Santa Claus died last week

My mother sent the obituary from the Galesburg Gazette. Santa Claus died last week.

He was always in front of Grants Department Store from the first of December through Christmas Eve, no matter the weather, year after year. He stood there giving out hearty ho-ho-hos and jingling from the bells on his suit. His suit was clean and the cuffs always a fluffy white. His beard looked real and his hair curled on his forehead under his red cap. He was Santa to all who saw him.

His bag was always filled with candy canes, the old-fashioned ones, only peppermint. He would not pander to having orange or lime or grape.

He out-smiled teen hecklers and jollied first-time Santa visitors out of their fear and tears.

I met Santa once other than at the store. It was Christmas Eve and the moon shone faintly on the drifts of snow on our Michigan farm. My sister and I were already in bed when we heard someone calling, “Ho, ho, ho.” The sound of jingling bells came out of the darkness. We slipped downstairs and hid behind our parents as they walked onto our farmhouse porch and greeted Santa, who was standing there in his full red suit, beard and cap. Dad asked, “Is everything all right, Santa? It’s good you have a sleigh or you couldn’t have made it through the drifts.”

“Where are your reindeer?” I bravely asked.

“Oh, they are out by the road eating some hay,” Santa replied. “I just dropped in early to make sure these girls got these gifts from their aunt and uncle.” Then he handed two wrapped packages to our Dad, turned and walked back into the darkness, bells jingling.

As I grew up, he was always there in front of the store, calling out to the children and adults who came by. I saw the delight in their eyes as he called them by name, even though they had “Santa” and no longer believed in the magic.

It didn’t matter to Milt; Santa was his calling. Yes, Milt. He had a name other than Santa. Most people in the town didn’t know he was more than Santa. He was married and had two little girls of his own. When his youngest fell ill with no hope of a cure, he would wear his red, soft fuzzy Santa suit and rock her in his arms until she could fall asleep. She always believed in Santa.

Then the obituary came in a cold, white letter. Santa Claus died last week and Christmas will never be the same again.

In second grade, Pat Hodapp told her teacher she would become a librarian and an artist. She accomplished both goals. In addition to writing, Hodapp is an artist who works in oils and pastels. She is the new Santa Fe Library Public Library’s city librarian.