It was about 4 weeks out from Christmas, almost 25 years ago, when my partner at the time, makeup artist extraordinaire John Caglione said to me, “Doug, I want to be Santa Claus for my kids this year. I mean the whole nine yards. I’ll sculpt appliances, we’ll get hair from Kelly’s, and I’ll rent a costume!” This was well before anyone had used the word “awesome” to death, so it still meant something when I said to John that it would indeed be just that. “Dude!” I blurted ( I actually said, Oh man!), “ let’s get Alice Kaye at Obrig’s to fit you with blue contacts!” “Ha! That’d will be perfect,” laughed John, “Cause I want to be the Coca Cola Santa! You know, the one in the advertisements… rosy cheeks, twinkling eyes?”  “I dig, big daddy, I dig!” said Doug. So we high fived (Did people high five yet?), and head butted each other like two little kids. Kelly was hip, and said he would donate the wig and beard free of charge. A call to Alice Kaye, and hocus pocus, the lenses were donated! It’s nice to be nice to the nice!

 

Alice selected a cool sky blue pair of contact lenses for Cag, but putting them in John’s eyes was worse than trying to give a mountain lion a bath. John’s head spun away from Alice like a two year old avoiding spinach, but Alice had dealt with worse than John, and the lenses went in. “Alice,” I asked, “How is John ever going to be able to put these things in his eyes?” “Doug’s right! I can’t do it!” lamented John. Alice smiled sadistically, “You’ll put his lenses in for him.” “Me? No way!” I protested. ”Doug, you don’t want to let my little girls down do you?” he whimpered, putting on his best puppy dog face. “If I don’t have the contacts they will know it’s me, and Christmas will be ruined! Woe is me, woe I say!” “Ok,” I relented, ” I’d better oil up my tranquilizer gun.” Alice Kaye laughed, “That’s the Christmas spirit, shoot Santa with a dart gun.”

 

The plan was simple, we’d set up for makeup, and put the appliances and costume on at John’s in laws who lived just a few blocks away from the Caglione homestead. Helen called and said that the word was out, and that the neighborhood kids and their parents were jamming the house. “It’s a mob!” I reported, “Let’s get to work!” Putting the appliances on was a breeze, but lordy lord, the contacts were anything but, and it was a rerun of the other day at Alice’s. After ten minutes or so of pin the tail on the bucking bronco, I’d had it. “This is it, Caglione! Ready or not, here I come!” and with that, I put my knee on his chest and went for the eyes. “Ha!” said John, “you missed!” “No, baby! They’re in!” I crowed triumphantly. “Now for making like Saint Nick!”

 

In the car on the way over, I’m the big director, “Ok! It’s Christmas!” “Right!” says John. “You’re Santa Claus!” “I am! I’M SANTA CLAUS!” John began chanting in the rear view mirror. “I’M SANTA CLAUS! I’M *UCKING SANTA CLAUS! “John, take it easy, don’t forget the kiddies!” I warned. “Right, sorry!” said John! “I’m Santa Claus… I’m Santa Claus… I’m Santa Claus…”  “Remember… you just came down from about 40,000 feet, so act cold when you come in… I have a bag of stage snow in the trunk, so you want to be brushing that off your shoulders when you enter the house… and don’t forget, you’ve been Santa for hundreds of years so you know everyone there by name, including the adults.” John was way lost in the role now, “I’m Santa Claus… I’m Santa Claus… I’m Santa Claus…” 

 

As I slipped in the backdoor of the Caglione house, I could hear the bru hahha, and hub bub of the crowd within. Meanwhile, John as Santa, would wait outside for an appropriate period of time, and then make his grand entrance. In the house, the neighborhood kids, young and old were partaking in gingerbread, hot apple cider, Christmas cookies, and hot chocolate… not to mention some generously spike coffee. The little kids were chewing neutronium in anticipation of Santa’s arrival, and the big kids were giving off sparks as well! It was amazing! I hadn’t anticipated the excitement this thing was going to generate! Suddenly there was a thump, as all heads spun to the front door, and outside, one could just make out John in red and white. A little kid spotted him and started squealing like a car alarm. Another sprang into the air defying gravity. Another snared the doorknob, braced both feet against the wall, and pulled like an Argonaut at the Clashing Rocks. ”Thanta Cwas! Thanta Cwas! Wet ‘em in! Wet ‘em in!!” Hahahaha hoooweee! What a riot! The door burst open and there he was! Caglione stood there looking more like Santa Claus than Edmund Gwenn! The room went dead silent… awestruck! Even I was awestruck! IT WAS *UCKING SANTA CLAUS! Hook, line, and sinker, Johnny! Reel ‘em in, buddy!

 

And he surely did! Brushing the snow from his shoulders, he let out a Ho! Ho! Ho! (while it was still ok to say that), and swept the entire room off it’s collective feet. I swear to you that the transformation of the adults was even more amazing than the excitement of the kiddies! They were gleefully reduced to children again, and I caught a glimpse of each one returning to that first time mommie and daddy took them to see Santa Claus in the neighborhood department store. Man (dude), they were even sitting in his lap, and confiding in him like they were four year old. I stood there glowing, and could only imagine how John felt. The last thing I remember is John cradling his little girl as she looked up at him with eyes as big as saucers. Wow, It was a magic moment.

 

It was time for Santa to get back on his route, as he headed to the door, waving, and blowing kisses. The house was buzzing as I slipped out the backdoor to meet John at the car. Cag and I are clutching our sides with laughter! Now we had to get John cleaned up pronto, and back home, where he would feign having had a flat tire. “John, you nut! What are you doin! You’re gonna hurt yourself” There was John, pulling the rubber prosthetics off his face without any oily solvents! Bad! Very bad! The adhesives we use are medical grade, and baby, they bond to the death, so by the time I properly cleaned off the last few scraps of glue and rubber from his face, red welts were forming, and he looked like he had gone ten rounds with Nemo’s pet squid. “Oh man” I said, “look at yourself!” “I couldn’t help it,” explained John, “I was pumped with adrenaline!”

 

When John got home, the children were still buzzing. John sat down with his five year old daughter Lauren on his knee, and listened to her excitedly describe the chain of events. The sound of the sled on the roof, how he appeared at the door like magic, how he was as tall as the ceiling. Then I saw her cup her hand, and  whisper in her fathers ear, and this is what she said… “But you know what Daddy? Santa wears prosthetics!”

 

 

Merry Chistmas to all, and to all a good night!