‘Twas a time before Amazon and all through fall, American children feverishly devoured every page of newly arrived Sears, JCPenney, and Montgomery Ward Christmas catalogs. These proverbial “wish books” – the childhood vernacular for all three rival catalogs – precipitated a cherished Christmastime ritual in the pre-internet world. In the rhythm of postwar childhood, the arrival of Wish Book catalogues by mail weeks before Halloween heralded the unofficial start to the most wonderful time of the year.
So, make a list and check it twice. I’m Joel Rhodes “Telling History.”
Comparatively speaking, the acquisition of toys was not an everyday occurrence for most of the twentieth century. Outside of birthdays and Christmas, receiving toys as gifts remained rare, meaning American children just had fewer of them. These basic realities tended to heighten the sense of anticipation during the holiday season to a fever pitch when the Sears, Penney’s, and Ward’s “Wish Books” showed up in your mailbox.
The catalogues were endlessly poured over for hours on end, marked up by colored pens, with pages dog-eared as young readers tabulated lists, formulated request strategies, and offered hopeful hints; truly an ancient and primitive ancestor of your Amazon shopping cart. Not unlike a test, you had to really study these magical “textbooks” long and hard to compile your wish list; a lengthy inventory ostensibly meant for Santa, but in truth for parents and grandparents.
Because parents were so heavily integrated into the buying process in the Wish Book era, the toys children actually received commonly reflected traditional parental desires to prepare kids for adult career roles. Understanding play to be the work of children, which makes toys their tools, parents chose age-specific, and gender differentiated toys: Erector and Gilbert Chemistry Sets for boys, Easy-Bake Ovens and Chatty Cathy dolls going to girls. Many postwar toys were deliberately marketed to promote continuity in play between father and son, mother and daughter.
Together, with the relative scarcity of toys and generational bonding, the centrality of Wish Books to gift-giving lent a romanticized and timeless feel to the catalogues.
But they have a history, and it’s relatively brief. Although kids collectively referred to all three seasonal catalogues as wish books, Sears was the real McCoy. Already a staple in American households, the Sears “Big Book” debuted a separate Christmas shopping edition in 1933. Over the next generation, as this Christmas Big Book became a holiday tradition, customers themselves renamed it the “Book of Wishes,” and eventually just “Wish Book.” Sears made that iconic name official in 1968, thereafter featuring festive children, Christmas trees, and Santa Claus on the covers. The massive 1968 Wish Book topped 600 pages. But while nostalgia tempts us to remember nothing but the spell-binding toys, adorable clothes, and thrilling gadgets inside, almost two-thirds of the contents promoted boring stuff only a grownup would want.
JC Penney’s offered their own Big Book for Christmas in 1963, but the Montgomery Ward Christmas catalogues are every bit as old as Sears. In fact, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer flew off Montgomery Ward pages in 1939, an inspired creation of the retailer's advertising department trying to keep pace with Sears... and while Montgomery Ward is gone, Rudolph went down in history and so forth.
Eventually, the internet finished off all three. After several brief – and diminished – virtual re-imaginings in the early twenty-first century, the last true Sears Wish Book dropped online in 2011.