Christmas promised to be 75 degrees and sunny. But that was not the most remarkable aspect of the day when Mrs. Claus and I headed out for a special visit. The destination was Bremen, a small Muhlenberg County town ravaged by an EF4 tornado on Dec. 10, 2021.
After almost a half-century portraying St. Nick, I had developed a routine. Typically, it involved gleaming malls and social service agencies, schools and churches, and even intimate home visits. My appearances incorporated the customary suit and the Santa hat with the fuzzy ball on its tip. On the day we visited western Kentucky, I sported my Santa hat even if it did not exactly match the color of my bib overalls.
Since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, I have been wearing another cap. It’s my “public health hat,” which became important once the virus changed things almost overnight. I was proud of a professional career as a public health official dating back to the 1970s that helped guide me and inform others on how we can navigate through these difficult times.
As soon as we reached the county line and saw the highway sign, I heard John Prine’s iconic song in my head. In preparation for this trip, I had even mischievously altered a famous line from the tune. It became, “Santa, Won’t You Take Your Bag to Muhlenberg County.” “Paradise” was nearby, though the landscape ahead would prove to be hellish.
Another alter ego then emerged. I am a Prine fan. I was traveling the same roads and byways that he had ever since he was a small boy, but this would be my first time. I wondered if I could effectively “channel” Prine that day. Many fans knew that Prine loved Christmas and Santa Claus. His widow, Fiona, recalled that John cried in 2016 when they attended the Christmas Spectacular at New York City’s Radio City Music Hall, reporting that “the colors, the lights, the idea of family, togetherness, bestowing gifts, it means a lot to him.”
I thought about what Prine would have felt about the aspects of Christmas that Fiona described in the midst of horrendous circumstances following the tornado. There was no way to know. He died of COVID on April 7, 2020, right at the outset of the pandemic. Had he been alive and healthy at Christmas, he might well have made his way to Muhlenberg County. I was a bundle of emotions at that point. I was sharing some of this with Mrs. Claus as the town came into view.
• • •
Our expectations were fairly simple as we pulled up to the convenience store/gas station known as Nickolas’ Corner, feeling welcomed by the name. This was one of the main gathering places in town. I thought we’d meet some families, entertain the kids, pass out some stickers and trinkets, and distribute toys donated by folks in Louisville. Two things immediately became apparent. The toys we had brought were mostly unnecessary. There had been such an outpouring of support from throughout the state—indeed, across the country—that the youngsters seemed to have had their fill. So, the “gifts” I could provide as Santa would be the intangible ones—smiles, making small talk, dancing in the parking lot, and demonstrating a classic acrobat toy at which the kids marveled. Even in 2021, there was something to be said for non-tech stuff. Often, simple is better.
My other revelation was that, in a town with so much property damage, injuries and loss of life, I worried that voicing some “ho ho hos” or relaying “Merry” Christmas wishes would somehow be inappropriate. I quickly learned that fear was unfounded. The townsfolk, and especially the kids, were craving exactly that. They were ready for this halting step toward normalcy despite the obliterated landscape literally just a mile or so from where we assembled. Their resiliency was astounding. My mission—to spread some “comfort and joy”—was proving to be a bit easier than I had envisioned. Presents were exchanged by just our presence.
After a few hours at that location, Mrs. Claus and I moved into the “tornado zone.” It was then that the scope of the destruction became apparent. A small part of me remembered that Prine had engaged in “pew-dustin’ ” (his phrase) as a teenager while working for a church. (I also did custodial work for a church as a young man.) Surveying the leveled buildings, it was evident that area houses of worship were going to need much more than towels and brooms. In some areas of western Kentucky, they were obliterated. Prine had seen this same landscape destroyed by strip mining some 50 years earlier, with the culprit being Mr. Peabody’s coal operation. I imagined his pain in seeing similar destruction now but owing to a very different reason. My philosophizing would soon come to an abrupt end. I was about to meet Inez.
Just south of the worst damage, we spotted a roofing crew installing a roof on the home of 92-year-old Inez Burden. Such was their dedication to the cause that the roofers were working on Christmas Day. Interacting with the owner of the company and his guys was poignant enough, but then Inez and her daughter emerged from the backdoor. I learned that, during that terrifying night, Inez hunkered down in her basement while her daughter in Lexington was frantically trying to stay in contact despite cell phone coverage cutting in and out. Their tale was harrowing, but with Santa now standing on their back porch, the mood lightened. Santa had come to visit, while technically not from the North Pole, clearly from out of the blue. I persuaded Inez into a brief waltz with, “How often do you get to dance with Santa Claus on Christmas Day?” This was followed by hugs and a spontaneous plan to return next Christmas under happier circumstances. Maybe this is a Christmas tradition in the making?
Reading through a newspaper published three days earlier out of nearby Central City, I noticed it had page after page of letters from children listing what they wanted for Christmas. Scores of sweet, innocent letters from 8- to 11-year-olds unaware, when they wrote them, that their lives were about to be turned upside down. The poignancy of realizing the letters had been written before the tornado hit was not lost on me. I related with area residents who must have read them with a lump in their throats. My lump was large. Every one of the notes was addressed to Santa, to me.
Another section of the paper included a letter from the local mail carrier. Because Prine had worked as a mailman (and I had, too), this caught my attention. In an eloquent accounting of what the past two weeks had been like for the mailman, one sentence stood out: “I found out today that one of the pets that lost its life in the tornado was a dog that the little girl at the home had named after me.” My mission went from heartwarming to heart wrenching just that quickly. The roller coaster of emotions would continue throughout the day.
• • •
With enough remaining daylight hours left as Mrs. Claus and I headed out of Bremen, I thought we should include a visit to Paradise itself. Santa’s sleigh knew the way. Thirty minutes later, we turned left from John Prine Avenue, not exactly sure what to expect. A deserted road beckoned us, made even emptier since it was Christmas Day. Many of the signs and structures described scenes a half-century ago. This was a slice of Americana I had heard about forever, it seemed, and now, I was immersed in it. I knew I had been handed my second gift of the day. Uplifted by the experiences in Bremen, I was buoyed by the pleasure of seeing more of Prine’s boyhood memories right where they had evolved.
Soon, we were back on the Western Kentucky Parkway headed east. The sunset behind us on that late winter afternoon echoed Prine’s lyric: “I’ll be halfway to heaven with Paradise waiting; just 5 miles away from wherever I am.” Mrs. Claus and I felt Prine’s presence as we looked up. The celestial light show was powerful in every section of the sky. I’d like to think that Prine would have approved of Santa out visiting Muhlenberg County on Christmas Day to spread “comfort and joy.” Was that little patch of turquoise in the sunset Prine signaling his approval? I am sentimental enough to think that.
As I look back on the months since Christmas Day 2021—as well as the past 50 years when Prine first introduced America to Paradise, “the backwards old town that’s often remembered”—I feel that I unwittingly became part of a story that has come full circle.
Many elements made last year’s holiday my most unusual Christmas Day ever. A tornado prompted the visit. But I became entwined more than I could have imagined with the lives of some of these residents and the spirit of a legendary songwriter. I tried to honor Prine’s life while simultaneously embracing the people of his county. My whirlwind of emotions continues to this day.