Prairie State Wire

I’ve been a journalist for more than 30 years and have found myself writing about St. Nicholas, the jolly old elf, several times.

And it’s never pleasant.

I know. I must sound like I’m about to mutter “bah humbug” and extol the virtues of debtor’s prisons and workhouses.

But there are certain things that bring joy to others which bring me nothing but aggravation.

The obligatory holiday feature story is one of them.

During my first year out of journalism school an editor sent me to cover a Santa parade in the Galvez Mall in Galveston, Texas. I enjoyed chatting with the kids waiting for a glimpse of St. Nick. After all, one of the things that makes Christmas so special is the wonderment of children.

But when it comes to interviewing the fellow portraying Santa, not so much.

The interview went something like this:

Where are you from?

The North Pole.

No, where are you from?

The North Pole.

How cute. Now, please just tell me your name so I can move on to my next assignment.

After a 15-minute standoff, he finally relented and told me his name, hometown and why he dresses up like Santa once a year. (It wasn’t a particularly inspiring tale. I think he was in it for the money.)

Flash forward five years and I decided to do a first-person piece on what it is like to be Santa. (The other stories in this column I can blame on editors, but this one is all on me.)

I dressed up in the red suit and cap, attached a beard with an elastic strap, and watched hundreds of kids line up to sit on my lap at the Davenport, Iowa, public library.

I was told the key to being a good Santa is being non-committal. So, whenever a youngster wiggling on my knee reeled off a wish list, I would say something like, “Be good and I’ll see what I can do.”

And then a little girl crawled on to my lap.

I asked, “What do you want for Christmas?”

She looked me in the eye and replied, “I want a new Dad. My old Dad left and my Mom is really lonely.”

Her mother was standing nearby looking a bit bewildered by the request. 

I looked into the girl’s hopeful eyes and sputtered. I finally said, “There are just some things beyond Santa’s power.”

The next day, the top editor of the paper wandered over to my desk and suggested I stick with the “hard news” stories and leave the human-interest features to others.

And then several years after that I was writing about homeless children for the Las Vegas Sun.

I quoted an 8-year-old boy saying, "I don't know if Santa will know where to go this year. We keep moving every week. I guess I've been good. I go to sleep on time every night."

Although I turned the story in several days in advance, the editor didn’t get around to reading it until 45 minutes before deadline.

He wandered over to my desk, “Is this kid kind of slow? Eight seems awfully old to believe in Santa. Go find out if he thinks Santa is a real.” 

I’ve been asked lots of questions, mostly good, by editors over the years. But this is without a doubt the dumbest.

I found myself driving across Las Vegas on deadline to a school that serves the homeless. I talked the principal into calling the boy into the office.

When the perplexed youngster entered the office. I dropped down on my haunches and asked, “Richard, do you think Santa is a real person or just an idea?”

He gave me his answer and I found myself barking into a telephone receiver minutes before the presses began to roll, “He says, Santa is real!”

Yes, Santa is real, not just in the hearts of all good people, but even in the mind of the most cynical journalist.

– Scott Reeder, a veteran statehouse journalist, works as a freelance reporter in the Springfield area; ScottReeder1965@gmail.com.