Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) Read online

  Being Santa Claus

  Being Santa Claus

  WHAT I LEARNED ABOUT

  THE TRUE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS

  SAL LIZARD

  with Jonathan Lane

  GOTHAM BOOKS

  GOTHAM BOOKS

  Published by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.); Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England; Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd); Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd); Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi–110 017, India; Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd); Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Published by Gotham Books, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First printing, November 2012

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © 2012 by Sal Lizard and Jonathan Lane

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Gotham Books and the skyscraper logo are trademarks of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Lizard, Sal.

  Being Santa Claus : what I learned about the true meaning of Christmas/Sal Lizard with Jonathan Lane.

  p. cm.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-60052-8

  1. Santa Claus. I. Lane, Jonathan. II. Title.

  GT4992.L59 2012

  394.2663—dc23

  2012014420

  Printed in the United States of America

  Set in Old Style 7 Std Roman

  Designed by Nicola Ferguson

  While the author has made every effort to provide accurate telephone numbers, Internet addresses, and other contact information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Penguin is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity.

  In that spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers;

  however, the story, the experiences, and the words

  are the author’s alone.

  ALWAYS LEARNING PEARSON

  For Ashley, Jayden,

  and everyone else out there

  who believes in the magic

  and wonder of Santa Claus

  CONTENTS

  Introduction,

  ONE

  The Mysterious Power of the Red Suit,

  TWO

  Santa Sal Saves Christmas,

  THREE

  Santa on the Spot,

  FOUR

  Do You Believe?,

  FIVE

  Even the Smallest Child Can Make a Difference,

  SIX

  “Santa, Can I Come Back as an Elf?,”

  SEVEN

  What Would Santa Do?,

  EIGHT

  Santa’s Giggles, Gear, and Gadgets,

  NINE

  The Myth of the “Perfect Christmas,”

  TEN

  The Reason for the Season,

  ELEVEN

  The Spinach Cookie Story,

  TWELVE

  Papá Noel the Taxi Driver,

  THIRTEEN

  Make a Wish,

  FOURTEEN

  He Knows If You’ve Been Bad or Good,

  FIFTEEN

  Won’t You Guide My Sleigh Tonight?,

  SIXTEEN

  A Santa for All Ages,

  INTRODUCTION

  I TAKE BEING SANTA CLAUS VERY SERIOUSLY.

  It doesn’t matter what the calendar says; no matter where I am or what I’m doing, when children come up to me and greet me as Santa, as they often do, I immediately slip into character. I might say I noticed them being good, and (with their parents’ permission) offer them a candy cane. My pockets are stocked with a stash of candy canes year-round because I never know when I’ll run into a flash of Christmas cheer.

  Even my car, affectionately known as the Santamobile, embraces the iconic role I’ve come to play. My bright red Chevy station wagon has the word Santa painted in big letters on both sides. The license plate, which also reads SANTA, has a lighted neon frame, and a bobblehead Santa Claus sits atop the dashboard, underneath a sprig of mistletoe hanging from my rearview mirror.

  Folks who see me driving around or handing out free candy canes in spring or summertime say, “Man, you must really love Christmas!”

  “Not just Christmas,” I tell them. “I love the spirit of Christmas.”

  I don’t think of Christmas as simply a single day during the year. For me, Christmas happens anytime someone reaches out to another with love; when someone gives just for the sake of helping another fellow human being; when a child’s eyes light up with the wonder of believing in miracles.

  I learned at a very young age about the spirit of giving, and that one could do so on days other than Christmas. I was raised in a poor area of Indianapolis during the late fifties by a single mother who worked tirelessly to provide food, clothing, and a roof for me and my brother. Meals in our home typically consisted of boiled vegetable and potato stews without any meat. But once or twice a month, a kind neighbor would go hunting or fishing and stop by on his way home with some extra rabbit or fish to give my mother, usually long after my brother and I were asleep. Our neighbors knew of our hardship, and while they didn’t have much to give, they wanted to provide a little protein for the growing boys. The next morning, my brother and I would awaken to a house filled with the delicious scent of cooking meat—a rare and welcome treat for us.

  I didn’t specifically gravitate to Christmas as a holiday as a child or as a young adult, even though I began to resemble jolly old Saint Nick at a surprisingly early age. As I entered my twenties in the mid-1970s, my hair and beard began turning white. By the time I left the U.S. Navy at the age of twenty-six and entered my long-haired, unshaven hippie years, I looked essentially as I do now—just like Santa Claus.

  Even though people would often smile as I passed by, and children would tug on their parents’ arms in wide-eyed curiosity as I walked down the street (“That beard…that hair…is he really Santa?”), being Santa Claus couldn’t have been further from my mind. And so my younger years passed with little Christmas influence. Indeed, I had reached well into my mid-thirties before Santa entered my life in any meaningful way.

  The beginnings of my life as Santa were simple enough. In 1992, I was living in Charleston, South Carolina, running my own safety inspection business. Early that December, I was asked by my friend Michael D., a DJ at our local radio station, to play Santa Claus during their annual toy drive. All I had to do was dress up as Santa and drive around Charleston delivering toys to children, may
be giving an occasional “Ho, ho, ho!” No big deal, right? But something happened to me that day when I put on that outfit for the first time. I experienced firsthand the mysterious power of the red suit to bring out the best in people. People of all ages just seem to become more generous, openhearted, and happy—even giddy—the instant they encounter Santa. He represents everything that is magical and wonderful about humanity, and I found myself slightly awed by personifying his spirit, even in costume.

  A few weeks later, when I had to put on the suit again and save Christmas for the folks of Charleston because of a well-meaning DJ’s radio prank gone awry (I’ll tell you more about that story later), I knew that playing Santa was more than just a passing fancy for me. I’d enjoyed acting as a hobby and pastime for most of my life, and I realized I wanted to use that passion for spreading yuletide cheer—and maybe even delivering a few Christmas miracles here and there. My holiday rescue that day led to home visits as Santa the following year, and, as I’ll share with you in the pages to come, my life as a professional Santa Claus was under way.

  My grandfather once said to me, “Sal, if your preoccupation and your occupation are the same thing, you’re a blessed person.” And he’s right: I am truly blessed. For the past twenty years, I’ve had the best vantage point imaginable from which to observe the enchantment of Christmas: behind a white beard and jolly smile. I’ve listened to thousands of excited children breathlessly whisper their innermost wishes into my ear, and I’ve channeled Santa’s big-hearted kindness to soothe the fears of thousands more who cried (or kicked, or screamed, or, yes, peed on my lap) when they encountered the big guy himself up close. I’ve met grandmothers whose eyes filled with tears remembering the special doll Santa Claus surprised them with many years ago and eleven-year-old skeptics who discovered new reasons to believe. I’ve stood by the bedside of a dying child whose last wish was to become one of Santa’s elves and seen Santa’s compassion for a troubled soul renew her sense of hope. Again and again, I’ve witnessed firsthand the presence of Santa Claus delivering solace, joy, and peace.

  Somewhere along the way, not only did I learn to play Santa, but I also learned how to be Santa. Sure, I may look like him (and I’ll admit I’m quite proud to be a naturally bearded Santa Claus—no glue-on white beard for me!), but it goes way beyond just the physical resemblance. I’ve come to understand and—I hope—embody the spirit of all that Santa Claus represents. Santa believes that even the smallest child can make a difference, and he treats every one of them with love, dignity, and respect. He takes all of their questions seriously (even if they’re asking about reindeer poop). He always shows up when he promises, even if he has to steer through a blizzard to get there. He has ultimate faith in our capacity for redemption, no matter how naughty we’ve been. Through his legend of stealth generosity, he teaches us that if you look for a way to bring wonder to others, you’ll find it. In my everyday life, I often ask myself, What would Santa do? And I find that the spirit of the big guy himself always leads me to the right answer.

  And now I’m here to share with you my stories, in the hope that they inspire that twinkling spark of Santa in all of us. I know the holidays can feel like a chaotic jumble of shopping and pressure to make everything perfect. But beyond the tinsel and glitter, and even beyond the whimsical legends of flying sleighs and midnight chimney capers, there lies something far more precious. As Santa, I’ve had a front-row seat to miraculous moments, selfless acts of giving, and beautiful expressions of love. My Christmas wish is for my stories to enable you to recapture the magic and wonder of what the holiday season is truly all about.

  ONE

  The Mysterious Power of the Red Suit

  IDIDN’T SET OUT TO BECOME SANTA CLAUS. i suppose there was just something about my white hair and long snowy beard that naturally landed me in the world’s most iconic red velvet suit.

  It all began when I was thirty-six years old, not long after I’d settled in the charming city of Charleston, South Carolina. My wonderful new wife, Linda, her adorable daughter, Ashley, and I moved in together and set out to make a life for ourselves. Even back then, children would look at me curiously everywhere I went. I’d been asked the question enough times to know they were wondering if I was, in fact, the big guy right there in the flesh. I always smiled back at them kindly, but didn’t really give the whole Santa mystique much thought.

  At the time, I was happily building not one but two small businesses: one as a freelance safety inspector and the other as an Internet communications developer, which required a rather extensive array of equipment. At the end of our driveway, I had a special switchbox the size of a refrigerator with hundreds of telephone wires running in and out of it. Four satellite dishes of various sizes (the largest one fifteen feet in diameter!) sat in our backyard, and to top it off, an FM radio antenna jutted up from our roof.

  My safety consultant business kept me busy during the daytime, and I dedicated most of my evenings to soldering together specialized computer hardware. My weekends were spent in the garage with the door open to the street for ventilation while I cut, sanded, and nailed wood together to make shelves for all the electronic equipment I’d built. Neighborhood children playing outside would watch this white-bearded, slightly rotund man doing all kinds of mysterious things. Happily absorbed in my tinkering and building, I didn’t know the theories they were cooking up…until I learned from a giggling neighbor that the children believed beyond a doubt that Santa Claus had moved in down the street.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. Naturally, Santa would need to take phone calls from children all over the world, which explained the complex maze of phone lines. And of course, it’s tough to know who’s been naughty or nice without some major high-tech monitoring equipment. Wood and supplies were piled everywhere for building toys. Plus, the radio antenna had to be for communicating with the elves up at the North Pole, didn’t it? Ah, the imagination of children!

  My metamorphosis into a real live Santa inched forward later that year when, in a random stroke of luck, I won a pair of diamond earrings in a local radio contest. One of the DJs, a friendly fellow named Michael D., instructed me to swing by the radio station to pick up my prize. We got to chatting and, upon learning that I was a local businessman, Michael asked me to be on his sponsored team for a charity event called the Charleston Winter Olympics.

  “Umm,” I said, not wanting to be rude but quite confused, “do they know it doesn’t snow in South Carolina?”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” he said confidently. “We make our own snow…a whole mountain of it. It’s a really fun event, and I still need a few more people for my team, so we’d love to have you come along.”

  It was for a good cause, so I said, “Sure, count me in.”

  A few weeks later, I arrived at the site of the Charleston Winter Olympics, and sure enough, they had transformed a balmy southern November day into an elaborate mock winter wonderland. The “sled race” consisted of zooming down a mountain of sand covered by slick wet carpets (which was surprisingly close in slipperiness to wet snow). All the teams had to wear signature hats, and Michael had chosen red Santa hats for his team members. So there I was, zooming down the hill on an old-fashioned wooden sleigh, red hat a-flying in the wind. (You might see where this is heading…) After my sled race was done, I walked past a young boy who, upon seeing me in my hat, Bermuda shorts, and Hawaiian shirt, pointed at me and said, “Look, Mom! Santa is on vacation!”

  As the sun started to set, Michael took me aside. “So, Sal, did you have a good time?” he asked.

  “Sure did,” I replied enthusiastically. “It’s a great event.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder. “I always like it when we can do something for the community. Charity events are really important.”

  “I agree,” I said, and I meant it. “I’m glad I could help out.”

  “That’s great to hear,” Michael nodded, and I could see the twinkle of an idea glimmering in his eye. “Could you
come by the radio station next week? I have a surprise for you that I think you’re going to love.” By this point, he was grinning from ear to ear and bouncing like a big, excited kid with a secret. How could I possibly say no to that?

  A week later, I was back at the radio station with a very cheery Michael D. leading me to a storage closet. “Now, Sal, I don’t want to pressure you,” he said. “You’re free to say no. But we got this especially for you.” Michael opened the closet doors, and hanging there, amid the usual storage closet clutter, was a bright red velvet suit with white fringe.

  All I could do was laugh. “Mike, that isn’t what I think it is…”

  “Oh, yes it is,” he said, once again grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “The day I first met you, I knew we’d be doing this!”

  “Doing what?” I asked.

  “Well, every year our radio station runs a toy drive in December. Toys get donated to us, and others we buy with money that people give us. Then, a couple of weeks before Christmas, we drive around Charleston and hand out the toys to underprivileged children in the area. In past years, we just had volunteers drive over and hand out the gifts. But when I saw you walk into the station with your white hair and beard I thought, ‘This year, we could actually have Santa Claus deliver the presents!’ And then when I saw you last weekend wearing that red hat, I knew we needed to go out first thing Monday morning and get this suit for you.”

  “Well, Mike, I don’t know…” I felt a little awkward. I didn’t want to say no, but I’d never given out presents to kids while I was dressed as Santa before. “I’m not sure how it would work,” I admitted, “or that I’d know what to say to the kids.”

  “Oh, that part’s easy,” he said, laughing. “We’ll have everything set up for you. We have a red van that we’ll fill up with toys. Half are wrapped in blue paper for the boys, and the others are in pink for the girls. We’ll give you the address to take them to, you drive there, and people will be waiting outside with the kids. You’ll get out and just hand out the presents. You don’t have to say anything at all except maybe ‘Ho, ho, ho!’”