Wall Street Journal: “Confessions of a One-Season Santa Claus”

< from Thursday's Wall Street Journal editorial page

Confessions of a One-Season Santa

by James Bovard

When I asked one girl what she wanted for Christmas, she gritted her teeth: ‘I want you to leave.’

In the fall of 1977, I moved to Boston seeking literary triumphs and intellectual stimulation. As a 21-year-old college dropout from the mountains of Virginia who had just sold his first article, I assumed I could easily rack up more sales in the big city. But my submissions struck out everywhere, and the financial wolves were soon howling at my door. After seeking refuge in the Boston Globe’s Help Wanted ads, I found myself front and center at a Santa Claus prep session run by the Western Temporary Services.

After completing the 28-minute training program, I was dispatched to a Filene’s department store in the distant south suburbs where I met the Boss Lady from Hell. She looked me over, grimaced, snorted and growled: “I hope you’re not like those Santas that damn temp agency sent last year.”

“Why? What’d they do?” I asked.

“The first one was a drunk who would sneak into the bathroom and hit his flask and then drool on kids while slurring the names of his reindeer. The second pranced around like he was Peter Pan. The third was the worst—he seemed perfectly normal till he dropped trousers with a hundred kids watching.”

I made a note to double check the belt on the Santa outfit.

Boss Lady greeted me every day with the traditional Boston “Howahya? . . . LISTEN!!! I don’t like the way your hair looks under the wig! And I thought I told you to shave that red beard. And don’t be snacking while you’re on the job. Now, get out there and look jolly.”

I worked as a restaurant Santa, circling the dining room and visiting families as they munched their mediocre cuisine. After getting kids to recite their Christmas gift wish list, I handed them a little bag of goodies. It was holy writ to never promise that a child would receive a specific gift, else Filene’s would suffer the parents’ undying wrath.

This was my first and only experience being a minor deity. As I approached, some kids would jump up and down in their seats, and if there were two or more children at the same table they often had shouting contests.

But not all the children treasured their visit with Santa.

I walked up to one agitated 4-year old, blond-haired girl hunkered down in her chair and clutching the arm rests like a life raft. When I leaned over and asked what she wanted for Christmas, she gritted her teeth: “I want you to leave.”

One evening, I saw a dark-eyed, dark-haired, 7-year-old boy standing in the entrance staring at me like he’d seen a ghost. I stopped and gave him the biggest grin of the night. “Santa, you have a weird laugh,” he sputtered as he clung to his mother’s skirt.

The boy had a point. My laugh has always been rambunctious and it became rowdier when I occasionally slammed down a beer or two before commencing Claus work. It wasn’t my fault that the happy hour at the nearby pub commenced just before my shift started. The same laugh that spooked some young Bostonians got me ejected almost 20 years later from the Supreme Court press box.

Toward the end of my final night on the job, the high-strung assistant restaurant manager—who had almost fired me the previous night after she caught me poaching a piece of apple pie—signaled to follow her to the soda fountain section of the restaurant, far from the prevailing hubbub, for a special guest. As I readied the jollity, Boss Lady Jr. tapped me on the shoulder: “The little girl is blind.”

There sat two of the most tranquil people I had seen the entire holiday season. The mother was resting her left hand lightly on her daughter’s shoulder. The little girl looked to be 6 or 7 years old, with light brown hair and a gentle smile that bloomed across her face when her mom announced, “And here comes Santa Claus.”

I encouraged the girl to touch the fake Santa beard. Unlike some kids, she did not attempt to yank it off as if she were capturing the enemy’s flag.

I have forgotten what she requested for Christmas, but it was reasonable. She didn’t ask for a pony and a French au pair and every Barbie doll and accessory produced since 1957.

Speaking softly, I described some of the Christmas decorations in the restaurant. She seemed to enjoy my comments, so I rattled on about the meaning of Christmas. I had seen a lot of warmth between parents and children that season, but the bond between this mother and daughter was more precious than any other. There was such a radiance from her mother’s love, I knew that girl would have a wonderful Christmas.

Visiting with that mother and daughter rejuvenated my holiday spirit in a way that a bowl of spiked egg nog never could. In later decades, when the Christmas season sometimes seemed burdensome or hollow, thinking back on that pair has helped put a sparkle back in my eyes. And I count my blessings that I no longer have to don a garish suit, false whiskers and a stuffed pillow to rake in $3.50 an hour frightening children with my laugh.

Mr. Bovard, the author of “Attention Deficit Democracy” (Palgrave, 2006), is working on a memoir.


12 Responses to Wall Street Journal: “Confessions of a One-Season Santa Claus”

  1. Harpfool December 22, 2011 at 11:46 am #

    Lovely story, thanks for sharing it.

  2. Sunni December 22, 2011 at 12:16 pm #

    What a wonderful experience. Things like that tend to snap one’s perspective into clearer focus.

    I hope you have a lovely Christmas this year, and may you successfully avoid rendition to Turkey in 2012.

  3. Jim December 22, 2011 at 1:27 pm #

    Thanks, Sunni!

    If I get renditioned, I hope at least the destination is someplace with better beer than Turkey.

    I hope you and your “smurfs” have a gerat Christmas!

  4. The Infamous Oregon Lawhobbit December 23, 2011 at 1:14 pm #

    It’s Christmas, Jim, that means you rendition turkey to you, rather than the vice versa….. 😀

  5. Jim December 23, 2011 at 2:01 pm #

    Funny! Maybe I’ll compromise and rendition myself to a beer store.

  6. Tom Blanton December 23, 2011 at 3:08 pm #

    Just think, Jim, if you had stuck with the Santa thing, you could be scaring kids for around 8-10 bucks an hour now.

    I think I’ll go watch that heart-warming Christmas classic “Bad Santa”.

  7. Jim December 23, 2011 at 4:50 pm #

    Heck, I wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of pay raise.

  8. Jim December 23, 2011 at 10:19 pm #

    Tom, as far as holiday movies goes, “Ernest Saves Christmas” might go better with beer than “Bad Santa” (which I admit – I haven’t seen).

  9. W Baker December 24, 2011 at 11:32 am #

    Jim, great story.

    Here’s to a peaceful Christmas and New Year. Hope you get to enjoy it without the moderation expected at other times of the year!

    I, personally, am hoping the gods in D. C. will rendition me to Belgium, or secondly to Germany, but I could put up with English imprisonment. Only, of course, if there’s copious access to some nectar of the gods.

    All the best.

  10. Jim December 24, 2011 at 2:02 pm #

    Thanks, Wes.

    I will follow your avoid and strive doubly hard to avoid the pratfalls of moderation this season.

    Being renditioned to England would be okay as long as the food came from the Continent.

    And the ultimate holiday pipedream – wouldn’t it be great if we could rendition all the politicians to where they deserve to go???

  11. Tory II December 27, 2011 at 6:38 am #

    Where’s the blog on the dirty racist Ron Paul ?
    Most poor people are not Black, but neither are most people Black. Duh. That’s why most poor people are white (because most people are white). Are (WERE) a higher proportion of Blacks on welfare ? YES ? That’s why Ron Paul wrote comments on Blacks (or most welfare recipients, which happen to be Black).

    Paul has always opposed govt welfare. Ron Paul’s enemies want everyone to think he hates Jews and non-whites. But Ron Paul hates big govt, excessive taxation, and excessive regulation. When people complain about Ron Paul’s values, they are complaining about former Presidents James Madison and Thomas Jeffersion. Amerika has become a police state, a nation of communo-fascists.

    I welcome the attacks on Paul. Those attacks will generate the needed attention on James Madison and Thomas Jefferson’s values.

  12. Tory II December 27, 2011 at 6:42 am #

    Oh I forgot; what makes you people think you’ll be lucky enough to receive rendition rather than be disappeared by drone fired missile ? You are Americans, are you not ? Rendition is for foreigners, death-by-drone missile is for Americans.