Every Christmas, I remember my own, albeit somewhat insignificant, Christmas Miracle – but for me, it was extraordinary.  I usually see myself standing in my dorm room getting dressed.  The wind was brisk that night, and I was ready very early for the annual college Snow Ball – our Christmas Dance (now called the Winter Pre-Break Semi-Holiday activity for all persuasions)  at Glassboro State College (now named Rowan U). This was my first big dance, and I was "dressed to the nines," whatever that means – I heard it in a Fred Astaire movie.  And my date and I had coordinated our outfits! 
I was the only person in my dorm who didn't have to rent a tux jacket.  As a former kid magician, I had several formal outfits, and tonight I chose a dark maroon tux jacket with a matching cummerbund.  And, keeping with the season, I buttoned my formal shirt with genuine ruby studs and matching cufflinks borrowed from my Dad. Nancy, my date, was going to match me in a maroon velvet dress she bought especially for the occasion.   I was very excited getting ready to go.
    The dance was in our cavernous college gym, and all of our dances were seasoned with the familiar aroma of sweat socks mixed with industrial-grade floor wax.  The Social Activities Committee had hired a band that motored down in three stretch limos from New York City.  When they first started playing it, it woke us up with some Rock Around the Christmas Tree…and so we did, sort of; I was an embarrassingly bad dancer.  After the first long set, the band took a break, and we had a special entertainment provided by the Student Affairs office -  a comedian who we had never heard of - Richard Pryor?  (There was no Googling on phones in the '60s, so we had no idea what to expect)
    He bounded onto the stage and began his shocking material about growing up on the mean streets of Brooklyn. After several minutes of the rapid monologue about drunk uncles, homeless people, and drug dealers, which got only a few nervous laughs.  Mr. Pryor stopped mid-sentence, took a check from his pocket, tore it into pieces, and said, "Folks, thanks, but no thanks - you guys have no idea what I am talking about – have a great holiday," and walked off the small stage.  This produced a full 30 seconds of stunned silence.  Nancy and I went to the lobby for a Coke and then returned to the festive music makers, where we danced the night away to romantic Christmas songs. (Years later, I would see Pryor on network TV and realize how insulated we all were from the real world at that time in our lives, specifically in South Jersey.) When I returned to the dorm after some fierce necking on the walk back, to my chagrin, I discovered that I had lost one of the genuine ruby studs which I had promised to guard with my life, as the set was a treasured memento of his year as a Masonic Worshipful Master.  
    Early the next morning, I called Nancy at her dorm, and we met for breakfast at the cafeteria. Then, we retraced our steps from the previous evening; however, I thought that finding a tiny ruby under a thin layer of fresh snow was almost impossible.  But Nancy urged me to at least give it a try.  First, we searched the dance floor of the gym.  We asked a building custodian if he had found anything, but he said only a pair of reading glasses, a white glove, and two ladies' compacts.  I was distraught - this mini-disaster was sucking the joy out of my first romantic weekend of college life. Nancy, an optimist majoring in elementary education, consoled me, "Maybe it will turn up…maybe someone found it and will turn it in on Monday…maybe?"  I was sure this wouldn't be the case and was not consoled by it.  We left the building, and I started to think about how I would tell my Dad the lousy news.  As we walked to the parking lot on a muddy path that hundreds had trodden the night before, with our heads bowed in thought, I caught a faint red glint in the mud, yards from the doorway.  "Nance, look!"  Embedded in the wet dirt, half-buried was Dad's ruby catching the sunlight – it had been trampled on by several hundred guys and girls…but there it was, found at last...I never told Dad or Mom about my Christmas Miracle until years later, when he gave me the ruby studs, hoping that I would pass them on to my son someday...which I did.