by Jeff Guinn
“I promise you, it’s the truth!” Theodore growled; he hated anyone making fun of him. “What Bill Pickett does is called ‘bulldogging,’ and besides wild steers, some say he’s even wrestled down a buffalo and a bull elk! I understand he’s retired from the rodeo now and living on a ranch in Oklahoma. Do let’s go find him, Santa. You’ll see, Bill Pickett would be a great addition here. I was right about Worth and his fried chicken, wasn’t I?”
It was hard to argue with Theodore on that point, especially since I’d just been wondering if I might be able to enjoy one more piece of fried chicken before dessert; the next day Theodore and I left for Chandler, Oklahoma, where Bill Pickett had his ranch. As always on non-holiday trips, we took more common transportation—dogsleds south until civilization, where we switched to trains.
Bill Pickett turned out to be a wonderful man, quite small and wiry, built much like Willie Skokan. And, as Theodore Roosevelt had done a few decades earlier, Bill recognized me right away.
“Why, it’s Santa Claus,” he chuckled, shaking my hand. “Good to see you down here in Oklahoma!” Actually, it was somewhat surprising no one else had given me a second glance on my trip south to meet Bill. A year earlier, an artist had finally painted me the way I really looked. The Coca-Cola Company had hired a Swedish-American artist, Hans Sundblom, to do a “Santa” painting for a series of holiday advertisements on behalf of their popular American soft drink. Without telling anyone else at the North Pole, I discreetly visited Hans, introduced myself, explained my frustration at constantly being drawn elf-size, and ended up posing for his portraits myself. Hans drew “Santa” ads for Coca-Cola for thirty-five years, and I was his model in every one. We kept my real identity a secret. Whenever Hans had to have other people in his studio at the same time I was there, he introduced me to them as “Les Prentice,” a retired salesman. At any rate, I was finally pleased with the way I looked in print.
Bill Pickett’s rugged ranch in Oklahoma was a long way from Hans Sundblom’s comfortable studio. After telling me, “You sure look like those Coca-Cola pictures,” a comment I supposed was meant as a compliment, Bill cheerfully took us out to his corral, where he pointed to a huge, snorting bull.
“Think that one would be hard to wrestle down?” he asked.
“Please don’t try, Bill,” I said anxiously. “That animal must weigh a thousand pounds. Don’t hurt yourself trying to impress us.”
Before I could say more, Bill vaulted over the fence. The bull charged. Almost faster than eyes could see, Bill grabbed the bull’s head, bit its lip, and twisted with his arms, and the bull flopped over on the ground. Then both the bull and Bill got up, neither worse for the experience, although the bull obviously had learned who was boss.
“So, how was that?” Bill asked, laughing at the expression on my face.
“Bill, we have something important to talk with you about,” I replied, and just eleven days later, on April 13, Bill left Chandler to move to the North Pole.
Bill and Ben Franklin almost instantly became best friends. Both were curious about absolutely everything. Whenever Bill took breaks from working in the toy factory with Leonardo, Willie Skokan, and Ben, he got in the habit of visiting me in my study to ask questions.
“You’ve told me how you can’t give holiday presents every year to every child in the world, sometimes because of war or sometimes because parents simply prefer that you don’t,” he began one day.
I was busy reading letters from children. Thanks to our continued communications with friendly governments around the world, we received regular deliveries of mail at the North Pole, first by dogsled and later by airplane. Bill’s question interrupted my reading, but it was a pleasant interruption. “True,” I replied.
“Well,” Bill continued, “you don’t give gifts to grown-ups or even teenagers, usually, so how do you decide when each child should stop getting presents from Santa?”
“I don’t decide that,” I answered. “It’s really decided by the children themselves. You see, there comes a time in the life of each child who truly loves Christmas when that boy or girl realizes even Santa Claus can’t give presents to every young person who hopes for one from me. That’s when these children gladly give up what I would have brought them in order for boys and girls somewhere else to receive those gifts. It’s called generosity of spirit, Bill.”
Bill looked a little unhappy. “It surely seems sad, Santa Claus, for those generous young people to end up not getting any gifts themselves, after being so understanding and all.”
“That’s the wonderful thing about Christmas, Bill!” I exclaimed. “Besides you good friends who live with me here at the North Pole, parents and other adults all over the world are truly Santa’s helpers, too! They’re proud of their children for making the right, unselfish decision, and they make sure these youngsters continue to get gifts, too. True, the children know their Christmas gifts aren’t presents from Santa anymore, but those gifts are just as special as mine because they’re given with love, as all gifts should be.”
“One question more, Santa,” Bill continued. “What if someday, every child in the world made that decision, so that Christmas came and no boys or girls expected you to bring them presents?”
“I don’t think that will happen, Bill, and frankly I hope it doesn‘t,” I replied. “First, every child who loves the holiday season ought to get some presents from Santa. It’s a wonderful, natural thing. Second, not all children make their generous decision at the same age. That’s fine, too. It’s good we’re all a little different. And, finally, you know how I always say my motto is ‘It’s better to give than to receive.’ Well, it’s more fun, too. When they believe in me and my presents, it makes me happy. So I don’t plan to ever stop giving children gifts!”
“Unless we get this flying problem fixed, you might have to,” Felix interrupted. Apparently, he’d been standing in the doorway listening to Bill and me. “Santa, most countries, including some very friendly ones, have rules now about who they allow to fly overhead. ‘Restricted air space,’ they call it, as though people on the ground also should be able to rule the sky over their heads! Well, they’re afraid of bombs, I suppose, and some of them probably wouldn’t believe you had a sleigh full of toys instead.”
I nodded; it was a very serious problem. “Felix, do you have any suggestions? ”
“Well, Layla and I have been talking,” he admitted. “You know how she’s always admired that woman aviator, the one named Amelia Earhart?”
“And rightly so,” I agreed. “Amelia Earhart is clearly the greatest pilot in the world.”
“The best pilot in an airplane, but not the best in a sleigh,” Bill interrupted quickly, trying to make sure my feelings weren’t hurt.
“Probably the best pilot, period,” I said firmly. “Don’t worry, Bill, I’m not ashamed to admit someone else may be better at something than me. But, Felix, what does Amelia Earhart have to do with our problem?”
“Layla found out Amelia Earhart plans to try to fly all the way around the world,” Felix said. “Apparently, Amelia’s spent years studying maps of every country. She must know better than anyone else every flight pattern and plane route from one place on Earth to another.”
“I’m sure Layla has a reason for thinking this is so important,” I commented. “Why hasn’t she told me about it herself?”
“Oh, I will, right now,” my wife announced, joining Felix, Bill, and me in my study. “And please, Santa, stop asking Worth to fix you extra bedtime snacks. Soon there won’t be room in the sleigh for the toys and you at the same time!”
“About Amelia Earhart,” I suggested, taking a deep breath and trying, without much success, to suck in my stomach.
“It’s very simple,” Layla said in the patient tones of a wife who thinks her husband hasn’t understood something obvious. “Let’s see if Amelia Earhart will become one of our North Pole helpers. Then she can plan all your sleigh routes, working with governments that are f
riendly and finding ways for you to fly undetected by the unfriendly ones. Don’t you remember how Sarah helped us so much when she wrote that first book about traveling around America?”
Stated that way, the solution to our flight problems was very simple. With a little help from the current president—as it happened, he was a distant cousin of Theodore’s, named Franklin Roosevelt—we met with Amelia Earhart. She said she’d be honored to join us, and offered to cancel her upcoming round-the-world flight in order to do so.
“That’s quite generous, but do you think you might make at least part of that flight?” I asked. “Up at the North Pole we don’t have as much information as we should about the islands of the Pacific Ocean. Perhaps if you could explore them before you come to join us, you could help us get gifts delivered to more children in that part of the world.”
Amelia said she’d be delighted, if, in turn, we’d allow her to bring her trusty navigator, Frederick Noonan, on the flight with her and later to the North Pole as well. Everything worked out as planned. On July 2, 1937, everyone else in the world except President Roosevelt and those of us at the North Pole thought Amelia Earhart and Frederick Noonan somehow became lost forever on their flight. Actually, they turned north from the Pacific Ocean and flew to join us. We threw a grand party to welcome them, featuring Worth’s fried chicken and plenty of homemade chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Layla wanted me to have just one helping of each, but I thought it was only right to have seconds—well, thirds, too—in the proper spirit of celebration.
Bill Pickett
With the help of Amelia and Frederick, I was able to fly my sleigh more efficiently, meaning more children got gifts. This is always our annual goal at the North Pole, to deliver presents to more children than the year before.
Modern technology and better management plans have helped us do this. It finally became necessary to put all our records on computer. Arthur and Francis spent a few decades dividing the countries of the Earth into what they called “regions.” Senior staff were each put in charge of a specific region, with the responsibility of recruiting helpers from each country as needed and keeping track of which children wanted what. Arthur naturally oversaw our operations in England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. Francis took Spain and Portugal. Attila and Dorothea directed Germany and Austria, and so on.
We ended up having to divide types of gifts into separate divisions, too, with new helpers to keep track of all the latest developments in their areas of specialization. Zonk and Andy handled drums; Mary Elizabeth and Alison were our doll specialists; Scoop recommended the right books—his favorite was Beautiful Joe, the story of a wonderful dog. Bill and Theodore turned down jobs as regional directors to continue being in charge of all cowboy toys. Sequoyah, too, preferred the toy factory to other areas of management; he made it his special concern that our toys reflected the interests of children of all races.
There were other helpers with other jobs; gift-giving started to become complicated with the invention of chimneys so many centuries ago, and never got any simpler. We ended up needing a North Pole library, since we subscribed to many magazines; Marsha was our librarian, and Marilyn our chief researcher. Ira was the North Pole doctor, because even Santa’s helpers don’t feel well sometimes. Amelia Earhart and Frederick Noonan handled our air travel, and Sarah Kemble Knight decided on all land routes. We even had a public relations department to meet privately with people who didn’t understand why Santa Claus should be part of Christmas. This was delicate work sometimes. Leonardo and Willie Skokan ended up having to expand our North Pole home to three times its original size to make room for all the new helpers, but they didn’t mind. They were always happiest when there were new chores to be done.
So we became computerized and compartmentalized, but never subsidized. We continued to pay for all our own expenses by inventing ideas for toys and selling some of these ideas to companies in the outside world. For instance, we were delighted when video games became popular. Leonardo and Ben invented literally hundreds of games they sold to outside video-game companies at great profits to us. They thought their best game ever was about a plumber, his brother, and a princess; I always liked the one they invented that involved a hedgehog.
We did most of our toy business with companies in the United States, but had a longtime understanding with the American government that we wouldn’t have to pay taxes. Instead, the Internal Revenue Service declared us a “nonprofit” company. From Theodore Roosevelt to the present, every American president has agreed and not bothered us about taxes.
Lately there has been especially good news. Felix and Sarah Kemble Knight came into my study last week and asked if they could speak to me. Both of them were grinning, and Felix announced, “We’re going to be married.”
“Really?” I asked, delighted at the thought. “When did you decide to get engaged?”
“We’ve been talking about getting married since the 1800s, but we didn’t want to rush into anything,” Sarah answered. “Couples really need to take the time to get to know one another before they go racing to the altar. No offense to you and Layla, of course. Sometimes short engagements work out, too.”
Later that night I told Layla the happy news, only to be informed she’d known about Felix and Sarah for more than a century.
“Anyone with common sense could tell just by looking at them,” Layla said smugly.
“I couldn’t tell,” I replied, slightly offended.
Layla gave me a warm hug and a kiss. “That’s what I love about you, Santa. No one with common sense would have walked out into the night nearly two thousand years ago not knowing what would happen to him, but trusting some higher power would show him how to spend the rest of his life giving gifts and making other people happy. You’ve got a loving heart, and that’s more important than common sense any day.”
“I think I have a lot of common sense,” I grumbled, but Layla gave me another quick kiss and hurried off to find Sarah and begin planning the wedding.
The marriage took place yesterday. I performed the ceremony. After all, I never really stopped being a bishop. The bride looked beautiful; the groom looked nervous. Afterward, Worth served a huge wedding dinner. Layla thought I ate too much. Everyone at the North Pole went outside into the sparkling snow to wave good-bye to Felix and Sarah as they flew off; I’d lent them my sleigh for their honeymoon. Just before they departed, Amelia consulted her state-of-the-art radar and assured them the weather was perfect all the way from the North Pole to Rome. The pope had invited the newly-weds to stay at one of his mansions there, and Felix wanted to show Sarah where he’d once lived as a slave.
“At least there are no more slaves,” I commented to Arthur as we waved good-bye to the rapidly disappearing sleigh. “And maybe one day there’ll be no more wars, either.”
Then we all went back inside and ate some more. Fried chicken, cocoa, and homemade chocolate chip cookies make the best meal in the world.
Well, that’s about all of my story, at least so far. I’m certain there will be more adventures, just as I’m certain there will always be people who truly love Christmas and who, understanding that the main purpose of the holiday is to celebrate the birth of a child and the love he brought with him, have a special place in their hearts for Santa Claus, too.
It’s been my pleasure—even more, it’s been my honor—to share the holiday spirit with so many of you. Don’t ever apologize for loving me as much as I love you. After all, for those who don’t want to believe in me, no amount of proof would ever be enough. But for friends like you, who believe what they know to be true in their hearts, no further proof is necessary.
Well, it’s getting late. I have many things to do before morning, and you need to be off to bed.
My old friend Clement Moore was the first to write these words as a message from me, and they can’t be improved upon, so I’ll conclude with them here:
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”
Santa’s Favorite Recipe
WORTH’S NORTH POLE DELIGHT TENDER FRIED CHICKEN
INGREDIENTS AND SUPPLIES
4 medium or large-size mixing bowls
ice and water
lemon or lime juice
honey (optional)
fresh chicken parts (two to six pieces per diner—
Santa likes six for his dinner)
salt and fresh ground pepper to taste
(Santa likes a light seasoning touch)
4 fresh eggs or egg whites
half-cup milk or skim milk
lots of bleached or whole wheat flour
canola, olive, and corn oils
2 large but fairly shallow frying pans,
preferably with nonstick surface
large platter with plenty of paper towels
PRE-FRYING PREPARATION
1. Buy the freshest whole or cut-up chicken available. Cut into your favorite chicken parts. (Preferred but optional to taste: remove skin and extra fat.) Wash thoroughly in running cold water.
2. Fill one bowl with ice water. Fill second bowl with ice water and lemon or lime juice.
3. In third bowl, gently beat four whole eggs or egg whites with half-cup of milk or skim milk.
4. In fourth bowl, fill with layer of flour.
5. Mix four parts canola oil with one part olive oil and a splash of corn oil in each of the large frying pans. Be sure the pans are only about half-full of oil. Preheat oil mixture in one frying pan. Keep other pan of oil ready for backup.Note: You want your chicken pieces to be half under and half out of the oil mixture while frying.
Caution: Test oil for proper temperature with pinch of flour.
If the oil sizzles instantly, it’s ready for the chicken.
6. Double-dip chicken in flour: Move chicken from cold-water bath into ice water.
7. From there, remove and dip thoroughly into the egg and milk mixture.