This Will Be A Day Long Remembered

CONTENT WARNING: Cancer, Death of a child

Early in 1979, my baby brother (just over four years old) was diagnosed with cancer while we were in Germany. In the span of two weeks, he was rushed from Butzbach to Frankfurt for emergency surgery and then transported (along with our mom) to San Antonio, Texas, for further treatment, chemo, and radiation therapy. My dad scrambled to pack our possessions, have the car shipped back Stateside, and put my sisters and me on a flight back to San Antonio to join Mom and our brother.

In November of that year, my brother asked Dad if anything could be done for the kids who would be stuck in the hospital for the holidays. Dad spent nearly all of his November paycheck getting toys for those kids and renting a Santa Claus suit for what he thought would be a one-time thing.

The next year, Dad bought his own custom Santa suit and began the tradition of visiting kids in the hospital.

On Saint Patrick’s Day in 1981, my brother died at the age of seven. But my dad carried on the tradition of playing Santa.

1985 was Dad’s seventh year as the official Santa for the Beach and Main Hospital children’s wards. To this day, I have no idea how he did it, but my dad managed to get some special guests to show up at the Christmas event. He got someone to play Popeye the Sailor, two other character actors, and one special guest whom I had the honor of escorting to a secluded area four floors below the surgery floor and six floors below the kid’s ward so that he could change into his costume. 

Once he was dressed up in his costume, we headed toward the gurney/freight elevators to get to the fifth floor without anyone seeing us until he was announced. This is where we had a surprise encounter in the elevator. After getting in the elevator, we stopped at the third floor to pick up some passengers: a few nurses and a patient in his late sixties getting on and heading for surgery.

Now, imagine: you are getting wheeled onto the elevator, you are groggy, and the first thing you hear is a heavy-duty respirator going, “Hhhhhhhhoooooooo-sssssssshhhhhh, hhhhhhhoooooooo-sssssssshhhhhh, hhhhhhhoooooooo-sssssssshhhhhh, hhhhhhhoooooooo-sssssssshhhhhh.” You open your eyes and you see everyone’s favorite bad guy standing in there watching you get wheeled in. I swear, that patient pretty much had a major heart attack seeing the one and only Darth Vader on his way to surgery. That guy’s eyes got as big as dinner plates upon setting sight on that baddie. The guy dressed as Darth Vader and I quickly assured the patient that he wasn’t there to collect him.

Darth Vader: “I’m on my way to surprise the kids upstairs at their Christmas party!”

Upon hearing that, the guy relaxed, laughing good and hard.

Patient: “My friends and family will never believe I got to meet you!”

Darth Vader’s visit that day was the highlight of everyone’s pre-Christmas Eve day. What made that day better, even though it was painful, was taking Vader to the children’s burn ward at the Main Hospital so he could help Santa hand out special gifts to the kids who were getting treated for serious burns. I know my dad saved the burn ward as his last stop as seeing those kids in that condition tore him up on so many levels.

Dad retired from playing Santa in 1997 for health reasons. What my dad did for those kids for over fifteen years despite the emotional trauma he went through is truly amazing.

EDITOR’S NOTE: This story was updated after publishing [12/27] to reflect additional details provided by the author.)