TOUCHED BY BETTER ANGELS*

THE MAN

Fully bald since youth with little more than a horseshoe ring of hair greying around the temples the man presents a rather unassuming appearance.  Shoulders slightly hunched, he strides down the street quite often with his grandson in tow. Nothing indicates the secret he keeps.  The youngster with a hairline eerily reminiscent of his companion, knows little of the man’s secrets, and doesn’t care.  He adores his Papa. 

Unless dressed for church the man rarely wears anything but the crimson red of his favorite college. The drum and feather logo of the University of Utah proudly displayed…despite the fact he never set foot in a university classroom.  Instead he forged out a living in the printing industry.  Relying on basic skills acquired in high school and honed over decades in the trenches he forged out a living running a press.  With ink coursing through his veins he now toils in the printing department of that same university.  In life and in secret the man cannot hide from that crimson hue.   

Life’s promises are hard to keep.  Vowing “Hell would freeze over” before he would marry…turned out to be one of those empty promises.   Early in 1986 a storm of tremendous proportions formed in the sweltering valleys of Hades and on October 11^th the unfathomable fathomed!     Taking a wife is no easy task.  The “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” temper a marriage over the years.  Some succeed, others fail miserably.  Five of his six siblings have seen their marriages crumble. More than thirty years have passed since that fateful October day when the river Styx turned to ice and the avowed bachelor said “I do”. Yet the marriage holds strong.  Sure there have been adversities along the way and maybe, just maybe the secret they share keeps their bond solid.

THE SECRET

By definition his middle name means “lacking the least bit of courage, contemptibly fainthearted.”  “Defeated, vanquished” an archaic and seldom used term anymore, it is not his secret and it does not truly portray the man or his lineage.  Ancestors bearing the name were gassed in World War I…hunkered down in the fox holes at Anzio and helped liberate the Dachau Concentration camp during World War II.  These men were not craven cowards but they were Cravens.  While he bears the name Craven we shall see he is neither vanquished nor defeated.

School work was a struggle and as high school graduation neared the grades were not there for him to walk with his classmates.  Screwing up the courage to correct this deficiency he turned to tutors and primers building up sufficient proficiency necessary to graduate on time with his class.  This focus and tenacity would prove essential as his secret plans began to solidify.

We all have secrets.  Some are taken to the grave while others are shared by only our BFF’s.  Some secrets become public knowledge with little to no fanfare.  Some secrets, if told, would hurt others.  They become burdensome to keep and painful to disclose.  

So, what is this secret we have been hearing about?

Long before the world of cosplay and comic world fandom became the norm; the man’s desire was to play dress up, to enter his own fantasy world.  Not the cross-dressing Ru Paul’s “Drag Strip” transvestite sort of dress up.  Not the geeky fandom of cosplay.  No, the man wants to be the harbinger of good will, the delight of children around the world.  The man wants to be SANTA CLAUS!

THE JOURNEY

 There are several key players in this story.  The man, his wife, and his mother have all contributed and or colluded in differing ways to help fulfill his wishes. 

As a December baby he always had an affinity for the holiday season. 

 

“What do you want for Christmas?” his mother asked one winter’s day.

“I want a Santa suit” he replied.

“A what?” queried the mother!

“A Santa Clause suit” he again responded.

At this point the man was still a boy.  Barely out of high school filled with the belief he would make a good Father Christmas but without the bulk needed to properly fill out a Santa suit.

With a few yards of red velveteen and furry white fluff the mother set out to fulfill the wishes of her young son.  By Christmas the new suit was readied and wrapped.   It would be another year before the boy could fully benefit from his new outfit.

The years would come and go.  The boy “filled” out into a man and with each passing season the newly minted Santa would slip out of his crimson and white Ute uniform and into the red velvet and faux fur of his secret identity, much to the joy of many  a young boy and girl.  That homemade suit would give way to newer commercial suits. Along the way a Mrs. Clause outfit was added which his wife happily donned and joined in the merriment.

For many of these part-time Saint Nick’s this type of cottage industry serves as a very profitable adventure.  But as Paul Harvey would say “and now….

…THE REST OF THE STORY”

 It was one of the first family parties he was asked to perform at.  The room was filled with the smells of the season, good food, and comradery.   With bells jingling and a hearty Ho Ho Ho, Santa burst into the gathering sending toddlers screaming in fright to their mother’s welcoming arms and the believing older children staring in awe. 

 

Dipping into his overfilled bag Santa would gather up a gaily wrapped gift calling out the name of an eagerly waiting recipient.  Off to the side he noticed the pretty young girl with the forlorn look on her face.  Vainly he tried to catch her attention, hoping a wink from Santa would elicit a smile to her face.

Finally the name Leslie appeared on the package he hauled out of his bag.  Timidly she approached Santa and shyly climbed upon his lap.  

“And what would you like from Santa this Christmas?” asked the man is his best jolly old elf voice.

With a tear welling up in her eye…the response would forever change the man’s life.

“I want to live” whispered the girl “I have cancer and I don’t want to die!”

The cacophony of noise in the room became a hollow buzz.  The air escaped his lungs and his own eyes began to water.  Scanning the room he found the girl’s mother, tears streaming down her cheeks knowing her daughter’s impossible request.

Trying to regain his composure he gently wrapped his arms around the little girl and whispered in her ear.  What was said is known only to the girl and her Santa.

A fee had been agreed upon for the man to appear at that Christmas gathering.  When the host tried to pay he turned the money down asking for it to be given to her favorite charity instead.

Nobody paid attention to the unassuming man only slightly showing signs of his soon to be bald head, shoulders slightly hunched as he sat quietly in the church a few months later.  Speakers talked about life’s promises unfulfilled, dreams never to come true and hope for an eternal reunion. 

  

Following the funeral services the man sought out a private conversation with the mother of the girl who would never attend her high school prom nor would ever actually see her teenage years. Identifying himself as the Santa Clause on that fateful night, he told the grieving woman how much her daughter had meant to him and how she had irrevocably changed his life forever.

Three decades have passed since that night.  Each Christmas season through the years the man has stepped into his alter ego and each year the memory of that young girl fills his mind and heart.   Three decades have passed since that fateful night.  Hundreds of similar gatherings have seen the man don his Santa suit and bring magic to life for scores of adoring young children.  Three decades of young and old sitting on his lap telling him their desires, wishes, and hopes for the season.  Three decades and the man’s services remain in high demand.

For three decades instead of just padding his belly he could have padded his bank account.  Three decades and STILL the man DOES NOT charge for his services. Instead he instructs the people who enlisted him to give the money to their favorite charity.  There are a few people who insist he take their money.  Without fuss he will accept the funds which HE then turns over to the Cancer Society in the name of Leslie…the girl who set him on his life’s course…a girl who even to this day he can't recall her last name.

EPILOGUE

  

You know Dasher and Dancer and Frosty and Rudolph…The Grinch, the Who’s and the Christmas Shoes.  All tales of pure fantasy and whimsy, however the above story is true!  The man is my younger brother Roger.  His wife Paula is his Mrs. Clause and from time to time his daughters even dress up as elves to help in the festivities.

Most of the details came from my mother who before a stroke just weeks before her 88th birthday still had a keen memory; however I may have used a little poetic license with some of the facts.  He doesn’t know I let the cat out of the bag in writing about him.   It just felt right his story be told and to let him know how much he means to me.  Besides we always need a little Christmas.

*Abraham Lincoln in his first inaugural address