W. C. Fields, who died on Christmas Day 1946 a humbugger to the end, would find what John Bolton does eight times per week at Madison Square Garden absolute torture.
Not only does Mr. Bolton have to work with kids and animals, it’s a whole posse of kids—one of whom craves a retina-wrecking BB gun for Christmas and another who, on a triple-dog-dare, gets his tongue stuck to a frozen flagpole. Then, there are the mangy bloodhounds that make off with the Christmas turkey. Yes, it’s that time of the year. Read More