One hundred years ago, the Severt Oliver Leland (1878-1940) family resided in San Francisco, California at 1287 37th Avenue. The ABC Biography for the Severt and Amelia (Brocke) Leland family is ABC Biography of Severt Oliver Leland (1878-1940) and Amelia Anna Brocke (1884-1975) Family of San Francisco, California. They had five children. Severt and Amelia (Brocke) Leland are my wife Linda's paternal grandparents through their son Lee Severt Leland.
(AI Google NotebookLM Infographic for Severt Leland Family at Chriostmas 1925)
I wondered what Christmas 1925 might have been like for this family. I asked Anthropic Claude to tell me, based on information in the Biography and additional information about the family members. Here is the story:
Christmas Day 1925: The Leland Family in San Francisco
The fog had lifted early that Christmas morning of 1925, and pale winter sunlight streamed through the windows of the Leland home at 1287 37th Avenue in San Francisco. Severt Oliver Leland, now 47 years old, was already awake, stoking the coal stove in the kitchen to warm the house. His wife Amelia, at 41, was in the kitchen preparing coffee, the rich aroma filling their modest home.
Morning: The Children's Excitement
The children were all home for Christmas, and what a range of ages they represented! Juanita, their eldest at 21, had been the first one up, helping her mother in the kitchen. She was a young woman now, poised and capable, but still living at home as many unmarried women did in those days.
Evelyn, 20, came down the stairs next, her eyes bright with the lingering magic of Christmas morning. Even at her age, there was something special about gathering as a family on this day.
Then came the thunder of footsteps as the younger children raced down—Harold at 17 was trying to maintain teenage dignity but couldn't quite hide his enthusiasm. Lee, 14, was openly excited, and young Alda “Toots”, just 10 years old, was practically bouncing with anticipation.
"Merry Christmas!" the children called out in a chorus as they gathered in the living room where a modest decorated tree stood in the corner. It wasn't the elaborate affair of wealthy families, but Amelia had strung popcorn and cranberries, and there were a few precious glass ornaments from the old country—treasures from Severt's Norwegian parents.
But first—the stockings! Hung along the mantelpiece the night before, five stockings now bulged with mysterious contents. Amelia had sewn special Christmas stockings for each child years ago—simple red felt affairs with their names embroidered in white thread. Even the older girls felt a thrill at seeing them stuffed full.
Gift Opening: Simple Pleasures
After a quick breakfast of coffee cake and hot cocoa, the family turned to the stockings first, as tradition demanded.
"Toots, you go first, being the youngest," Severt said, settling into his chair with his pipe.
She needed no encouragement. She pulled down her stocking and squealed with delight at its weight. From the top came a handful of walnuts and hazelnuts in their shells—precious treats. Then came peppermint sticks and a small bag of ribbon candy. Her eyes grew wide when she discovered a bright orange nestled in the toe—oranges from California were special, even though they lived here, and the golden fruit represented a little luxury. There was also a small wooden top painted in bright colors, a new handkerchief with embroidered flowers, and a few hairpins with colorful beads.
Lee dove into his stocking next, finding his own orange (which he immediately began peeling, unable to wait), nuts, candy, a small pocketknife—a treasure for a 14-year-old boy—and some new marbles that clicked together pleasingly in their small cloth bag.
Harold's stocking yielded practical treasures: an orange, nuts, candy, a small screwdriver to add to his growing tool collection, and a new pair of work gloves. At 17, he appreciated useful things.
The older girls took their turns, finding oranges, candies, new ribbon for their hair, bottles of cologne water, packets of hairpins (always needed!), and embroidery thread in beautiful colors. Even at their ages, they savored the tradition and the thoughtfulness behind each small item.
After the stockings came the gifts from under the tree. The gifts were practical but thoughtful. Harold received a new set of tools—he was becoming quite handy and enjoyed working with his hands. Lee got a baseball and glove, his face lighting up with joy. Young Frances squealed with delight over a new doll with a china face and a hand-sewn dress that Amelia had been working on in secret for months.
The older girls received fabric for new dresses—beautiful patterns they could sew themselves—and some hair combs that had been fashionable that year. Severt got a new pipe and tobacco, while Amelia unwrapped a lovely embroidered handkerchief set from her daughters.
"Papa, can we go to Golden Gate Park later?" Lee asked, already imagining showing off his new baseball.
Severt chuckled, exchanging a knowing glance with Amelia. "After dinner, son. Your mother's been cooking since dawn."
Christmas Dinner: A Feast Prepared with Love
Indeed, Amelia had outdone herself. The kitchen was warm and fragrant with the smells of roasting chicken (a holiday splurge), potatoes, and fresh-baked bread. She'd made her mother's recipe for German potato salad, a connection to her Idaho childhood and her family's heritage. There were preserved vegetables from their small garden, cranberry sauce, and for dessert, an apple pie and Christmas cookies the girls had helped decorate the day before.
The family gathered around their dining table, extended with extra leaves to accommodate everyone. Severt said grace, his Norwegian-accented English a reminder of his roots, thanking God for family, health, and the abundance before them.
As they ate, conversation flowed freely. Juanita talked about her work and the modern styles she'd seen downtown. Harold discussed the new automobiles he'd seen—San Francisco was rapidly modernizing, and the young man was fascinated by the changing city.
"Remember Christmas in Gardiner, Papa?" Evelyn asked, a nostalgic smile on her face. "That year it snowed so much we couldn't even see the mountains?"
Severt nodded, his eyes distant with memory. "1912, I believe. We were snowed in for three days. Your mother thought we'd never dig out."
"But we had plenty of food and firewood," Amelia added, her practical nature showing through. "And we had each other. That's what mattered."
Afternoon: Family Time
After dinner, while Amelia and the older girls cleaned up (despite protests that Mama should rest on Christmas), Severt retreated to his favorite chair with his new pipe. The younger boys were eager to get outside.
"Can we go now, Papa?" Leo pleaded.
Finally relenting, Severt bundled up and walked with Harold, Lee, and Toots to a nearby park. The San Francisco weather was mild compared to the Montana winters they'd left behind—no snow here, but the air was crisp and fresh. Leo tossed his new baseball with Harold while Toots ran around with boundless energy, her new doll carefully left at home to keep it nice.
Severt watched his children play, thinking about how far they'd come. From Wisconsin to Montana to California—three states, three different worlds. His father Torger, now 75 and living up in Washington state, had made the journey from Norway to America. Now here were his grandchildren, born in America, growing up in one of the most exciting cities in the world.
Evening: Quiet Reflection
As dusk fell, the family reconvened at home. Neighbors stopped by—the Italian family from next door brought panettone, the Irish family from down the street shared some whiskey with Severt (Prohibition be damned on Christmas). San Francisco was a patchwork of immigrants and their children, all building new lives together.
The girls played carols on the piano while everyone sang—"Silent Night" in both English and, at Severt's insistence, a verse in Norwegian. Little Toots was getting sleepy, curled up next to her mother on the sofa.
"This was a good Christmas," Amelia said softly to Severt as they sat together after the children had finally gone to bed. Through the window, they could see the lights of the city twinkling in the night.
"Every Christmas with you and the children is a good Christmas," Severt replied, reaching for her hand.
They sat together in the quiet house, two people who had traveled far from their birthplaces—he from Wisconsin, she from Idaho—to build this life together. Five healthy children, a home in the city by the bay, and another Christmas safely celebrated together.
Outside, San Francisco hummed with life, but inside the Leland home on 37th Avenue, all was peaceful and warm. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new changes in their rapidly modernizing world, but tonight, Christmas 1925 was complete—a perfect moment of family, love, and gratitude that would become a cherished memory in the years to come.
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