Take One Photography

“I better get what I asked for.” The reporter and Santa share an awkward holiday moment.

The sleigh bench is long and wide, a far cry from the days when the only option was to sit directly on Santa. On a screen in front of the bench, digitized reindeer run through the sky, pulling the fake sleigh and its haul of toys.

“Call me Santa, or Saint Nick,” he says.

OK, this is starting to feel creepy. Two full-grown men, sitting in a mock Santa wonderland in Chinook Centre and, when asked, the guy won’t even give up his real name.

Santa has come a long way since the days of shabby, ill-fitting beards donned by creepy old men. The Polaroid cameras have been replaced with slick digital SLRs, there are trained helper elves and live reindeer in some cases. Some Santas even get choreography lessons for goodness sake, and they are told to always stay in character, lest some doe-eyed little one overhears or sees something she shouldn’t.

“How long have you been working here?”

“Well, Santa’s been here a long time. About as long as the mall’s been open,” says Santa, or Saint Nick.

Oh, Jesus.

“Me, personally, I’ve been here two years,” he finally concedes.

TRAINING

Jennifer Andrews has never been a Santa Claus, or Mrs. Claus, or even an elf. But if you encounter a top-notch Santa who won’t give out his real name while in costume, you probably have her to blame for it.

The Santa School, based in Calgary and owned by Andrews for one year, seeks to turn eager amateurs into slick Saint Nick professionals. “It’s pretty intense, actually. We spend three full days; it may end up being four next year because there’s so much to cover,” she says.

“The way that we manage our Santa School is we have professionals from all different vocations come in and teach about their specialties.”

There’s voice coaching from an opera singer to get that “ho ho ho” just so, choreography to nail the perfect entrance and graceful exit as well as makeup, beard and hair care tips. And there’s psychology.

“Santas get some pretty heavy stuff laid on them sometimes,” explains Andrews before citing an example: ‘What do you want for Christmas?’ ‘I just want my mommy to come home.’ Awkwaaaard.

Santa has to know how to deal with those situations and be prepared to never make promises that can’t be kept. Mommy isn’t coming home and there’s not a damn thing Santa can do about it. He also won’t be dropping a pony down the chimney anytime soon; promising such things doesn’t help anyone.

“We want them to be able to deal with it so they’re not shocked, and so that they can speak to the child, to have a dialogue,” says Andrews. “Sometimes kids dump their stuff on Santa. They view him as someone they can trust and speak to and somebody that’s been known to them for a long time.”

THE WAY IT WAS

The Santa School has been operating for 12 years, trying to rid the profession of the Bad Santa image. In that movie, a true holiday classic, Billy Bob Thornton plays an alcoholic thief in a dishevelled costume who has a proclivity for doing decidedly un-Santa things to plus-size women in department store change rooms.

Who among us, of a certain age, doesn’t have memories of loose-fitting beards clinging to skinny faces, brown facial hair peeking out and a slight wiff of something unholy emanating from the man whose lap you’re perched upon?

On the Santa School website, under the heading “Santa Rules,” there is an extensive list of don’ts, most of which focus on hygiene and acting responsibly. There is also a ban on smoking and drinking.

One example of inappropriate behaviour, dating from the 1940s, is recounted on the website: “Norbert Cleeverhook was found to be inebriated (drunk) while on duty during the afternoon shift last Wednesday. He attacked one child and swore at the parent who intervened. Cleeverhook has, as you know, been dismissed.”

Nicole McCreary was a gothed-up Warehouse regular by night and an elf at North Hill Centre by day in 1989. At least one rule was broken during her stint.

“One of the Santas I worked with would always have two cigarettes right beforehand and then just make sure those hands were washed, that he didn’t have any smoke smell. He would be ‘OK, do I have enough breath mint in me?’” she says.

When break time came, Santa would go out and “feed the reindeer,” before sucking on candy canes to improve his breath.

“I did hear stories from other Santas of ones who basically went off to the bar for a few drinks because things were quiet,” she says. “The average opinion of the other Santas was anybody that does that shouldn’t be Santa. Most of these are men of retirement age, or after retirement age who are really, really into Christmas and they, themselves have had big families and they love Santa-ing.”

It wasn’t just kids, however, who took comfort in the company of Santa and his helpers. McCreary recalls one little old lady who would come by every day to visit as she wandered the mall.

“The funny thing was the last day that I was working, I think it was the 23rd, she comes up to me and is like ‘Oh it’s been a pleasure to get to know you,’” says McCreary. “She grabbed my hand and with more adeptness than the crack dealers you see downtown, she shoved $20 into my hand and then closed my fist.”

Rule No. 8: “No gratuities may be accepted from parents.”

Guess she’s in the clear on that one.

Not all Santas these days manage to uphold the rigorous standards common in Santa work. And kids are their harshest judges. Kids don’t pull punches.

Andrews’s child, adept at judging Santas, was recently at a mall and sat with Santa. “My daughter came home and said: ‘Mom, I am not kidding you, that Santa smelled like poo.’”

“And I said: ‘That’s not very polite’ and she said ‘Mom, I’m telling you that’s exactly what he smelled like.’”

SANTA OF A DIFFERENT SORT

Little old ladies in the mall are one thing, but Don Major gets an entirely different crowd at his Santa gig. His clients like to lick and pee. He could even be forgiven for smelling like poo, but he swears that has never happened.

On a cold Saturday, with streets still deep in snow from a blizzard, Major sits in a Santa suit in the Coventry Hills Petland, surrounded by the sound of birds. A dog perches happily on his lap.

“I got peed on again, and it was another Jack Russell,” he says during a lull in the session. Last year, it was another dog of the same breed that soaked his red trousers.

Major hasn’t gone through a rigorous training program; he doesn’t have children asking tough questions and he freely releases his true identity.

But his job isn’t easy.

“Just the pee and the scratch last year,” he says. “The unfortunate thing is the pee was all over my whole leg. Because the suit is so bulky I couldn’t tell. I heard people talking out of the corner of my ear and as I turned around, the dog is already half way up my leg.”

The scratch was a large gash left on his arm by a freaked-out cat. Fortunately, the cat belonged to Major.

And yet, the man loves this side-job. He works full-time at Petland, and has for years. Two years ago, when a company email circulated asking for a Santa, Major pounced at the idea and hasn’t looked back.

Major obviously loves animals. He has a lizard, a bird, two stocked fish tanks, three cats and a dog — all of whom have annual Christmas portraits with Santa. He loves that a portion of the proceeds from each shoot goes to the Pets For Life program that helps rehabilitate neglected animals and find them a home.

Although he sees an entirely different crowd, what he has in common with the rest of the Santas who work in this quirky industry is a love of Christmas.

FOR THE LOVE

“Every child has got a different story to say and a different expression of happiness on their face when they come up,” says Chinook mall’s Santa, or Saint Nick, as a line of eager parents and children wait to bend his ear.

Off to the side, an elf stretches her face, opening her mouth wide and moving her jaw from side to side. Preparing for hours of smiling, she explains. I scoff before catching myself grinning from ear to ear for the next 30 minutes straight.

McCreary says her time as an elf was the best job she ever had. Major can’t say enough about how much he enjoys sitting with pets, and Santa, or Saint Nick, still enjoys his job, even after handing out about 8,000 candy canes each season.

Even the naughty kids, or the less-than-co-operative animals, don’t seem to phase these happier-than-thou Christmas freaks.

“I usually see the nicer children. Children are children, they’re going to misbehave every once in a while, get into some mischief, and that’s perfectly understandable,” says Santa, or Saint Nick. “By the time they get to me, they’re usually on their best behaviour; I’m Santa Claus, they would like to make a very good impression.”

Major, who usually waits until November 23 to decorate his house (he did it early this year because his mom came to visit), is equally chipper. “Sure, it could be frustrating, but I’m a win-win guy. I look at the overall goal and I look at the animals and the people and you’re not going to let something like that frustrate you. Just go and have fun,” he says.

“I firmly believe that the animals are having fun, that they’re enjoying it. If they’re not, they’re peeing on my leg.”