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An elf's life

BY LAUREN JOHNSTON | amNY.com STAFF WRITER

December 13, 2006

Dressing up in the jingle hat does not a Santa's helper make.

I learned that lesson fast during a daylong stint as a Macy's Christmas elf last holiday season. It requires smiling, arm-waving, and a big dose of holiday cheer.

There are 140 elves working at the Macy's 8th floor Santaland this year. All endured four long days of training to learn the 17 different elfing duties necessary to keep the place running and to keep its 350,000 annual visitors awash in Christmas cheer.

Much like the Rockettes or the stars of big Broadway shows, Macy's elves have a costumer and a visit to his wardrobe closet was the starting point for my elfin adventure.

"You've been elfed"
The elf dressing room is hidden behind a large, roped-off metal door tucked away near the Santaland exit. To the smooth jazz tunes of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," the costumer dressed me up in baggy red drawstring pants, a green smock, and of course, the velvet jingle hat.

"You've been elfed," he said. I walked out with new duds and a sugary, new alias Gumdrop. But only after swearing I believed in Santaland's magic was I was released into its wintry wonders.

The wardrobe session shattered an elf stereotype I'd long believed. I'm short, just shy of 5-foot 2 so I assumed in an elf's closet, all the clothes would be just my size. Not true.

It turns out, elves come in every size and this year the range in height at Macy's is 4-foot 8 to 6-foot 4. My elf pants were huge "extra big for all that elfin spirit," the costumer said. They are designed, he said, to fit over street clothes, "because it gets chilly in Santaland."

This also is not true. Santaland is hot.

Actually the costumes are made to fit over civilian clothes because -- as Macy's admits -- its army of elves is made up of regular people who want to give Santa a hand at his "home away from the North Pole." The "real elves" are tinkering and cobbling toys in Santa's polar workshop.

'Step Right Up Folks'
Elves are stationed throughout the winding Santaland trail to keep folks smiling and to keep them moving. With up to 1,000 visitors per hour at the height of the season, efficiency is a must.

The gingerbread architecture of the Santaland entrance leads guests through a railroad car with a floor that rumbles and chugs just like the subway.

One of the most important elves is stationed just outside this entrance -- the "barker." This elf hooks the shoppers and reels them in.

An elf twice my size named JoJo was pulling barker duty that day. And he was good. Really good.

JoJo bounded along the Santaland entrance ramp, waving his arms and sending his festive smock sleeves billowing up in a holiday halo. He beamed and boomed, "Step right up folks, Meeerrry Christmas! Are you headed to see Santa? He's waiting to see you!"

Shoppers and kids veered toward him from all directions, as though trapped in some kind of Yuletide tractor beam.

I studied JoJo. I took notes on his leaps, his sweeping turns and pivots that would make any marching band leader proud.

I tried to imitate him, but my voice didn't boom. When I concentrated on smiling, I forgot to wave my arms. Even when I remembered to wave my arms, the results weren't good. JoJo was buoyant and bubbling. I looked like I was flagging down help to change a flat tire.