Part Two: Intrepid Reporter Finally Gets His Interview With Santa

Dec 9, 2011 by winjaw

(In this followup to my previous post, I finally get the interview with The Man. First published in The Newnan Times Herald.)

There is no rule saying second chances are a given. They are, however, just what they imply — an opportunity for a do-over. Cherish them.

I bring this up because I blew my chance — the one involving a sit-down with The Man a week or so ago.

My only excuse is, by a rough calculation, about 3,875 kids and 1,139 adults also wanted said sit-down, and they were in front of me. And none of them gave a hoot that I really, really needed a sit-down because my editor really, really wanted an interview with The Man for the newspaper. And she saved me a spot on the front page and the whole printing press was waiting for my interview and …

Wait your turn.

It didn’t happen. The sit-down I mean.

So the other day I’m pulling various and sundry things out of my pocket and this note falls to the ground.

“Sorry we couldn’t have that sit-down last week,” it read. “Why don’t you meet me at the parking lot of the old Newnan Hospital about 2:30 p.m., right before the parade starts?”

It was signed with a big swirly “S.”

Somehow a note from The Man magically appears in my pocket. And he knows what I want — or need. But when you think about it, The Man is all about magic.

I’ve been a journalist for more than 25 years. I’ve interviewed countless U.S. congressmen and senators, governors and Fortune 100 CEOs. I researched long and hard, did the interviews, wrote them up — piece of cake.

But I realized I was totally clueless on this one. Maybe missing that last sit-down was a good thing after all — a second chance to do it right.

I mean, if you got to interview The Man, what would you ask?

I think all the typical questions — how’s Mrs. Claus, what do reindeer eat, how do they fly, does Rudolph’s nose use batteries and if so, how often do they need to be replaced, how tall are the elves, what do they eat, how do you fit inside those chimneys, what if a house doesn’t have a chimney, how big is your sled, how do you fit all those presents in it, do you ever take a day off, how do you and Mrs. Claus unwind, how old are you, what’s up with the Abominable Snowman, how’s Frosty … etc., etc., etc. — have been asked and answered ad nauseam.

So I hit the Internet and started researching.

I also asked my sons and their friends and their friends’ friends and all those cousins about anything I should/could ask The Man.

Big mistake.

Because I got really, really tired of saying “no, I’m not going to give him your list.”

And their proposed questions? Um, something like: “How’s Mrs. Claus, what do reindeer eat, how do they fly, does Rudolph’s nose use batteries and if so, how often do they need to be replaced, how tall are the elves, what do they eat, how do you fit inside those chimneys, what if a house doesn’t have a chimney, how big is your sled, how do you fit all those presents in it, do you ever take a day off, how do you and Mrs. Claus unwind, how old are you, what’s up with the Abominable Snowman, how’s Frosty” … etc., etc., etc.

It’s now Sunday. I’ve prepped, I’ve researched, I’ve rehearsed, I’ve found the Holy Grail of secret Santa questions. I’ve got questions no one has ever thought to ask.

I am so ready for this.

Nervous? Ha!! I am a professional. I’ve been at this for decades. I’ve been threatened with life and limb and other various parts. I’ve gone head-to-toe with some of the meanest/biggest/toughest people. I’m …

Scared to death. I mean, this is The Man.

I approach the fire truck where he’s sitting. He gives me a big smile; and I swear I saw a twinkle in his eye. And just like that, I’m no longer nervous.

And I climb up and sit next to him. I pull out my notebook filled with all my big important investigative reporter questions. It’s time.

“Um, how’s Mrs. Claus?”

Crash
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And

Burn.

Ugh.

But he just laughed — the kind that comes from deep inside. Not a mean laugh at your expense, but rather the kind that puts you at ease. And you realize you’re with The Man and all he cares about is you.

“Why don’t you ask me what the kids want this year,” he suggested.

“Um, what do the kids want this year?” I asked.

“iPads. Those iPad 2s… along with cell phones,” he responded.

And then he told me there’s a new phenomenon going on — children are starting to whip out their smartphones, which have their Christmas wish lists on them, and they read from that. And then they offer to email said list to him, you know, just to be sure. The days of paper are slowly disappearing.

We talked a while longer, me scribbling as fast as I could. It became a blur, but I remember asking him if he really was the one and true Santa Claus.

And he just smiled and looked at me and said, “There’s a Santa Claus inside everyone.”

And then he patted me on the leg and said he had a parade to start.

As I climbed down, he smiled and said “Merry Christmas.”

It was the way he said it that gave me pause. That emphasis on the first syllable of the second word.

“Everyone always asks me what’s the true meaning of Christmas,” he said, emphasizing that first syllable again.

Yeah, except me. I sorta spaced and forgot to ask Question 101.

“It’s about the birth of our Savior,” he added.

And I just nodded. And he just nodded. And I said a quiet thanks to him for helping me to remember what it’s all about amongst the clamor for iPads and cellphones and cars and trucks and bicycles and Nerf guns and Lego this and thats and stuff and stuff and …

Because The Man knew it wasn’t really about him. It was about The Child. And he made sure you knew that.

I turned and started to walk away. Then I remembered. I still had my note from last time.

I sheepishly handled it to him and he took a glance. He smiled, but he also shook his head.

“You’ll put your eye out kid,” he said. “How about an iPad 2?”

Okay, so it appears I won’t be getting the Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle.

But iPads aren’t too bad.

And so I watched him drive off in the fire truck toward the Court Square. I got my interview. I got to give him my note.

I got, or was reminded, what it is really all about.

Merry Christmas Newnan.