Redtree Times

Here’s another photo from Square America.  Santa’s a little scary here.  Reminds me of a segment from a movie from the early 70’s, the  original Tales From the Crypt, where a homocidal maniac escapes from a prison for the criminally insane. It is, of course, Christma Eve.  He ends up, now somehow dressed up as Santa (and looking very much like this guy shown here, if my memory serves me well) at the home of a character (played by Joan Collins) who has just murdered her own wealthy husband.  Hijinks ensue.

Santa can be a scary or at least strange guy for a lot of people.  My strangest memory with Santa came many years ago when Cheri and I were very young and took a trip to the Adirondacks.  There is a famous little tourist spot  that I don’t want to name but let’s just say it features Santa in his work environment as he prepares for Christmas.  There are reindeer and elves.  Your normal stuff.

Anyway, it was between seasons there in the fall.  The summer campers and hikers were gone and the winter skiers and snowmobilers weren’t due for a month or so.  So when we pulled into this park there were very few people there.  In fact, none.  We were it. 

We wandered around for while.  Fed the reindeer.  Can’t remember what else there was there actually.  I wish I had the condition I mentioned in yesterday’s post so I could tell you.  But as we strolled we caught of a glimpse of a man in a red suit and a white beard.  It was him.  The man.  Santa.

We approached and realized he was leaning against a building.  Smoking a cigarette. 

Looking back, I knew he viewed us as adults well past believing in Santa, which was true.  But we were still young and relatively unjaded, wanting to at least maintain the facade of the myth. At least wanted this guy to play his part.   And here was Santa sucking on a Marlboro.  I think he flicked the butt on the ground and crushed it with his black Santa boots.

We talked for a while and he was kind of matter of fact about everything.  Even a little crusty.  No ho-ho-hos here.  He told us they were thinking about relocating this North Pole workshop down the mountain further where the main road passed.  As he explained, “That’s where the money is.” 

However disappointed we were, we laughed all the way down the mountain road and to this day we both chuckle whenever we hear the term that’s where the money is and think of our smoky Santa.

Maybe it was this guy.  I can’t be sure.