Becoming Santa: Lessons Jody Dean learned as a first-time Santa Claus
Did you know there are organizations devoted specifically to those who don the red suit? Or that there are even groups for 'real-beard' Santas? Jody Dean didn't.
Amir Fard
The moment had finally arrived.
After years of saying that maybe one day I’d like to work as Santa Claus during the holiday season, it was actually happening.
Jacket off and sleeves rolled up, light sparkled off my pocket watch and gold chain. Spectacles properly perched on the end of my nose, I’d been directed to the kind of comfortable high-back chair a carpenter might have by a fire just inside the back door of his home, leading out to his workshop.
The setting was right. My costume was right. The stage was set. I’d done my homework. I was ready.
It was time for my Santa to greet his first child.
A small tip for adults here: If your child does not want to go up and meet Santa, that is just fine; don’t force them. If they want to, that's awesome, too. But, I've got to say, being unwillingly and suddenly plopped on the knee of some really large, loud, bearded stranger dressed all in red -- it may come up again when they pick your nursing home.
My name will probably enter the chat as well.
Even those of us who are parents will tell you that there is a certain noise toddlers make just before completely losing it that’s never been fully understood or described by science. In a way, it’s almost cat-like -- in that you know nothing good comes after that first low rumble.
Anyway, wholly undaunted by clear evidence that Yellowstone was about to blow, mom and dad cheerily deposited junior on my knee. Surely, they eagerly anticipating that unforgettable Christmas memory when their little prince got his picture made with what he must have thought was a giant crimson grizzly bear.
For better or worse, unforgettable is exactly what they got.
Their little fella reacted as any normal human being would have. He grabbed my beard in a death-grip while his parents frantically tried to simultaneously pick him up and get him to let go of my facial hair. He showed no interest in any of this, and he seemed determined only to squirm out of his skin while hollering and kicking with the ferocity of a badger.
"Oh, he never does this!," they swore up and down. "He was just fine in the car!"
Which... I’m sure that was true, but how would you like to be napping all toasty in your car seat only to be awakened by some dude in fuzzy Frankenstein boots?
It’s a lot.
Finally, the little lad calmed down enough for his parents to gather themselves, too. And, eventually, I think we even managed a nice photo.
But that was my inauguration. Dreams of 'Miracle on 34th Street' moments were immediately dashed by a tot whose wails could set off car alarms.
The very first kid.
My very first kid.
And I was scheduled to be there for six hours.
It’s moments like that where you start to get a sense of how a comedian must feel when they bomb in the early show. No, you’re not done yet, son.
So, I took the only attitude possible: After that initiation, I figured, the only way things could go was up.
And, of course, they did. My first gig as Santa turned out to be the perfect learning experience. It didn’t take very long for me to realize why those who don the red suit love it so much.
Before I got into any of this, I talked to the pros. I spoke with some of the local Santas -- or ambassadors, as some prefer to identify themselves as -- who have become quite beloved over the years.
They told me they often serve counselors as much as they act as Kris Kringle. Children will tell things to Santa they might not say to anyone else.
And, oh, the things they ask for...
When asked what she wanted for Christmas this year, one very sharp little girl I met had an immediate and confident answer: "To be rich!"
A few minutes later, another child asked for her family's good health.
The veteran Santas told me not to be surprised when a child barely old enough to remember their address rattles off the complete name of a specific toy they wanted -- down to the serial number.
Then there are other requests Santas sometimes get: "Santa, can you make my cancer go away?"
Yes, really. That’s what Santa often hears.
I know.
This Santa didn’t see it coming, either. At least not the first time.
But let’s start at the beginning of this story.
Chapter 1 A long line of assorted hams
I grew up playing sports, but also loving drama class.
I come from a long line of assorted hams, and I caught the bug before our third grade production of "The Ugly Duckling" even came around. By junior high, I was part of a late Saturday night monster movie showcase called "The Museum of Horrors" where I'd dress up as Frankenstein’s creature and other monsters for what was then WBAP-TV Channel 5. From live shows to our high school’s plays, I loved it all.
Radio and TV would end up comprising most of my professional career, but greasepaint ran just below my skin.
Over the years, I found myself doing some small theater and film roles. And, more often than not, I would cover the holidays in stories at the stations where I worked.
Naturally, we did a ton of stories about Santa Claus. And that took me often to his side, providing me an up-close vantage point from which I could watch his magic.
One year, I was privileged to attend an event where hearing-impaired kids were greeted by a Santa who knew sign language. It’s one thing to watch an 8-year-old ask Kris Kringle for a new bike. It’s quite something else to watch a child do so with their hands, and then see their faces light up when Santa signs right back.
On another occasion, I put a microphone on Santa for a radio special and recorded his conversations with young patients at a local children’s hospital. The conversations were so personal and touching that I ended up not using them. Kids in hospitals don’t ask for toys; they ask to be able to play again. Once that Santa talked to the last child in line, he came backstage to where I was standing and started sobbing on my shoulder
"I hope I’ve done some good," he said through the tears.
I cried, too.
Eventually, I worked for a radio station that, for several years, raised donations for Children’s Health -- the magnificent pediatric care system that turns no child away. In the three year stretch prior to new station owners cancelling our efforts, we raised more than a million dollars as part of our 24-hour "Radiothon" -- setting a new record each year.
All that was wonderful, of course, but it paled in comparison to meeting the many precious little patients and their families, all of whom taught me a depth of feeling for the season -- one that many of us may miss, or even lose, as we grow older. Throughout my career, I worked with broadcast legends and mentors who understood that the holidays offered us a chance to connect with the listener or viewer in ways that we can’t really appreciate. Just to "be there" -- more often than not as the only companion they may have, at what is a very lonely time of year for so many -- could mean the world to the right audience member.
And, all this time, the beard I’d worn for years was beginning to turn white.
For a very long time I’d joked that if I ever retired, I might like to be a mall Santa. Having watched so many friends take on the role of ambassador for St. Nick, I realized what a difference he could make. Bringing joy to young faces seemed like a worthy thing to do, too.
My first test-flight was for my daughter. I snuck into the house through the garage one Christmas Eve in full regalia -- a fuller beard and mustache than usual attached with spirit gum, and tiny eyeglasses pinched to my nose -- and I sat down to snack on the cookies and milk she’d left on the kitchen table. When she awakened from her winter’s nap and opened her bedroom door to see a surprise houseguest enjoying her wares... well, she had quite the story to tell for many years after.
Later that same week, I had the chance to attend a huge holiday charity event called “Convoy of Hope” that helped feed and clothe the needy and homeless. It took place at the Kay Bailey Hutchison Convention Center in Downtown Dallas, where entire families camped out all night in the cold for just a few moments of Christmas warmth. I still had Santa’s cape in my truck, so I thought I’d put it on and go entertain the kids bundled up outside.
The cape was all I had that day, and the only thing remotely resembling Santa I wore beyond my normal blue-jeans-and-sweatshirt ensemble. It didn’t matter. The children immediately took one look at me and began calling me "Street Santa". Within minutes, I was swarmed.
It wasn’t the suit, I learned that day. It was the spirit.
In 2018, the broadcast company I worked for opted not to renew my contract. After almost 40 years, my radio career was done.
I now had time to do all the things I’d never really had time for before. Embracing the what now? of it all, I got into filmmaking. As part of that, I found myself taking a few background acting roles that required a full beard. As I let it grow out and realized how white it had become, my joke about being a mall Santa was... well, no longer a joke.
After dabbling with Santa for a couple of years during Larry O’Neal’s wonderful Fort Worth Memories bike giveaways, it was time to really commit. I decided that 2023 would be the year I'd finally do it.
Chapter 2 Finding my St. Nick
Finding an agency to book me was easy -- they found me, actually. A nice lady named Margaret at Happily Ever Parties, which books characters from North Texas to Houston and all points in between, had heard I was interested in some gigs. Turns out, there’s always a demand, and not nearly enough Santas to fill the void.
It didn’t take long to realize how busy I was about to be.
But another question came next: What kind of Santa was I going to depict? Would he be the royal and majestic Santa we see in the grand finale of the holiday parade? Or would he be closer to the historical Nicholas of Myra, a man born into prosperity, who gave away his inheritance and took a vow of poverty upon the death of his parents? Renowned as a servant bishop and secret giver, I remembered the children that morning outside the convention center, and I chose the latter. To begin with, I’m more rustic than royal anyway. And, after working for several months on different shows with gifted construction crews and propmakers, I had a much deeper understanding of craftsmen, which gave me a totally different perspective on St. Nick’s nature.
For his look, I was influenced by author Jeff Guinn’s wonderful The Autobiography of Santa Claus, and the amazing work of an AI artist and digital creator I found named Nyx's Journey.
My Santa carries a book in which he scribbles all the requests beside all the names. He also keeps on his person an old-fashioned folding engineer’s ruler. You’d never guess how fascinating one of those is to children who’ve never seen anything but tape measures.
That's how much thought the veteran Santas told me you have to put into the role. And, as I was about to learn, there's so much more to the job than I ever imagined.
Did you know, for instance, that there are vast organizations devoted specifically to those who put on the red suit? I didn’t. Or that there are even groups for “real-beard” Santas? Neither did I. Every conceivable sort of St. Nick is represented in this space, from those who speak more than one language to the many Latino, Asian and Black Santas who bring happiness, and much-needed representation, to children each year.
It was all a bit overwhelming. Maybe more than I could chew.
Chapter 3 There isn't always an answer
When I asked some of these ambassadors what to expect from the little ones Santa meets, that's when they told me about the requests they'd get for their cancer to go away. But that was just the start.
"Santa, can you stop my parents’ divorce?" is another common request. As is "My mommy died -- Santa, could you make her alive again?" In this short run of my own as Santa, one child even asked me, "Santa, can I not be lonely any more?"
No, not every request is so heavy.
But even those that leave you smiling may still leave you at a loss.
"Santa, I want a new iPhone" happens a lot. The advice from the experts there? Santa makes toys at the North Pole; not electronics. If you want a new Xbox, that’s only going to happen after a consultation with your parents.
Even mundane things take on new dimensions in the suit, though. For instance, what happens when Santa is in a room where the organizers have the thermostat set at 78 degrees or warmer? What do the veterans -- used to wearing multiple layers of very warm fur, wool or leather -- say about that? Cooling vests, and the greater the quality the better.
A sweaty Santa is not a happy Santa.
Many of Santa’s ambassadors like add their own individual traits to their portrayals. Some sing or play an instrument, hosting Santa singalongs. More than a few do simple illusionists' tricks, such as fetching a candy cane from behind a child’s ear. Many use the gift of reading aloud for Santa’s story time.
As a broadcaster, I naturally liked that last idea. So my version carries a simple haversack over his shoulder, and under his coat. Inside are “Twas the Night Before Christmas”, “The Velveteen Rabbit”, “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” and Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” -- although I may have to soon add “Pete the Cat”.
I learned a few other tricks of the trade, too. See, children are very smart. One ambassador told me he frequently hears “If you’re really Santa, what’s my name?” That's aa good one. "How you circle the planet in one night?" is another answer you better have at the ready. And some kids are increasingly asking a new question: “Santa, if the North Pole melts, where will you live?” Children are aware of the changing world around them, and they are not fooled. How Santa answers them matters.
“Where’s Rudolph?” might be one of the most frequent queries your favorite ambassador hears. My go-to there is based on the fact that, unlike in the beloved Rankin-Bass television version of the tale, Rudolph doesn’t actually live with at the North Pole in Robert L. May’s original story. He’s on call, and happily joins Santa’s team of eight tiny reindeer whenever the weather turns foul.
One of the most heartbreaking questions: “Santa, am I on your naughty list?” One ambassador told me that he tells children there isn't a naughty list. That runs the risk of contradicting what mom and dad have said, but I agree with him: No child should ever feel like they’re on a “naughty” list.
And what do you say to a child who asks “Santa, can you please get my daddy out of jail?” Or what do you do when you spot a child bearing obvious signs of physical abuse? It happens heartbreakingly often, and the law obliges you to alert someone.
All of these are questions Santa deals with on a regular basis, and most of us would never guess it.
And even if you thought of them all, there is always that one question for which there will be no answer to be had at the ready.
Those questions are the reason Santa cried on my shoulder all those years ago, and they've forced me to confront the hardest reality of all: Some of these requests, Santa just can’t fix. I’ve talked to a lot of Santa’s ambassadors who have found the only answer they have in these moments is to pray.
All that immediately had me asking what I’d gotten myself into.
Chapter 4 Presence is a present
The answer came to me as I talked with these incredible individuals who have for so long represented the legendary secret giver himself.
We are not able to do magic. We may drive an old truck or walk with a cane. We may be somewhat hard of hearing, or perhaps robust and energetic. Our suit may be a little threadbare, and we may not have all the answers. We can’t snap a child’s disease out of existence, or reunite a family.
But, you see, that is not our job.
Our job is simply to offer hope. The real magic happens inside a child’s heart. All we have to do is be there.
We don’t give presents. We give through presence.
The child will do the rest.
Over Thanksgiving, I spend a great deal of time explaining to my own grandchildren why there were Santa suits hanging in Poppy’s closet this year. They understand now that even Santa can’t be everywhere at once, and that, at this time of year, he requires the help of people and goodwill to spread and nourish that hope.
At a time when commercialism and consumerism often thunder, those who wear the suit and speak with a still, small voice brighten the world, even for a single moment.
In that, may we all become Santa.