Many stories have been told of Santa Claus: of his reindeer, the elves who work day and night in his North Pole shop and also of Mrs. Claus, without whom Mr. Claus would not be so jolly. Few know the exact location of Santa’s tailor, however, or what this tailor is like.
His name is Domenic Nicolosi and he lives in Bremen.
Nicolosi said he has been happy with the small clientele who call for tailoring services. Semi-retired, the congenial Italian tailor has created custom suits, dresses and other apparel for many years.
Just recently, Santa Claus stopped by the shop in Bremen for final adjustments to his soft, fire-engine-red suit. This reporter was notified of Claus’s location from an outside source and quietly entered the small shop located at the end of a long, shaded drive.
A clock ticked softly in one corner. The sun glimmered through a far window, illuminating the rulers, spools of thread and long rolls of cloth hanging from the pine walls. On noticing the shadow of a visitor, the tailor looked up in surprise and cautiously continued to make adjustments, casting a peek back toward the door every few minutes.
Claus swayed his hefty bulk in front of the triple set of mirrors and chuckled, unaware of the visiting reporter who happened by the shop. His laugh was like storm clouds building, gathering then billowing through a puff of white beard. Such a laugh sounded as if it came from someone who has soared through the night sky, year after year.
Looking in the mirror, Claus saw a movement and the location of his tailor’s distress: A newspaper reporter standing by the door with a camera.
“Oh, hello there,” Claus said, his sky blue eyes brightening, his gloved fingers picking at the fluffy lapel. “I see you have found my tailor.”
His bottom lip, which at that time looked like a fat stick of red licorice, curved upward into a little smile. Claus leaned his head back and eyed the reporter with a bushy brow.
“And you spin an interesting yarn,” he said.
The stout old elf, though surprised to see he had been discovered by the local press, never lost his cheerful demeanor. He graciously posed for a photograph, though looked a bit weary in the eyes. Perhaps he was thinking of the long flight ahead.
“Well, I really must be going now,” Claus said, nodding his head toward the door. “There are so many children with so little. I will need all the help I can get this year, to spread Christmas cheer.”
Nicolosi smiled and set aside his measuring tape, as if he knew what was to happen next. Before any more words were spoken, the door opened and Claus stood by, his boots shining, the tiny wisps of fabric rippling in the breeze.
Turning, Claus said, “You know the magic isn’t in the stitching, but in the care.”
He touched the top of his cap and in an instant was gone from sight. In the distance his voice rang out once more, “Be good to one another and have a merry Christmas.”
