View from behind the beard: Being Santa isn't child's play

This reporter found it hard to fill the boots of Santa Claus.
By IAN HILL
VINDICATOR STAFF WRITER
BOARDMAN -- The theme from "Rocky" runs through my head as I walk down the gray cement-block hall in the depths of Southern Park Mall.
I had known this moment would be coming for about a week, but I wasn't nervous until Don Cramer began helping me into the huge red velvet pants.
"You'll know why I'm retiring after this year," Cramer said, joking. He added hastily, "You'll be great."
I open the door and step into the bright white lights of the mall.
Almost immediately a woman asks me to stop and say hello to her young son, who is seated in a stroller. When I lean toward him, he cowers.
I say hello, and he stares at me with wide eyes.
I lean forward and say hello again, and the boy tries to shrink back into the stroller.
That's when I make my first mistake as a mall Santa Claus: I decide to wave.
And the crying begins.
Cramer, who has worked as a mall Santa for the past 10 years, had warned me this would happen. He said when he's faced with crying children, he'll start a quiet conversation with them and beckon them closer. Cramer continues to beckon and talk to the children until they are seated on his knee.
"I have 99 percent luck with this," he said.
Unfortunately, Cramer didn't tell me what to do when the child is seated in a stroller. I shrug and smile at the boy's mother, who smiles back and tries to calm her son.
After wishing them both happy holidays, I walk toward the green, wooden house that serves as Santa's headquarters at the mall.
Reviewing advice
I again think about some of the advice Cramer had given me.
"You might run into the situation where you'll have one on this lap, one on that lap, and you might have a baby that's squirming, crying, kicking. You're going to have to hold the kids, plus make sure you have the baby," he said. "They might grab your hat. You're going to have to watch it."
Both Cramer and John Young, who has been coordinating the mall's Santa program for the past 20 years, suggested that I spend at least three or four minutes speaking with each child.
Cramer added that I should be ready to come up with creative answers to questions about reindeer, elves and the North Pole.
"People think, 'Oh boy, that's an easy job. All you do is sit there,'" Cramer said. "But you know what? When a kid asks you a question, you've got to come up with an answer that quick. You can't stall.
"The funniest thing a little girl ever, ever told me, and this was a couple of years ago, she said, 'It's not nice to waste food,'" Cramer said.
He asked the girl what she meant.
"She said, 'Well, you left half the milk, and you didn't eat all the cookie.'
"I said, 'Well, you were the last house I went to, and I was full,'" Cramer said.
Cramer's advice remains fresh in my mind as I sit down on Santa's green armchair, which looks comfortable but is actually quite stiff. The armchair is surrounded by white cotton "snow."
Two white robotic reindeer twirl on either side of me. The hair of my thick, fake white beard is in my mouth, and I wonder about past Santas who've worn it.
It's about 4:30 p.m., and I hope I won't be overwhelmed. There's already a few children and parents in line waiting for a visit with Jolly Old St. Nick.
How it goes
A young girl sits on my lap, and I ask her what she wants for Christmas.
"Ummmmmm ... Barbie's train," she says.
"What else?" I ask.
"Ummmmmm ..." she replies.
I panic. I want to talk with the girl for three or four minutes, as Cramer and Young had suggested, but we're quickly running out of topics. I ask her what school she goes to and if she's been good this year as I look for her mother.
Two women tell us to count to three, and a bright flash goes off as they take our picture. The girl says goodbye as her mother takes her from my lap.
I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. Before I can lean back in the chair, however, more children are approaching. The line of people waiting to talk with me is getting longer.
I can barely see the line through the fog on my glasses. The hat, white wig and beard of the Santa costume have formed some sort of humid tropical environment around my head.
Vindicator photographer Jean Neice takes my glasses as a young girl sits on my knee. Her mother hands me her younger brother, who is about a year old.
She then tries to pull her other daughter toward me. The girl, however, is screaming and crying. Even when she's placed on my knee and I tell her it's OK, she continues to yell and reach for her mother.
The flash goes off, and the girl is picked up off my lap.
I watch as her mother speaks with the two women taking the picture. She looks frustrated, and a wave of guilt passes over me.
As I start to think about how I could have cheered the little girl up, another child walks over and sits on my lap.
Good talker
That young boy, who's about 5 years old and dressed in a button-down shirt and sweater vest, proves to be my best conversation partner of the afternoon. When I ask him what he wants for Christmas, he replies, "That Rescue Heroes thing. You know the Rescue Heroes thing that takes up the whole room?"
I tell him I know exactly what he's talking about, and that the elves are hard at work on his presents. He asks me if the elves really make the gifts.
"Oh yes. They're sweating and hammering away at the North Pole right now. I have some of them working on Rescue Heroes, some on Barbie, and others on other toys that boys and girls want," I answer.
Before he stands up, he says, "We're going to my cousin's birthday party tonight. You know her."
I say, "Oh yes, of course I do" and smile behind my beard. This job might not be so bad after all.
About 10 other children sit on my lap during the next 20 minutes. One little girl tells me she doesn't want anything for Christmas, she "just wants to say hi." I ask her if she's sure she doesn't want any gifts.
"I already sent you my list," she replies with slight disgust at my forgetfulness.
Cramer's advice rings in my head.
"Oh, of course. You know, it's been awhile since I've been to the North Pole; it's probably stacked up in the mail near my door," I say.
The girl smiles, satisfied. I smile in relief.
Another little girl tells me she's a pupil at Canfield Village Middle School. I tell her that I know school Principal Ron Infante, and that she'd better be good for him this year.
The girl's eyes grow wide. I think Ron owes me a favor.
I notice that the line of people next to Santa's house is shorter, and one of the women taking photographs asks me if I want to stop. I tell her no.
If Don Cramer can do this for six hours a day, I can last at least an hour.
Another group of children poses for a picture, and there's nobody left in line. I sit back in Santa's chair.
The T-shirt I'm wearing under my chest padding is damp with sweat, and I realize that I've been working pretty hard. My muscles are tired. I feel like I've just finished running a race.
I motion for one of the women taking the photographs and tell her I think it's time to quit.
Later, after I've peeled off the Santa costume and Cramer has taken my place in the green armchair, I get a soft pretzel and wonder about my performance. I think children might have realized that I don't have a long white beard or wispy white hair.
One of the girls who had sat on my knee walks by with her family. I look up and smile.
The family doesn't take notice. They continue shopping.
I guess I wasn't half-bad.
hill@vindy.com