But Once a Year

St. Francis of Assisi made the first creche--or so his loyal biographer, St. Bonaventura, says--and it was a double success. The tableau lent a drama to the saint's sermon on Christmas Eve in 1223, and the hay later "proved a marvellous remedy for sick beasts and a prophylactic against divers other plagues.'' Since then, thousands and thousands of creches have been made, some commissioned by great lords, some modeled after master paintings, some encrusted with jewels, and some even designed to be wound up and set moving. But the most appealing creches are the miniatures done over the centuries by a host of artisans, many of whose names are now forgotten.

Last week 170 such nativity scenes were on view at the William Rockhill Nelson Gallery of Art in Kansas City, Mo. They are, with few exceptions, from the collection of Architect-Designer Alexander Girard, whose Santa Fe home is filled with a vast assortment of folk art. Hallmark Cards sponsored the exhibition for the benefit of the People-to-People Program, which has its headquarters in Kansas City. The idea was a happy one: in this one show, the people of 20 different lands are bound together by a single theme, and the exhibition is the most popular the gallery ever had.

Candy Stripes & Luminaries. Though holiday preparation and celebration took different forms in different towns, the whole U.S. was seized by that shared feeling, the Christmas spirit.

In Los Angeles, lights were strung on the palm trees, and passengers on incoming jets were greeted at International Airport by four 70-ft. crosses built onto the control tower. For the ninth consecutive year, the Santa Monica Municipal Bus Lines sent a special candy-cane-striped bus reeling down the city's streets. Denver's gift-giving was handled partly by rented Santa Clauses, who, for about $5, delicately park their cars half a block away from the receivee's home (the better to avoid the reindeer issue), ring sleigh bells rather than the doorbell, but hand over the present instead of escorting it down the chimney.

In El Paso, Texas, there was stiff competition between households and neighborhoods for the most striking luminario display (a Mexican custom in which lighted candles are set in sand-weighted paper bags), and in San Antonio rehearsals were on for the traditional Los Pastores miracle play. The Dallas Civic Opera, Chorus, and Symphony Orchestra got ready for their massive performance of the entire Messiah. And everywhere, newspapers were taking advantage of their readers' spirit of the season, whether springing from generosity or guilt, to help their pet charities.

Electronic Cheer. Rich's department store in Atlanta sent children monorail riding on ''the Pink Pig Flyer,'' also boasted the city's largest (65 ft.) Christmas tree, a northern white pine imported from South Carolina. The Atlanta Constitution reported that "edible ornaments are being revived''; there was hardly a tree trimmer around without a couple of gross of chocolate snowmen tucked away in reserve in hopes of having one or two unchewed examples left by Christmas Day.

Chicago's festivities featured electronics. Wieboldt's department store in the Loop set up an IBM computer to help harried shoppers make the right choice, processed more than 1,000 gift lists daily. The Greater North Michigan Avenue Association poured $20,000 into a glittering display surrounding the city's water tower; dubbed "Symphonic Starlight," 5,000 miniature Italian lights strung through the limbs of four barren trees flickered to the decibel output of Christmas music blared through a loudspeaker system. The "world's largest Christmas tree'' (actually 140 trees bound together, soaring 80 ft. into the air) blazed with almost 10,000 lights near the Loop, and Chicago motorists were stopped dead in their tracks by the new parking attendant in one of the Loop's lots: a big flannel Santa who jockeyed sedans and sports cars into place with fat finesse and much ho-hoing.

Perfumed Blasts. In Manhattan, Rockefeller Center's giant tree was hung with plate-sized gold medallions that shivered in the wind, like loose scales on an armadillo. Perfume spewed out from Fifth Avenue shop entrances; and city barbershops reported a heightened demand by men for "come-alive'' hair treatments. The district attorney's office, in a stunning show of holiday spirit, urged staff members to make all necessary arrests immediately, not to haul off anyone during Christmas week.

Around 3 billion letters and packages are expected to pass through the nation's post offices this week, most of which will be Christmas cards. Illinois' Governor Otto Kerner is avoiding the mailbox issue by sending his life-sized, 5 1/2-ft. Santa Claus cards (each with a kit of tourist literature attached) via Greyhound bus to other Governors. Isidore Cohen, who owns the U.S.'s largest chain of greeting card stores, says happily: "We've got greetings now from one cat to another, from dog to dog, and greetings for the garbage man and the babysitter. The sky's the limit."

There are fewer Christmas records around than cards. As it has been ever since the dawn of Muzak, Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer remains one of the season's biggest noisemakers--along with White Christmas, which is now being sung by choirs with straight faces. But this year some of the worst singers in Christendom have made Christmas records, and compared with them, the old atrocities sound almost High Church. Santa Clans Is Coming to Town, by the Four Seasons, who are awful in any season, is currently the nation's bestselling Christmas record. Right behind it is Monster's Holiday, by Bobby Pickett and the Crypt Kickers, a screeching parody of The Night Before Christmas, in which Santa Claus pulls razors from his sack. For those who consider this too macabre, there is Merry Twist-mas, by the Marcels.

As always, a few gems turned up amid the commercial avalanche. Noel, sung by the Choir of Men and Boys of Manhattan's St. Thomas' Church (Mirrosonic), is a magnificent demonstration that carols are best when sung without pretense or tricky arrangement. Another is the New York Pro Musica's album of Medieval English Carols and Italian Dances (Decca); it is in such songs as the 400-year-old 'Nowel Singe We, Bothe Al and Som that the spirit of Christmas is best perceived and preserved.

The spirit was preserved, too, in muc of the last-minute riot and ritual. Across the country, shopping lists were being compiled and presents assigned with furious abandon (September's determination to find just the right beaded bag Minnie-Louise gave way to mid-December's impulse to settle for the first handkerchief displayed on the first counter passed). Old friends were elbowed aside in favor of a moment from the salesgirl, debutantes came out and went back in again and tuxedos were hauled out from attics and demothed. Christmas everywhere was clearly just around the corner, no matter where the corner was.

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