Joy to the World
The little faces come first—like the 66 mustachioed men collectively staring ear-to-ear from one drawer, each with a unique glint in their black eyes. Next come the bodies—hundreds of miniature forms, each revealing a different, and rather forgiving, figure (a small sign on a shelf reads “Tall Fat Women”). Finally, reams of cloth are transformed into tiny jackets, bonnets, slacks, and skirts. Under the high ceilings of the factory floor, a diminutive community is born. At the end of the line, the finished products gather—an army of handcrafted dolls, waiting in the vast shipping room, ready to be sent across the country and around the world. More than four decades ago, Joyce Byers made a small trio of carolers to bring a little warmth and personality to her holiday dining table, and what started that Christmas season is now an international business. “It’s all an accident,” said Byers, the creative force behind Byers’ Choice, the local company that makes distinctive, decorative dolls for the holidays. “No one’s more amazed than we are.”
It all started because of some tacky, silver Christmas trees—well, sort of. The year was 1966, and Byers, a stay-at-home mother of two young boys, was feeling disenchanted by the glittery, garish holiday decorations she saw at stores. She hoped for something a little less glitzy and a little more heartwarming. One day, she was in an antique store when she saw a set of musician figurines with ceramic faces, fabric clothing, and endearing expressions. They were too expensive, she remembered, but they got her thinking. After all, she had a degree in design. She was crafty. “I thought, ‘I can make those,’” recalled Byers. “Necessity leads to invention, right?”
So Byers handcrafted three dolls, making hers into Christmas carolers, with their mouths formed into tiny “o” shapes, as if about to burst into a harmonic “Deck the Halls.” The figures graced her holiday dining room table that year, and they quickly attracted compliments. The next year, Byers knew what to make her family as Christmas gifts. A friend suggested that Byers try selling her dolls and pointed her to a Women’s Exchange, a consortium of shops. “I thought I’d give it a try,” said Byers. “I gave them a dozen. Within a day, they said [to] bring another dozen. After a few weeks, I didn’t have any presents left to give to my family. I just kept selling them.”
Byers sold the carolers at the Women’s Exchange for ten years, handcrafting each one herself. The dolls, which are still made the very same way, start with an unexpected item: a wire hanger. Cut and twisted, the hanger becomes the frame of the body, which is plumped up with tissue paper and tape. The faces are all ceramic—molded and hand-painted. The clothing is assembled with fabric, lace, pins, and glue. In the beginning, Byers scrounged what she could—stealing a bit of ribbon from an old pillow, some fabric from a scarf. “With the first ones, I was chopping hair—including my kids and my dog’s tail—if I needed a little something,” laughed Byers. Her home became a studio—and in some ways, a disaster area—covered in heads, bodies, scraps of fabric, and tiny songbooks. She enlisted the help of her husband and two young boys.
“I remember folding tissue paper,” recalled her son, Bob Byers, of the jobs he and his little brother were allowed to do. “Jeff did arms; I did legs.”
Byers never expected success. “In the first ten years, I kept trying to give the business to one of my friends,” she admitted. “Every year I kept saying, ‘I’ll never do this again.’ The house was a total wreck.”
Byers and her husband still had day jobs. They worked on renovating and selling buildings, but the economy was tight and real estate was suffering, according to Byers. They decided it was time to give the carolers a real chance. In 1978, they hired two sales representatives. Soon, they needed to hire artists. Before long, they outgrew their doll-making studio (otherwise known as their garage) and rented a small property. “Then we outgrew that and moved to another place,” said Byers. “Then we outgrew that and moved to another. We kept moving and kept growing.”
In 1994, Byers’ Choice moved to their current location—a sprawling complex on County Line Road in Chalfont, Pa., complete with an in-house factory floor, business offices, a store, a display museum, and about 120 full-time employees. The carolers went corporate. Byers had turned her money-saving, stay-at-home-mom hobby into a substantial business. She was Martha Stewart before there was a Martha Stewart. However, the main difference between these two women who put the “economics” in home economics is that Byers is not a power-hungry powerhouse. She calls herself simply, “a designer.” When asked about her enormous success, she shrugs. “Success? It’s something I don’t think about too much,” she said in her soft, sing-song voice. “I just keep rolling with it.”
Byers’ Choice now produces several hundred-thousand dolls each year. Each one is still handcrafted by artisans. This human touch makes each one slightly unique—in the squint of an eye, an upturn of a nose, a rosiness of a cheek. There are countless carolers, holding trumpets or baskets, wearing knit caps or bonnets, men and women, boys and girls, clad in festive plaids, and all with that classic, tiny “o” for a mouth. There are also sleigh-riders and ice skaters, firefighters and Salvation Army bell-ringers, Santas and characters from “A Christmas Carol,” musicians and baseball players. Byers and her artists create new designs every year. Some are part of a limited line, with only 100 dolls made. Yet, because they are all hand-made by artists, every doll has a distinctive face, captures the joy of the holidays, and reflects a little bit of that artist in it—hopefully a bit of the artist’s love of her work and love for the festive season. “We have to have happy people doing this,” said Byers. “If they’re grumpy, it shows in their work. It’s very personal.”
Although the company moved out of the family garage, it is still a family business. Byers’ husband worked there until his recent retirement, and her two sons are still there. Her older son, Bob, is the President, and Jeff works on design, public relations, and sales. However, when asked if he grew up planning to join the family business, Bob Byers gave a quick, “Hell, no.” After growing up in a house full of headless bodies, lace, and ribbon, the brothers never planned on a future in doll-making. “We both swore we’d never do this,” said Bob. “We graduated college and happened to have the right skills at the right time. We realized we wouldn’t get the same level of responsibility at any other firm. We ate our words and decided to join Byers’ Choice.”
After twenty-three years at the company, Bob said he’s glad he joined what he called “his mom’s hobby that got out of control.” He said he feels blessed not only to work with his family and a team of talented artisans but to work for a company that brings so much joy to so many. “For certain people, it captures something emotional for them,” he said. “I think it’s probably possible to figure it out, but if you knew, you’d probably wreck it. There’s a magic about it. It touches people’s heartstrings. It’s really special to us that people buy a figure that represents a family member they may have lost or a cherished Christmas memory. It keeps memories alive for families.”
Walking through the gift shop and museum at Byers’ Choice, an enchanting community of carolers unfolds. They are lovingly arranged around Christmas trees and gingerbread houses, revealing busy streets of Christmas shoppers, joyful snowball fights, and twirling ice skaters. Looking around, it is clear that this is more than dolls, more than holiday décor. It is nostalgia. It is innocence. It is tradition. The dolls represent a time, a place, a memory. The faces represent family, community, and joy.
“I probably have two dozen of them,” said Marge Ewing, a Newtown Square resident who visited Byers’ Choice in late October. “Each year, I choose one that reflects something special to me. The one I choose reflects where I am or a memory from the past.” Ewing said she feels an almost intimate connection to each one of her dolls. “As I put them away each year, I talk to them,” she admitted with a laugh. “They’re all looking up at me from the box. Then when I take them out again, I open the lid, and they’re all looking up at me again. I say, ‘You all get to come back!’ It’s amazing. Each one speaks to me for some reason.”
She’s not alone. The carolers do seem to have a certain kind of magic—a curious power that brought 5,000 people from forty states to Byers’ Choice for their 30th anniversary party a few years ago. Perhaps the magic comes from those charming, handcrafted faces that seem so oddly familiar. Perhaps it comes from that yearning for authenticity and meaning in the holiday season—the same yearning that prompted Byers to make her first carolers. Perhaps it comes from Byers’ own humble nature, that she never expected this all to happen, that she’s not clambering for success, that she’s just doing what she loves. Perhaps it is that love that radiates through every figurine.
At the end of October, Byers’ Choice was in full swing. Artisans were busy molding, painting, sewing, and pinning. The factory floor felt a little like Santa’s workshop. Miniature upturned faces, bright eyes, and amiable expressions made their way across the floor, passing through each department before landing in the shipping room. There, countless dolls stood shoulder to shoulder: men in woolen coats and knit caps, women in bustled dresses with lace-trimmed bonnets, boys in knickers, and girls with fluffy scarves. The carolers all waited together, eager to find their new holiday homes. You could see their black eyes glimmering with recognition, as if greeting an old friend. You could see their pink cheeks glowing and almost feel the winter’s chill. And if you were very quiet, you could almost hear them sing.
Story by Lauren Eckstein
