We Are Santa: Portraits and Profiles
At a time when toxic masculinity is deplored amid efforts to eradicate it, one would think that the most admired man in the western world would be Santa Claus. He seems, in every way, the opposite of the toxically masculine man: he loves children and enjoys being around them; he has dedicated his life to making children happy by making toys for them; he employs a number of other people called elves in this activity that does not bring harm to these workers or the world; he opposes bullying and supported Rudolph, his red-nosed reindeer, giving him an important job, when the other reindeer ostracized and made fun of Rudolph’s looks; he carries no personal weapons and has no interest in them; he is completely devoted to his spouse; he is always jolly and good-tempered; he never asks for anything in return for what he gives; he rewards goodness and aids the needy. He is homo faber, a world traveler, and an empathic, patient listener to children, the people who are frequently the least listened to. Every man should be Santa Claus.
According to photographer Ron Cooper in his book, We Are Santa, many men are, in fact, Santa, although they must go to a school for it, such as the Charles W. Howard Santa Claus School in upstate New York or Susen Mesco’s Professional Santa Claus School in Denver. Mesco is not only an instructor and agent for Santas but also hires herself out as Mrs. Claus. Rick Rosenthal is an Orthodox Jew who runs a Santa Claus school in Atlanta and works as a Santa himself. (Ah, Santa transcends religion.) The Santas we see are usually actors or performers. Santa Claus is a role. All of the men profiled in Cooper’s book have been trained to be Santa, have been taught how to talk to children, to put nervous children at ease, and to make misbehaving children less truculent. They have been taught how to deal with difficult or awkward requests or wishes. It takes some dedication to be Santa. Maybe we all need to take a bit of instruction at a Santa school. The men have bought the proper Santa attire, which is expensive. Some wear the traditional fur-cuffed red suit made famous by the 1931 Coca-Cola ad by Haddon Sundblom. This suit can cost $599 or more. Others wear attire more along the lines of Father Christmas, a long coat and vest; others wear a kilt, others a miter and cope like a bishop. These suits too are costly.
According to photographer Ron Cooper in his book, We Are Santa, many men are, in fact, Santa, although they must go to a school for it, such as the Charles W. Howard Santa Claus School in upstate New York or Susen Mesco’s Professional Santa Claus School in Denver.
At the school, they are taught “beard care, and personal grooming. Among other things, students are advised to avoid garlic and to keep nose and ear hair carefully trimmed. (Alcohol and tobacco are, of course, taboo.) Students learn how to avoid back injury while lifting children and the best way to pose for photos. They practice smiling and ho-ho-ho-ing, learning to vary their volume for the situation and the child. Then there’s the business side of being Santa: invoicing, scheduling, working with an agent … Santa must do it all.” 1 Well, Santa not smoking goes against Clement Moore’s image of him in the poem “Twas the Night Before Christmas,” (first published in 1823), where Santa has “the stump of pipe held tight in his teeth/And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.” But conventions change and Santa does not want to set a bad example for children today.
The aspiring Santas are taught how to make up stories about the North Pole, reindeer, elves, and Mrs. Claus. They learn how to relate to autistic and other types of disabled children. Some even learn sign language. For those without beards and white locks, getting such theatrical hair pieces of good quality can cost a few thousand dollars. It is an investment of time and money to be a professional Santa.
There are two Black Santas featured among the profiles in We Are Santa. James Nuckles, a retired army veteran, looks upon being Santa “as a ministry.” He attends Santa school every year to pick up new tips. “I’ve had some Caucasian kids say I’m not the real Santa because I’m not white. African American kids, too. Some parents even ask how I got to be Santa Claus if I’m not white…Most of the time they’ll take a picture with me. Every now and then they walk away, and that’s OK.”
Santa is what cures our homesickness, for Santa always finds his children, and comes to us wherever we are. Santa’s authenticity does not lie in skin color but in the United States skin color is some demented order of our perverse reality, not the stuff that dreams can be made of.
As St. Nicholas of Myra, he likely did not look like a Sub-Saharan African. But he was probably not blonde and fair either. Our idea of what Santa Claus looks like is the creation of White advertisers and artists meant to appeal to the majority White population in the early twentieth century when many Whites still felt that they should be able to kill Blacks with impunity if the mood struck them. People ought to be ashamed that they have been bamboozled by our racist practices into thinking Santa Claus ought to be White. But whatever he looked like is not important as much as the spirit of generosity and wonder-working that he represents which is something that we all should wish that men of all colors and backgrounds enact. Santa Claus is the embodiment of the idea of the Good Father who is always homeward bound, the one who comes to the homes of all his children, and, through the magic of Christmas, makes each home a child’s dream of home as a perfect refuge. Santa is what cures our homesickness, for Santa always finds his children, and comes to us wherever we are. Santa’s authenticity does not lie in skin color but in the United States skin color is some demented order of our perverse reality, not the stuff that dreams can be made of.
This book, a short read, offers two highly composed, reflective photos of each of its subjects, one in mufti, and the other in character as Santa. The photos try to reveal some sense of the Good Father in each man. Some of the profiles are accompanied with biographies; many of the others are simply photos. It will bring to mind for all readers their first visit with a department store Santa. I will never forget mine. I was six years old in a downtown Philadelphia department store called Strawbridge and Clothier. Santa was in the center of something called the Christmas Village, a sort of wonderland of fake snow, toys, and holiday lights. I waited patiently in line with my mother. At last, it was my turn. I sat on Santa’s lap and told him the six things I wanted for Christmas including something for my mother and my sisters. He asked me if I had been a good boy and I said yes, mostly. He said he would try to get everything on my list for I looked like a good boy, and he liked that I asked for something for my mother and sisters. We had our picture taken and that was that. It lasted maybe two minutes. It was a rite of passage.
