One-Hour Santa

A Drawstring Away From Disaster

I Played Santa in Sears...And Lived!!!

“Why is Santa behind Plexiglass?” the New York Times asked in today’s edition. It’s a different experience with Santa this Pandemic Christmas.

Don’t fret too much over this year’s Santa experience.

I’m here to tell you that not every kid wants to sit on Santa’s lap anyway.

I know from experience. You see, once upon a time – the time being lunch time in December 1975 - I was the lunch-relief Santa at Kingsport’s Sears store.

Sitting in Santa’s seat is not easy.

I remember the most surprising thing to me was that to be Santa you had to pass a physical. And therein was the rub. Most Santa wannabes can’t pass the physical. The nurses at Dr. Hugh Rule’s office told me that most of the Santa-hopefuls that Sears sent down were too fat. It’s good to be fat if you want to sub for Santa. It is not good to be fat if you want to pass a physical. They said many of the Santa subs flunked because of high blood pressure.

I wasn’t fat then so I needed a pillow to play Santa. But at least I didn’t need blood pressure medicine.

When it comes to Santa suits, I discovered one size fits all. The Sears Santa suit was 74-34: 74 inch waist (!) and 34 inch inseam. And that famous black belt that Santa wears? Just a prop. The Santa pants were really held up by a drawstring. Santa is only a drawstring away from the ultimate embarrassment.

Most modern Santa’s have real beards but in 1975, I couldn’t grow one so I had to use the Santa suit beard, which also attached with a drawstring. I had to tighten it like a tourniquet. I had been warned that there might be an unhappy camper who hadn’t gotten what he or she wanted last Christmas and hadn’t forgotten. Revenge might be wrought on Santa’s beard.

I was all dressed up with no place to go because they couldn’t find the Santa I was to replace. They couldn't just announce: "Santa Claus, come to the office. Your replacement is here" over the loudspeaker. And they wouldn't want two Santas wandering around the store. So they had to send out a local and an all-points bulletin. They finally decided he was either asleep in the stock room or in the bathroom. No determination was ever made but he eventually showed up.

In my one-hour stint, I sat seven kids on my knee, talked to another nine who would stand nearby but wouldn't do the old up-on-the-knee trick. I talked at a great distance to four more, and sent one off screaming into the carpet department.

There were no holy terrors. No one pulled my beard. Or kicked me. Or even talked nasty. Most wouldn't talk at all. And when they did, they were so nervous they couldn't remember what they wanted.

What a disappointment it must have been for them. Spending all those cold winter nights thumbing through the Sears Wishbook, making lists, checking them twice, narrowing it down to the three or four things they couldn't live 'til June without, and then meeting Santa in person and blowing it, forgetting it all, going blank and having to live with the failure till next year.

There are no funny stories from my one-hour stint. Little Johnny and Little Susie didn't say anything memorable, insightful or cute. They just told me straight out what they wanted, by brand name, listing color, style and quantity. All they lacked were catalog numbers.

I retired from Santa-ing five minutes early. There was a lull in the action and besides the suit was hot and the beard itchy. I was anxious to get back in my own clothes because I was still thinking about that tennis shoe string that was holding my pants up.

I actually sort of regretted giving up being Santa and having to go back to my routine old self.

Everyone says hello to Santa and gives him a smile or a nod and a wink.

Everyone loves Santa.