The holidays have always had a special magic, both real and imagined. The real magic is when people stump up to help those in need. The imagined is when Clarence the angel pulls George Bailey out of the water to re-examine his "Wonderful Life."

A certain reporter who shall remain nameless had an experience that is perhaps low on the drama scale, but one that indicates what makes Beaver Dam special during during a snowfall on a recent winter night.

This reporter — let's call him George — had taken a Wednesday and a Thursday off to fight a cold. Many might question the need to take time off for a mere virus, but to George it seemed the only option short of a hospital stay.

He certainly felt better because of the rest those days afforded.

Unfortunately the reporter was scheduled to work on a Friday night, when the paper (which we will call the Grubville Gazette)  is prepared for Saturday morning distribution. Calling in sick for such duty is simply not allowed. Only death or major dismemberment (a leg or heart would barely qualify) is adequate to bow out from such duty.

George was feeling a bit better that day so he foresaw no difficulty in getting to work that evening. He knew that he should shovel the accumulation and drifts and snow, but thought it would do no harm to wait until Saturday.

That all seemed probable until he stepped outside and found that the snow was halfway as high as the roof of his truck. (We'll call it a truck, though it could be a sports car, SUV or late model luxury sedan).

He struggled to clear a path for one of the tires, and didn't look up until he got to his driveway apron.

It was like he was hit upside the head with a Yule log.

There, standing before him was the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

After a momentary tremor, George remembered his long-time goal to take a ride in a Beaver Dam taxicab. In a program begun under the leadership of then-mayor John Omen, the city obtained funding for the service which provides its one form of mass transportation. A private contractor manages the service, which for a long time was operated as S&R Taxi by local legend Rhoda Rawson (now by Top Hat Inc.).

George called and was told his ride would be there in 20 minutes. Not much later the familiar white land yacht with it glowing beacon arrived at the tunnel he had dug to the street.

He opened the door and slid onto the leather-clad luxury of the toasty interior. The driver (whom we'll call Ivan, although it may or may not have been a woman) chatted amiably about how the city can't plow properly and people drive like idiots.

They jetted over the crunchy streets and George was plopped at the doorstep of the paper like a king descending from a throne.

After an evening of assembling the best and most interesting tidbits that the world of news could offer, he called for a repeat performance of the earlier adventure.

Ivan arrived shortly thereafter.

"So, what do you do at the paper," he asked.

"I'm the assistant editor," George said (although he may or may not have held such a fictitious position).

"So who do I talk to about all the mistakes?" he asked.

"I guess that would be me," George said, eager to change the subject. "We try to catch them all, but some always manage to sneak their way through.

"Aren't there a lot of pretty decorations up around town?" he asked hopefully.

"Have you seen the ones on North Lincoln Avenue?" Ivan asked.

After George admitted that he had not, Ivan said in a no nonsense tone, "Let's go!"

What followed was a tour of the winter wonderland of Beaver Dam's holiday best. Amid floating snowflakes and  glowing sky the car floated like Santa's sleigh from one dramatic display to another. They paused to appreciate each one, not bothering to pull over on the abandoned roadways.

Eventually the magical journey ended in front of George's home, where the tree lights inside twinkled and the yard reminded him of a holiday greeting card.

"What do I owe you," George asked, expecting at least triple the fare of the first trip.

"Three bucks," said Ivan with a twinkle in his eye.

George added a dollar, just as he had for the first trip, and counted himself blessed by the experience.

"Merry Christmas to you," he said at the parting.

"Merry Christmas to you as well," Ivan said. "I'll be giving you a call the next time I see a whopper in the paper!"

George shambled up the trough that was once a shoveled path and entered the home that was no less comfy than the cab he had just left.

And after he had shed his garments for pajamas, robe and slippers, he plopped on the sofa.

"Only in Beaver Dam," thought George as he recalled the evening's adventure.

And tipping a mug of egg nog with a generous shot of southern cheer, he said out loud, "Merry Christmas Beaver Dam!"

The neighbors' holiday lights blinked a silent, but joyful, response.