Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) Page 2

  I was still a little hesitant. I wanted to help, but I had two businesses to run and a family to support. “How often would you need me?” I asked.

  “I know you’re busy with your businesses, and we’ll work around your schedule,” he assured me. “Even if you get in only one or two appearances, it’ll be a really great thing to do for the kids.”

  For the kids…

  I thought of Ashley. My new stepdaughter meant the world to me, and Linda and I were looking forward to sharing a wonderful Christmas morning with her as she tore open gifts with squeals and whoops of glee. But what about all those children whose families didn’t have enough to get them even one gift? Or the ones who didn’t even have a family to begin with? I knew the kids would get the donated toys from the radio station even if I didn’t do it myself, but what a difference it would make if those children were able to receive a gift from Santa himself. With that in mind, I agreed. Unbeknownst to me, my days as Santa had officially begun.

  Step one was getting myself geared up as Santa Claus for my first appearance. I’d never seen a Santa outfit up close, but to my relief it wasn’t too complicated to figure out. First came the elastic-waist red clown pants; those were easy. Then the coat; it was a little tricky making sure my long beard didn’t get caught in the snaps! On went the belt, followed by the boot toppers, and then the iconic hat. And then, of course, the finishing touches: the white gloves and glasses. I was ready.

  I’d love to tell you that when I turned to look in the mirror, trumpets heralded and the angels started to sing. But really, all I saw was just regular Sal Lizard in a bulky Santa outfit. I didn’t think I looked all that much like Santa, but I figured it was probably close enough that I could pull it off.

  Okay, I thought. Here we go…

  IT TURNED OUT TO BE A REAL HOOT DRIVING the red van around town. On my way to the various drop-off locations, the radio station would announce over the air that Santa was driving around Charleston, and anyone who spotted him could phone in and win something. Callers had lots of fun, reporting Santa sightings on this street or that highway. People driving past me would honk and wave, and I’d cheerfully do the same in response. I didn’t expect it, but I was having a jolly old time.

  The best part, of course, was the children. They would cheer wildly when I got out of the van and started handing out presents. And their faces! I’ll remember forever those expressions of utter adoration. Each time, there was this electric moment when they first saw me—a jaw-dropping flash of awe followed by unbridled excitement. And to think I could elicit all that for a child. What a wonderful feeling!

  At first, I thought I would just stick with “Ho, ho, ho!” but after the first few days, I felt comfortable enough to start improvising just a tiny bit. I asked some of the children their names, and told them that they were sure to love the toys the elves had made for them. My years of doing theater in school were paying off, as I became increasingly relaxed in the role.

  As the weeks went on, I saw more and more how powerful an effect that red suit had on people. Everyone I encountered just seemed to light up when they saw me coming—adults included. They became happier, kinder, and most of all, more generous. People would do the most surprising things when they spotted Santa coming around.

  It first happened to me one afternoon while returning from a toy drop-off appearance outside a supermarket. I noticed that the fuel gauge on the red van’s dashboard showed nearly empty. Dressed entirely as Santa from head to toe, I pulled into a gas station at the corner of a major intersection to fill up the tank. I grabbed the nozzle and turned to open the gas cap on the van.

  “Hold on there! Hold on there!” came a voice from behind me. Turning, I saw the gas station owner, an older gentleman, walking toward me as quickly as he could from the cashier’s office. “Santa’s not going to pump his own gas at my station.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” I told him politely. “It’s no trouble.”

  “No, no, no,” he said, grabbing the pump. “Please, let me.” As he started the fill-up he asked, “Are you the Santa that’s on the radio?”

  “I am,” I said. “I’m the one who delivers the toys.”

  “Well,” he said and smiled, “you do so many wonderful things for the kids, this tank of gas is on me. It’s my Christmas gift to you.”

  I felt so touched, and I wanted to do something nice in return for this kind gentleman. But what? Then I thought of something. “I’ll be right back,” I told him.

  I walked over to the corner in full Santa regalia and started waving to cars as they drove by. People honked, waved, and yelled cheerfully, “Hi, Santa!” A couple of cars even drove in for gas, which is what I was hoping would happen. I figured it could only help this man’s business to have Santa Claus standing in front of the station.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but I would have many different versions of that experience in the years to follow. There was the time I was on break from my Santa-in-residence role at a busy New Hampshire mall. The lines at the food court were packed with hungry holiday shoppers, but the folks there sent me to the front of the line so I could get a much-needed snack. Or the time I stopped to get food at a drive-thru in San Diego, and when I reached the window and the gal handed me my order, she said, “Oh, and the family in the car in front of you wanted you to have these,” handing me a box of milk and cookies.

  And then there was the time I walked past two men outside a bar who seemed on the verge of an all-out brawl. I wasn’t in Santa gear at the time, but I’d come to resemble Mr. Claus so much by that point that even grown-ups got that look of childlike amazement on their faces when they saw me.

  “Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” I asked kindly.

  They both stopped and looked at me. You could almost feel the tension drain out of the situation as they backed away from each other and relaxed their fists. “No problem, Santa,” one said. “We’re cool. I’m not going to fight anyone with Santa around!”

  At the same time that I saw how deeply the icon of Santa Claus affects people, I started to notice that being Santa Claus was changing me in ways big and small. I suddenly felt as though I had to honor the “purity” of Santa Claus and not do anything that might tarnish his image. Prior to that Christmas of 1992 when I first played Santa, I had been a habitual smoker. But once I put on the red suit, I would not allow myself to have a cigarette, no matter how much I was craving one or whether I thought no one could see me. I simply did not want a child to see Santa smoking, even if just by accident. Pretty soon I would do the same for drinking alcohol in public, or behaving in any way that was anything other than above reproach. Santa is never unkind, or irritated, or even stressed out. As I interacted more and more with children as Santa Claus, I felt a growing responsibility to maintain Santa’s unblemished image in their hearts and minds.

  I never forgot my brief encounter with the kind gas station owner that day. That was when I realized that Santa Claus isn’t just about giving out presents. He actually inspires people to be more giving themselves. Santa Claus is pure goodness, and so he brings out the best in people. He is a symbol of everything that is wonderful, hopeful, selfless, wholesome, and magical about humanity.

  I began to wonder for the first time if it was more than a series of random events that got me into that red suit. Perhaps fate had given me my white beard and hair for very good reason.

  TWO

  Santa Sal Saves Christmas

  WITH CHRISTMAS OF 1992 BARELY A WEEK away, I thought my enjoyable stint as Santa would come to a quiet end. Little did I know that before the season was over, as a result of a radio disc jockey’s prank gone awry, I would be called upon to save the spirit of Christmas for one special little girl—and the faith of listeners throughout Charleston whose hearts she had captured.

  Her name was Fallon. Her father, a local businessman like me, advertised on the radio station. He owned a car repair shop and tow truck, and would drive around at rush hour helping
Q95 listeners with car trouble. Being a long-time friend of the radio station, this mechanic enthusiastically allowed Michael D. to call his young daughter Fallon at home in the mornings, talk to her about Christmas and Santa and what presents she wanted, and then broadcast this adorable seven-year-old’s commentary repeatedly throughout the day.

  To end each call, Michael D. would try to phone Santa Claus at the North Pole to see if the big guy would talk to Fallon. But every time they made the attempt, they could never get through to him and would instead run into some obstacle concocted by the DJs. Meanwhile, all the residents of Charleston quickly became enchanted with cute little Fallon and hoped she would get a chance to talk to Santa Claus before Christmas.

  Everything went smoothly until the morning of Christmas Eve, when Michael D. phoned Fallon for their daily call. It began with Michael D. asking, “So, Fallon, where are your parents?”

  “In the kitchen,” she answered.

  “And where are you?”

  “I’m in the living room.”

  “Is that where your Christmas tree is, Fallon?” Michael D. asked excitedly. “With all the presents?”

  “Yeah, the presents are under the tree.”

  “So they left you alone with all the presents?” he asked in mock surprise.

  “Yes…”

  “Well,” Michael D. said mischievously, “why don’t you pick out one of the presents for you and see what it is?”

  “I can’t do that!” Fallon said. “I have to wait till Christmas!”

  I was driving around Charleston at that moment (in non-Santa mode) listening to the radio. I figured that Michael D. would pretend to call Santa on Fallon’s behalf to report how well behaved she’d been in the face of temptation, or something to that effect. But despite Mike being such a good-hearted guy personally, he played a shock jock of sorts on the air (whose ratings went up whenever drama ensued), so things went a little differently than I’d expected.

  “Don’t you want to know what it is?” Michael D. asked. “I do! Just tear a little bit of the corner off one of the wrapped presents and take a tiny peek. It’ll be fine.”

  The next thing we heard was Fallon exclaiming, “Oh, my gosh, it’s a beautiful sweater!”

  Michael D. sounded shocked. “Oh, no! You opened the present?”

  “Just a tiny corner like you said I should, so I could see it.”

  Fallon began to get a little upset, so Michael D. said reassuringly, “Well, Fallon, it’s Christmas Eve, and maybe we can finally reach Santa Claus at the North Pole today so you can talk to him and explain what happened. We’ll get ahold of the big guy today and straighten this out.”

  Here we go, I thought, smiling. I figured Michael D. was just setting the stage for Fallon’s much-anticipated connection with Santa Claus. This was the big payoff we’d all been waiting for the entire week. Along with the rest of the city, I was eager to see Fallon’s Christmas finally become the stuff of dreams come true.

  Much to my chagrin, that’s not what happened.

  Michael D. proceeded to dial some numbers as listeners heard the sound of the dialing tones. A fellow DJ from the morning show named Cathy Lee answered the phone pretending to be the North Pole computer voice: “You have reached the North Pole. Using your touchtone keypad, please enter the first name of the person calling.” Michael D. read off the letters F-A-L-L-O-N as he pressed some numbers. “Please spell the last name.” Michael D. punched in some keys without revealing Fallon’s last name. “Now enter the zip code.” And Michael D. punched in five numbers. “Please hold.”

  There was a pause, and then Cathy Lee came back on the line, this time in a more normal, albeit official-sounding voice. “Hello, this is the special operator. Is this Fallon bleep from Charleston, South Carolina?”

  “Yes it is!” Fallon said breathlessly.

  “It has been brought to our attention that you have opened a Christmas present before Christmas Day, putting you on the naughty list. Therefore, you will not be receiving any presents from Mr. Claus this year.”

  Uh, oh, I thought. What are they doing? This wasn’t funny or charming any longer, to say the least.

  “Hey, wait a minute!” Michael D. cut in. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of Santa for the last week, and we still haven’t been able to reach him. You tell that Mr. Claus that Michael D. is calling from Charleston, South Carolina, and I want to talk to him now!”

  The operator replied officiously, “We’re sorry, sir. We do not entertain these types of phone calls.” And with that, she hung up.

  Michael D. tried to offer up some words of consolation. “Gosh, Fallon, I’m so sorry. I thought maybe I could get ahold of Santa and explain all this. Let’s see what happens tonight.”

  “O-o-okay,” Fallon stammered. I could hear the quivering in her voice and could only imagine the waterworks that must have followed once she hung up.

  Listeners felt shocked, even horrified. The switchboards lit up with calls from furious parents demanding to know why Michael D. would traumatize this sweet little girl and ruin her Christmas. Some demanded that he get off the air entirely. The ratings were sky-high, but the goodwill for Michael D. and the radio station was now anything but. The story actually made it to the local television news that night, which reported how this ill-conceived radio prank had almost instantaneously turned most of Charleston against Q95 FM. The radio station was so much a part of local culture that the whole thing put a damper on the city’s holiday spirit.

  Of course, no one intended for things to get so out of hand. The original plan had been to have me dress up as Santa Claus, drive over to Fallon’s house in the red van that evening, and give her lots of presents from the radio station in appreciation for all the phone calls that week. The next day, Michael D. would tell everyone that Fallon enjoyed a great Christmas with a visit from Santa Claus and lots of presents.

  But the damage had been done. Simply telling listeners at this point that Fallon enjoyed a good Christmas didn’t seem enough to turn the tide of outrage spreading across the area. The radio station needed to do something extra special for her. Someone suggested broadcasting my Christmas Eve visit to Fallon’s house, but few people listened to the radio on Christmas Eve.

  No, we would have to do this Christmas morning and broadcast everything live. Suddenly, giving a convincing performance as Santa Claus became critical. I now had to save Christmas for a disillusioned little girl while thousands of people listened to every word I said. Talk about pressure! After all, I’d only just warmed up to the idea of playing Santa. Up to this point, I’d simply handed out presents from the back of a red van and spread a little Christmas cheer here and there. Now, everyone was counting on me to be a perfect and believable Santa Claus. I had some serious reservations about whether I could pull this off, but Fallon deserved a Merry Christmas. Besides, my well-meaning friend Michael D. felt terrible, and so I agreed.

  I sat in the red van parked outside Fallon’s house as the sun came up that chilly Christmas morning. I had butterflies in my stomach, silently rehearsing what I would say to Fallon to explain what happened the day before. This was a mission that required precision timing, and Michael D. and Cathy Lee had given me careful instructions. They would dial Fallon live on the air, and Fallon’s mother would go get her daughter. I had my car radio tuned to the Q95 morning show, so I would hear the call begin. As soon as Fallon got on the telephone, I would then have ten seconds to get from the van across the yard and to the front of the house. At the ten-second mark, the DJs would pretend to hear something through the phone, so I had to jingle my bells exactly ten seconds after Fallon picked up. This was going to be close!

  I turned up the radio to listen. Michael D. called, and Fallon’s mother answered. “Just a sec, I’ll go get her,” I heard the woman say. A few seconds later, Fallon picked up, and I sprang into action. I dropped my cell phone on the seat and grabbed the bag of toys. Silently tiptoeing across the dewy yard in the wee hours of the morning with a
sack of toys slung over my shoulder, I wasn’t just playing Santa. In my being, I was Santa.

  In the meantime, the morning show listeners heard the following: “Hi, Fallon. This is Michael D. I feel so terrible about what happened yesterday. Did you get anything for Christmas? Did the big guy leave you anything?”

  “No,” she said sadly. “He didn’t leave me anything.”

  Cathy Lee started scolding Michael D. for being such a bad person, and then I reached the count of ten. I started jingling some bells outside the house as loudly as I could. The sound was barely audible to listeners, but Fallon could hear it, and Cathy Lee’s stopwatch had reached ten seconds, too. So she stopped her scolding of Michael D. and said, “Wait…Fallon, do you hear something? What’s that noise? Are those bells?”

  Michael D. chimed in, “Yeah! I think I hear them, too! Fallon, is someone outside?”

  And then I let out with a loud and jolly, “Ho, ho, ho!” Cathy Lee told Fallon to open the front door to see who it was. (Fallon’s parents had been told I’d be coming, so both of them were watching and filming the whole thing.)

  “Oh my gosh! It’s Santa!” Fallon shouted into the phone.

  “Hello there, Fallon,” I said to her, smiling and using my deep Santa voice. She was a little bit of a thing, not much taller than my waist, standing there astonished in her yellow bunny pajamas with the cordless phone in her hand. “Good morning and Merry Christmas! May I come in?”

  “Sure!” Fallon let me in. I said hello to her parents and then got down on one knee, speaking loudly enough so that radio listeners could hear me through the telephone speaker, although at that moment, for me at least, only Fallon really mattered.