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My daughter is 6. She's one of those kids who is excited as can be about Christmas. The idea of Santa brings out her best behavior. She loves the short film Yes, Virginia, an animated tale about a girl on a quest to find out if Santa is real. And, most important to me, she is learning some great lessons about giving.
On Saturday, my daughter and I went shopping in the Pearl so she could pick out the "perfect" gift for mom. With our gift selected and wrapped, we decided to head to Pioneer Courthouse Square to see the tree. Because it was pouring, we hopped on the streetcar.
As the streetcar slowly eased up to our stop, we could here what sounded like drumbeats from inside. We could see through the window that the train was completely packed with mostly young men—and a few young ladies—dressed in Santa costumes.
Fun, I thought at first. Some sort of Santa flash mob or something. We got on the train, and the reality hit like a punch to the gut.
The smell struck us first. These guys were Leaving Las Vegas drunk.
Now, I've done my fair share of drinking, and I have certainly overdone it on occasion. This was taking it to another level. Did I mention it was 2 p.m.?
Immediately, one of the drunk Santas crouched down in my daughter's face and, with drink in hand and rotten breath, yelled over the crowd, "What's your favorite Christmas song, little girl!?"
My daughter cowered behind me. The mob was taking up the entire train, so we retreated to a corner by the doors, next to a mother and her young daughter who were also trying to avoid the attention of menacing Santas. These guys were loud enough to make your ears ring, screaming out debauchery-laden Christmas carols (in their version of "Frosty the Snowman," he had a "corn cob cock") and proclaiming the greatness of the Oregon Ducks football team.
I asked one of the young ladies if they were from UO, which she confirmed through slurred speech, proclaiming that they were, "doing SantaCon, have you heard of it!?"
My blood was boiling. I asked her if SantaCon was where adults dress up as Santas, get completely shit-faced drunk and then take to the town scaring young children. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”
Upon getting home, I did a quick Google search of SantaCon. I learned that the term SantaCon originated in Portland in1996 to describe a bunch of adults who wanted to have fun while mocking the commercialized version of Christmas. One of their rules was they didn't mess with children.
The group has since inspired less considerate imitators. The original Cacophonous SantaCon now has spin offs, including Saturday's version of SantaCon courtesy of Stumptown Events, which offers "costume-themed events" that allow participants “to express themselves creatively and to see and be seen.” (They also sponsor WaldoCon, ZombieCon and LepreCon.)
I'm having a hard time understanding how an event such as SantaCon (at least the representation I experienced) is in any way good for anyone. I'm an Atheist, so I don't have religious objections, but I do have a 6 year old, and it is not all right for adults to traumatize children. Public intoxication may not be illegal, but these belligerent assholes were taking to the streets with impunity.
One of the things I love about Portland is that we, as adults, are granted a great amount of choice. But with great choice comes great responsibility. We have to remember that Christmas really is a holiday for the kids, and sometimes perhaps it is best that adults behave like adults.
Jeff Crockett is a third grade teacher who lives in North Portland. Willamette Week photographed SantaCon attendees here.
WWeek 2015