Jolly Entrepreneurs Are By Kelly
Greene Richard Christie, a 73-year-old retiree in Sunland, Calif., was struck by the idea of becoming Santa Claus seven years ago while vacationing in Big Sur. "I was walking on the pier when I saw a man dressed all in red with a full beard, and I watched children flock to him and talk to him as Santa," recalls Mr. Christie, who had retired from Sears, Roebuck & Co. several years before and was looking for something "noble to do where I could interact with children." The Santa who would become his mentor, Bill Gibson, told Mr. Christie -- who already sported a small beard -- that he could find work as Santa, too. Mr. Christie never shaved again. Within two years, the transformation was complete. He found an agent who helped him land work at corporate events, private parties, malls and even in television commercials. Last year, he flew to Shenzhen, China, where he greeted thousands of guests in a chalet set up in the lobby of a five-star hotel -- and pulled down a paycheck in "the mid-five-figures" for two hours of work a day, six days a week, for about a month. About two weeks ago, Mr. Christie returned to Asia. This season, he is listening to wishes of girls and boys at Pacific Place, one of Hong Kong's most popular shopping malls. Second Calling For no small number of male retirees, it's their first foray into life as an independent contractor: playing Santa Claus during the holidays. Many are ideally matched to the role of the Jolly Old Elf, given their real beards, which are sought after by photo companies manning Santa's workshops, and their real waistlines, reflecting decades of good cooking by their respective Mrs. Clauses. Shopping malls, of course, are where most St. Nicks ply their trade. Such work requires lots of time -- and endurance. (One Santa's secret: soccer shin guards to protect legs from preschooler kicks.) On average, each Santa visits with more than 80 children daily, according to a survey of 150 malls by the International Council of Shopping Centers, a New York trade group. And each mall snapped an average 4,000 photos of Santa mugging with those children in 2004. Instead of logging long hours in a chair, some retirees-turned-Santa work the party circuit, often mixing charity events with paid gigs. Few make it to national TV commercials, which are dominated by younger, professional actors, but most retired Santas have made an appearance or two on the local news, often helping to promote a toy drive. Patrick Farmer, a 63-year-old retired caterer who lives in Yuma, Ariz., spent the summer doing an off-season job: He and his wife greeted visitors as Santa and Mrs. Claus at Santa Claus House, a tourist stop in North Pole, Alaska, where the couple lived in their recreational vehicle. Mr. Farmer, who has traveled widely throughout the U.S., was able to converse with children from different parts of the country about features of their hometowns. "It makes Santa that much more real to them," he says. "I see everything when I'm in my sleigh, you know." Branching Out Some entrepreneurial Santas have created lucrative sideline businesses along the way. Mr. Christie, for example, markets a line of leather belts, buckles and other accessories, some costing nearly $300. Others, finding themselves with too much work to handle on their own, have become agents for fellow Santas. And a few of the sagest St. Nicks have written and published instruction manuals for the business and hold regular Santa workshops -- turning out trainees rather than toys. The pay can help beef up retirement savings. Santas working at shopping malls typically make $8,000 to $20,000 a season, with most landing in the $10,000 to $12,000 range. Santas on the party circuit pull in about $100 an hour, depending on the region and type of event. The larger photo companies, such as Noerr Programs Corp. in Arvada, Colo., pay most of their Santas on the lower end of the scale, but also provide their wardrobe, training and living expenses for employees working in malls far from home. But there's always the lure of the big time. "I saw Robin Leach interviewing a Santa going to appearances in a limo, and I thought, 'If I can do that in retirement, my wife would be really happy,' " recalls Timothy Connaghan, 58, a retiree and a Southern California Santa who now heads an industry trade group, the Amalgamated Order of Real Bearded Santas, based in Riverside, Calif. The tradition of visiting Santa dates back more than a century, to the late 1800s, when department stores started using St. Nick to lure shoppers. After World War II, the U.S. Army sold leftover cameras to photographers, who began snapping Santa photos in the department stores. The business surged with Polaroid instant pictures in the 1970s, and more recently with the rise of digital photography. Bill Sandstrom, a 57-year-old retired minister in Braselton, Ga., has always had an unmistakably ho-ho-ho-like laugh. Three years ago, after his first grandson was born, "my daughter said, 'If you're ever going to do this, now would be a great time.' " The new grandfather called AmuseMatte Corp., the Chatsworth, Calif., photo company that runs the Santa scene at North Point Mall in nearby Alpharetta, Ga., in hopes of working there. Instead, he was placed at the Rock Hill Galleria in South Carolina in 2004. His start-up costs -- $2,000 for three red suits and $200 to professionally whiten his beard, plus more for touch-ups -- meant he broke even compared with the retirement job he holds the rest of the year as a local truck driver. But the following year, AmuseMatte gave Mr. Sandstrom a raise and sent him to Burbank Town Center in California. Mr. Sandstrom is spending this season there as well, working eight hours a day, seven days a week, as the sole Santa on the scene. His wife, Peggy, took the job of set manager, and they're sharing an all-expenses-paid apartment. His first day in the chair was demoralizing: Three children showed up with a computer-generated list, single-spaced, that ended with a request for $2,000 in cash. Last, year, though, he was inspired by a little girl who told him, "Santa, Christmas isn't about you. It's about the Baby Jesus." Mr. Sandstrom, a retired Church of God minister, told her that Santa agreed. "Even in Hollywood, which is so materialistic, there are kids who don't ask for anything for themselves," Mr. Sandstrom says. "There was a little girl whose sister had drowned around Christmas the year before, and all she wanted was for her parents to be happy again." Another job requirement -- persuasively handling tough requests -- draws from retirees' reserves of life experience. And having your own grandchildren helps, veteran Santas say. When asked to bring parents back together, or to bring a family member home from Iraq, "I usually tell children that Santa feels really sad for them and I'll pray for them," Mr. Sandstrom says. The digital age -- and children's increasing skepticism -- makes it tougher today to keep children believing in St. Nick. That places more emphasis on the authenticity of Santa's beard, and makes men of a certain age that much more desirable as candidates. "If one of the ways people can get a child to believe in Santa one more year is to see a real-bearded Santa, that's what [families] seek out," says Mr. Connaghan, in California, who grew his beard about a decade ago to bolster his credentials as a Santa-for-hire. Making the Transition Like many retirees-turned-Santa, Mr. Connaghan dabbled in the role before walking away from the office. In fact, he first transformed into Santa while stationed in Vietnam, fashioning his beard from shaving cream. As he phased into full-time retirement from hotel marketing, he expanded his Santa enterprise. This year, as executive director of the Amalgamated Order of Real Bearded Santas, a group of more than 1,000 such men, Mr. Connaghan organized the group's first convention, in Branson, Mo., where 300 participants could meet with representatives from several photo companies and attend workshops on subjects ranging from Santa ethics to modeling work. (Among 322 real-bearded Santas who responded to a survey earlier this year, the average age was 59, average height was 5 feet 10 inches, average weight was 257 pounds, average length of marriage was 24 years, average number of children and grandchildren was 2.7 and 3.5, and the average number of years they had been Santa with a real beard was nine. Favorite movie? Fifty-six percent said "Miracle on 34th Street.") Mr. Connaghan, whose own appearances have included the Hollywood Christmas parade and the "Dr. Phil" TV show, shares what he has learned with new initiates for $89 apiece (including a "Behind the Red Suit" manual) in one-day workshops called the International University of Santa Claus. Santa Helpers Among his tips: Market yourself, rather than hiring an agent, by combing your hair and beard before heading out on errands and making up a distinctive business card to hand out around town. (His looks like a driver's license.) When in character, don't eat (except breath mints) or drink (except for water), scratch, sleep, chew gum or smoke. The most professional Santas invest in custom-tailored velvet suits and learn how to use foundation and rouge (DR-3 Raspberry from Ben Nye, a theater-makeup company, is a popular choice), Mr. Connaghan says. And the biggie: "Santa should always have his hands showing in the photo," usually with one arm around the child and the other in his own lap, Mr. Connaghan says. "We work hard to keep our image untarnished. One weak link can ruin the whole thing." His book includes information about buying liability coverage in case a parent sues. It's a concern shared by many Santas: Mr. Sandstrom says that he always wears white gloves so parents can watch his hands. The best part of the job? The adoration coming from children, and some adults. Mrs. Sandstrom recalls a dinner at Red Lobster shortly after Christmas last year when Mr. Sandstrom excused himself to use the restroom -- and then took about 45 minutes to make his way back to the table. Though he wasn't in costume, his beard and hair had been dyed white before Christmas, so he still looked the part. All of this can be tough on the real-life Mrs. Clauses, who, after all, didn't necessarily sign up to play second fiddle to Santa. In fact, one of the most popular workshops at last summer's convention in Missouri was titled "Dealing with the Male Peacock: How to Live with Santa." "But even for me," Mrs. Sandstrom says, "seeing the wide-eyed innocence in the children's eyes when they see Santa makes it worth it." -- Ms. Greene is a staff reporter in The Wall Street Journal's Atlanta bureau. |
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