Three children, one tape recorder and a mission: Get to the bottom of this “Santa question” once and for all.

        Fifteen years of newspapering weren't enough to prepare me for this tough interview.

        The sources were, shall we say, uncooperative. Two wouldn't stay in their chairs. One, stumped for answers, reverted to potty language. All insisted on talking at the same time. Barbara Walters wouldn't have stood for it.

        Under persistent questioning, though, the Newberry Three finally revealed the truth about the Fat Man in the Red Suit, so far as they know it.

        This is what they agreed on: He lives at the North Pole. He employs many elves. He — not the elves — drives the sleigh. He is very, very old. And he's coming to our house around midnight Monday night.

        Beyond that, there was little consensus on the topic.

        Question: What's Santa wear?

        Six-year-old A.J.: A red-and-white suit, black boots and black pants.

        Fran, 8: With that white stuff on him. And pictures of the reindeers on his buttons.

        Bea, 3: And a boo boo boo and a do do do and a poop poop.

        (Strike that as nonresponsive, Your Honor.)

        Question: What's Mrs. Claus do?

        A.J.: She helps make presents.

        Fran: She puts the bad elves in timeout.

        Bea: She has to go poop and pee on the toilet and she likes to dance.

        (Also nonresponsive, Your Honor.)

        Question: Tell me about the elves.

        Fran: They're kind of midgets who make the toys. It's their job after school.

        Questioner: I think you meant to say they are vertically challenged individuals.

        Fran: Huh?

        On the question of good reindeer names, all agreed Rudolph was a keeper and thought Santa should get a Rudolph II and Dixon when the need arises. Bea favored Na Na, Ka Na and Rudolph Bottom for new recruits.

        On the question of elf names, they voted for Frantic, Scrappy and Bauble, coincidentally the names they were assigned in the Newberry Christmas Letter this year.

        As for Rudolph's nose, Fran believes it is powered by a teeny, weeny light bulb. A.J. thinks he was born that way, along with a timer that makes the light come on at dusk. Bea, crawling under the interview table by now, offered only that she'd found a bug. She was then involuntarily removed from the interview for a milk-and-cookies break.

        The potty talker out of the room, the other two got down to serious debate on the Santa question.

        On how he can deliver all the world's presents in one night, Fran pointed out that differing time zones work to his advantage. A.J.'s convinced he really only comes to Cincinnati, along with Chicago, home to some cousins. Both surmised that the elves — but only the very, very good elves — help out, driving much smaller sleighs, of course, with just two reindeers.

        On the issue of chimneys, A.J. noted that Santa peers down the chute first to check for fire, with Rudolph's nose lighting the way. A nearby bucket of water, which apparently just happens to be sitting on the roof, is available to douse any flames.

        For homes without chimneys, Santa has a pass key, according to Fran, although he simply enters through the window at apartments. Both sources agreed there are many “Mall Santas,” so to speak, but only one authentic Fat Man. He needs the help because he's booked solid at the North Pole until Christmas Eve. This theory was confirmed by a visit to the local community center, where Santa was wearing glasses and what appeared to be a fake beard, they reported.

        On the question of girth, Frances believes Santa packs on the pounds with lots of fatty meat products, while A.J. fears his weight might ground him. “Santa's so fat, the reindeers can hardly pick him up,” he said with a worried frown.

        Both are concerned about Santa's age. At “more than 100,” he might have to retire soon, Fran said.

        Both agreed his children — four boys and four girls — are waiting in the wings to take over. They're already elves, after all, at least in the busy season.

        When does Santa get mad? When someone lets polar bears in the house.

        When does he get mad at the elves? When, as a joke, they stuff cotton in all the chimneys.

        What's Santa favorite after-hours pursuit? Hanging out with the Grinch and Frosty, N.P. neighbors.

        Favorite foods: Ice cream and pizza.

        Favorite saying: Ho ho ho.

        Favorite children: The ones who best be asleep long before midnight on Monday night, dreaming of old, fat Santa on the roof — Frantic, Scrappy, Bauble and a bucket of water at his side.

        Beatrice, back from her cookie break, offered the last word to ensure Mr. Claus will hit the Newberry roof first this year: “I love you, Santa.”
       Contact Patricia Gallagher Newberry at newgal@one.net.

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