There is no Christmas in Harvard Square. Grey, childless, overtired, our little community tries, but fails.

Escape then, to that place where the essence of Christmas is thriving noisily. Flee en masse to the joyous, crowded, festooned fifth floor of Jordan Marsh. Santa Claus himself is there.

Children line up in huge labyrinths (or sneak out when they can) to visit the two, count 'em: 2, Santas. In the interests of gathering first-hand experience, one CRIMSON reporter joined in the fun. In response to her sincere requests for a modest number of presents, a heavily made-up Santa smiled coldly.

"Make it short, now," he said. "Make it short."

Before a silent crowd of parents and children, a salesman was selling gyroscopes in a voice like Jere Whiting being the moon. "Hurry now get them right here now's the time to get it while you have the chance we only have a few thousand," he said. No one blinked.

By far the most popular toy in this store, as well, as at toystores in Cambridge, is a two-and a-half-foot item called Big Bruiser. Jordan Marsh had sold more than 100 in the last hour; seven were on the checkout counter at any particular moment. Big Bruiser is a battery-powered wrecker truck. It wrecks things.

One out of two children questioned would like a Big Bruiser for Christmas. The other one ran away.

Also popular, say the salesladies, is King Zor, a yard-long dinosaur who "Turns Toward Attackers! Hurls Missiles When Hit! and Roars Out Loud!"

But if these toys fail to please, nationwide big sellers also include Douglas Army A-24 Attack Bomber, 155M Long Tom Field Cannon, Cape Canaveral Play Set, 5' long Basooka Rocket Gun, Electronic Rifle Range with Motorized Moving Target, Sonar Subhunt with a radar screen so you can "search out and destroy your enemy," and Astroscope, that "Sends Up Satellites" (only for children over 7).

Dolls may also be bought. They drink, cry, wet, move their hands around, and talk. It is reported that there is a mechanical man for sale "who can lift up Daddy."

One descends from this world of youth and joy through the deathly quiet of the linen floors. But soon the street is reached, where Christmas breaks through again and Filene's happy row of six-foot candy canes is aimed squarely at Jordan Marsh's row of trees. But like the cannons aimed at the manger in the Cambridge Common, it is all meant in good fun.

"Merry Christmas!" say the neon statues on the Boston Common, the vigilant policemen in every toy department, the subliminal TV advertisments for Big Bruiser. Merry Christmas, every one