Santa College

It’s appropriate that my photograph is directly to the right of each new blog entry. Looking at that beard every day like I must reminds me that I have to finish that damned screenplay. As I’ve mentioned many times, I made a commitment January 1, 2008 not to shave again until Ash Wednesday is done. I also pledged long ago not to mention the script again until it is completed. But I’ll make an exception today. On this Christmas, I must confess that the one overriding reason I feel motivated to keep writing is so people will stop calling me "Santa Claus." I get it every hour of every day.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it was only during the holiday season, but it happens to me in July too – and every other day of the year. Nevertheless, I determined long ago to try to turn it to my advantage. I tried to be Santa Claus. It didn’t work.

That was quite a surprise. Next Saturday begins my fourth year. I am determined that there will not be a fifth. I am determined that there will not be a four and a quarter! But, beginning with the end of that first year, the beard was already quite impressive enough for the "Santa Claus" remarks to begin, particularly among all the dementia patients at Lourdes who believe I really am the genuine article and get very excited whenever they see me – winter, spring, summer, fall. When Mom observed this she told me, "You go buy yourself a Santa Claus outfit and some padding. I want you to tell Lourdes that you’ll play Santa for them."

I was all for it. After all, if I must suffer the slings and arrows of having everyone comment to me about the big SC, I might as well get some credit for it. Even though I’ve seen on the news that the Santas make a ton of money, I had no desire to be paid. (I actually know one impressively bearded fellow who works on the line at GM and plays Santa during the two month holiday season. He told me he makes more money in those two months than all year at GM! It must be a very lucrative gig!)

But I didn’t want money. I just wanted to entertain the old folks. I just wanted to spread some Christmas cheer to these dementia patients who actually believed I was Santa Claus. (Why can’t anyone mistake me for Tolstoy or Galileo? I’d even settle for Karl Marx or Charles Darwin, anyone but Santa!) So two years ago, I went to the Activities Director at Lourdes and volunteered my services. Lo and behold, she turned me down flat, claiming that they already had a professional Santa Claus and had no need of another. "I don’t think you understand," I said. "I’m not a professional and don’t want to be. I just want to come here as a volunteer and help cheer up the old folks. I’m sure your regular Santa isn’t here more than a few times all season. I can come in two or three times a week, no charge. What’s the downside?"

"Sorry," she repeated emphatically. "We only use professional Santas." What is this? Is there a Santa union out there or something? Is there some kind of club you have to join in order to be a Santa, even for no pay? I thought maybe Lourdes was just a special case. Maybe it was because it was a nursing home and they couldn’t take chances on the residents being abused. I have no idea. But I decided to try other places where the residents would have their full faculties so being vetted would not be an issue. I tried Mendelson and Fox and Canterbury and other places. Got the same answer everywhere. No thanks, we only use professional Santas. I couldn't even do it for free.

So now not only do I have to put up with everyone calling me "Santa," but I also get deluged by people assuming that I play Santa. "I’ll bet you I know how you make your living ... ha ha ha!" And I have to say Nope, I don’t. Nobody will let me. There must be a Santa union and they’re not letting me in.

It’s been a mystery. Why can’t I put on a red suit and walk down the hallway of a nursing home and go ho-ho-ho without getting into trouble? So what is this Santa union? How do you join it? How do you become a professional Santa?

I finally got the answer on last night’s ABC World News. They actually did a story about all the professional Santas out there and how they got to be that way. I was just kidding before, but it turns out that there really is a Santa union. Well, maybe not a union per se, but there is a Santa College and it happens coincidentally to be right here in Midland, Michigan. It’s called the Charles Howard Santa School and it’s been churning out all the nation’s mall Santas for the last 75 years. It’s a 40 hour course that they hold once a year and you can’t get hired as a Santa until you graduate from this program. And this course on how to be a proper Santa is quite popular. All the professional Santas are quite enthusiastic about it and loyal to its mission of keeping Santa Claus both traditional and pure. Many of them attend the course every year just because they always learn something new and they find it so much fun.

So I learned something new last night. So now I know how I can play Santa and make some pretty good bucks doing it, except that I have no desire to make an actual job out of it. I guess I never will get to be Santa so I might as well finish the script as quickly as possible and end this chapter of my life. It has brought entirely the wrong kind of attention. But then that has been the whole point.

I am now on my way out the door to the Emagine Novi to follow my annual Christmas night tradition of seeing the best Christmas Day release, a film that’s likely headed for a Best Picture nomination. (And no, it’s not "True Grit," since TG was released three days ago.) I will reveal the title and how I chose it in my posting tomorrow night.