Santa Jon Sabourin
(Annie)
801-272-7440
4649 Holly Lane
Holladay, Utah 84117
If you can't get us...call them. Jon is a former banker and current Santa at Salt Lake City's Hogle Zoo. (He went to the zoo to drive the train and has been the overnight man there for ever. Jon told me he just turned 70...and his health challenges are cathing up to him, but he never misses us on Christmas Eve with a bottle and a block....of timihook cheese and a cellophane sleeve of exotic water wafer crackers.
Don't try to reach him by E-mail though...he rarely goes there and only with his computer saavy daughter's help.
One year Jon hinted that he would love to borrow our Heavy-as Sin British Santa Father Christmas hooded cape. We had it made by a talented costume maker I worked with and she chose a very heavy upholstery fabric. It's like wearing shoulder pads. It's balanced but heavy....
Jon's wife let him off down the street from his daughters party where the clan was gathering and he walked into a previously unlocked door...and his kids (who already know he plays Santa around town were thunderstruck!
Natrually they had to try on the suit and everybody groaned as they felt the weight. (a PVC pipe staff candy caned with a shiny stripe of red duct tape is practical: (It gives you something to lean on with all the extra weight) and it looks smashing.) It adds to the impression that this is THE REAL DEAL.
Funny thing about that suit. I wore it when invited to the LDS Ward next door and suddenly relived what we've come to call the KFC nightmare. Near the beginning of the line, a boisterous, wild eyed 9 year old (think 16 year old full back from the High School stuffed into a sugar hyper junior body) came toward me, jumping the line.
That night I had made my way slowly through the crowd ... violating my own prime directive that I NOT play Santa and lose the magic of SANTA to the din of clanking folding chairs being put away by Elders Moving and Storage. My dear friend Lynn Burton, a musical and technical whiz had a great idea: He had rigged a carioke machine to play all the great Christmas Carols for a Christmas banquet dinner style sing along the minute I walked through the door. He flipped the switch and a fuse blew...leaving them without music or (worse) a back up plan. Lynn foze, like a deer in the headlights, somewhere back in the Technical Shack...but no matter, my marshalls...a dozen 11 year old girls in spritely green elf uniforms and matching hats herded the kids and did a marvelous job supplying them with cellophase shrink wrapped candy and a gender appropriate toy: Nerf footballs for the little boys and a small stuffed animal for the little girls.
I organized the line as any good Executive Santa would...and the whiz bang assembly line began with parents coming to the edge of the stage with their cameras.....then came the blob kid....fat, hyper with chicken grease glistening from all ten fingers left over from a delicious country fried chicken dinner.
The first time he jumped the line, the elves sent him back to his buddies at the end, where he belonged. Didn't last long. His appetites and what Gramma Rosie and I call, "The Yimmies" brought him back...and this time I sent him back with a warning. On the third violation (now Santa hates to drop kids for push ups...but I was careful to include his friends--so we had half a dozen 9 year olds of various weights and abilities pumpin' them out...and most everybody laughed.
The Bishop, Jon Tingey, a man I had directed a few years earlier in a stake/neighborhood musical, wandered over and just watched. Not a hint of a smile...just watched me like the careful publisher By Jensen at the Provo eaily Herald would watch me move within his shop...no smile...just gentle watching.
The kid disappeared after the pushups...and me and my 3,000 dollar Santa rig were relieved.
I was done. I gave token prizes to the elves and Bishop Jon in a quiet friendly way offered to walk me out....and I sensed for the first time, there may have been something amiss. I stopped to hug and visit...and Bishop Jon patiently waited for me to make my ceremonial exit out the front door. He held the door and I walked the half a block home, but something wasn't right. I knew it.
Next morning we found a little anonymous envelope on the front steps..with a letter that said in part:
Mr. Howe: You are the worst Santa I have ever seen. You made my son's life a living hell and I will never forgive you for it. You should strongly consider getting out of the business! No signature.
Hmmmmmm. Had I been so hard on the little ball of fat and wild eyes? Was I too protective of an expensive suit remembering our freebie visit to the Headstart Program where dozens of greedy little kids hugged me and wiped their greasy fingers on our brand new suit back in the day?
Later that morning I dropped by Bishop Jon's office. Though I was a member of the adjoining ward, I worked in Holladay Stake Cultural Arts and I really did want to resolve things with the mom..and the kid, but with the Bishop, too! Bishop Jon was discreet and as I sought a minute, he ushered me in and closed the door.
ME: Bishop--I've never been walked out of a visit in nearly 40 years of doing this. What's going on.
HIM: Thanks for coming by. I was going to call you. I think, last night......um......we lost focus on what was appropriate--what our mission was.
THOUGHT My vindictive, protective side could have protested the little kid's assault in the name of protecting...but I held my peace.
ME: Look, Jon, I just want to make it right.
HIM: (Relieved) I'm so glad you feel that way (A Bishop's first duty is to be a diplomatic buffer between what could be or become warring factions) Don't worry about it. I'll go to the Mom and square it with her. (He likely said with as much love as that good man could muster that he knew Santa well--and he does--and Santa felt badly about dropping her son for push ups. As an added benefit, and I only guess, Bishop Tingey took a left over prize package...and the Mother could save face.
On reflection over the six months since, I could have handled the young man differently --either holding my nose and geting him through the line--sending a wrong message, bu solving the problem.
I could have a spare elf cap in my bag and reward bad behavior...as I often do at a stubborn visit with a rebellious but manageable child and enlist him as part of the elfin corps.....NOT!
Most likely, I should have drawn him aside and in the hub bub and fun of an assembly line visit that moved dozens of waiting children through a line....counseled him on the things he COULD BE DOING to merit a treat package---That would likely be the wisest approach...but things were moving pretty quickly....and I have learned since that my real predecessor, St. Nicholas the venerable Bishop of Cologne represented a presence who gave gifts regardless of merit.
Surely this kid got what he deserved. Storming the barricades three times and giving up to a Santa who "had his number" It's the ;only hate mail I've ever got as Santa...but it was not deserved. I owe it all to an expensive set of gear and good sense.
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