With a ho-ho-ho and a cough-cough-wheeze, it just wasn’t cookies and egg nog Santa Claus was craving if you were alive during the 1950s and early Sixties.

Now let me get this down right off-the-bat: I despise smoking, especially as I lost my father to COPD due to his debilitating chain habit. My mother and stepfather successfully quit decades ago and I applaud them for it. With all the warnings and evidence of self-destruction out there, it pains me to see people still running to cigarettes in modern times. That’s just me, though, and if I’ve offended any smokers out there, no direct judgment. It’s all good. You do you. Peace.

It’s damned near laughable to think of a halcyon, manufactured holiday totem nearly as sanctified as Jesus Christ as anything less than pure and, except for any romps in the sack with Mrs. Claus, virginal. Santa Claus to children everywhere is the symbol of all that is right in the world at Christmastime. To parents, a means of both staying young themselves while having a figurehead of righteousness with which to reinforce good behavior. If not, forget the coal; there be ol’ Krampus to contend with.

Okay, so Santa Claus has been shown to have a nasty side, such as Black Christmas and the Silent Night Deadly Night films. Those bloody exploits catering to the sicker crowd (I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t fess up to enjoying those dreadful arcs of dreck), can you really fathom, in this age of cancel, a Santa Claus as pitchman for cancer sticks?

We’re talking about 70 years ago, when you might find (according to advertisers of the day) Lucky Strikes, Chesterfields, Camels, even Prince Albert loose leaf tobacco in a can in your stocking if you were not only good all year, but “cool.”

While smoking was a huge pastime of the entire 20th century, it was the 1950s where your hip factor was at stake if you smoked or not. My parents told me the stories, I heard it from many others of their generation. You can see it in films and old t.v. ads and radio jingles back then. The Fabulous Fifties were extra faboo with a smoldering ciggie out of your mouth.

I mean, even Alan Hale, aka “The Skipper” in Gilligan’s Island, once did a bit in cosmopolitan Santa Drag to hawk Chesterfields. Chesterfield also utilizing a little ABC motif to create a tongue-waggling, Pavlovian buzz phrase, “Always Buy Chesterfield.” Hit ’em all, no matter the age bracket, current and future customers alike.

Gee, Santa, do you prefer them filtered or unfiltered? Was the Surgeon General on your naughty or nice list? I mean, okay, sure, who doesn’t want a little release after something as magnanimous as delivering presents down chimneys to households worldwide, never once explaining how he gets into apartments and homes relying on central heat instead of fireplaces? The way the world is today and legalization coming into play, don’t be surprised to see Santa wearing a rasta-colored hat with all eight reindeer as high as him in a cloud of reefer. Now we’d finally know why Rudolph’s nose is so red!

Personally, I prefer Santa’s caffeine addiction over nicotine, just sayin’ I don’t drink soda much anymore, but Coke always was it for me, and I left Santa Claus that with cookies more than I did milk back as child. Because I’ve seen a lifetime of Santa really taking a shine to Coca-Cola and I’m grateful for that.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.