When Vic was Santa

by Suzie Baranco

Christmas was always a major event in the Baranco household. Vic always worked long hours during the holiday season, often working two and sometimes three jobs. One year, I believe it was 1962, Vic was working at BBB, a discount house in Berkeley, managing the appliance department. He was the up-and-coming newcomer in the business and very well thought of by everyone. The owners of BBB had decided to really go all out for Christmas that year and planned a grand affair that included the arrival of Santa Claus by helicopter right in the middle of the parking lot. Vic was offered the starring role in the Christmas spectacular, St. Nick himself. The night he received the offer he came home a nervous wreck. He vacillated between a Butterfly McQueen approach, “I don’t know nothin’ about bein’ no Santa Claus”, to a Jewish approach, “What do I know about Santa Claus? Don’t they know I’m Jewish?” And of course, there was the helicopter ride. “You know, Sue, no one knows how those things stay up in the air!” to “How’s that thing going to hold me up? I weigh more than the helicopter!” So not only was this the first time Vic was going to play Santa, it was also going to be his first helicopter ride.

The night before the big day, Vic modeled his Santa suit for me. “How do I look?” he queried. “Like Santa Claus,” I replied. “Do I really?” he said. “You don’t think I look too Jewish?” I couldn’t believe it. What did he think he looked like, standing there in a Santa Claus suit? He seemed fairly calm about the helicopter ride, but was still a little bit concerned about what to say to the children. So I reminded him, “Ask them if they’ve been good and then ask them what they want for Christmas. Give them candy and then say ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ a lot.” He gave me a look. I was really enjoying the heck out of the whole thing and assured him that he’d be the best darn Santa that ever hit Berkeley.

The next morning, we got up early and got ready to leave for the heliport in San Carlos. Vic looked splendid in the Santa suit, padded belly, shiny black boots and snowy white beard with matching mustache and eyebrows. I had taken our children, who were ages 1 and 3 to Vic’s mother’s house the night before so they wouldn’t see him. She lived in Kensington, not far from BBB and our plan was for her to take them to see Santa later in the day while I took their pictures. Vic and I climbed into our station wagon and took off for San Carlos. We got our share of looks from people in other cars, especially on the freeway. By this time, Vic had mastered his “Ho! Ho! Ho!” and had a permanent twinkle in his eye. He was into it.

We arrived at the heliport and his copter was waiting. In no time he was whisked away leaving me to drive back up the freeway to Berkeley in time to make it for his arrival. As I was racing up the Nimitz Freeway, I flipped on the radio looking for a good music station. A news bulletin came on the air saying that, a Santa Claus in Sacramento had just landed in a helicopter and upon disembarking the whirlybird and seeing all of the children waiting expectantly for him, reached up to wave and lost 3 fingers in the blade. “Oh my God!” (I think I said it out loud). I knew Vic was intelligent and wouldn’t knowingly stick his hand in a helicopter blade, but I knew how nervous he was about those kids and his performance as Santa. I worried about this until I arrived at BBB just in time for the landing , as scheduled, right in the center of the parking lot.

The door of the helicopter opened and out stepped Vic with a hearty “Ho! Ho! Ho!” He safely stepped down and waved to the children, missing the blade by at least 3 feet, then disappeared into the crowd which was moving him into the store. I worked my way through the crowd so I could get a good look at him. He was seated in your basic Santa throne with a large bag of candy on one side of him and a large bag of small toys on the other side. He seemed to be doing just fine as the children came up to him one at a time to tell him what they wanted for Christmas. He lifted them up and put them down, giving each child candy and a toy. Quite an upper body workout as it turned out.

Vic had a really soft spot in his heart when it came to minority welfare moms. It wasn’t long before a little boy with big brown eyes climbed on Vic’s lap with a long list of toys he wanted for Christmas. Vic looked up to see the boy’s mother standing off to the side. She was neat and clean, dressed in threadbare clothes, while the boy was dressed warmly in a parka. She had the unmistakable look of desperation on her face, the look that identifies so many women like her. Vic assessed the situation immediately. He knew there was no way this woman was going to be able to fill the little boy’s list for Christmas. “Have you been a good boy?” I heard him ask the child. The boy nodded his head yes. Then Santa told the little boy that all the children had been so good this year that his sleigh was going to be really full and that he would try hard to get all the toys the little boy wanted onto the sleigh, but just in case he couldn’t fit them all in, what did he want most of all? The two of them, heads together, discussed this weighty matter and came to the conclusion that what the boy really wanted was a 2-wheel bike. Vic loaded him up with candy and toys and lifted him down to the floor. The mother, who had been listening out of the boy’s vision, came closer to take her son. Her eyes were brimming with tears and she looked at Vic and whispered, “Thank you”. “Merry Christmas”, Santa said to her as he slipped a certificate for $100 to the BBB toy department into the pocket of her threadbare coat. Merry Christmas, everyone.