Dance, Drama, and Song by Hildreth Meière

This season, my wigless day job is at Rock Center! Recently, I took a 75-minute tour of the campus, which includes 14 original buildings plus five newer structures.

I learned more about the visuals I see every day. I also noticed who got credit: usually the beefiest and most powerful men.

Funny, when I first started as Mrs. Claus, an agent told me: “Stay away from Rockefeller. That’s my territory.”

I didn’t know the territory, but I felt terrified to defy him. Until recently.

Huh! I just can’t find the lines of demarcation anywhere, although the center still doesn’t employ a Mrs. Claus for its annual tree lighting. Santa couples light trees together all across the United States. Not at the Rock, at an event that attracts millions of viewers and literally stops traffic.

No one can break through that spruce ceiling. (Every time I’ve used the center’s full name in this blog, Facebook blocked the post.) That’s the power of tradition.

Lunch Atop a Skyscraper, 1932, Charles C. Ebbets. Distributed by Acme Newspictures, Original caption: "While New York's thousands rush to crowded restaurants and congested lunch counters for their noon day lunch, these intrepid steel workers atop the 70 story RCA building in Rockefeller Center get all the air and freedom they want by lunching on a steel beam with a sheer drop of over 800 feet to the street level. The RCA building is the largest office building in terms of office space in the world."

As an answer to the famous workmen photo, here are just a few fabulous women whose contributions invigorate spaces between 51 and 48th streets and Fifth and Sixth avenues.

Perhaps it’s a man’s word, but their footprints are all over Rockefeller.

1) Abigail Rockefeller. Photo: Library of Congress

2) Hildreth Meière. Photo: hildrethmeiere.org

3) Martha Stewart Podcast: Recorded at 1 Rock

4) Danitra Vance. Photo: biography.com

5) Valerie Clarebout. Photo: NYPL

6) Hoda Kotb. Photo: Nathan Congleton

7) The Rockettes. Photo: rockettes.com

8) Eleanor Roosevelt. Photo: Library of Congress

1) Her husband John D. Rockefeller, Jr., financed Rockefeller Center during the Great Depression. Abby Rockefeller maintained relationships with artists and actively selected public works for the complex.

2) Best known for mosaics and murals, Hildreth Meière created Dance, Drama, and Song outside Radio City Music Hall, as seen in the first photo of this blog.

3) Martha Stewart, America’s first self-made female billionaire, hosts a weekly podcast in a converted newsstand in my building at 1 Rock. I can’t wait to discuss cookies with her.

4) Danitra Vance was the first Black female cast member of Saturday Night Live, filmed at 30 Rock.

5) Valerie Clarebout was an English artist who handcrafted the dozen 8-feet-tall angels along the Channel Gardens. Her sculptures, installed in 1954, lead the way to the Rockefeller Christmas tree.

6) TODAY Show host Hoda Kotb, sitting between Savannah Guthrie and Jenna Bush Hager, announced her retirement in September. She has been with NBC for nearly three decades. I see the back of Hoda’s head almost every morning when I head into work.

7) The Rockettes have been a Radio City Music Hall feature since 1932. Standing between 5’5’’ and 5’10’’, these powerful women are known for their eye-high kicks. They hired the first dark-skinned dancer in 1987 and the first visibly disabled dancer in 2019.

8) Eleanor Roosevelt was First Lady during Rockefeller Center’s construction in the 1930s. Her My Day column mentioned visits to Rockefeller for post-broadcast nibbles, award ceremonies, and trips to Women’s City Club.

Now let’s check out some of the male art that dominates everything and gets all the attention. And on this scale, how could it not? Below, see Lee Lawrie’s 45-foot-Atlas, installed in 1937 in front of the International Building on Fifth Avenue.

Notice the back of Atlas facing St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Men who installed Atlas thought, at first, the figure was that of Jesus Christ.

The Rockefeller complex also involves underground passages and shops that connect offices to the subways. As we were moving underground between buildings, I wondered how 20th-century women moved through the spaces, including a skinny escalator. Can you imagine riding this while wearing high heels?

Some of the walls are stained with what has to be cigarette smoke.

As we passed a line of people camping out on a Friday to get tickets for Saturday Night Live, I wondered what it must have been like to be a woman on the show. Such pressure, even now!

Saturday Night Live fans camping out on a Friday night to get tickets to the show.

One of the weirdest things we saw was The Story of Transportation inside 10 Rockefeller, once home of Eastern Airlines. All four walls depict modes of travel, all blessed by identical naked goddesses.

Dean Cornwell was the artist. Wilmuth Masden Stevens was not only his assistant but the model of all those naked goddesses, according to The Art of Rockefeller Center by Christine Roussel. Known for stepping out on his wife, Cornwell might have been inappropriate. That’s my opinion. Sadly, I couldn’t find a bio or photo of Stevens on the internet. The Rockefeller website doesn’t list her name, although our tour guide said that the face of the goddesses is that of Cornwell’s wife. There’s a story here.

However, I found one mention of her on a site called VoiceMap in reference to him. (I’m avoiding links to see why Facebook continued to block this post. It seems it’s a matter of using the center’s full name and anything critical about its tree lighting.)

Cornwell was as famous as Norman Rockwell in his day. He certainly did not credit her work as assistant muralist.

Below is Wisdom, by Lee Lawrie. The relief is on the entrance to 30 Rock, facing the Christmas tree.

This year’s Norway Spruce is from West Stockbridge, Mass. Santa will be there for the lighting on Dec. 4. But … still no Mrs. Claus anywhere on the entire complex.

This next picture shows the Channel Gardens, which lead to the Rink and tree. Valerie Clarebout’s angels line the fountain.

Female figures are everywhere in Rockefeller Center, often as goddesses or mythical figures representing big ideas. In Intelligence Awakening Mankind, artist Barry Faulkner shows this central figure, Thought, to be an anchor to Written Words on the left and Spoken Words on the right.

By listening to the radio, listeners can hear the human voice, the “bird of the air,” which can educate them and help them from sinking into poverty. That was the thought at the time.

Here is a promotion for the movie Wicked, as presented on the Plaza between 1 Rock, where I work, and 10 Rockefeller. All of the figures are made of Legos!

Here’s where I see the back of Hoda Kodb’s head every morning.

Below is a fabulous bas-relief, News, outside the old Associated Press building. Artist Isamu Noguchi intended for these five male figures to seek the same story, using all the latest technology. Who will be the fastest?

News by Isamu Noguchi

Rockefeller Center belongs to everybody. While I couldn’t find actual lines of demarcation between Santa and Mrs. Claus, I did feel boundaries between Black and White people, the rich and the poor, and men and women.

Landmark status provides preservation, a mostly good thing. However, in celebrating tradition, must we continue to repeat history?

To enter FAO Schwarz in Rockefeller Center is to walk in Oz. Each salesperson represents a distinct Technicolor realm of toys.

Sleeping now but not for long. Rockefeller Center's FAO Schwarz is hopping! #toys #christmas #november2019 #holidays #shopping #nyc #rockefellerplaza

11 Likes, 1 Comments - Mrs. Claus NYC (@mrsclausnyc) on Instagram: "Sleeping now but not for long. Rockefeller Center's FAO Schwarz is hopping! #toys #christmas..."

On this sunny day in October, Micah Feliciano, head of personal shopping, would help me on a challenging mission: learning as much about FAO’s 2019 shopping season in 15 minutes or less. As the oldest toy store in America, the one made famous in the 1988 movie Big, FAO is full of diversion. When I announced my arrival to an employee dressed as an astronaut, I determined I could easily take up 30 minutes on the first floor alone. 

Thanks for the tour, #faoschwarz! Mrs. C is now in the know, with help from the best toy store on earth! As you can see, the staff have rhythm. #toys #holidayshopping2019 #30rock #bigpiano #rockefeller

9 Likes, 0 Comments - Mrs. Claus NYC (@mrsclausnyc) on Instagram: "Thanks for the tour, #faoschwarz! Mrs. C is now in the know, with help from the best toy store on..."

“For my job interview here, I brought my puppet,” the astronaut told me while I waited for Micah. I asked him to repeat his statement, so I could let it fully absorb, but a Sharper Image 5 Inch Stunt Hand Controlled Lunar Drone flew by my head. Meanwhile, two employees raced by on light-up skates that hooked onto the heels of their shoes.

“Mrs. Claus!” exclaimed Micah when he saw me near the Melissa & Doug grocery store. “I’ve been working for you for years. Now I get to meet you in person.”

First, the tall, elegant Micah walked me back to the store’s entrance where we met two seasoned employees wearing uniforms in my favorite shade of Christmas red: Soldier Patrick standing outside the revolving doors and Soldier Johnny inside. Both had been with FAO when it was on Fifth Avenue, before this glorious new flagship store opened here on 30 Rock in 2018. 

Second, Micah showed me the menagerie of plush animals on the right and Ruby Red dolls on the left. Ruby Red dolls, each about $100, sold only in October and were similar to American Girl dolls with unique personalities and outfits. Their skin was so luminous the little girls looked real.

Third, Micah showed me the wall of Jimmy Fallon games by Hasbro. With the Tonight Show as an upstairs neighbor, FAO pretty much has to include products like the Face It Challenge Party Game and Best Friends Challenge Party Game for Teens & Adults. 

Finally, we entered the delightful FAO selection with its sturdy, high-quality choices of work benches, Vintage Bluetooth Musical Microphones, DJ Mixer Music Floor mats, Ultimate Jewelry Making kits, and Girls’ DIY Henna kits. Food items were big, with a Do It Yourself Gummy Bears Candy Maker for $48 and a Do It Yourself Cake Pop Maker for $32. Hint, this section will most likely be rife with deals on Black Friday.

Now we were in the section for Marvin’s Magic, a company that sells exclusively to Hamleys of Regent Street in central London and FAO Schwarz. We were soon to watch professional magicians demonstrate the Dynamic Coins trick and a card bit from the Mind-Blowing Magic Themed set. Price ranges were reasonable, from $20 to $100 depending on the type of set.

In addition to art easels and race cars (I liked the Remote Control Wrist Racer for $24), we passed big-names like Paw Patrol, UglyDolls, and Hatchimals. My nephews would love the science-based items from #MindBlown that include 4D Anatomy Kit Shark for $32 and the Model Engine Kit for $25.  

Classic Steiff teddy bears and Schleich figurines made me squint to admire the craftsmanship. Toys can be beautiful. 

Yet I was most impressed with the Barbies. 

In addition to the Star Wars collection (an unmasked Darth Vader is really a woman), I loved the David Bowie doll and all of the different shapes and colors of people.

“This is the fashion section,” Micah says pointing to the spectrum of Barbies in casual and evening wear. A few were gender-neutral dolls wearing outfits I might see any New Yorker wear on the street: shorts and patterned T-shirts. However, the biggest shift from decades past was the variety of skin tones. Browns and freckles were welcome. Body types ranged from slim to shapely.

“And this is the career section,” he said. Of course I appreciated the scientist Barbies, but I immediately, I wanted to jump into the hip food truck scenario with Barbie and Ken.

“Literally in every section, there is something new and interactive,” Micah told me in summary of our adventure through the store. “I’m seeing toys that promote the idea of ‘there’s no wrong answer’ and you can have a great time being you.”

Officially over our allotted time—it’s impossible to go through FAO without reverting back to childhood—Micah took me to the giant piano overlooking Rockefeller’s ice rink. I clapped in time while he and a fellow employee danced to “Heart and Soul.”

But before I left, I checked in with Soldier Johnny. Let’s just say, we Clauses know each other, wink wink.

With his wonderful Brooklyn accent, Johnny asked if I were the Mrs. Claus featured last year on Page 3 of the New York Post. I confirmed that yes, I am she—undercover—and still looking for work as a female in Santa-town. A Broadway actor with secret North Pole dealings of his own, Johnny said an elf had pinned that article to a bulletin board in an undisclosed NYC break room, as inspiration.

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Jacki Chamberlain is on the right wearing her cherished green coat from Cheryl Claus, left, who died April 2018.

There’s an urban legend among Clauses. 

A beloved Santa died. His family had no idea how much his clothing was worth. So his $3,000 suit ended up in a thrift shop for $15.

If you’re a Santa, this tale is already horrifying. Your hand has probably landed on your mouth in shock. But it gets worse. A mother bought the gorgeous suit and cut the pant legs for her son’s Halloween costume.

I know!

Jacki Chamberlain, an Ohio Mrs. Claus, is here to help lovely things find good homes with wonderful people. She knows Kringle collections grow like forests and that gifts should go on giving, forever and ever. 

Last week, she and I talked on FaceTime. I showed her my Ikea shelving unit that currently holds summer clothes but will soon store thermal blouses and hand warmers, real sleigh bells, a cute little purse, wash cloths to remove stage makeup, sparkly earrings and accessories, and wrist- and elbow-length gloves in red and blue. Inside my closet, I hang a red tutu, a dark scarlet velvet jacket with ruffles, and a vintage 1930s red-orange dress with a rouched neckline. On a shelf inside a Tupperware bin, I stash a black and white skirt, three wigs (two from my grandmother), a bonnet, warm tights, and white faux fur. My hallway closet contains a jacket and a full red dress I covered with a sheet, so that the crimson doesn’t bleed onto the fur.

I live in NYC. Space is precious. So are my carefully curated costumes that say more about me than anything else I own.

Jacki walked me through her own Claus-et, more like an entire room with designated drawers for jewelry and racks devoted to a certain primary hue. I loved the backdrop she hung on the wall, an enlarged photo of her own kitchen that makes video calls with children more authentic. She even has a “staging area” to make sure she has all of her pieces in order before she walks out the door to an event. 

“People may not realize what the investment is,” she told me, “and it is an investment.”

In 2018 when a fellow Mrs. Claus passed away, Jacki was gifted several items from her sister-in-red's beautiful wardrobe. Attendees of Santa Nana Academy in Columbus, Ohio, also received items from this selection. “I know Cheryl’s with me when I wear something of hers, whether it’s a hat or a little pair of gloves,” Jacki says. 

In Gatlinburg, Tenn., at the 2019 Santa Family Reunion, she sold more of the items in a vending area. 

I bought several things from this angel Mrs. Claus, including a glorious pillbox hat with a veil and perky poinsettia and pom pom perched on top. As storytellers, we should wear pieces with history, even if we never reveal it or fully know ourselves. Here is the hat I bought, although I think Cheryl Claus wore it better.

Cheryl Claus with the dapper Santa Carlucci, her business partner. I bought this hat at a sale in Gatlinburg, Tenn. I am so happy to own it, especially because it is infused with such spirit.

Today, Jacki teaches members of the Buckeye Santas, a regional organization, how to record their prized possessions, so loved ones can pass them on to people who will love them.

With Jacki’s permission, I share from her one-page “Letter of Instruction” that is “a document that will asset your family in carrying out your wishes and distribution of property at your death. Not legally binding, but may prevent confusion and arguments.”

She suggests Santas create a spreadsheet that states something simple like: “I bequeath the following items of personal property to the beneficiaries below.”

Here are samples from Jacki’s template:

• ITEM-make sure to clearly describe the item(s) so it won’t be confused with a similar item.

• NAME-full name of recipient, not just Santa John, but John R. Jones

• CONTACT INFORMATION-include address, telephone number, email address, relationship to you.

• NOTES-

Here are examples of how to use the template:

• ITEM-Santa Walking Stick with Holly and Ivy

• NAME-Santa John R. Jones (Fellow Buckeye Member)

• CONTACT-555 Rideway Dr., Columbus, OH XXXXX, 555-555-5555, santajohnjones@yahoo.com

• NOTES-Item kept in the corner of my closet

To finish, sign and date the document. Because it isn’t legally binding, you don’t need witnesses or notarized signatures. (For that, you would need to consult a lawyer.)

Helpful instructions should include contact information for Santa organizations. Jacki also suggests writing your own obituary that includes your honors and Santa titles, like “founding member” or “past president.” Include a picture that best represents you as Santa, so loved ones know how you want to be remembered.

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Santa Fashion=Big North Pole $$$

If the suit doesn’t fit, don’t buy it. Hold onto your reindeer and what’s still in your wallet.

photo by Kitt Creative

I will miss being at Charles W. Howard Santa Claus School this year. I went in 2018 for the first time. It’s a special place I describe in this blog post. With Tom and Holly Valent as the directors, the focus is on the “heart of Santa” instead of the business and the busy-ness that can clog one’s mind.

But the business is important. We Clauses all need things to use and wear. At one of the hotels near Santa School, I breezed through the make-shift specialty store and found stickers, North Pole coins, striped socks, jingle bells, and all sorts of costumes—just not the right one for me—yet.

I was struck at just what a huge investment most of us make to become Santas (the gender-neutral word for Santas, Mrs. Clauses, and elves).

At Santa & Co., LLC., which had a display in the hotel, a good Santa robe starts at $699.95. Workshop overalls start at $309.95 because Santa has to have a standard work look. For thin Santas wanting to achieve that “bowl full of jelly” look, there are adjustable vest paddings for $174.95 with shoulder pads for $25 and 2 Kool Packs for $25. (Many Santas say the hardest part of their jobs is how hot they get, and no wonder).

Then there are shirts: button-down or pull-over with laces. Cotton or satin. Belts aren’t just belts but experiences, like the C.W. Howard Style Belt for $189.95 or the Cola Style Belt for $274.95.

Suits cost around $800, worth the investment. They come in a dizzying array of styles: Professional, Cola, New Classic, Classic. Many men I met knew exactly what each of these words meant. The Cola, for example, is based on the old-fashioned Coca Cola ads that emphasize the buttons down the front of the suit with no fur around the neck.

Now let’s talk fashion for Mrs. C.

At the store in the hotel, I tried on a gorgeous colonial dress that was several sizes too large. Right away, I felt it didn’t fit my personality. I felt ridiculous, even though I adored the style and concept. I did love the dresses that matched Santa’s suits. Made of red wool with satin linings and faux fur trim, they were excellent quality but not quite me. But almost.

Online, I’ve been finding offensively sexy outfits like this beauty:

$39.99, Neilyoshop on Amazon Prime. Note the fur booties for … warmth?

No. Uh-uh. I have potholders bigger than this. Tiny elves wear more fabric.

This pretty one has the opposite problem, too much material for a big, animated girl like me. One swoosh of the voluminous skirts, and I knock down everything in my apartment while breaking my neck as I rush down the stairs or get caught in a cab door:

$199.99, Lightinthebox.com on Amazon.

The nice standard ones on Amazon are so cute. I have one, but so does everyone else. And white fur doesn’t do well on the subway, my main form of transportation when I can’t use the sleigh.

What I’m looking for is the Mrs. C version of a Superman suit, something I can change into quickly in a bathroom stall, since NYC telephone booths are a thing of the past. I need something with pockets that looks dressy, like I’m going to Wall Street to check on cookies (and coal) stocks. Something with a high collar and detachable parts: a jacket, a skirt, and a blouse. I’m tall. I can’t hide it. So how about I look taller with vertical stripes? Something relentlessly cheerful in red and green with a bit of humor, a visual pun. This fantasy item must fit into a small NYC closet or a garment bag. No fur, please. Fur turns pink and is stressful.

If all of this sounds like an online dating profile, you’re sort of right.

My future dream garment will be with me for a long time, like a good Santa.

Since I can’t find what I want, I’m designing one—a garment, that is—not a sweetheart.

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A high-flying Mrs. C

I would never dream of taking jobs away from elves or cab drivers.

Even as a cynical woman in her mid-forties, I believe in the spirit of Santa Claus.

Since I can’t be him, I hoped to become a gregarious Mrs. Claus in a city known for its transportation challenges.

I first portrayed Santa’s wife 2017 at an Upper Manhattan tree lighting. I was inexperienced, in the wig and bustled skirt I bought from Amazon, but children read me story books from the vintage suitcase I carried. An aspiring public servant asked my first name — I think he was flirting. “Missus,” I told him sweetly. A local activist asked me numerous questions. Once she felt she could trust me, she wilted beside me on a garden bench. “Oh, Mrs. Claus,” she divulged. “I’ve been to too many protests. I’m so tired.”

For several nights, I was too happy to sleep. In character, I became a mirror that reflected everyone’s better angels, including my own. Mrs. Claus has lived rent-free in my soul ever since. Her crimson wardrobe has taken over a quarter of my precious closet space and a portion of my anxious mind.

A few months into 2018, I applied for a scholarship to the Charles W. Howard Santa Claus School in Midland, Michigan. By spring, I learned I had won.

At the three-day training in Michigan, I was one of 50 women among 200 Santas, most of them men with long, white whiskers. Founded by legendary Charles Howard, a former Santa in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, the school included courses in beard grooming, tax law, and toy making. On the final day, I got to drive the school’s parade sleigh and pull the reins on its lifelike reindeer. “Ho ho ho!” I bellowed into the warehouse, where the sleigh was stored. The overall experience was more fun than any adult should be allowed to have.

When I returned to New York that late night in October, I held the wooden duck toy I had made that morning in the workshop. As I wandered through LaGuardia’s renovations, I felt so blissed out in my red beret and scarlet riding jacket that I stood out among locals dressed in black. But when they glanced at me with my feather corsage, they brightened and nodded. While I wasn’t wearing my wig and full costume, I felt filled with a lifetime of Christmas mornings.

Glowing like Rudolph’s nose, I floated to the cab line on a cloud of imaginary white fur. But the familiar yellow cabs weren’t there anymore. Uber had taken over. I pulled out my cell to order a pickup, but my battery had died. “Hello,” I called cheerily to the people in the queue. “Is anyone going uptown? I can pay half.” No one looked up from their screens, so I tried again, louder over the drills of a construction team.

Meanwhile, yellow cabs flew by us to another part of the airport.

I waved my hand vigorously, but the drivers shook their heads like I was high on glue. I went back inside the Delta terminal but found no one who could assist me. So Mrs. Claus — a resourceful dame of the tundra — took a deep breath, braced herself, and yelled “Help meeeeee!” into the Saturday night air. A construction worker stopped what he was doing to direct me through the scaffolding. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized. He escorted me through a plywood walkway to the hidden cab line, a scab of concrete much less visible than the queue for Uber.

“It’s okay,” I said, impressed that a little Christmas cheer provided such hospitality. “I’m not mad, but I need to get home to my cats.”

Immediately, a cab pulled up. Inside was the angriest driver in America. Tiny as a glass shard, she hoisted my bag into the trunk muttering expletives that could peel auto paint. “Uber and Lyft,” she grumbled. “I should have gone into accounting. The whole city is falling apart. No one can live here.”

As we sailed over the East River fueled on her resentment, she told me about the two fiancés who changed their minds. And by the way, did I mention how much she hated her job?

Then she grew thoughtful, “Did you make your bird?”

She was referencing my old-fashioned wheeled toy with its long handle and flapping leather feet. Trying to protect it from scratches, I held the duck awkwardly across my lap.

“Yeah,” I said. “I made it this morning at Santa school, in the workshop.”

 “What will they think up next?” she cackled and pressed her horn at the driver ahead who kept switching lanes. “You gonna be Santa? Santa?”

“Mrs. Santa,” I corrected her. “You’re a female cab driver. I’m a female who drives a sleigh.”

“What?” she exclaimed in full Brooklyn-ese. “You’re taking jobs away from the elves.”

I chuckled, but she wasn’t joking.

“You know the elves don’t drive the sleigh, right? It’s supposed to be Santa, but Mrs. Claus can do it too. They’re partners.”

“Oh.”

She was silent for several blocks. As we entered Upper Manhattan, where I live, I spied the top of her perm through the divider. She was thinking so hard I could almost hear her brain.

In front of my building, she popped the trunk and pushed my suitcase over to me on the curb. “Good luck,” she said, with what might have been a bit of respect. “There could be some money in this.”

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Meet Ginger Spice

My new puppet, Ginger Spice, practically leaped off the vender table for me during the 2019 Santa Family Reunion in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. My new wireless sound system is in the background.

In the first few minutes of the 2019 Santa Family Reunion in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, I bought a gingerbread puppet and my own bluetooth sound system.

Since that March morning, I have been tinkering around with Ginger and learning about whether this cookie is a girl or a boy. He/she refuses to give me its official pronoun. I’m trying to respect its dignity, even while hiding it from Santa, who loves to eat gingerbread.

In the meantime, I have been enjoying the sound of my amplified voice here at the North Pole with my new system. Without pushing or straining my vocal cords, I can communicate to all the elves, even the babies like little Nigel.

My dream is to have a 15-minute one-woman vaudeville show I can perform at the drop of a hat, even as I pull magical things from my hat.

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