The Big Men on Campus at Santa Claus University

Are all the kids out of the room? Good, because we are about to deal with a sensitive subject. Santa Claus.

By now his jolly helpers in their red suits and white beards are all in their places with sunshiny faces at Southland malls and stores, listening to the small fry ask for everything from a bike to a baby sister.

But it was only a week or so ago that the scene was a room on Wilshire Boulevard, where employment seekers from truck drivers to actors were being trained for the most crucial job of their lives.

“It’s the only position available where it pays to be fat,” 52-year-old Jerry Carson of Lynwood was saying.

The 326-pound Carson, who is on disability with a heart ailment, was one of a couple of dozen men at the Los Angeles headquarters of Western Temporary Services Inc., annually the nation’s largest supplier of Santas, more than 3,000 of them.

For about three hours, they became students at Santa University, listening and participating as Marlene Morris, account representative with the Anaheim office, emphasized:

“In this day of broken families and foster homes, the only good thing in the kid’s life may be Santa Claus. And that’s you.

“And you may be the one person some kids will listen to, when they won’t do so with their teacher or whoever is taking care of them. So be old-fashioned--tell them to brush their teeth, and put away their toys.”

The pep-talk part having concluded, Morris got down to some practical battle orders before sending the men out to the front lines:

--”In this society where so many children don’t live with their actual parents, refer to the child’s folks, not his mom or dad, or you might wind up with someone on your lap in tears.

--”Don’t promise to bring a puppy, or a baby brother, or to bring the family back together again. Otherwise the child may be shattered on Christmas morning. Tell him Santa deals only in toys.

--”Remember the names of the reindeer, because some kids will ask. Rudolph counts, but Sleepy and Dopey don’t.

--”If someone worries that Santa may have difficulty entering the house because it has no chimney, discourage him from any thoughts of leaving the door open before he goes to bed.”

Lester Dobson, 51, of Long Beach, is a 384-pound former truck driver who has filled this holiday role before, and he volunteered the reply he gives when told of the absence of a chimney:

“I tell them I’ll shrink and come through the keyhole. If they say they have no keyhole, I say I’ll come under the crack in the door. Somehow I’ll get to the tree.”

‘No Worse Than Macy’s’

It was an informal gathering, these boys of autumn, and during a break, 31-year-old actor Paul Mazzio of Burbank took the opportunity to reflect on what the four-week experience means to him (besides temporary income of $5 to $6 an hour):

“It’s a good stretch during which to play one character. And no matter where I’m sent, it can’t be any worse than when I played Santa at Macy’s in Manhattan a few years ago. There were six of us, and we talked with a total of 3,000 to 4,000 children each day.”

Another actor in the crowd, 40-year-old Anthony Galvan of Hollywood, who said he invariably is given bad guy movie roles, added that he welcomes the chance to play a good guy for a change.

From all walks of life they come. The Anaheim office annually sends out a man who makes his living as a funeral director the rest of the year, but needs this fun break in December.

He and the others figure to stay busy right through Christmas Eve. Take it from Barbara Jones, regional vice president of Western Temporary, which also supplies clerical, industrial and medical help.

“Across the nation, bookings for Santas are generally down, but in Southern California they are up” she said.

Although most of the Santas go to malls and stores, some requests are for private parties, for which the fee is a minimum of $150. “We have gone to one house in Orange County for 20 years now,” Jones said. “They have a huge Christmas Eve party, relatives arrive from all over the world, and Santa shows up to hand out the presents to the kids.”

“Remember, if someone asks you to boogie at a party, you don’t have to,” Morris reminded her students. “You can simply say that Santa has been working hard and is too tired to dance.”

Besides imparting counsel on how to act and what to say, Morris gave words of wisdom regarding the uniform (provided by Western, complete with beard) and just how to get that kid to pop onto your knee.

“Getting one child after another onto your lap can be exhausting,” she cautioned. “It is recommended that you straighten out your leg so the youngster can sit on it as you bring it back to a sitting position.

Extra-Large Available

“And try to hold both his hands while chatting, so he can’t grab your beard.”

As for the red velvet costumes, the trousers come in a size that will accommodate anything from a size 36 to a size 54 waist, made possible by a draw string. An extra-large size is also available.

The costume, Morris said, didn’t have a right rear pocket until a few years ago, when some Santas had their wallets stolen while their clothes hung in a dressing room.

When someone asked where the changing should be done, he was told generally to wait until arriving. “Or at least don’t drive in wearing the suit without the wig and beard, as one man did,” Morris said. “Some kid will see you and figure it out.

“As for that instant fat some of you may want, remember that Santa is neither pregnant nor Dolly Parton. The trouble with a pillow is that it rides either too high or too low.”

A better alternative, she suggested, is to sew two T-shirts together, fill one with stuffing and put on the other one.

In suiting up for the Big Game, the trousers go on first, followed by the leggings (held in place by garters), then the wearer’s own black shoes, then the coat and belt. The eyebrows are whitened with a stick, metal-rimmed glasses are put on, the beard is fastened, next the wig, topped by the hat, and finally the white gloves. And a legend reappears.

The assembled applicants were handed costumes, and for a moment it became a roomful of Santa Clones.

A No-Fail Diet

This may come as a shock, but Santa sweats. You better believe he does in that heavy suit, often under hot lights for picture taking. It’s a no-fail diet. Just about all of them weigh less by Christmas Eve than they did when it all started.

It’s hard work. Every year there are some dropouts.

The ones who stay have to constantly remember such things as hygiene. “We ask you to take a shower every day, use a deodorant and mouthwash, and keep breath mints handy,” Morris said. “You will need them, especially after having a hamburger for lunch.”

Western Temporary doesn’t allow its Santas to have tobacco or liquor on their breath--no smoking in uniform because the beard is flammable and no drinking on the job because, as Morris put it, “a staggering Santa will ruin a child’s life.”

The role-fillers each take a break every two hours. Because of the dehydration, most of them develop a thirst, and for this reason, if they sip a soft drink through a straw while in costume, they are told to take care so the beard and wig remain white.

In greeting a child--despite what you may think you recall--”Ho, ho, ho” is discouraged. Too frightening to some.

“Pay attention to the parents,” Morris suggested. “Sometimes they will come up beforehand and whisper what will be under the tree. If they don’t, and the child mentions a certain toy, look for a signal or a nod of yes or no.”

Santa sometimes doesn’t have to look very far. “Last year one of the fathers was a player for the Rams,” recalled 51-year-old Cecil Bowman of Burbank, himself a 270-pound former deep sea diver. “His kid was afraid of me, so the father sat on one of my knees, the mother sat on another, and the youngster stood in front.”

Don’t Be a Star

Without prior approval from the person accompanying a child, Santa never makes any promises, only that he will do his best. “It isn’t fair for you to try to be a star, when there is no way the parents can follow through,” Morris said.

As usual the local Santa squadron includes some who are fluent in more than one language. “The kids love to hear him speak their own language,” said 65-year-old Ted Rivas of West Covina, a 170-pound retired bank guard who can ask in English, French and Spanish whether you’ve been naughty or nice.

Same for 28-year-old Armando Soto Mayor of Los Angeles, a 170-pound correspondent for a Mexican newspaper who speaks English, Spanish and German.

In addition, some can communicate in sign language.

And always, Santa is ageless. If someone perchance should ask exactly how old, the reply can be the line from the movie “Miracle on 34th Street”: “I’m as old as my tongue, and a little bit older than my teeth.”