Dan Rattiner Celebrates 14 Years as Santa in East Hampton

Well, I just got back from the North Pole where I received an award for my 14 years of service as the Santa Claus of East Hampton. The award, a gold medal, was pinned to the white fur of my red jacket by the big man, Santa, himself. Others got medals too.

Northeast Region, United States, Longest Tenure, 2024. Third Place.

That’s what the medal says.

People don’t generally realize this, but the magic of Santa Claus is only in effect for a limited time in the early hours of Dec. 25. During that time, personally, he, Santa Claus, gets flown through the dark sky in a sleigh pulled by reindeer, to every chimney in the world. And everybody gets presents.

For the days and weeks before, however, Santa is assisted not only by millions of elves making presents at the North Pole, but also by millions of us common folks in every town in the world who dress up as stand-in Santa Clauses in each town’s big Christmas parade. These Santas sit atop sleighs dragged down all the Main Streets in the world by other local citizens dressed up in reindeer suits. They wave to the crowd. I waved to the crowd. It was our time. The real Santa came two weeks later. Until then I hoped you didn’t notice it was just me, Dan Rattiner, the founder of Dan’s Papers, wearing a Santa suit, high up in the last float in the parade. With Mrs. Claus by my side.

I’ve been part of this ruse for the past 14 years. And now, I have retired. So what follows are my wonderful memories.

The Santa costume, the best I could find, was made in China. We were friends with China 14 years ago. There’s a beard, crazy white hair, a red cap with a white ball at the tip, a heavy red Santa jacket, thick red pants, black boots and a huge black belt with a silver buckle. It took half an hour to put it on, but my wife helped. Then she escorted me out to our car and drove me — Santa does not drive — down the street to where the police have this barrier set up so nobody is allowed through — other than Santa, of course. I waved to the cops.  They waved back and smile. Coming through.

There were four things I noticed when I got up next to Mrs. Claus in the cockpit of the sleigh in front of the Hampton Presbyterian Church where the floats line up. One was its great height. Another was that the brisk sunshine affected my glasses. I have glasses that turn dark in the sunshine. So, as we start to move, Santa is wearing sunglasses. Uh-oh.

The third thing is that beginning to move causes a loud leaf blower engine in the sleigh to spit white flakes out a tube in front so that as we bump along, these flakes, chipped raw potato flakes, create a little snow flurry that sticks to our faces. Five years in, the potato flake flurry is abandoned after complaints have taken hold at the Cruelty to Mr. and Mrs. Claus annual Lions Club meeting.

Every year, the kids under the age of 4 are stunned by our appearance.  Santa is REAL. They hide behind their mothers. Or they stand in front jumping up and down. It’s him! It’s him!

Well, it’s not, but don’t tell anybody. It seems particularly hard that anyone would believe this because the sleigh is being pulled along by the eight zippered-up furry reindeer walking upright on their rear hooves as their forehooves wave to the crowd too.

In the first few years the costumes they wore were thick and beautiful. They featured nine big racks of antlers and nine bushy white bobtails. The Lions Club provided these costumes. But in the fourth year, they were replaced by newer costumes that were flimsier, had smaller antlers, and only droopy tails. They saved money, I was told when I asked.

A scare that first year happened when I, standing up in the cockpit waving to the crowd, suddenly noticed the giant traffic light high above the center of town about to smack into me if I didn’t duck down at the last minute, which I did.

Wouldn’t that have been something.

Other than that, the parade was wonderful. Clowns, floats, soldiers, police officers on bicycles, the band playing “Here Comes Santa Claus,” antique cars and tractors, sugar plum fairies, people throwing candy.

Every year, the parade rolls into the center of town to turn left onto Newtown Lane and eventually come to an end alongside the town YMCA a half mile further down. There, the climb down from the sleigh created exactly the same experience a rock star gets when jumping down into a crowd from the stage. Hugs, photos, autographs, congratulations. Each time, I’d be rescued by police officers who cleared a path to get me into the back seat of a police car that whisked me to either The Palm restaurant lobby or the movie theater lobby.   There, I’d sit in the big chair and have little kids jump onto my lap to tell me what they wanted.

In 2022, however, I boarded a helicopter at the airport and was soon circling noisily over town. People looked up and stared. After a while we landed in Herrick Park, which caused 500 kids and parents who’d been held behind a rope breaking free to swarm around me as I got out and began walking across the grass.

Again, I was hustled into a police car for the trip into town.

“Is this where the perpetrators sit?” I asked from the back.

In 2023, however, because of overcast weather, I arrived in Herrick Park standing and waving to the crowd from an open turret atop a huge military vehicle that took me into the park for the rush and rescue and then the parade.

And that’s been about it.

My wife, my medal, and I are home now, sitting by the fire in the living room. Retired. And with all these fine memories. Two weeks earlier, a woman from the Lions Club called to confirm I wouldn’t be Santa at the upcoming parade but there’d be a new one.

I told her it was true and she said, “Well, thanks for all your years of service.”

Sweet.

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