I'm Goddamn Santa Claus

An old family story that I'll be adapting in 2025...

This is a true story that happened in (probably) the late 1970s. Names and specific details may have been changed, since that’s how memory works. Writing, too.

In Pompey, a small town in Upstate New York, James R. Lowe was a fireman and a small business owner.

Jim Lowe at his home in Pompey, likely in either 1958 or 1960. Photo likely taken by his wife, Betty, although that’s unconfirmed, too.

Oh, and he had very distinctive, piercing blue eyes. That’ll be important later.

Jim ran a gas station, lunch counter, and later convenience store that would come to be called the “Pompey Mall.” It wasn’t really much of a mall, but of course Pompey is a tiny hamlet where fewer than 10,000 people live, spread out over miles of country roads and farmland.

Jim was a U.S. Navy veteran who, upon returning to civilian life after the Korean War, raised his kids in Pompey. He opened up the store, becoming the only gas station at a busy intersection out in the middle of nowhere, and it quickly became a gathering place for the locals, since there wasn’t much in the way of a main street.

Jim was also a volunteer fireman with the local fire department, and pretty active there. Having put on a little weight since coming back to the U.S., Jim would dress up as Santa Claus for community events during the holidays — and that’s where our story really picks up.

One year, “Santa” was visiting with local kids in Pompey at the fire station — something he did a few times a year, apparently. One particularly precocious boy sat on his lap. Instead telling Santa what he wanted for Christmas, the boy looked Santa dead in the eyes and said “You’re not Santa, you’re Jim Lowe!”

(It was those blue eyes that sold him out.)

Luckily, there wasn’t another kid close enough to hear it and make the rumor take off, but Jim had to think fast. He denied that he was Jim, and further told the boy — let’s call him Bobby, just so he’s got a name — to come back on Santa’s next appearance at the firehouse, when he and Jim would be together, and the kid could see that they were obviously different people.

After the event, Jim reached out to some friends, and he found someone willing to come and play Santa at the firehouse. The plan was that Jim and Santa would be seen in the same place, get their picture taken together, and put Bobby’s suspicions to bed, and then they could just move on.

Of course, if it happened exactly that way, this story would not have been told dozens of times at family gatherings in the years that followed.

The Pompey Mall was close enough to the fire station — just a few blocks — that it was decided Jim would meet his Santa impersonator (henceforth known here just as “Santa,” since his name is lost to time) at the store, where Santa would get dressed and ready, and then head over to the firehouse. Jim gave him his red velvet suit and trudged up the icy road to the firehouse ahead of Santa, so it wouldn’t be suspicious if they walked in together.

While Santa got dressed, Jim got into the fire station and started warming up. The weather wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t good, either, and there was a lot of snow and slush on those old country roads.

Outside, several members of the fire department were congregating. Stories differ on whether they were having a beer and a cigarette together, or running a grill for refreshments. Either way, they were in the holiday spirit. And our final player was just about to enter the picture.

That would be Bruce.

Jim’s best friend, Bruce, was kind of a practical joker. He was the kind of guy who enjoyed giving people shit, and he could take it as good as he could give it. Of course, he loved giving Jim shit most of all. On this particular day, Bruce was driving his truck, outfitted with a snow plow on the front, down the street, clearing the roads around the firehouse. And that’s when he saw Jim.

Or, rather — that’s when Bruce thought he saw Jim. After all, who else would be dressed as Santa Claus, leaving Jim’s place of business, and heading up to Jim’s firehouse? Certainly no one except his old friend.

That’s when Bruce had a brilliant and terrible idea: what if he scared the ever-loving shit out of Jim?

Dropping the plow onto the street, Bruce gunned his truck’s engine, honked the horn, and literally plowed toward Santa. He expected Jim to jump, startled, and probably flip him off. He was delighted when he saw Jim jump off the shoulder of the road and tumble down into the icy water of a ditch below.

That, Bruce thought, was funnier than I could possibly have hoped for.

As Santa, confused and freezing, dug himself up out of the ditch and got back on the road, Bruce decided he wasn’t done. Turning around in the street, he repeated his trick, gunning the engine and pointing the truck, plow and all, directly at Santa. Again, Santa panicked and jumped out of the way, tumbling down a snowy embankment (although this time he at least missed the ditch).

“Watch where you’re walking, Santa!” Bruce called as he passed by this time. He didn’t turn around again, but that wasn’t much consolation to Santa, who was soaked, muddy, confused, and humiliated.

Jim wasn’t at the Mall anymore, so Santa really had no hope of getting any kind of answer or assistance at the store. He had little choice but to make his way to the fire department, where kids would be waiting to see him (wet or not).

It was a short, but miserable, walk up the street, and when he arrived, Santa was hoping that people would lend him a helping hand. But a couple of the firefighters standing outside, not realizing that Jim was already in the building, made the same mistake as Bruce.

“Well, that was pretty foolish, you son of a bitch,” one joked.

“You look like an idiot!” Another laughed.

The circle of firefighters had a good laugh, and Santa turned and silently walked in.

Once in the firehouse, Santa toweled himself off to the best of his ability. He went in, talked to some kids, took some wishlists, and tried to calm himself down.

(Sadly, nobody knows whether Bobby even bothered to show up.)

At some point, though, Santa finally saw Jim. He made his way across the room, took Jim by the arm, and found some privacy.

Hissing between his teeth, Santa spat out, “What the hell is wrong with this town? I’m goddamn Santa Claus, and I had a guy run me into a ditch and the firefighters cursed me out.”

Jim, not sure exactly what had happened but unable to hold it in, lost his cool and started to laugh hysterically at “I’m goddamn Santa Claus.” The phrase would go down in family lore for generations.

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Jim Lowe with his daughter Nancy in the 1960s. Photo by Betty Lowe.

James R. Lowe was my grandfather. Born in 1929, Jim was a sub-mariner during the Korean War. At home, he had six children — the third being my mother — and lived the rest of his life in Pompey. He owned the Pompey Mall for a while before selling it to his neighbor, and managed the Syracuse University bookstore for a while. He volunteered with the fire department for most of his life, stopping only after weight and heart problems made it too physically difficult. He passed away in 1999 at the age of 69.

During his life, and especially in the years immediately after his passing, Jim (and later my grandmother, Betty) would tell this story regularly.

I meant to share it during the holiday season, but got busy with two new jobs. Since it has been rolling around in my head, and I didn’t have anything to share on Substack this weekend, I figured I would just go ahead and put this (very unpolished version of the) story out there.

For the 2025 holiday season, I’m looking to adapt this story into an illustrated children’s book. The book will take some liberties with the story — for instance, Santa is real in the book! — but it will pretty much track the same short, silly story with the same personalities.

If you want to see that when it happens, you should become a paid member here at Substack. As with everything I publish through ECV Analog in 2025 and 2026, Emerald City Video Club members (and paid Substack subscribers) will have free access to digital copies of The Santa of Pompey Hill, which is a little more kid-friendly title than this post has.

This is a pretty lighthearted post, considering everything that’s been going on lately. But it’s a fun story — a lot funnier, I think, when it’s acted out, so I’ll try to capture some of that manic energy in the kids book version.