“I’ve switched on the first Christmas light in this factory 55 years in a row. This year nobody clapped.” — Why a 74-year-old Christmas-light maker from Reading, Pennsylvania, is selling his last glowing penguins and polar bears at a special price, before the factory goes dark forever on December 31.

On a gray afternoon in October, Clifford Saxby carried a penguin on a sleigh to the loading dock of his factory. He set it down under an old brass switch on the brick wall. He plugged it in. Then he flipped the switch, and the penguin lit up from the inside.

For 55 years, that moment meant Christmas had started. The whole crew used to stand around and clap. This year, there were only two people there: Clifford and his foreman, Dale.

“Nobody clapped. We just stood there and watched it glow until it got dark outside.”

Clifford is 74. He runs Saxby Display Co., a small factory in Reading, Pennsylvania, that has built lighted Christmas figures since 1958. On December 31, it closes for good.

A coat hanger, five bulbs and a corner of an old mill

It started with Clifford’s father, Emil. In 1958, Emil bent a wire coat hanger into the shape of a reindeer and wrapped five Christmas bulbs around it. He put it in the window of the old hosiery mill on the east side of Reading, where he rented a corner.

People stopped on the sidewalk to look at it. A week later, a department store downtown ordered twenty.

Soon the big stores downtown had Saxby figures in their windows every December. Town squares across Berks County lit up with Saxby reindeer and snowmen. Clifford started at the wire table in 1971. He was 19.

“My father built the first one with a coat hanger. I’ve built close to 40,000 since. I still remember the first one.”

Inside the brick hall where Reading’s Christmas began

The factory is one long red-brick hall from 1923, with tall windows and a wooden floor. Bent steel frames hang from hooks on the ceiling, waiting to become penguins. It smells of warm steel and the space heater in the corner. A radio plays Christmas songs all season long.

Clifford pulls a white cover over a polar bear frame and tugs it tight. He doesn’t look up when he talks.

“If it wrinkles here, you’ll see it from the street. People don’t know why. They just know it looks cheap.”

Each figure takes about four hours: bending the frame, threading the lights, stretching the cover, tying on the scarf. Then it goes to the brass switch for one last check.

A penguin and a polar bear on a sleigh

Over the years, Saxby made everything from reindeer to angels. For this last season, Clifford kept only two: the penguin with red earmuffs and a red scarf, about two feet tall, and the polar bear looking up at the sky, almost three feet tall. Both sit on a sleigh with glowing runners.

“Kids always went for those two,” he says. “Every single year.”

What 55 Christmases taught him about a figure in the snow

Clifford doesn’t talk about his figures like a salesman. He talks about them like a man who has stood in a lot of cold front yards.

• “The Rust-Lock Frame”: Inside every figure is a steel frame that is protected against rust. Ground stakes hold it in place, even in the wind. “Snow sits on it all January. Come spring, it’s still straight.”
• “The Weather-Weave Skin”: A weatherproof cover is pulled tight over the frame, so the light glows from inside instead of shining out in little dots. “That’s why it looks lit from within. Because it is.”
• “The Cool-Glow Wiring”: Warm white LED lights, 104 of them in the polar bear. They stay cool to the touch and use very little power. “My grandkids hug these things. The lights don’t get warm. I made sure.”
• “The Three-Step Build”: Arms and legs on, figure on the sleigh, plug it in. After New Year’s it comes apart and fits flat in a closet. “My father built them to last thirty Christmases. You have to be able to put them away for thirty Januaries, too.”

The brass switch his father screwed to the wall

Emil put that brass switch on the wall in 1958. Every fall, the first finished figure of the season was plugged in there, in front of everybody. Coffee in paper cups. Somebody’s kids sitting on the packing tables.

Clifford was there for every single one of them. First as a boy, then as a worker, then as the boss.

“My father said a figure isn’t done until somebody smiles at it. That switch is where we found out.”

The tiny connectors he can no longer see

What Clifford will miss most is the early morning in the hall. Turning on the radio. The first cup of coffee at the wire table before anybody else comes in.

Two years ago, his eye doctor told him he has macular degeneration in both eyes. It won’t get better. Clifford can still bend a frame by feel. But he can’t see the tiny light connectors anymore. And he has never let a figure leave the factory that he didn’t check himself.

“I checked every light my father ever wired. Now my eyes can’t check my own. That’s how I knew.”

His son is a nurse in Pittsburgh. Nobody is taking over. The building is sold. On the shelves are the last 64 penguins and polar bears from this final season. When they are gone, Saxby Display Co. is gone.

Why he hung up on the liquidator

A liquidator from New Jersey called in September. He wanted every last figure, by the pallet, for one check. Clifford said no.

“They’d end up in a warehouse. I want them in front yards.”

He is selling the last ones for barely more than the steel and the lights cost him. Everybody tells him he could ask more. He won’t. What he wants is simple: that this December, somewhere, a car slows down because a kid in the back seat saw a glowing penguin in a front yard.

“That’s what my father was building,” Clifford says. “Not penguins. That moment in the car.”

Clifford doesn’t use a computer. His granddaughter Kendra took a photo of the last penguin under the brass switch and posted it. A small online shop called Backroad Goods, which works with family workshops, saw it and called the factory. Clifford hung up the first time. “I thought she was selling something.” Kendra called back for him. Every order still ships from the brick hall in Reading.

What families say about Clifford’s penguins and polar bears

• ★★★★★

  “Our granddaughter calls it ‘the penguin house’ now. It glows so soft and even, not spotty like the ones from the big stores. It stood through two snowstorms without leaning.”

  Sharon M., Lancaster, PA
• ★★★★★

  “Put the polar bear together in about ten minutes at the kitchen table. My husband was impressed, and that takes a lot. It looks wonderful on the porch.”

  Deborah K., Columbus, OH
• ★★★★★

  “I grew up near Reading and remember the reindeer on the town square. When I read this story I ordered one right away. It came very well packed.”

  Gary F., Wilmington, DE

Three questions people ask before ordering

Where can I buy one of Clifford’s figures?

Only through this page. Clifford’s penguins and polar bears are not sold on Amazon, Temu or in any store.

How long will they be available?

Only while supplies last. The factory closes on December 31, and there are 64 figures left from the final season. Once they are gone, there will never be another one.

What if it’s not right for me?

You have 30 days to try it at home. If you are not happy, just send a short email and you will get your money back. No questions, no hassle.

More from people who lit one up this year

• ★★★★★

  “The grandkids hugged the penguin the minute it was plugged in. I was worried about the lights getting hot, but they stay cool. That was the reason I chose it.”

  Nancy R., Harrisburg, PA
• ★★★★★

  “Bought the penguin, then went back for the polar bear. The two of them together on the lawn look like a Christmas card. Neighbors keep stopping to take pictures.”

  Carol T., Syracuse, NY
• ★★★★★

  “Last year we threw out a lighted reindeer that fell apart after one winter. This one feels solid, and it packs flat for the closet. Worth it for the story alone.”

  Linda B., Akron, OH