this all came together?”
“Sure, Marcia.” I smiled at the camera, impressed with how smooth my delivery sounded. “I was fortunate enough to win the lottery on a scratch-off ticket, so I got the idea to spread the joy far and wide and give away all the proceeds. It’s been a challenge and a joy to try to pull that off.”
“You’re giving it all away?” She asked. If her forehead wasn’t immobilized by Botox, I’m sure it would have crinkled in surprise.
“Yes,” I answered. “That was the original plan when the ticket was a winner, but something else happened. A photo of a tip I gave a waitress went viral, so a fan told me to create a Venmo account. Almost immediately, donations starting flying in from all over the country. The account has ballooned to the point that we can help bring a very merry Christmas to these women and children.”
“What’s the Venmo account handle if our viewers wanted to donate?”
I answered, “@thefunologist. I can personally guarantee that all donations will be used to fund community outreaches like this one.”
“That’s incredible.”
“It is kind of a modern-day miracle,” I mused. “It’s humbling, actually, to be in a position to help people that need it.”
“Can you tell us about the video that went viral with the ice cream truck?”
“Who doesn’t love ice cream?” I asked. “Well, a few days ago, I had the crazy idea to rent an ice cream truck, fill it with treats, drive down to the neediest neighborhoods, and give it away until it was gone.”
“And you were rewarded for this act of generosity by being held up at gunpoint?” she expertly questioned, leading me through the interview.
“That did happen. But I have to say that almost anyone is capable of a violent act when pushed into a corner.” I looked down, then back up to answer. “He just needed someone to hear him. The poor are invisible in our country. The only way to get people’s attention sometimes is to act out. That’s all it was.”
“And you aren’t going to press charges?”
“No. First of all, I have to stress that no one was hurt, just a little shook up. And I know I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life, and if I had to pay the piper for each one, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you today. Sometimes people just need a pass. Sometimes good people make bad mistakes.”
“Well, you’re a better man than I am,” she jibbed with a smile, revealing perfect whitened teeth, then continued, “You’re a stand-up comedian?”
“Yes. You can find me at The Punch Line on Sycamore a couple of nights a week,” I offered.
“This funny man turned philanthropist is exactly the kind of Christmas spirit Kansas City needs right now,” Marcia summed it all up neatly in one sound byte, turning to the camera with a practiced smile. “If you’d like to be part of the Funologist movement, send your Venmo donations to @thefunologist. Thank you, Freddie Angel. I know this won’t be the last time we hear from you.”
I smiled, and then Marcia said, “That’s a wrap.” She turned to me again. “This is exactly the kind of feel-good story our viewers love. I hope it has legs.”
“Whatever happens beyond this is a gift,” I told her. “Are we ready to get started?”
“I’m going to stick around and do some filming. But yes, the interview portion is over.”
“Thanks, Marcia.” I shook her hand one more time and then stepped in front of the line of women and children.
“Okay, my friends, today is going to blow your mind. Each child is going to get a five-minute shopping spree. Moms, you’re in charge of pushing the carts, kids, your job is to fill ‘em up. Run fast!” I said, addressing the kids. “You want to make every second count. The only rule is that you can only put one of each item in your cart. We have to make sure that there are enough Xboxes to go around for everyone. Got it?”
“Yeah!” It was a chorus of excitement as the children grew more animated. They chattered to each other and craned their necks to see what was in each aisle. Planning their attack, the crowd was smiling and the moms were wiping happy tears away from weary faces.
“Okay, let’s do this!”
A young blonde woman and her dark-haired five-year-old son were up first. I pulled up the timer on my phone and set it for five minutes. Kneeling so I could look him square in the eyes, I asked, “Are you ready, my man?” He was keyed up and jumping. “Run as fast as you can, grab what you want, and fill that cart! You must return to the checkout line before the clock runs out, got it?”
The boy nodded solemnly.
I added a taped starting line to the floor, and he squatted down behind it like he was queued up on blocks to run the fifty-yard dash. “On your mark, get set, go!”
“Let’s cheer him on!” I shouted to the crowd, sweeping my arms up like I’d seen hype men at concerts do. “Runnnnnn!”
He ran from aisle to aisle, his mom trailing behind him pushing the cart, and he filled it in record time. “Five seconds left! Get to the checkout,” I shouted. Ending his dash, he stood proudly next to his filled cart, out of breath and red-faced. The lights in his mom’s eyes turned on, and she smiled a real smile that made my heart burst.
Twelve more kids ran the gauntlet, throwing in toys as fast as they could. Cora and I took turns running cart duty for the moms with toddlers and infants, running up and down the aisles, cheering them, on and filling them to the brim. Those sixty minutes were the most cardio I had done in a decade. My heart was exploding from the effort, but more from the absolute joy on their faces. The kids checked out one by one, and Marcia met me at the register.
“Twenty-nine thousand, four hundred, and eleven dollars,” the manager said, wincing slightly.
“Actually, I’m surprised it wasn’t more. I feel like I got away cheap!” I pulled out my Venmo credit card with a flourish and swiped it as the camera rolled, thankful Cora had the foresight to call Venmo about the sizable transaction for pre-approval. How embarrassing would it have been to have my card declined on camera?
The register spit out a massive receipt that I scrawled a signature across and then I headed over to the families whose moods had totally transformed in the two hours since they had first gotten out of the vans.
“Did everyone get what they wanted?” I asked the families, and they roared back in choruses of, “Yes!”
“You kids were running so fast, and everyone scored such an impressive pile of loot, looks like we might have to make a few trips to get you guys home.”
The kids were jumping up and down, screaming and hugging their gifts to their bellies. Several had tears streaming down their faces.
“This is the first real Christmas he’s had.”
“Last year, I couldn’t give him any presents.”
“It’s so hard to tell a kid that Santa skipped his house when, at school, their friends are getting huge hauls.”
“You made her dream come true.”
I was on fire, bursting with joy and pride. Seeing the physical manifestation of joy on the faces of kids who hadn’t seen much of it in their short lives wrecked me in the best way. The energy crackled through me, and I fed off their excitement that surged on a track from me to them and back again. Humility and gratitude crashed over me in waves, and I have never felt more complete and more at peace.
“This experience gave me as much as it gave your kids.” I was getting choked up. “I will never forget this day.” My voice cracked. “The squeals of delight and complete happiness coming from these kids is a gift that I will take to my grave. Thank you for being part of one of the best days of my life.”
Cora reached out and squeezed my hand. Not ready to end the lovefest, I walked with a fresh burst of inspiration over to the shelter representatives that were standing by.
“I’d like to do something for these moms,” I told them. “I know it sounds silly, but I was thinking maybe makeovers? I recently discovered how a haircut and a new outfit can make you feel like a new person. Do you think we could arrange something like that for them?” I was just spit-balling an idea, but I hoped it would land.
“Mr. Angel, that is incredibly generous.”
The utter respect that dripped from their words puffed me up like a peacock.
“We’ll work out all the details. Cora, can you help me find a salon and a boutique that can help us out?”
“Absolutely.” She smiled up at me.
I walked back over to the moms who were celebrating with their kids and said, “The Funologist has one more surprise in store for you!”
An excited squeal of excitement rose from the kids.
“This one is for all the mamas!” I ran down the line, high-fiving anyone who extended a hand for one. “Moms are the glue of the family, holding everything together. My Ma, she’s a saint, especially for putting up with the likes of me, so I was thinking…” I stopped for a minute to catch my breath and watched their eyes filled with hope. I dragged out the tension until the kids began to chant.
“Tell us! Tell Us!” It grew louder and louder as I stood and played conductor, cranking up the excitement to a fevered pitch until they couldn’t stand it anymore. Then I ran over to the first woman in line.
“You get a makeover!” I shouted out like Oprah on the episode where she gave away cars to the entire studio audience. “You get a makeover! And you get a makeover! And you!” I shouted out as I walked down the line, pointing at each woman.
Four of the women burst into immediate tears, making their children anxiously stare up at me. “It’s okay, kids. This is a good thing. I promise. Some tears are happy tears. You got spoiled today, and soon, your mamas are going to get a chance to be spoiled. Don’t you think they deserve it?”
Marcia appeared at my side. “That was amazing. Can we tag along, do an exclusive story on the Mommy Makeovers?”
“Sure,” I said, unaware of just how crazy the media circus was going to become after her story was aired. Life as I knew it was about to change completely.