December 1, 2020

Just Saying…

By Q.C. Jones

Impersonator, Imposter, Fake

The world is full of them, people pretending to be something they are not. Except for a few whacky folks who really believe the streets are filled with sawed-off Vampires, a bantam Batman (or ten), and height-handicapped hobgoblins, we celebrate the fakery of Halloween. But today, we are not talking about that well-worn path of imagination; a place where we play along with a joke.

The Impersonators and Imposters your pal QC refers to take things a bit further. They journey to the extreme in their trickery, going well beyond the imagery of imagination, pushing the senses to the point of temporary belief. In my long and checkered life, I have come face to face with this phenomenon and must admit, I have a love/hate relationship with these people.

Long ago, a friend and I stumbled by a dimly lit and rundown bar on the bad side of Des Moines. We were amazed to see a Las Vegas-like flashing sign with the inscription, “Tonight Only – Straight from Nashville – Tonya Tucker.” Thinking that perhaps Tonya’s career had taken a turn for the worse and amazed to see she had sunk to the depths of playing a one-night appearance on Des Moines’ near East Side, we wandered in. The show was already in progress. Tonya was rocking out, and but mid-way through the second song we noticed Tonya was sporting a serious five o’clock stubble shadow. By the end of the performance, I realized this Tonya Tucker was not only a Tanya (with an A) Impersonator but a female impersonator to boot.

Possibly the most widely impersonated person on the planet is The King, Elvis Presley. According to PennLive.com, a news organization from Pennsylvania, there are between 250-400,000 Elvis Impersonators entertaining folks around the globe. I had the dubious pleasure of spending time with El Vez, Mexico’s Number One Elvis Impersonator after his bus broke down near the What Cheer exit on I-80. Even though it was mid-afternoon on a scorching summer day, Mr. Vez (real name Robert Alan Lopez) was in full character as he and his troop lounged around the truck stop waiting for a mechanic. As they say, the King is dead, long live the King.

I cannot help but wonder what close friends of the real Tanya Tucker and late great Elvis Presley think of these people hacking out a living by pretending to be, impersonating, posing as, and faking the real McCoy. Like I said earlier, I have mixed emotions. If their friends have a touch of heartburn created by the whole scene, I can relate.

Santa and I are close personal friends. More precisely, Santa and my maternal grandfather were friends long before the Eisenhower Administration when I came on the scene. Maybe that would make him an old family friend, but of all my siblings, Santa liked me the best. That qualifies me to say, “Santa is a great friend.”

It bugs me when fakers try to pass themselves off as Santa. I am not talking about the trick-or-treat variety of Santas one sees during Christmas walks where dozens of slightly inebriated folks don costumes and head off to the bars for a night of merriment. Instead, I am referring to the Imposters hanging around Yuletide events putting on a well-meaning but otherwise uninspired act.

Like the Tonya Tucker act previously mentioned, they bask in the special reverence, fooling a few for a moment but otherwise tarnishing the thousand-year-old reputation of one very jolly old elf. For three score and a couple years, I have felt strongly about all this. Allow me to step back in time and provide a story from my earliest remembrance.

The year was 1962, and the seven-year-old me was attending the Christmas Program of the Calvary Baptist Church. It was the Saturday before Christmas. The tiny sanctuary was packed to capacity as boys and girls joined parents and grandparents in a festive celebration of the soon to come to Holiday. ‘Merry Christmases’ filled the air. Everyone played a part. Christmas Carols interspersed with Bible stories added new flavor to the rich smell of soon to be enjoyed cookies and hot chocolate.

My family literally filled a pew, which was saved by my paternal grandmother who was always on time. Our place was a comfortable distance from the front, without being on the front row. Throughout the 90-minute program, kids and adults were constantly shuffling to the front for their part, so it was a mix of solemness and activity. Following the preacher’s final words and Christmas Blessing, he announced a surprise visit by a special guest.

The otherwise quiet moment was interrupted by a familiar “HO, HO, HO” from behind one of the side doors of our tiny church. Excitement filled the room, and grownups and kids alike went wild as Santa, carrying a huge bag of presents and candy crossed the platform. I could feel my pulse quicken, but something didn’t seem exactly right to me.

My young mind started a computer-like evaluation of the situation. I knew Santa; knew him well. This Santa was different. First, he had many of my dad’s speech inflections. Secondly, his nose just appeared a little too familiar. My dad had played football before the days of face guards and had broken his repeatedly through high school and college. As I gathered my candy, I played along. One must err on the side of caution when it comes to money and candy, but as I grabbed the loot, I knew in a wink it wasn’t Saint Nick. My dad was missing from our pew, and I was angry.

Later my dad explained that Santa was busy, so he had to play the part. I was still not 100 percent OK with that.

Just saying….

Filed Under: History, Humor

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