I talked to Santa by phone today. Truly. He was in St. Louis getting ready to head out for an afternoon shift at the mall and after that a couple of runs on the Polar Express.

Mrs. Claus was helping with the custom-fit red and white suit (which his daughter makes for him), the belt, the hat, the boots, the gloves and the signature beard.

Santa shaves once the holiday season is over and starts growing his beard again in July. He likes his beard a little whiter than its natural color, so he gives it a quick blast of “Icy White” Punky Temporary Hair Color Spray.

“It doesn’t stink,” Santa says. “That’s the main thing. Santa shouldn’t stink.”

Agreed.

He says there are three types of Santas: The type that looks like Heidi’s grandpa with a bushy beard and wild hair, the Coca-Cola Santa and the Miracle on 34th Street Santa. He’s the Miracle on 34th Street type, give or take a few pounds.

I asked when he knew he was going to be Santa. Quick as a flash, he said, “When I was 16 and drove my dad around as Santa with my three brothers and sisters in the backseat of our 1967 maroon Pontiac Catalina. I was glad I could drive the car and not be dressed up like an elf in leotards.”

In the years between chauffeuring Santa and becoming Santa, he worked in newspapers before the baton, or reins rather, passed to him.

Santa does a lot of merry making, ho, ho, ho-ing, and smiling for pictures, but he’s also watching intently and listening closely.

He can read between the lines when a child’s Christmas request indicates that the child’s mother is either sick or no longer in need of earthly things. He knows his offer to “do his best” will fall woefully short.

He knows when an adult leans in and whispers a request for “Peace on Earth” that it will most likely require a restraining order.

He understands that the unselfish request for “good health to all” likely includes the one doing the asking.

Santa has a soft spot for special needs kids. He once saw a girl and her mother seated far away from the group at a pancake breakfast with Santa. He learned the family had to exercise extreme caution about picking up food particles, as a sibling at home had life-threatening allergies.

Santa sent word to the mother that, if she liked, he would come to their home to visit the little girl in a brand new Santa suit, brand new boots and brand new gloves, all of which had never been worn before.

The next night Santa paid a visit. It was the first time the 9-year-old had ever told Santa what she wanted. After he left, the little girl cried tears of joy.

Then there was the unforgettable boy with Down syndrome. He was ecstatic, jabbering and pointing at the lights. Nobody else was in line that night, so the boy hung out with Santa for 20 minutes.

Two nights ago, a woman came up to Santa and whipped out a cell phone to show him a picture. “Remember this?” she asked.

He did. It was a family from Georgia whose little girl couldn’t support herself sitting on Santa’s lap. So, Santa got up and put the little girl in his chair.

I asked Santa if he is a man of faith.

“Definitely,” he said. Santa has a heart so warm it could melt snow.

I asked Santa what was on his wish list this year. There was a long pause. I was about to ask if he was still there when he softly said, “It’s been a hard year. I’m wishing for happiness for my family, peace and contentment.”

Those gifts are on a lot of wish lists this year.

“One last question, Santa. Eggnog or hot chocolate?”

“Both.”

©2025 Tribune Content Agency, LLC