Leading Lady of New York

As appears in the Women’s History Month Issue of Christmas Connections, 2024 

Grandma inspired me to be Mrs. Claus. Graceful and fashionable, she was a deep lover of carols and Scripture.

When I visited her in Indiana in 2018, I wore my red and white costume because she liked glamor.

At her assisted living center, she introduced me: “This is my granddaughter, Mrs. Claus.”

I was new at portraying the North Pole queen in New York, where I live. Yet Grandma’s friends nodded reverently. Then everyone went back to coffee and puzzles. It was a fact, just like lunch and the afternoon movie.

Grandma died in 2021. That interaction continues to inform me. No one at that facility told me I was “too this or that” to be Mrs. Claus, a fictional character who celebrates Creation. 

I know that if people imagine St. Nick’s wife, they don’t envision me: a broad-shouldered woman standing at 5 '10'’.

However, I caught the Kringle bug in my 40s because I was a former dancer who missed performing. Each season, male actor friends donned the beard. I loved their stories so much that in 2017, my mind shouted: “Go!” 

After volunteering for tree lighting, I was an instant convert. I was so blissful I didn’t notice I might be the only Mrs. in Manhattan. 

No matter. 

I joined every insider group on Facebook. I attended Charles W. Howard Santa Claus School. I traveled to trade conventions.

At one of these gatherings, a respected Claus told me I looked too young to be Santa’s wife. His words could singe an HR director’s eyebrows. I held back tears. 

Apparently, I was making a fool of myself.

On Claus social media, I read about the loss of “tradition” and knew I didn’t belong. 

Fortunately, Santa pals encouraged me to continue. Now at 49, I spend less time garnering approval. Instead, I pray and trust my instincts.

It's taken me years to get regular gigs. If there is another Mrs. C in town, I haven’t met her.

I’m on the right track. I know it. When I put on my costume, I feel a jolt.

Like Barbie in the Greta Gerwig film, I adore all my outfits: a black and white-striped skirt, a scarlet blazer, and a crimson dress from Amazon. But my favorite is a green Edwardian suit, a collaboration between me and a designer in Medina, Ohio.

These pieces turn me into a superhero. By day, I am a receptionist. In December, I am magic.

Two years ago, the owner of a production company found me on Instagram. She called to ask if I might work in a department store. The format would be unusual. Rather than sitting on thrones, we would perform theatrical vignettes in front of designated photo spots.

The name of the store? Nordstrom in Midtown, Manhattan.

OMG!

“Mrs. Claus!” I often heard in a shift. “This is a treat. I hardly get to see you.”

If customers said I looked good for my age, I responded with: “Thank you. So do you.”

Once this year, an inebriated man joked that I looked younger than my partner, an Old-World Santa. Wasn’t Santa a lucky guy? Wink! Wink! My partner, younger than me in real life, just smiled and asked the gentleman for an “elfie.” We handled the moment and moved on.

Children never compared my age to Santa’s, unless they were math whizzes who wanted me and S.C. to generate big numbers. Nor did they care if Santa had a disability or if he were Black or white.

If I treat Christmas colleagues like family, the public accepts my reality.

I learned this lesson from the elves, many of whom were Broadway performers. On set, they never broke character.

Santas were equally professional, leading by example. On my last shift this season, I marveled at Santa Chris, who listened to each child. He was exhausted, but he tasted each word of “A Visit from St. Nicholas.” Instead of harping on my age, he focused on what was important.

This year, a woman’s clothing store, M.M. LaFleur, hired me to host a breakfast. They only wanted Mrs. Claus and appreciated suggestions. We had such a good time they asked me back. 

Wow! I have a niche.

Social media is important for promotional reasons. However, certain banter hinders self-esteem and discovery.

For example, what if Mrs. Claus appears to be 20 or 30? Does that ruin tradition by making Santa look like he has a trophy wife?

Allow me to answer:

1.   Women determine their own look without apology, just as Santa does.

2.   “Trophy wife” is a discriminatory statement. We owe it to young girls and ourselves to eliminate such damaging phrases.

3.   None of this is a big deal, especially to kids. Why not rely on professionalism and be a couple for just a few hours of a gig?

4.   This obsession with Mrs. Claus’ age may not be about age. I believe some Santas want us to appear downtrodden, to make themselves look more radiant. A perceived “break in tradition” can be threatening to people who don’t want to share.

5.   Finally, clinging to the past isn’t healthy. And guess what? We all do it, when we need a hug.

Grandma was Mrs. Claus. She wore pearls to match sweaters that were soft as clouds. She set out toy villages and filled them with lights. She displayed a nativity scene that my father built out of stained glass. She crafted beautiful ornaments. One year, she fashioned corn husk dolls. Another, she made bread dough bears in lederhosen.

As I tried to graduate from the kiddie table, she resisted. I wondered if rituals helped her cope with her chaotic childhood. Her traditions captured family history. They also coincided with trauma.

Raised during the Great Depression, she lost her father in a car accident that killed him, the other occupant, and the two people in the opposite vehicle. It was Thanksgiving Day.

During World War II, her only brother was in Normandy. Her mother, sister, niece, and sister-in-law ate rationed food. Every night in Huntington, Indiana, a gentleman would visit each house to make sure the blackout curtains were down. “We prayed all the time,” she told me.

Grandma grew up in a time of extreme sacrifice. Her Christmases were as much about survival as joy.

As her oldest grandchild, I say it’s okay to give some traditions a rest. However, I inherited all of her white wigs. To honor her during the holidays, I wear the hair with pride.

Grandma nurtured four children and many grandkids. Her organizational skills were crucial to starting the family business. To this day, Votaw Electric is going strong in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Yet she was too self-effacing to hear what so many tried to tell her, that she was an artist. 

I see Grandma when I look in the mirror. My job is to go further, to adorn myself with spirit and to keep following that star. 

Sisters, come with me.