The following story was published originally in Memphis magazine in December of 2017. We have heard a rumor that a certain Santa is back on the Polar Express this holiday season...
Photo by Betsy Borrego
This was going to be “Confessions of a Santa.” But, really, do we even want to contemplate a Santa that has things to confess?
So let’s assume that I’m as pure as a North Pole blizzard — come on, work with me here — and I’ll tell you about my adventure as the right jolly old elf.
Last year, my agent in Jackson, Mississippi, Angie Moncrief, got me an opportunity to audition for Santa in the Polar Express Train Ride in New Orleans. I knew I could do it since I’d done an in-house video for a company in Little Rock and later a commercial for a Los Angeles radio station that was throwing a big holiday bash in L.A.
They were nothing like what this promised to be.
Rail Events, Inc., works with railroad and museum operators throughout the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom to put on various kinds of family entertainment, including Peanuts-themed shows and a Wizard of Oztrain ride.
But the big one is the Polar Express production that goes on in some 45 locations in those three countries. It’s based on the 2004 Warner Bros. 2004 film, starring Tom Hanks, that was based on the 1985 book by Chris Van Allsburg. The story follows a Hero Boy who has begun to doubt the reality of Santa. He’s picked up on Christmas Eve by a magical train and goes on a journey to reassure him that Santa is, in fact, a fact.
“Angie, does this mean I’m going to be a superstar?” I asked modestly. My agent replied that I should calm down and just do the audition. I practiced an excerpt from Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus, worked on developing the twinkle in my eye, and repeated saying, “Ho, ho, ho,” to the point that my cats would flee the room whenever I walked in.
Apparently it worked. I booked the gig, which would entail some 85 performances throughout December on a specially outfitted Amtrak train at New Orleans’ Central Station. And the train would actually travel to the North Pole, which I determined was two or three miles north of the station. I’ll bet you didn’t know that.
Photo by Reiley Morgan
I had a lousy goatee when I auditioned, but with a couple of months before the performances started, I decided to grow out the beard. Not since I was a hippie did I have such a grand batch of whiskers. When I got to rehearsal the first week of December, the director, Scott Calcagno, eyed it and asked, “Are you going to keep it?” I said, “If you want it.” He said, “Yes, I do.” And I said, “So am I a superstar?” to which he replied, “Do you even know your lines?”
There was another Santa in the show. We were doing two shows at a time, each in three rail cars on either end of the Polar Express. In the middle was a baggage car converted to be a green room, dressing room, tech center handling light and sound, and storage area. The other one was Christopher T. Newton, a genial Santa from Tampa. He had to wear a fake beard, which also involved a wig, and I was thankful every day I didn’t have to wrangle that hot mess.
As Santas, we had it pretty good. Our job was to appear halfway into the show and walk through our three rail cars handing out jingle bells and being as Santa-ish as we could. Since the show was on a strict timeline, we had to make sure we moved along smartly while still giving personal attention to each kid. And by kid, I don’t necessarily mean youngsters. “I’m 90 years old today,” one girlish lady said, and I replied, “Yes, but have you been good this year?” She giggled.
Of the thousands of kids throughout the run, I never encountered any bad seeds. There were some rowdy teenagers deserving of coal, but they knew not to mess too much with a superstar. The very first performance had two moments of note. One was a kid who asked if he could touch the beard. “Of course,” I said. “If it helps my credibility.” (I didn’t really say that last part). Another kid looked me straight in the eye and declared, “I know you’re not the real Santa Claus.” Time stopped for a moment. How was this going to play out? “You’re one of his helpers,” he announced triumphantly. I smiled knowingly. I find that smiling knowingly is a good addition to the Santa toolbox.
There are other useful tools to cover most any situation. A boisterous “Ho, ho, ho!” can banish the beginnings of an awkward silence or an unclear comment, although I always hope I’m not deploying it just after a kid says something to the effect of “You didn’t bring me an Xbox last year!” One doesn’t want an impressionable youth to be left thinking, “Jerk.”
The show would not be the show were it not for the rest of the cast. There’s a conductor, a hobo, the Hero Boy, and an extraordinary ensemble. These folks get passengers onto the train and into their seats, they sing, they dance, they narrate, they serve hot chocolate and cookies, they change costumes, and they clean up after everyone leaves. They also have to deal with the expected array of unexpected events — stuck bathroom doors, spilled beverages, inattentive parents (really!), props gone missing. It’s live theater.
The Santas are fortunate to have only one costume to fret about, and it’s a lovely piece of work, made in Chicago for the Chicago train ride. Of course, New Orleans is far warmer in December, so those clothes are a hot box. I wept grateful tears when the stage manager brought industrial strength fans into the baggage car so we could have a quick cool down after a show.
The very best part, of course, was moving through the cars, meeting the eyes of each of the kids, and talking to them. The youngest would either stare uncomprehendingly or burst into tears. The ones a bit older were simply thrilled, and those older still would talk, ask questions, and hand me their list. Even the teenagers who were forced to join the family on the ride couldn’t help but smile.
We did up to five shows a day, and it was pretty grueling doing that several days in a row. But I was asked to come back and I didn’t hesitate. I mean, it’s New Orleans for a month. The streetcars are terrific. The food is sublime. There are some fine performing artists for when I have a day off. The people are my kind of people. And that’s all I’m going to confess to.
