Smuggling a Massive Yard Bell for Christmas
As we were growing up, there were dozens of memorable Christmas occasions and events. The older I get, the more those childhood holidays blur together into a warm collage of wrapping paper, pine needles, and family dinners. But if I had to pick the absolute most memorable Christmas of them all, it wouldn’t be about a toy I received or a gadget I just had to have.
Instead, the best Christmas memory I have is all about a gift that we gave.
It was the year of the Bell.
The Unlikely Wishlist
For years, Dad had mentioned that he wanted a school bell. He didn’t want just any bell, and he certainly wasn’t talking about a little, dainty hand bell that you’d ring from a desk. No, Dad was a man who appreciated substance. It needed to be a full-blown, heavy, black cast-iron bell—the kind you mount on a sturdy pole out in the front yard.
The funny thing about these yard bells is their actual purpose. You could ring it, absolutely. It had the capacity to wake the neighbors three streets over. But you never really did. It was strictly for decoration, a piece of Americana to anchor the yard. Owning one meant committing to a very specific set of chores: occasionally, you’d have to take it down, grease it up, give it a fresh coat of black paint, and preserve it against the elements. Mainly, it was just for looks. But Dad wanted one, and when Dad wanted something like that, we knew we had to make it happen.
The Great Bell Hunt of Centerville
Finding a massive, vintage-style cast-iron school bell wasn’t as easy as running down to the local department store. We spent ages looking around, trying to track down a bell that had the right weight, the right look, and the right presence.
Finally, our search led us to Centerville, Alabama. Down there, an old Army surplus store sat off the road. Mostly, it sold exactly what you’d expect: surplus clothing, canteens, canvas tents, and old supplies. We just happened to be passing through that way one afternoon, decided to stop and stretch our legs, and there it was. Sitting right out on the front wooden porch of the store were a couple of brand new, heavy-duty cast-iron bells.
We bought him one right then and there. Truth be told, it wasn’t incredibly expensive, but for Dad, the price tag was never the point anyway. Even if it had cost a fortune, we still would have figured out a way to buy it, because it was exactly what he had been dreaming of for years. We hauled that heavy hunk of metal into the truck and started the journey home, triumphant.
Operation: Stealth and Disguise
Buying the bell was only phase one. The next massive hurdle we faced was figuring out how to hide it, and more importantly, how to wrap it.
To hide it from Dad’s watchful eyes, we relied on the element of laziness. We simply left the massive bell right in the back of my pickup truck, which was thankfully equipped with a camper shell. It was safe from the weather and safe from Dad. To complete the disguise, we covered the whole heavy lump with an old, greasy shop mat. To anyone looking in, it was just a pile of garage junk.
Wrapping the gift, however, was an entirely different story. We obviously didn’t want to haul a massive iron bell and its heavy mount—which weighed about 75 pounds combined—into the house and try to wrap the whole thing. It would have ripped through the paper in seconds.
Then, we had a stroke of genius.
We discovered that by undoing a single, stubborn bolt, we could completely remove the clapper from the bell.
A Quick Note on Clappers: Now, I know a lot of people hear the word “clapper” and immediately think of that little white box you plug into the wall so you can clap twice to turn on the living room light. But in the bell world, the clapper is that heavy, pendulum-like piece of solid iron that hangs inside the bell and forcefully hits the side when you ring it.
We took the iron clapper out of the bell, found a sturdy cardboard box that was just the right size, and wrapped it up beautifully. It looked like any standard, moderately-sized Christmas present—except for the fact that it weighed a ton.
“What the Hell is This?”
As it got closer to Christmas, we placed the deceptively heavy box under the Christmas tree. We had to be careful not to crush any delicate presents beneath it, because, being solid cast iron, it had some serious heft to it.
Finally, Christmas morning arrived. My brother, my mom, Dad, and I all gathered around the brightly lit tree, the floor covered in shredded paper and ribbons. When the time was right, we presented Dad with his surprisingly heavy box.
He took it in his hands, clearly feeling the weight, and shot us a curious glance. He tore through the wrapping paper, opened the cardboard flaps, and pulled out a solid black iron club.
He stared at it. He rotated it in his hands. He looked at Mom, then at my brother, and then at me, with the most genuinely puzzled look I have ever seen on a man’s face. Finally, he broke the silence.
“What the hell is this?”
The room erupted. We all got a massive, belly-aching laugh out of his complete and utter confusion. Once we finally caught our breath, we explained to him that he was holding the inside of his real present, and that the rest of it was sitting out in the cold in the back of my truck.
We all threw on our coats, walked out to the driveway, and popped open the back of the camper shell. Dad reached in, pulled back the old shop mat, and there it was. When he finally saw the massive cast-iron bell and its mount sitting there in the truck bed, everything clicked. He understood exactly what he had unwrapped in the living room, and a huge smile broke across his face. He was absolutely thrilled.
The Bell Today
Years have passed since that cold Christmas morning, but that bell hasn’t gone anywhere.
Today, it still stands proudly in the yard. We eventually got it mounted securely to a post, sitting a few feet off the ground, right where everyone can see it. We even added a sturdy chain to the lever so that you can give it a good pull if the mood strikes. True to the unwritten rules of yard bells, we have taken good care of it—keeping the iron greased and giving it a fresh coat of paint most years to keep the rust at bay.
Most times, when you look outside, the bell is entirely silent. It serves a different purpose now. More often than not, there will be a Mockingbird perched right on top of the black iron, looking down and surveying his kingdom with absolute authority.
We still ring it occasionally. Sometimes, when friends or family come to visit, they can’t resist the urge to walk up, grab the chain, and give the bell a resounding pull just to hear it chime across the yard.
But for me, it serves an even greater purpose. It’s always a good thing to look out the window, see that black cast-iron bell standing tall in the yard, and remember Dad, the army surplus store in Centerville, and the year he unwrapped a piece of iron and asked us what the hell it was.