Merry Christmas, Lockport

My good friend Santa Claus visited the Leffler household Sunday night. It was a very nice thing to do.

He was just making sure my daughters got all their wishes in on time.

As we were saying goodbye and good luck for tonight's Christmas delivery, Santa pulled me aside and asked me for some last minute gift ideas for some friends of mine.

I told him I couldn't answer him at the moment, but that he could read it in today's paper.

Santa, I'm told, is a huge fan of the Union-Sun & Journal.

Santa,

For Mayor Sullivan, I would like to suggest an executive gift set, including a digital voice recorder so he can recall who he endorsed and who he didn't, and a dictionary so he can correctly use words like "support" and "persist."

For Alderman Joe Kibler, some playground equipment, a sock, and a manual on how to properly use the sock. Manual should read as follows: If you are struck with a moment of genius, insert sock into mouth. Better the sock than the foot.

For Alderman (and sheriff's department investigator) Scott Elliott, a seat back on the city's police board, which he resigned from earlier this year.

For Alderwoman Phyllis Green, plane tickets to Florida or North Carolina, so long as she uses them quickly. Oh, and make them one-way.

Give some to county legislators, too, please Santa.

For Alderman Scott Cercone, a horticulture degree so he has the knowledge necessary for tree and monument placement in city parks.

For Council President Patrick Schrader, a Magic Eight-Ball so he can figure out whether his resolutions have the votes or not.

For Alderman David Blackley, a watch set 15 minutes fast so he can make his meetings on time.

For Senator George Maziarz, a clone. This will serve two purposes. He can attend more bar mitzvahs and he can no longer tell me, "Scott, I'm just one man."

For Police Chief Neil Merritt, a phone line that isn't recorded.

For Officer Brian LeBere, golf lessons and greens fees to a course that doesn't call the Union-Sun & Journal with scores. I'm sure he'll be bowled over by that.

For City Attorney John J. Ottaviano, a gift certificate for lunch at Tom's Diner for Dec. 28 at noon.

For Developer Elmer Granchelli, a gift certificate for lunch at Tom's Diner for Dec. 28 at noon.

For City Clerk Dick Mullaney, his own floor in City Hall so he has the room to perform the duties of clerk ... budget director ... Civil Service commissioner ... the mayor ... Common Council ... dog warden ... etc.

For Building Inspector James McCann, a certificate of occupancy for Washington Heights and the foresight to check things out before making statements about whether people live in vacant buildings.

For Community Development Director Bill Evert, a time machine so he can see something happen on the South Block and Richmond Avenue.

For Paul Oates, ... never mind Santa, I think Paul got his wish.

For Lenny Thomas, a home on Lincoln Avenue so he doesn't have to go so far when trouble breaks out at the high school. Also, a bullhorn so the Common Council will listen to him when he warns them about problems on the city's north end.

For John Lombardi, chairman of the city's Republican Committee, a grueling primary battle for the mayor's race, after which the loser runs on another party line and siphons votes from the "other" Republican, letting Tom Sullivan stay in office another four years.

And for all of my friends, a salt shaker so they can take a grain as needed — while reading this column, for example.

History in the moment ...

There are times in life when you take inventory of the people around you and realize that you're in the middle of something important.

If you're out and you see David Stockton and his camera, you might be in the midst of one of those moments.

I run into Dave now and then. He's one of the tree-huggers — and I say that with the utmost respect for tree-huggers — who refused to let certain elements turn one of the city's prized assets, Richmond Avenue, into a convenience store.

You see, Dave has respect for history.

So much so that as a photographer, he turns up at monumental moments to record them for future generations to see.

I first met him at the Corson's auction a couple of years ago. He was taking pictures for posterity's sake. He knew the meaning of the moment and didn't want it to pass by unnoticed.

I've run into him at a couple of other events or happenings since then.

And then Friday.

On Friday, Dave was taking pictures of J.R. Reid's final "Let's Talk" on WLVL.

J.R. has decided to move to the warmer climate of Cape Coral, Fla., where, he says, it has only snowed once in all of history.

I've found that most people know J.R. from some place or another, whether it be from that call-in show or from his time with the sheriff's department or as a city alderman.

So when I heard a few months ago that J.R. was leaving the area, I knew that I had to do a story on him.

This paper and WLVL — J.R.'s employer — haven't always had a good relationship.

In fact, about a year or so ago, certain employees from the radio station and the newspaper had a meeting to get things out in the open.

Boy, did they.

The relationship didn't really improve.

But now and then, I'd run into J.R. — who I had concluded was a class act — and we'd talk about a variety of issues, mainly local rumors (the kind of stuff we can never prove, and as such, can't print).

Anyway, I had also become a fan of J.R.'s show, "Let's Talk," which frequently included people airing those rumors that I can't print.

It was a good show, and would be a difficult act to follow.

But that's exactly what I must do.

I've inherited that hour and began my own show (which I've dubbed "Dialog") on Monday.

I've got big shoes to fill and I hope to live up to it.

My inaugural show included a surprise guest, Lockport Police Chief Neil Merritt, and it went OK.

I flubbed a button here or there, and I ended up bunching all my commercials in at the end, but overall, I was pleased.

Still, it didn't live up to the J.R. Reid level of quality — that which you must achieve to have David Stockton photograph your last day of work.

Maybe someday, I will.