From Bar . . . : . . . to Bar : Pub Running Serves Charity at Christmastime in San Pedro

Jerry Butera ran through downtown San Pedro Sunday morning, singing Christmas carols with cardboard antlers on his head. Tom Tobin did the same, bedecked in a felt Christmas tree--ornaments included. Ed Butts, a brawny six-footer, tagged along in his angel outfit. He adjusted his frilly pink tutu, waved his wand and tugged at his sequined wings. “The problem,” Butts lamented, “is trying to fit my shoulders.”

These three were not alone in their unusual trek, but were joined by about 500 others--including Santa Claus on a bicycle--who formed a wacky, ragtag parade that has become a Christmas tradition in San Pedro.

The event was the Bar-to-Bar Christmas Charity Run. The run--so named because participants sing carols at bars along the five-mile route--benefits the Harbor Foundation for the Retarded, as well as several other charities.

The run--its organizers insist is it not a race--had humble beginnings 10 years ago, when Carmen Trutanich, a deputy district attorney, and a handful of his San Pedro friends went for a Christmas Eve jog. For some reason--nobody seems to remember why--one of them started singing. The others joined in.

They had such a good time, they decided to do it again. The next year, the crew--by this time there were 15--stopped in bars along the way to quench their thirst and sing a few Christmas carols. The crew became a crowd in subsequent years, and the bars put out brandy and beer. “Towards the end,” recalled Pete Marich, a San Pedro lawyer who was among that original group, “we stumbled out of the bars.”

About six years ago, the runners came up with a bright idea. Why not charge $5 admission, donate the money to charity and hold a party with a rock ‘n’ roll band afterward? They did that, the crowds grew bigger and what started out as a lark now raises about $3,000 a year.

With success has come organization, or at least some semblance of it. The leaders of the run have established a nonprofit corporation, and the five-member executive board often holds meetings while running on the Strand in Redondo Beach.

They now print song sheets and numbers for the runners, but in the interest of equality, all the numbers are the same: 001. The organizers dress in tuxedo tops, red cummerbunds and black running tights, and carry walkie-talkies and megaphones.

They provide traffic control--in the form of members of the local Polar Bears club who, dressed in their fuzzy polar bear outfits, stop cars when necessary. The stops on the run are no longer limited to taverns, and this year, for the first time, the organizers asked the bars not to serve alcohol. Some merry runners were, nevertheless, seen quaffing a few beers Sunday.

Just Ordinary Guys

At times, Trutanich said, the responsibility is overwhelming. “We’re just five ordinary guys like you would meet anywhere else on the street. We’re not philanthropists, we’re not goody two-shoes. We’re just five guys who came up with an idea.”

At 8 a.m., the runners began gathering in the parking lot behind Marich’s law office at 9th and Grand streets. Tony Cappola of San Pedro was there, draped in a white gown, a red-and-white shawl wrapped around his head and a broomstick that doubled as a staff.

“I’m Joseph from Nazareth,” Cappola declared. “I follow the star from the east.” Later, Cappola did what he does every year: he stood on a hillside overlooking the Port of Los Angeles and blessed the runners, who had gathered down below. Then, sweating beneath the California sun, he led them in “White Christmas.”

The run began at 9 a.m., with Trutanich’s brother, Vic, leading the pack aboard the back of a yellow Ford pickup truck. Motorists looked on with amusement, especially when the driver of the pickup drove the wrong way down busy Harbor Boulevard.

Along the way, the runners stopped at the Norwegian Imports Deli and Bakery, where they gobbled danish and drank hot glug. (“It’s usually spiced wine, but this year it’s just made of juice and water,” confided Randi Aasen, the owner’s wife.)

Forgetting the Words

They chugged orange juice at Utro’s Crest Cafe (“Great Burgers and Cold Beer,” the sign outside says) and forgot the words to “Frosty the Snowman” when they sang at Duffy’s Tavern. They invaded the Grinder coffee shop, all 500 of them, where the waitresses struggled to serve breakfast to bewildered diners.

The last stop, as always, was the Yale Waterman’s Mens Shop. “This is our traditional ‘Silent Night’ stop,” boomed Vic Trutanich over his megaphone. “We don’t sing ‘Silent Night’ anywhere else.”

Led by owner Rosario Scognamillo, the sweaty runners--squeezed between the racks of Givenchy socks, Nike sweat shirts and English Leather cologne--locked arms and crooned their final carol. Vic Trutanich swayed back and forth on the store counter. Tony Cappola leaned on his broomstick staff. Santa Claus left his bicycle with one of the elves, and sang in the doorway.

“For those of you who are new at this,” the store owner declared, “this is what San Pedro is all about. This is family. This is family.”