Santa’s Miracles

There’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask Paul Raines – this large, jolly man who’s been such an important part of my life for the last 15 years – and I finally have my chance: “When did you realize you were Santa?”

He answers by telling me a story that’s irrefutable proof, and once again the magic of this man fills the room.

And this isn’t even his normal setting – his normal setting includes Christmas trees and colored lights and squealing children. On this day, we’re having breakfast at First Watch in Downtown Phoenix, and he’s “out of uniform” – at least, as much as a big man with a flowing white beard and dancing brown eyes can be, even if he’s wearing a golf shirt.

I’m so engrossed in our conversation that the 10 a.m. breakfast extends all the way through lunch, and at one point, our waiter overhears a question and breaks in like a child: “I knew it – I told the desk, ‘Santa is on table 11.'” Santa gives the waiter a “ho, ho, ho,” and we go back to our conversation. And then Judge Bruce Meyerson, one of my oldest friends, comes in with legendary attorney Herb Ely, and the judge calls over from his table, “Hi Santa.” Ely calls him “Sir” when I introduce them. Then, three of the ladies I golf with at Palo Verde look over as they’re paying their bill and do a double-take. It’s like that all morning, and I can just imagine all those people who will tell more people that they saw Santa Claus at breakfast.

Of course, lots of guys look like Santa Claus – there’s even a national organization of “real-beard Santas.” If all he had was “the look,” I wouldn’t be bothering. Phonies don’t interest me much. But I’ve known for a long time that this guy isn’t a phony, he isn’t an actor playing a role, he isn’t a part-time character who shows up once a year.

I’ve known for a long time that he really is Santa, and you’ll see too as I tell you his remarkable stories, which started 22 years ago, when his church first saw his special glow.

Other than being a large man, he didn’t look anything like this back in 1972, when he was 24 and the Biltmore Church of the Nazarene asked if he’d play Santa for their annual children’s party. He thought it sounded like a lark, so he went to a costume shop – even though he didn’t know it at the time, the spirit of Santa had begun immediately (much to the dismay of his budget-minded wife). “The cheapest suit they had for rent was $65, but it was so cheesy,” he remembers. “So I got a better one for $150. But it didn’t come with a beard and a wig, so I had to rent that extra. My total bill came to around $325, but it was a really nice beard and wig.”

He borrowed his father’s black cowboy boots, and when the whole outfit was in place… darn if he didn’t look a lot like the pictures of Santa in the children’s books.

“I’m not afraid of acting up, so I show up at the church and start talking with the kids, and it’s just a lot of fun,” he recalls.

The next day at the office, where he was an accountant, he told everyone what a kick it was, and two fellow workers asked if he’d put the suit on and come by – one for a son’s December birthday, the other to see grandchildren.

“The next year, the church asked me to play Santa again, and my two friends from work asked again, and some others had heard about it, and I did six or seven visits that year.”

His brother owned a store in Tucson in those days, and he had “Santa” fly in via helicopter to the delight of his customers. “In seven years, I went through three different beard-and-wig sets,” he remembers. “Finally, I met Joe Greenawalt.”

For any of you old-time Phoenicians, you’ll remember that name with joy and sadness.

Joe Greenawalt was the most famous Santa Phoenix has ever known – and one of the most important the nation has ever had. By the time Paul met him, Joe had already won the nation’s “Santa lookalike” competition and was seen on billboards and ads throughout Arizona. I’ve recounted the story a million times. About how I met him in 1977 and wrote a front-page Christmas Day story on him for The Arizona Republic. How he showed up at my house the next year to join my annual party for the 10 children on my street. And how after all these years, as the number of children has doubled and doubled again, the arrival of Santa at my door has become a cherished tradition.

But dear Joe died, and my heart still breaks thinking about that wonderful man. He truly will never be forgotten because he taught me something very important: There are special people on this earth who really are Santa Claus – people whose hearts and souls overflow with the goodness and love that Santa represents. And anyone who ever knew Joe knew he was the genuine article.

So it’s very fitting that his protégé would inherit that spirit.

“He was ‘The Man,'” Paul remembers. “The first time I met him, I went to a mall where he was appearing, and I sat there for hours watching how he was with the kids… how they treated him.”

It was clear that no fake-bearded guy would ever get that kind of love or that kind of respect. So Paul went home to grow a beard. The two men worked together for a while, and by the time Joe died, both were booked solid during December with home visits, as well as churches and shopping centers and resorts.

Later, when Joe died, I was so shaken by his death that I refused to consider another Santa for several years. I substituted “letters from Santa” for a while, but that got old. And one year Big Bird arrived at the door, insisting he was Santa. The children laughed, and we adults were certain they didn’t realize this was really Dave from next door in a costume from Bert Easley’s.

But the next year, I overheard this conversation between two of my neighborhood children: “Do you think Santa will come this year?” “I don’t know, maybe he’ll ask Dave to be Big Bird again.”

It was time to move on. These children were such believers, and they knew Santa had put Dave up to wearing the disguise. Besides, my friend Nan laid down the law. If I remember right, she put it this way: “It’s hard to have a Santa party without Santa.” She even had a candidate, and that’s how I met Paul.

I grilled him relentlessly – did he really know about Santa, did he really have that spirit, did he really love what Santa stood for? – and decided to give him a try.

And every year since then he’s come through my front door, as we’re gathered around my piano bellowing out Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and over the years, I’ve watched him become Santa.

If you want to find Santa during the month of December, check area hospitals, homeless shelters and domestic violence havens. (“The County Hospital is No. 1 on my list,” he says.) He’s always got a sack full of toys – some are donated from the homes where he makes private visits, others he buys himself.

And many times, he’s reached into that sack and brought out a miracle. Like the time with Sally, a little girl about 7 who had lost her grandpa and sister in a car accident. She and her mom had survived, but even though she was medically OK, she hadn’t spoken a word since the accident.

“I talked to her, but she just looked at me,” Santa remembers. “I reached in my bag, and I knew I had a stuffed doggie with a tape recorder that would speak back whatever you said to it. So I brought it out, and I said, ‘I love you Sally,’ and the puppy repeated, ‘I love you Sally.’ And then Sally said, ‘I love you, too, puppy,’ and the nurses had to walk away because they were crying.”

His eyes get wet just thinking about that little girl. “There are hundreds of stories like that,” he says, with both pride and humility.

But there is one story that trumps all the others. It’s the one moment when this man – a husband, brother, son and father of two girls – knew this wasn’t an act and he wasn’t just “playing Santa” anymore.

There was a little girl dying of cancer. “She’d already lost her leg, and when I asked her what she’d like for Christmas, she told me she wanted her leg back. A tear ran down my cheek and I told her, ‘Honey, I’m Santa Claus, and I don’t have the power to do that. But there is one who does,’ and we prayed together. And I asked if there was something else she’d like, and she told me she’d always wanted a Cabbage Patch doll. I knew I didn’t have a Cabbage Patch doll in my bag – I’d loaded the bag myself – so I told her, ‘I’ve got something in my bag right now for you, but I promise you’ll get a Cabbage Patch later.’ I reached my hand down into that bag, and I touched what I knew was a doll, but when I pulled it out, I saw that it was a cute redheaded Cabbage Patch doll. I started weeping. And I told her, ‘Why should we wait – here it is right now!’ I’ll never forget that.”

As convincing as that moment was, there’s another one that nailed it for me – this is when I knew he really was Santa.

A few years ago, I did a story on a domestic violence shelter in South Phoenix that focuses on women who can’t speak English. I was moved by their mission and their needs. I asked Santa if he could find time to visit the shelter over the holidays, and, of course, he said he would.

His SUV was sideswiped and totaled just a few feet from the shelter’s front door, as the children were gathered around a fence, waiting for his arrival. Paramedics were there within minutes, finding he had a concussion and demanding that he go to the hospital. “You see those children?” he asked the firefighters. “They’ve just seen Santa in a wreck. They can’t think Santa is hurt. I’m going to be OK.”

They fussed over him, but he refused to leave, and finally convinced them he was OK. “And you know, I was,” he remembers. “I went in and gave them quite a show and handed out presents, and I felt fine. My daughter, Mindy, came to get me to go to the emergency room, and as soon as I got in her car, I got sick. But the emergency room had a two-hour wait, and I had other places expecting me. I felt fine again, so we left and I did four other appearances that day.”

He calls his charity “Kids n’ Claus.” “Santa wanted to do something in the summer, so he came to Phoenix to warm up,” he tells the needy children he gathers in the summer for a special party. (He’s found it remarkable that adults will often ask, ‘Isn’t this the wrong time of year for you to be around,’ while he’s never heard such a question from a child.) The children come from shelters and havens and are referred by social-service agencies, and for one day in the hot summer, they get to play with Santa.

He envisions this party as a fund-raiser – money raised through commercial venders and donations – to support a staff that could help children in need. “If a family’s house burned down, they could call Kids n’ Claus, and we’d help them get temporary housing and clothing and food. I want to be the go-between to let kids have a better life. I don’t care what the challenge is, if it involves a child, I want to help find an answer.”

Last July 31, he held “Christmas in July” for about 300 kids at the Central Methodist Church on Central Avenue. There were blow-up toys for the boys and girls to romp around on, there was a baby camel, he brought along three elves, everyone had pizza, he handed out bottles of water with his picture on them…. There were about 20 venders, from social-service agencies to businesses that cater to children’s needs. In the afternoon, a talent show of “strictly kids” did everything from mariachi music to a girl singing songs from Annie.

“For 20 years, clients and friends have given me toys to give away,” he says. “I never want to stop that, but I want to do more.”

And here’s a secret, from Santa’s own lips: “I still get thrilled by all of this. This is an absolute pleasure – it’s a gift from God, not just a gift to me, but a gift for many. My dream has come true that I can help people every day of my life.”

If you’d like to help Santa help others, contact Santa Claus & Co. at 602-954-8697.