Sometimes Santa is not a nice man.

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Many of you know that I’m a professional Santa Claus. For those of you who didn’t, now you do. This post represents my personal views. It does not speak on behalf of any organization or association of Santas. I stand alone on this and welcome others to join me in this set of principles.

I belong to, have belonged to, and will belong to professional organizations dedicated to ethical and safe behavior as Santa. I carry insurance and submit to a background check annually to make sure that when I’m asked for the proof of my sterling character I can provide it on a moment’s notice. 99% of my fellow Santas are incredible people with spotless reputations and nothing but the best of intentions.

Recently this man,

Matthew Feeney

Matthew Feeney

Matthew Feeney, was accused of molesting children in Minnesota and Massachusetts. Matthew was a casting director, prop master, actor, semi-professional Santa Claus, and a computer geek. It turns out that Matthew had a conviction for this sort of thing back in 1993.

Why does this matter?  Because I know Matthew.  I have been in a short film with him, I have auditioned for him, I have offered him work as a Santa and he offered me jobs when one or the other couldn’t fulfill a request. Fortunately, neither one of us ever accepted the jobs that were offered.

I never suspected him of this predatory behavior. Mug shots always make you look creepy. They aren’t taken at the best of times and you’re a bit preoccupied with what’s happening. I knew Matthew on the good days. I thought he must be a great Santa. He was charming, funny, versatile, and a great guy. On the surface. Below the surface he was one of the most despised things in my world: a child molester. And that’s why I am writing this post this morning.

Matthew is in jail the last I heard. Waiting for what comes. I am free. And I plan to stay that way. One of our local Santa organizations sent out a message yesterday cautioning us to really get to know someone before we bring them into the group. Well, that didn’t work with Matthew. He didn’t join our group, but I wouldn’t have objected if he had tried (prior to his arrest and the revelation of his criminal history, that is.)

So, for the record, I will never offer work to any Santa who does not provide me with a background check and a copy of his liability insurance from this day forward. I will not recommend anyone for membership, ask them to consider being Santa based on my personal knowledge of them, nor invite them to even sit down to dinner with other Santas unless they willingly join a national organization that requires a background check. Once I have that in hand I will consider it as a possibility. Until they go that extra mile, they are suspect.

Parents, ask your Santa for a copy of that background check and insurance. Protect your children. If the daycare you go to wants a Santa to come in for pictures or a party, get the skinny (pun intended) on the man before you let him in the door. If he won’t submit the paperwork, don’t hire him.

I’m writing this at the risk of really making many of my friends very angry. I have no doubt that I will be shunned by many who wear the red suit for putting this on the internet. Almost all of them are fine gentlemen who would never hurt a child. But I can no longer be sure of this without a criminal background check. That won’t weed out the ones who haven’t been caught yet, but at our age (as a group) it’s more than likely that some form of deviant behavior will have surfaced by now.

To my friends: you have sworn an oath in many cases to protect children, just like Nicholas of Myra. I know the membership dues and background checks will be expensive. The insurance even more so for those of you who have retired and are on a fixed income. But that $250 a year that it will cost may save a child from being a broken shell. I cannot chance that terrible damage because I cut a corner and put a job out there that a molester picked up.

Please don’t get me wrong. I want to reiterate what I said at the very beginning of this piece: 99% of the men who portray Saint Nicholas are incredible gentlemen, of good character, spotless records, wonderful with children, and to be held in great esteem. But I have proven in my own life that I cannot spot a child molester by looking at them. Can you? Don’t take the risk. Because sometimes Santa is not a nice man.

 

Goodbye, Old Friend.

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Adios, Old Friend.

IN 1987, a quarter of a century ago, I lived in Spain. On our balcony was a hibachi that the previous tenant had left behind with a chicken-wire cooking surface. It was better than nothing, but the alternatives just weren’t there. The Spanish didn’t worship at the altar of mesquite and you weren’t going to find a barbeque grill anywhere within several hundred, if not thousand, miles.

On a sunny day just like today my wife and I went to the base exchange to get something and as we walked into the outer lobby we darned near fell over. There, right in front of us, was a pile of boxes that contained WEBER grills.

This being 1987, the Navy Exchange didn’t do plastic (or, if they did, we didn’t have the card with us.) We didn’t have the cash to make it happen in our pockets. I left my beautiful bride sitting on top of one of those boxes as I hopped on my motorcycle and headed home to get cash. There was simply no time to waste. These beauties had arrived on a ship, there were a limited quantity, and if I didn’t have cash in hand the pile would be gone within an hour. Word spread quickly when the exchange had something worthwhile to sell.

Thirty minutes later I returned with a fist full of dollars. We paid for our grill and lashed it on the back of the motorcycle. The Spanish Guardia Civil (kind of a national police force) were amused by this giant box on the back of my Yamaha as we went through the customs point outside the base.

I even took a picture of the grill when we put it together so that I could taunt my shipmates who hadn’t been lucky enough to stumble in and find the bounty that day. I still carry that picture in my wallet. On one of my submarine trips I put my photos on my equipment bay. There were several snapshots of my beautiful wife and… the Weber.  The Skipper of one boat was admiring the pictures and stopped short when he saw the grill. He pointed at it and said, “Exactly what is that?”

I proudly replied, “It’s a Weber 70,000 series grill, Sir.”

He walked away muttering. One more member of the “he’s nuts” club had paid his membership in full with the look he gave me that day.

But, after 25 years outside, an Old English Sheepdog who chewed the handles off, countless hail storms, snow falls, rusted ash traps, rusted grill surfaces, a damper that no longer moved, and dents beyond number it was due to go to the scrapyard. In it’s place is a very nice Bubbakeg. It’s a smoker as well.

But it will never be the Weber I hauled around the world.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, Jennifer Bong is a best selling novel writer.

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Ten years ago I started pursuing a career/new venture in doing voice-over work. As a part of that process I looked at lots of web sites and listened to dozens of voice artists. I realized that as a consumer I wouldn’t spend any time on the web pages where they just had links to the “demo” files but no picture of the person. Didn’t matter if they were ugly or not, I wanted to put a face with the voice. That’s not a rational thing, after all you’re hiring them for how they sound on radio or television and you’ll never see them. Blind links are less subjective and a better predictor of how the end user will perceive the voice. But humans like faces. Continue reading →

A solid fork is the mark of a good restaurant.

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I have relatively strong hands. It is my preference to “cut” most dishes with my fork versus a knife. This usually works up to about the “steak & thicker” level of foods. Thus, when I try to use a fork and it bends I’m a bit miffed.

Today I was out doing manly shopping at Fleet Farm & Cracker Barrel. Before you point fingers and laugh at me in a Nelson Muntzian fashion, I’ll beat you to it:  I shop at Fleet Farm because I eat too much at Cracker Barrel. Fat guy clothing isn’t cheap.

To my delight the cutlery was so substantial that I was able to divide my Country Fried Steak with just a fork. My knife saw no use.

This does not mean it was a gourmet meal. But it was tasty. And tomorrow I’m going to visit Mai Village for dinner as noted in a previous post. The Best Steak will be later this week. I contemplated them for today’s dining but I was out in the toolies to get to Fleet Farm and Cracker Barrel is literally just across the freeway from my destination.

I hope all of you have a blessed and wonderful Father’s Day. If your dad is around, give him a hug for me. Mine passed a few years ago. I’ll see him soon enough. He gets his hug then.