Life in This Indiana Town Is Conditioned by a Few Clauses

Even in a town called Santa Claus, the Christmas spirit only goes so far.

Forget peace and goodwill and joy to all mankind. The president of Santa Claus’ Chamber of Commerce, Mike Johannes, flat-out threatened to “clobber” me if I dared print the name of the guy who plays the town’s Santa.

You have to understand, he pleaded, everyone here just calls him Santa. And they do, year-round. In fact, when Johannes was playing golf with the merry old fellow a few years back, he labeled the scorecard “Johannes vs. Santa.” Johannes won. By 30 strokes. And when his son, then 6, came across the scorecard, he was horrified: “You beat Santa by 30 strokes?” he wailed. “Now I’m never going to get another Christmas present as long as I live.”

Such are the complications of life in Santa Claus (pop.: 1,600).

Santa Helpers

But there are an awful lot of bonuses too.

Like the mania for decorating that makes the whole town glitter this time of year. Like the distinction of running the world’s only Santa Claus post office--and getting thousands of letters from really, really, I-promise-I’ve-been-really-good kids. Like the sheer goofy joy of living in a town with a name that makes people smile, once they get over their surprise.

“We’re Santa Claus,” resident Agnes Titzer said, “and what else better could you be?”

Well, you could be Noel, Mo., or Christmas, Ariz., or Mistletoe Lake, Minn. You could be Yule, Colo., or Holiday Hills, Ark., or even Santa Claus Rock in Utah. Dozens of towns and natural wonders bear festive names, all dutifully tracked by the U.S. Geological Survey.

But there’s only one place where “I believe in Santa” signs remain on the lawns all year, where the lake is called Rudolph and the roads are Tinsel Court and Sleigh Bell Drive, Candy Cane Lane and Chestnuts by the Fire Street. (“We had to dig deep there after a while,” said Pat Koch, who came up with the street names when her family developed the Christmas Lake Village subdivision.)

Surely, there’s only one place in the country where a 22-foot, 30,000-pound statue of Santa Claus stands as the unquestioned town mascot. Where folks feel pressure to live up to the jolly image their address evokes.

As Koch put it: “We’re supposed to be nice people. We’re not supposed to be grumbly or grouchy.”

Legend has it that Santa Claus was named on a whim in the 1850s by folks desperate to bring a U.S. post office to their patch of southwestern Indiana, about 60 miles from the Illinois border. They had always called their town Santa Fe, but Indiana already had a Santa Fe post office, and the government wouldn’t stand for duplication. Every name they proposed, however, the government rejected as too common, too easily confused with other Indiana towns.

Finally, some fed-up wag scrawled “Santa Claus” on the postal application form. The town had itself a name. And the U.S. Postal Service had itself a place to send letters addressed to Santa Claus. They start coming right after Thanksgiving, boxes and boxes of them, day after day.

Those organized folks who write their Christmas cards early send them in stacks--all stamped and addressed--to be mailed from Santa Claus, Ind. Collectors forward special holiday envelopes to be postmarked with the decorative stamp that Santa Claus students design each year. (And woe to the postal clerks if they smudge the ink or apply a cockeyed stamp.) All told, up to half a million pieces of mail come through the squat little Santa Claus post office in December--three times as many as the office handles the entire rest of the year.

“We look forward to it, but it is a stress,” said Postmaster Sandra Collignon, who calls a couple of reinforcements from nearby post offices to help with the Christmas crush.

“I still have the holiday spirit,” she added with a worn-out smile, “but you do get tired.”

So do the women of Santa’s Elves Inc., a nonprofit group set up to answer the letters that pour in to their town from children around the world. Back in 1914, the postmaster here decided that he simply had to respond to the offers of cookies and crayon drawings of Rudolph he received each December. Ever since, this town has honored a solemn pledge: Write to Santa Claus, and Santa Claus--or at least, a Santa Clausian--will write back.

The elves, led by Koch, make sure of it.

Signed by Elves

Gathered around a table in Bette Rice’s living room, red pens in hand, seven of the elves worked through a pile of mail earlier this week. Santa, it seems, relies on form letters to spread his message of holiday cheer, but the elves personalize each one with a child’s name and a special postscript.

Though playing Santa is serious business, these elves can’t help but crack up as they scan the earnest letters from little ones. They read the best lines aloud, to hoots of appreciative laughter.

“I’m not trying to be mean, but why are you so fat?” one kid asks Santa. Another warns: “My dog poops, so when you go in the yard, be sure you don’t step in it.”

And from a 7-year-old skeptic named Jack comes this creatively spelled demand: “I must now Imeldeyunliey if you eggsxst.” (The elves’ translation: “I must know immediately if you exist.” Their delicate answer: “The spirit of Santa is real for ever and ever.”)

Some of the kids send pages torn from catalogs, or long lists of demands for Furbys and PlayStations, even Super Bowl tickets or a white Corvette. But most of the letters are sweet, not grabby. Sometimes they’re sad.

The elves don’t know what to say to the little boy who begs Santa to make his dad pay child support, or the one who wrote: “Please, Santa, take my grandpa’s tremors away.” If she comes across a needy case, Koch will sometimes call charities or churches in the writer’s hometown to request help for the family. Often, though, the best she can do is send a letter with the P.S.: “Santa loves you.”

“We can answer all the letters,” she said, “but we can’t fill all the needs.”

Koch’s family runs the main attractions in Santa Claus: the Holiday Land theme park and Splashin’ Safari water park. Both close during the winter, leaving the town’s business district quiet and lonely--not much more than the post office, a hotel and the Holly Plaza strip mall (featuring Ho Ho Ho Video, Holiday Foods and the like) strung out along Highway 162.

The real beauty of wintertime Santa Claus is in the neighborhoods, where residents compete to build ever more elaborate decorations.

Forget paper snowflakes and chintzy store-bought Nativity scenes. How about a tree on which every single branch has been covered with fabric bows? And don’t forget the 49 life-sized sheep that the artisans on Shepherd Court built this year for their lawns. Even the two Jewish families in Christmas Lake Village get into the spirit, decking their homes with wreaths.

Glitzy though the decorations may be, Santa Claus’ Santa--who shall, of course, remain anonymous--insists that Christmas in his namesake town “is not just about trying to put on a show.”

Sipping a Sprite in the Santa Lodge hotel, his genuine white beard flowing down his chest and his genuine white mustache twirled up at the corners, Santa said folks here try to keep the small-town virtues of compassion and friendship alive--and to spread them to all who come visiting.

“They work at the image the town of Santa Claus needs,” he said. “They really work at it. These people really believe.”