Dependent Clauses

It’s a phenomenon each December. People, mostly well-fed older men, don red suits and whiskers, and--ho, ho, ho--they are Santa Claus.

These are not department store Santas who take home a paycheck. These are just ordinary people with big hearts and an inability to say no, residents of Oxnard or Ventura or Moorpark.

They didn’t plan to grow up to be Santa Claus. It happened by default. Maybe someone approached them when the regular Christmas party Santa had the flu: You’re--um--kind of roly-poly, would you mind being Santa?

Or maybe one year they heard that some group of children would not get a visit from the big guy. I’ll fill in, they decided. Just this once.

But just try quitting. It’s like an elf on their backs. Those children’s faces, so full of hope, asking that crushing question: You’ll come again next year, won’t you?

So December after December, these Ventura County folks transform, despite anti-Santa politics in schools, long hours away from their livelihoods and heart-breaking wish lists. Some spend $500 on their suits. Ask why they keep it up, and they scratch their heads. I don’t know. I just have to. I can’t disappoint those kids.

“Once you’re in uniform, and you’re there with the kids, you really feel like Santa Claus,” said 73-year-old Lloyd Betteridge of Simi Valley, who hung up his whiskers after suffering a stroke several years ago. “You feel, hey, this is fantastic.”

It’s not always an easy job. Santa can take a beating. Jim Stueck, who has been Santa at the Rainbow Children’s Center in Moorpark and at elementary schools in Simi Valley, recalled that when the belt on his suit broke, a well-intentioned mother rushed to stuff his pillow back in.

Trouble was, the 53-year-old Stueck said, he prides himself on not needing pillows.

Wayne Schultz, 65, visits the Boys & Girls Club of Simi Valley--where he is a board member--wearing Santa whiskers carefully glued to his very real mustache.

He sometimes comes home numb-lipped from the inevitable yanks, but prefers suffering a little pain to having a child decide that Santa’s a fake.

Glenn Griggs, 39, a firefighter at the Point Mugu site of Naval Base Ventura County, volunteered as Santa for his second season this year, waving from atop a fire engine that drives past military families’ homes while elves hand out candy alongside.

It’s cold enough to freeze a reindeer’s nose up there. Sometimes all Griggs wants is to climb down and warm up in the cab. But he will come back next year, he said. When those children look at him, they see Santa, and their eyes light up.

“I think I went too far last year,” he said. “There was this kid who yelled, ‘Santa, Santa, I want that new bike,’ and I turned around and said, ‘OK,’ and then I thought, ‘What have I done?’ But the dad gave me a thumbs up.”

Other Santas battle politics. Dan Long, 43, of Ventura, who has been Santa for some Ventura elementary schools for years, said this Christmas has been disappointing. Only two of the schools wanted him back, and he suspects that those trying to separate church and state are behind it.

Santa is not about religion, he said.

Don Austin, attorney for the Ventura Unified School District, said some schools have cut out nonacademic activities and increased instructional time to raise scores on state-mandated tests.

Principals’ jobs are on the line if their schools have low test scores, Austin said, so they have to make tough calls.

“It’s really a difference of opinion that hasn’t been resolved yet,” he said.

But Long says his visits result in more than holiday cheer. Last year, during a visit to Sheridan Way Elementary School, he noticed that more than a few kids seemed to be ignoring their dental hygiene.

“They really get in Santa’s face,” he said.

Long then told a dentist friend who helps run a program at the school. Santa saw better teeth this year, Long said.

Some Santas take advantage of inside information in other ways.

Mary Mullen, 45, of Oxnard played Santa--not Mrs. Santa--for years at Santa Clara Elementary School, even after her own children graduated. The very youngest students, whom she saw every week as a school volunteer, rarely recognized her with whiskers and a deeper voice. They were surprised to find that Santa knew their names and all about them.

Then there are the county’s niche Santas, such as the anonymous but oft-seen Rolls-Royce Santa, who travels Ventura roads each Christmas season passing out candy canes from his gray and charcoal 1964 Silver Cloud 3, decked with toys and holly.

Santas agree that their toughest task is finding a response to: All I want is for my dad and mom to stop fighting. All I want are some shoes. I want my mommy and daddy back together.

“Santa’s usually at a loss for words there,” Schultz said.

Many of the Santas are willing to go to extra lengths to carry out their mission. When Camarillo State Hospital closed in 1997, Stueck, who had played Santa for the young patients each Christmas since 1989, could have been out of a job.

But he followed the youngsters to their new home at Metropolitan State Hospital in Norwalk.

“I can’t tell you the number of kids who said, ‘Oh, Santa, you found us!’ ” Stueck said. “That’s why I keep doing it.”