NORTHWEST ARKANSAS — "Hold on, I’m going to pose for a picture,” Miss Claus says, positioning herself in the chair just so, her eyes now fixed on the street below.
Returning her gaze to the interior of 83 Spring Street Gallery, Miss Claus shares her story. It is Miss Claus, and she claims to be the heir to the Claus fortune.
Santa may remain the figurehead for the toy-giving empire, but Miss Claus, on this, her public debut, is preparing to take over the business. She’s happy to tell this to anyone who visits the gallery, but there isn’t much of a need: The story is also written on a dry erase board just outside.
There, on Spring Street, a young boy, maybe 8 years old, rounds the corner of the building. He’s almost to the center of the window before he sees that Miss Claus, played by gallery co-owner Diana Walpole, is very much a living thing and not a mannequin. If he is startled, it doesn’t show, and he smiles and waves as he passes.
“One guy who walked by, he really tried not to smile,” says Walpole, a former audio engineer for a CBS television affiliate in St. Louis.
Outside, a blue convertible, its mufflers echoing in the cold, charges up the hill. It’s no more than 45 degrees out, but the top of the convertible is down and all ofthe occupants are wearing mittens. If they notice Miss Claus, they are too busy trying to keep themselves warm to acknowledge her.
Walpole is a Living Window, there as part of a program designed by the city’s Downtown Network to inspire shoppers to visit the area and to provide a little holiday cheer in the process.
The crowds, still sparse in the early afternoon, shuffle by.
A ‘Bit Of Attention’
Down the street, out of the view of Miss Claus and her incessant waving, Three Elves a Drumming are doing what is expected of those carrying drums.
It’s loud, but there is a beat, and it’s being hammered into homemade drums like those carried in arts nook Eureka Thyme, which is where the elvesstation themselves. There are no vocals, just the ba-da-bump, bada-bump, ricocheting off the tall facade of the nearby Basin Park Hotel.
If they are not heard, they are just as easily seen. Wendi La Fey appears to have dark hair, but it’s hard to see under her Pippi Longstocking-style wig, the brightred ponytails arching sideways. It’s not out of place, considering her red and white outfit. Her husband, David Roll, stands near her in red striped socks, florescent green pants and a floppy hat befitting an elf.
Across the street, Nancy Baker, owner of Gift Corner, has been caught with her pants down. More than once, too. Her character does not have a name, but it has a theme. She is a moonshine-making hillbilly, and she’s dressed in a raccoon cap and a one-piece pajama outfit with buttons on the backside. A few of those buttons are down, and spilling from it are Christmas-themed undershorts like those she sells in her store.
“A lot of people seem to be embarrassed that they caught me in my underwear,” she says as she watches the crowds pass. “Now, I’m questioning my sanity.”
Baker carries a stuffed toy skunk, which she pets as she chats with those who venture into the store.
“His name is the same as all pet skunks. It’s Stinky,” she says.
From 3 to 5:30 p.m., she stands in the window of her own store, waving, petting her skunk and surprising those passing her.
“It got a few laughs,” she says. “And a little bit of attention, and that’s what we were going for, I guess.”
It’s fun, but make no mistake. As it nears the end of her shift in the window, it’s also nearing the time for the town’s parade to start. She’s ready to shuck the skivvies for good and join the rest of her town on the streets.
“In a few minutes, I get to be a normal person again.” Marching Orders
Normal isn’t necessarily the idea of the Christmas parade in Eureka Springs. A man, leaning over the railing of the Balcony Restaurant that is part of the Basin Park Hotel, yells incoherently to the crowd gathered below. It’s a diverse crowd he yells at, too. A couple in basic brown work clothes also wears Santa hats. Not too far from them is a man in a fulllength fur coat. A man wearing a headband that gives him reindeer antlers dances down the sidewalk even though the parade has yet to start.
Shoulder to shoulder the townsfolk and their guests stand staring at each other from across the street, between them an asphalt void that will soon be filled with activity. And suddenly, the lights start to glow brighter as the first fire truck winds down Spring Street.
What follows is a cavalcade of Christmasy and not-so-Christmasy decorations. A drum troupe high steps its way down the route. A rotating, three-foot-wide ornament mounted on a flatbed trailer is illuminated red in the brake lights of the vehicle that pulls it. Twochildren, both dressed in costumes resembling Tigger, the jumping tiger of “Winnie the Pooh” fame, romp around in a trailer, throwing clumps of cottony white fake snow into the air as they pass.
Candy is tossed about, too, enough that the pieces not thrown far enough crunch under the wheels of the next vehicles that passes.
There is a minivan decorated to look like a space shuttle and another car painted to resemble the General Lee, the car from “Dukes of Hazzard.” Cars stop from time to time, allowing those with cameras to capture some of the cheer.
A Simple Message
Music fills the air, as much from the drums of local marching bands as from the parents of those in those bands, rooting for them to play well and march straight. A three-piece band playing Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock ’N’ Roll” passes.
It’s not a Christmas song, but that doesn’t seem to bother anyone.
“They’re in a Bob Seger cover band,” a woman says matter-of-factly.
For about an hour, the floats pass by one by one. A band, stalled in traft c, plays “Good King Wenceslas” three times in a row, and it appears it may be the only song they know.
The floats represent area businesses as often as they represent individuals. Most of them are passive in their advertisements, although that’s not the case for the McDonald’s float, with the cries of an employee rising above the din: “The McRib is back! The McRib is back!”
There is one cry that is more common than all the others. It’s the simplest one, too.
It’s this: “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas” say the float riders as they toss candy at the feet of children.
“Merry Christmas” say the members of the crowds as they recognize their neighbors who are also gathered to watch the parade.
“Merry Christmas” say the members of the crowd to those in the fl oats.
As the last entries pass away out of sight, the streets empty as fast as they fi lled and it’s suddenly easier to notice it’s a little chilly outside. A solitary woman stuff s the leftover candy, mostly giant, powdery mints, into a shopping bag.
She’ll be gone soon, too.
But that Christmas spirit won’t be. It’s still calling out, echoing down the winding corridors of the city’s narrow streets.
“Merry Christmas,” it says.
Our Town, Pages 19 on 12/12/2010