4 A
❘
SATURDAY EDITION
❘ DECEMBER 24, 2016
Siuslaw News
P.O. Box 10
Florence, OR 97439
NED HICKSON , EDITOR
❘ 541-902-3520 ❘
EDITOR @ THESIUSLAWNEWS . COM
Opinion
E XTRAORDINARY P EOPLE
C ATHERINE J. R OURKE
For the Siuslaw News
_____________
E
very day’s a holiday for
Florence resident Eloyd Ray.
The Santa lookalike just can’t
help it. With people telling him for
years that he resembled the man in
the famous red suit, Ray finally
decided to put one on. It turned out to
be the perfect fit and a new career
was born.
But Ray is no ordinary Santa. His
jovial spirit, hearty laugh and long
white beard are part of his natural
persona, making it easy for him to
step into Santa’s boots all year long
for movies and commercials, in addi-
tion to holiday events.
“I just love being Santa,” he said.
“It’s the best job in the world to
spread joy and laughter, hand out
gifts and listen to the wishes and
dreams of little kids.”
Born in Pennsylvania and raised in
Torrance, Calif., Ray chased some
dreams of his own. Always in search
of adventure, he joined the Air Force
and worked as a policeman, machin-
ist and trucker in Los Angeles.
In December 1999, Ray met his
wife Linda on his birthday at an “End
of the World” beach party and the
couple married four years later, rais-
ing three kids from previous mar-
riages.
“We’ve been committed to each
other for 17 years,” he said. “I’ll fol-
low her anywhere.”
That meant relocating to Oregon in
Santa Claus (Eloyd Ray)
2012 so Linda could live clos-
er to longtime friends in
Florence. Ray instantly appre-
ciated the “courteous people,
small-town feeling and lack of
traffic.”
“Where I come from, people
run red lights,” he said. “You
don’t know traffic until you’ve
experienced the Interstate 405
freeway in Orange County. We
call it the ‘Orange Crush’
because it can kill you.
“I don’t miss it.”
But it was four years prior to
the Florence move that Ray
discovered his Santa potential.
With a minestrone of driving
and delivery jobs under his
wide belt — by road as a truck-
er and by rail as a Union
PHOTO BY CATHERINE ROURKE
Pacific train conductor — Ray Eloyd Ray personifies the spirit of Santa
realized it had paved the way in and out of costume all year long.
for his true calling.
Above right, he is pictured with Sabrina
“I always worked an irregu- Heard of Florence.
lar schedule, on call and with
“After 14 years, I had enough,” he
short notice,” he said. “I could never
said. “You do things driving a train
make any plans and constantly
that the body was never meant to do.”
hauled a heavy packed sack, ready to
Ray was now ready to drive the
take off in an instant. If I didn’t arrive
sleigh. In 2008, a dinner theater asked
right on time, it could upset an entire
him to perform as Santa. Then he
system and a lot of people.”
heard about 300 Santas gathering for
Sounds a lot like Santa.
an event on the Queen Mary. Ray
With no refrigeration on the rails,
soon joined the Fraternal Order of
Ray never ate a hot meal during his
Real Bearded Santas and became a
long shifts. Collisions were common
professional Kris Kringle.
as harried motorists jumped the cross
As Santa, he takes his job serious-
guards, and conductors became fre-
ly, one that mandates no smoking,
quent targets for shooters along the
swearing or drinking. Ray took it
tracks. Carpal tunnel syndrome and
even further by attending a Santa
shoulder replacements came with the
Claus college and invested a small
job description
COURTESY PHOTO
fortune in Santa regalia.
“Everything I wear and do is
authentic,” he said. “I worked hard
for many years to become a genuine
Santa.”
Ray wears a $2,000 hand-tooled
belt and the “Armani” of Santa suits
from Adele’s of Hollywood. The
boots alone run $500; luckily, Ray
already possesses the beard, the belly
and the laugh.
His investment paid off. As a pro-
fessional Santa, Ray appears in
dozens of movies, TV shows and
even famous commercials for
Mercedes Benz. But Ray doesn’t
credit Santa college for the real secret
to his success.
“I’ve never grown up; I’m just a
large child who loves the magic of
Santa,” he said with a characteristic
belly laugh. “It’s my genuine spirit
and personality. Kids live in a fantas-
tic world of imagination and invite
me there as Santa. I see the wonder
on their faces and marvel at the mag-
ical exchange.”
Ray bears a natural sparkle in his
eyes that no Santa school can pro-
vide. Perhaps that explains why
Costa Mesa Mall, the second largest
in America, chose him over 200 other
candidates to appear there each year
for kids’ annual visit with Santa.
What do they ask for?
“Multiple electronic gadgets,” Ray
said. “Some bring expensive cata-
logs, specifying gigabytes or request-
ing cash. Others simply ask for their
parents to be reunited.”
In his leisure time, Santa rides a
red Harley and whittles toys in his
woodshop in true Santa style. How
will he spend his ninth Christmas as
Santa and what’s on his wish list?
Christmas Eve, his biggest day of
the year, means a dozen nonstop
appearances at public events, private
parties and nonprofit children’s
organizations.
“I’ll spend Christmas Day relaxing
with my family after a whirlwind
month,” he said. “I have everything I
could ever want. I love what I do,
where I live, and my wonderful wife.
“If I could wish for anything, it’s
for peace on earth.”
For now, Santa will settle for your
cookies and hot cocoa tonight.
Catherine J. Rourke is an
award-winning journalist, author
and book editor who teaches
creative writing at the Florence
Regional Arts Alliance.
Email CJReditor@gmail.com.
Special delivery: A cautionary Christmas tale
E DITOR ’ S N OTE : What fol-
lows is a Christmas tale based
on a true-life experience that I
tell each year on Christmas
Eve. It’s a mixture of fact,
whimsy, hope and my belief
that a heartfelt wish is the cor-
nerstone of life’s most impor-
tant magical moments...
H
e looked very out of
place sitting alone in
the flight terminal, his
arms folded over a Superman
backpack, and large brown
eyes peering out from beneath
his baseball cap. A few seats
away, a keyboard recital was
being performed by a busi-
nessman wearing Bluetooth
headphones and chastising
someone at “headquarters”
about overspending.
“I said gifts for the immedi-
ate staff only. That means
Carl, Jody, Jessica and whats-
her-name — the gal we hired
last month,” he instructed,
keyboard clattering continu-
ously. “Yeah, her — Loni. But
that’s it. I never said anything
about the sales department.
What? Of course you’re
included with the immediate
staff. Get yourself some-
thing.”
The boy shifted, causing his
plastic chair to squeak a bit as
he leaned toward the business-
man. “Hey, Dad...”
For the first time, the man’s
fingers left the keyboard, just
long enough to wave his son
to silence.
The boy obeyed, and
hugged his backpack a little
closer to his chest.
“Hold on a second,”
Laptop-man said, cupping the
microphone. “Hey, Alex, keep
an eye on this for me. I’m
going to the restroom.” He
then slid the computer onto
the empty seat next to his son
and made his way through the
crowded terminal, still talking
into the headpiece.
Alex watched his dad disap-
pear, then brought his gaze to
the laptop’s glowing screen. It
wasn’t a look of intrigue, or
even mischief. Reaching over,
he pushed the device forward,
teetering it on the edge of the
seat. He sat staring at it, the
debate of whether or not to
push it to the floor evident on
his face. After a minute, he
thought better of it and slid the
laptop back on the seat.
“You should’ve done it,” I
said, startling him.
I had been watching the
events unfold for the last few
minutes as I waited at Portland
Airport for my friend to arrive
from Dallas.
Slowly, an uncertain smile
materialized on the boy’s face,
then quickly faded. “My dad
would be pretty mad.”
“Madder than you?”
He shrugged.
I looked up at the departure
board. “You guys live in
Chicago, huh?”
“My Dad does. We’re
gonna
spend
Christmas
together.”
Does he know that? I won-
dered, but nodded without
comment, deciding instead to
change the subject. “Did you
see Santa this year?”
dryer to life. “That sounds
good. What else? ”
Suddenly, flurries billowed
from the dryer, covering his
hands with what appeared to
be snow.
“What the...? Hold on a sec-
ond,” he said, shaking off the
cold, white powder. He moved
to the paper towel dispenser
and cranked the handle.
From the Editor’s Desk
N ED H ICKSON
He shook his head. “I wrote
him a letter.”
“What did you ask him
for?”
The boy withdrew into the
chair, suddenly interested in
the large, red zipper running
along his backpack. He traced
it with his finger, averting my
gaze for a time before finally
whispering, “Only Santa can
know.”
(Note: The next part of this
story is pure speculation,
based on a hastily spoken eye-
witness account — and a
handwritten note bound for
the North Pole…)
Still talking into his
Bluetooth, Alex’s father
emerged from the bathroom
stall and squirted soapy gel
onto his hands.
“Are Alex’s presents there
yet? Great. What did I get
him?” he asked, rinsing him-
self, then pressing the hand
Christmas wrap emerged
and, along with it, a letter
addressed simply:
To Santa Claus
Next to the postmark, the
image of a mittened hand
pointed to the words R ETURN
TO F ATHER . He studied it curi-
ously, then flipped it over and
noticed his son’s name above
the return address.
“You get that from the
towel dispenser?” asked a man
who was standing at the next
sink.
“Yes... yes I did.”
“You going to open it?”
Uncertain, he rubbed his
chin. “It says ‘return to father,’
and that’s me, so I guess I
should, huh?”
The other man stepped to
the hand dryer, thought better
of it, reached for the towel dis-
penser — then simply wiped
his hands on his pants. “I’m
not sure what’s going on, but I
know I’d open it,” he finally
said.
With that, Alex’s father
peeled back the lip of the
envelope and extracted a piece
of notepaper. Unfolding it, he
immediately recognized his
son’s printing, and felt himself
skip a breath.
Dear Santa,
If you give me a new dad, I
promise I'll never ask for any-
thing ever again.
Love, Alex Riley.
His father stood staring at
the note, oblivious of the man
reading over his shoulder.
“Sure ain’t no Hallmark
Card,” the man commented.
Wordlessly, Alex’s father
refolded the note and carefully
slipped it back inside the
envelope, then absently stuck
it into his coat pocket. As he
left the restroom, a muffled
voice could be heard emanat-
ing from his headpiece —
which was now in the trash.
Mr. Riley made his way
back through the crowd to the
terminal, his footsteps awk-
ward. Uncertain.
As if retracing a once-
familiar path that had become
neglected and overgrown.
Over the loudspeaker, board-
ing calls for Chicago had
begun.
“My dad’s coming back. I
have to go,” Alex said, and
stood from his seat, backpack
hanging off one shoulder.
As his dad approached, he
studied Alex for a moment,
then reached out his hand and
nodded in the direction of the
terminal gate. They had only
gotten a few steps when I
noticed the laptop still sitting
on the seat.
“Hey!” I yelled, waving it
in the air.
Mr. Riley stopped and
looked at me through the
crowd, shrugged and then
boarded the plane with Alex to
Chicago.
More than a bit confused, I
set the computer down and
wondered to myself about
what had just happened.
That’s when I saw the man sit-
ting just a few seats away —
and the identical look of
curiosity on his face. Looking
up, he noticed me staring.
“Listen, in a few minutes,
I’m leaving for New York,” he
blurted. “I’ll probably never
see you again, so I can tell you
this.” He moved closer and,
with his hands clasped tightly
in front of him, spoke of what
he’d seen in the restroom.
When he finished, the two
of us sat wordlessly, neither of
us certain of each other. That’s
when we noticed the laptop
screen, which I’d left open,
and these words scrolling con-
tinuously from top to bottom:
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Merry Christmas, Alex...
(And a Merry Christmas to
all of you. Thanks for reading
and letting me share a little
Christmas magic.)
Write Siuslaw News editor Ned
Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslaw
news.com or P.O. Box 10,
Florence, Ore. 97439.
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