Chico Marx: Oh sure. You bet. Hey wait, wait. What does this say here, this thing here?
Groucho Marx: Oh that? Oh that’s the usual clause, that’s in every contract. That just says, it says, ‘If any of the parties participating in this contract are shown not to be in their right mind, the entire agreement is automatically nullified.’
Chico Marx: Well, I don’t know.
Groucho Marx: It’s all right, that’s in every contract. That’s what they call a sanity clause.
Chico Marx: You can’t fool me, there ain’t no sanity clause.
My reason for using the comedy routine that precedes is twofold. One, it involves the Marx brothers of whom I’m an unrepentant fan – Groucho is one of my ‘sainted’ figures, right up there with Mark Twain – and the other reason being that it is a wordplay spoof on the topic of Santa Claus, which I, being seasonal and all in this last pre-Christmas blog, would like to ponder.
The modern image of Santa goes back no further than the 19th Century, and the jolly old elf was created by editorial cartoonist extraordinaire Thomas Nast. He created the persona for Harper’s Weekly Magazine in 1881. Probably a more familiar image, and one that many of us gravitate towards as being the archetype was the Coca-Cola Santa, by Haddon Sundblom, starting in 1931
Enough history, other than to suggest that I think the perfect and only genuinely sincere SC movie is the original Miracle on 34th Street from 1947, starring the inimitable Edmund Gwenn as Kris Kringle, and an extremely young Natalie Wood as the skeptical little girl whom Kris must win over so that she will ‘believe’.
And belief is the key to the Santa phenomenon. Forget the St. Nicholas stuff, for the original St. Nick had absolutely zero to do with Christmas. Santa as we understand him is basically a commercial phenomenon designed to move playthings at Christmas. I really don’t have a problem with that in the sense that the idea still revolves around children. Some see it as ‘greed’ motivated, but I’m more inclined to regard it as a certain ‘magic’ that only children can grasp and, ultimately, will sadly lose.
Yes, I am fully cognizant that there are poor children, and for them Christmas is tough. But, fortunately, communities are often generous with such kids at Christmastime and contribute both toys and labor in repairing such toys each Christmas. I have contributed many times in the past and am always happy to do so. I can’t let any personal cynicism suggest they should do away with it all because of the ‘have nots.’ I too like to think there is a little magic left in the world.
I believed in Santa until I was about six, I think. I definitely remember the Christmas that took place when I was five. Because we were living at my grandmother’s house at the time, and because the living room in that big old farmhouse would have been far too cold for early morning festivities under the tree, my stocking was hung at the foot of my bed. And I remember. I truly remember the guy coming into the room. I swear I could see the outline of his beard through the darkness. I didn’t want to open my eyes too much for fear he might disappear. But, he delivered, and I was happy with what I got.
Of course, we continued to visit Santa in the department store, even after I didn’t really belie any longer. What the hell, I thought, why take chances. I don’t think I confessed my new disbelief until I was about 7. Then I, maliciously, set about convincing my baby brother his belief was spurious. He didn’t buy it. He still believed that Mickey Mouse was real, after all. I don’t think he still does.
Of course, as it always happens, along comes some do-gooder who wants to pee on the kiddies’ cornflakes. In this case it’s Dr. Nathan Grills, a public health dude (public health people are invariably killjoys) from Australia. He believes Santa is a very bad role model for kids. He’s fat, consumes a lot of sweets and booze on his stops, and perhaps is even DUI driving his sleigh. Now, this man is serious. As reported in the British Daily Express newspaper, he said, “Public health needs to be aware of what giant multinational capitalists realized long ago – that Santa sells, and sometimes he sells harmful products.”
Well, maybe he does, and maybe when he laughs is mid-section shakes like a bowlful of jelly, just inviting myocardial infarction, but at least the idea brings a little light into a world rendered dreary by wars and social ills.
I don’t believe in Santa Claus any longer, but I still want the conventional form to stay around.
Merry Christmas to you all. Love having you in my life.









