Joe Pinizotto And The Curse Of Santa Claus I'd been warned about Joe Pinizotto. He was a hard bastard to deal with, but if you could put up with his bullshit, it'd be a good business move. He was one of the biggest building contractors in the midwest, and he owned a lot of high end real estate. A millionaire, respected and feared, with a reputation for being brash and hard driving. I'd been properly warned, and now I was on my way to meet him. I was submitting a bid to do a billboard for his soon to be built mega office complex. One of those 'Coming Soon' affairs, with an artist's rendering of the finished architecture, with people and trees and the company name. I figured I wasn't going to get the job, going in. First of all, it was so high profile, and I couldn't compete with the big sign shops. And second, from what I'd been told about Joe Pinizotto the man, I suspected he'd just chew me up and send me on my way. And I thoroughly believed what I'd been told about Joe Pinizotto. My source was impecable, a man who'd personally dealt with him, and he'd warned me as a friend would. So either way, I was ready. I pulled into the huge office building lot, and I could see big, big money. I found Joe's floor, which it turned out, was the whole floor. I heard an electric saw coming from down the hall. I entered 311 and I saw two men, working over a long table. Shop machinery everywhere, sawdust, and clutter, and the saw's noise masked my entrance. I heard the larger man cursing loudly almost drowning out the din. Real good cursing, not just random, everyday stuff, but nasty stuff. Stuff that even people who curse regularly would be shocked by. Then the saw stopped. He continued screaming, but right in the face of the other man. I assumed it was the Jr. Pinizotto, looked just like him, only nicely built, taller, and about 30 or so. The man I assumed was the Mr. Pinizotto turned and saw me standing there. I nodded and began to introduce myself, when he turned back to his son and resumed his gruff shrieking at top volume, as if I weren't there afterall. He was calling him an idiot and a moron and a dumbass and much worse, spitting real spit all over. The young man simply stared at him, unflinching, then looked over at me. Interrupting the screaming, he said, "Can we help you sir?" Joe finally stopped yelling. I made my intros and walked in to shake hands. Joe grabbed my hand with his huge ham of a hand, and laid the deathgrip on me. I gripped back in what I thought was an equally excuberent handshake, but it was futile at best. The harder I squeezed, the more gusto his vice grip developed, until I surrendered. "I'm Joe Pinizotto, you must be Mike". He told me he and his son were building the actual billboard themselves, and indeed, a huge billboard appeared to be about half done. As he spoke business to me, I felt as if I were being interrogated and broken down, like an enemy. "I like everything on the up and up and I want a top rate sign and a reasonable price." I assured him I would do my best and showed him some samples of my work. As he thumbed the pages of the portfolio he said, "I like this one, but this one here is a piece o' shit I wouldn't have paid for". A definite compliment, followed by an insult. "If I don't like the finished product, I ain't payin' for it, period." And his volume was still almost a scream, no tact whatsoever. Worst business demeanor I'd ever encountered. I felt as if I wanted to punch the man in his face the whole time he spoke. He talked down to you, like a man to a dog. His face was mean, with dark eyes, great round face. Sweaty and shiny, and built like a gorilla. He must've been four feet wide. An extremely intimidating individual, on a very primal level. He yells at his son, "You keep workin' I'm gonna talk some business with Mike here." I felt as if I were a dead man walking as we entered his office. He sat in his chair, surrounded by frames on the wall with awards and photos of some of his big projects. And then he lit up a half smoked cigar and instantly had the whole place foggy and stinking. He continued his cajoling and insinuating that I had better be good, and I didn't really seem like I could handle a job this big, and I just couldn't relax as he spoke. I realized being there was pointless, and I knew already that this wasn't going to happen. But, I kept going through the motions of the bidding, businesslike. I began to sweat too. It was mid August, and there was no a.c. on. Just a small fan, directed at Joe. Then I noticed a photo on the wall, in a frame. It brought a certain coolness to me instantly, as it was Santa Claus, with a small girl on his lap. While we were talking, I looked at Joe and did a double-take back at the photo of Santa. Then back to Joe, and realized, THAT'S Joe Pinizotto in that Santa suit. I did several more back and forths, between the picture and Joe, and began to smile. The very idea, of this big blowhard, playing Santa Claus made me grin. At a point where he'd stopped talking, I asked, "That's you in the Santa get-up huh?" He snapped his head over and caught it with his eyes, and seemed as if suddenly he'd been discovered unaware. He folded his huge hands together and they came to rest on the desk. His head bent slighty down, and his monstrous shoulders relaxed just a bit. His whole demeanor seemed to soften. An uncomfortable silence lingered for long seconds and he took in a deep breath, held it a second and let it out slowly. "Yeah it's a hell of a lot of fun, doin' the Santa Claus thing every year." I said, "Well you make one hell of a Santa. Did you make that costume yourself?" He said he'd had it made special, and it was one of the finest Santa costumes I'd ever seen. "And that beard is real hair, and the eyebrows too," he offered. I was very impressed. And then I confessed to him, "I'd have never figured a guy like you would be inclined to do that sort of thing, being around all those kids, getting peed on and all the parents and"......then he interrupted me. "I love every minute of it. I love kids, I raised 7 kids myself." And I continued what I'd begun to say, about how noble I thought that was. I told him that when I was a kid at Shriner's hospital, I'd always loved it when clowns came by, or when Santa Claus visited at Christmas time. Then I mentioned that when I'd grown up, I had dressed up like a clown with a bunch of other young guys and we'd visit the children's hospitals and spread a little joy. Joe looked at me as if he'd met someone who could actually understand. He looked deep into me, with his intense, dark eyes, and his brow became more furrowed, and he allowed a slight smile to form on one side of his mouth. He told me about some of the funny things kids say to him, and some of the ones that cry, and some that smelled awful and we both chuckled and Joe Pinizotto, the fearsome beast, seemed to be slightly human afterall. It was at this time that I noticed Joe's son standing just a couple feet from the office doorway, in the hall, looking in and standing perfectly still. In fact, I realized he'd been standing there just like that for several minutes. But Joe and I continued talking about kids, and not business. Then Joe Pinizotto breathed in another huge breath, but this one was almost a gasp, sudden and labored. He let it out, and another pregnant pause ensued. He looked up at me and said, "You hear a lot of sad stories from some o' them kids, some of it kind o' breaks your heart." He went on, "Most of em' just tell ya they want a new bike, or a new robot, or a rocketship or a rifle, the usual stuff, but every once in a while a little kid will say all he wants is for his dad to get a job." He fell momentarily silent again, then told of another kid who just wanted his mom to get better. Joe was actually starting to tremble a bit. I saw the younger Pinizotto still standing like a statue in the hall, in the same spot, staring at his dad. As Joe went on describing a kid who was in a wheelchair & was paralyzed, & could only smile at him, & Joe's eyes began to become very moist. His voice became shaky, and the pitch went up, almost childlike. "This one little girl, ............the one in the picture over there".....then he stopped. Joe Pinizotto broke down like a baby, right there at his desk, letting out a big, wet burst he couldn't hold in any longer, as his head fell down on his chest. His son started forward, toward the door, but took only one step, and stopped cold. I was so startled, I didn't know how to react, and just sat there, frozen. It was an awkward situation. We three men, together on this empty floor, Joe weeping and quaking uncontrollably, me stifling back tears myself, and the young Pinizotto in the doorway. It struck me as very surreal, and I knew I was witnessing something very rare and memorable. I knew I was seeing something few men, if any, had seen....Joe Pinizotto in this pitiful, drastically reduced state. Then Joe balled up his right hand into a fist, held it in mid air, trembling, and as he screamed, "Son of a bitch!", he slammed his fist on the desk like a crack of thunder from on high. I almost jumped out of my chair with shock, and the young man in the hall came rushing in finally. He ran up to his father, and yelled, "Pops!", and layed his hands on Joe's huge frame. Then Joe's face fell into his hands, and he resumed his wretched lamenting. The junior Pinizotto tugged on his father and brought him up to a standing position, consoling him without words, and slowly walking the broken man to the door and out into the hall, and into a room a few doors down. I could hear him still, the sobbing diminishing into heavy breathing, and sighing, quietly fading away altogether. I sat there in stunned amazement at the spectacle I'd just witnessed, and heard the young man approaching. I composed myself and he said, "Sorry, we weren't properly introduced, I'm Steven Pinizotto." We shook hands and he said, "My dad goes through this occasionally, but not quite this bad". "He loves playing Santa Claus, and he's been doing it ever since I can remember, and I'm the youngest." "Of course, he's a bastard all year, and then at Christmas time, he becomes a whole other person. He turns into Santa Claus, it's the damndest thing, but that's just how he is." I asked him, "Do you see it as a way to blow off steam for him, or to make up for being so.....gruff and mean?" Steven said, "Yeah, I think that's what it is. He can be a total asshole all year, and everyone forgives him for it at Christmas time. We all know he's a bastard & a bigmouth & a very rude and nasty man. But we all know that he's really a sweet ol' Santa Claus inside." I said it was remarkable, the transformation from total bastard to kindhearted softy. I also remarked that I'd never met a man who had two personalities so opposing to one another. And on a psychological level I found it fascinating and rare. Steven said, "Yeah, it's pretty extreme, he loves the Santa bit, but it's a mixed blessing. In fact, you could even call it a curse, cause after Christmas is over, and he's held it all in for a month, he breaks down like a little baby and gets it all out of his system and he's happy and charming for the whole month of January." "Then, just like clockwork, on Febuary the first, he's back to being mean ol' Joe Pinizotto." I realized an hour had gone by since I'd arrived, so I handed Steven the bid I'd managed to write down, and told him to give it to Joe later. I didn't want to bother the man any further, and I assumed he was probably too embarrassed to face me. And in fact, I never saw or heard from him again, as I'd suspected. On the way back home from the encounter with Joe Pinizotto, I began thinking about the weird scene I had just been through. The big mean man, with the Santa Claus curse, a bizarre need to seem like a decent human being for at least a month or two a year. And I thought about an old gothic novel I'd read as a boy. "Melmac, the wanderer" I think it was. I can't remember it all, but basically it was about a man who'd made a bargain with the Devil. Melmac desired eternal life, and the Devil complied, but with the usual twisted curse. In this case his wish was for eternal life, never ending. But the twist was, he'd be a wanderer, traversing the earth and witnessing only the most miserable side of human life. Years in hellhole prisons, starving among vanquished villages. Haunting hospitals, and battlefields, and living forever, with the suffering and miseries of mankind at it's worst and most hopeless. Wandering unceasingly, absorbing the horrors, and none of the pleasures. Cursed. Even now, I can't look at a picture of Santa without thinking of that poor old bastard, Joe Pinizotto. The mean old man who really loved children, and loved to make them smile, and make them dream sweet dreams of Christmas, and make memories for them that have him in them. They'd be remembering sitting on Santa's lap forever, a beautiful memory, provided by him, Joe Pinizotto, a mean, hateful bastard for 10 months out of the year. They'd be seeing Santa, but it was really Joe Pinizotto, in a Santa suit. They'd never know how it feels to be screamed at by this guy, spit hitting you in your face, a roar loud enough to peel bark off trees. They just knew him as Santa, and it was Joe's little secret. Then, I began to think about Santa Claus himself. Did the real Santa Claus have to go through what Joe Pinizotto goes through? Living forever, traversing the far corners of the earth, bringing joy to children, but forced to see sadness and hopelessness that even a mortal man could barely live with. Did the real Santa Claus return to the North Pole on Dec. 26th, and break down into a pile of pitiful mush, like the accursed Joe Pinizotto? Did Santa, and Joe share the same awful knowledge that there were some wishes that neither one of them could grant? As I sought relief from the August heat with the windows down and rolling down the highway, cooling thoughts of Christmas danced in my head. And my strange moments spent with Joe Pinizotto and his horrible curse. The curse of Santa Claus. God rest ye merry gentleman, let nothing you dismay.
Copyright © 2003 Mo Paul |