Meet two very different men suiting up to bring magic and joy this festive season

When his transformation is complete, he is somehow different: his voice becomes deeper and warmer, his shoulders draw back. When Geno dons his suit, he feels suddenly somehow larger than himself. 

That’s hardly surprising, because he’s playing a role that lives in the imaginations of millions of children around the world: these are big boots to fill. Each year, for a few short weeks, Geno becomes Santa Claus.

“When I first got my good suit, I put it on and I looked at myself in the mirror and I said, ‘Jesus!’” he says. “Suddenly I could just…see it. I felt as if I got about two feet taller.” 

With his flowing white hair and beard, the Waterford man looks every inch the part, and is one of Ireland’s best-known and loved St Nicholas impersonators: for years he was Santa at Winterval, Waterford city’s Christmas experience, and he has starred in an Aldi Christmas ad shown all over Europe.

The trademark beard is, in Geno’s case, authentic: he says he hasn’t been clean-shaven since he was about 17, but in those days, the beard was black. Father to four and grandfather to five, the former An Post worker fell into his Santa role by chance as a one-off favour to a friend over 20 years ago, and found his beard went down so well that he ended up with an annual winter schedule of appearances.

Children are fascinated by it and, he says, it’s often used as a litmus test by little skeptics. “Kids will be sitting there looking at you, and while you’re talking, their hand comes up and they give the beard a little tug,” he says with a laugh.

“I just ignore it. Then when it doesn’t come off, they go, oh, it must be him.” In fact, Geno’s beard has led to other roles: he was an extra on all six seasons of hit TV series Vikings, which was filmed partly in Co Wicklow.

But playing Santa is a little bit more than a regular acting job, he is keen to point out.

“It is an acting job in a lot of ways, but you won’t get away with it if you’re not 100% sincere in what you are doing.” he says. “You have to have warmth and kindness. For me, I like it anyway, and I like kids.” 

It’s time for Geno to go and meet the waiting throng: today he is visiting O’Dwyer’s pharmacy in Cashel’s shopping centre, and while he has been changing, a queue of excited families has formed. Each will be led into the grotto for their one-on-one time with Santa, but he goes down the line in advance, waving and smiling.

Years ago, Geno invested in a beautiful deep red velvet suit, complete with embroidery and fur trim. It’s a million miles from the cheap scarlet party hire costumes that are so common, and it definitely adds a touch of class and extra authenticity to his look.

Little upturned faces are enthralled. “I think that this really is him,” one little girl whispers to herself in wonder.

In the grotto, Geno has a matter of minutes to engage with each family: O’Dwyers has bookings for 5,000 children this Christmas, a staff member says.

Being sensitive to the mood, expectations and needs of each child in such a short time can be a tough call, but with over 20 years’ experience under his big black belt, Geno is a reassuring, warm and natural presence.

“Mostly I stand up when kids come in, to welcome them,” he says. 

But sometimes you look out and you see one that’s a bit shy, then I stay sitting and let them come to me if they choose to. 

“You meet a kid who is shy and hiding behind mammy or daddy, and the next thing they don’t want to leave you. Or you have the opposite: kids who come in all brave and then when they see you they freeze.” 

Since Geno left Winterval a few years ago, he is a freelance Santa. He is in O’Dwyer’s for a whole weekend, but these days he does less work in grottoes. Last year, he started a new approach: private housecalls. They are a roaring success. He does 10 bookings a day, arriving at each house and spending 20 minutes with the children.

Emotional

He likes the personal touch, and the time he gets to spend with each family. At the same time, he says the emotional toll can be higher: seeing families who are clearly struggling with finances, illness or family tragedy, and staying jolly and trying to bring joy, can make a big impact.

“I’ve been to houses where there is way too much, where there will be a pile of presents worth about 600 quid,” he says. “This is before Christmas, just for my visit. On the other side of it, I’ve been in houses where they’ve nothing. It’s a lovely time of year for most, but I see the other side of it too.” 

The memory of a house visit he made some years ago to a very young terminally ill child still makes him emotional. The family were unsure how long their child had left, but knew he was unlikely to survive the Christmas season.

“They got a pillow and put it on me and put the child in my arms, and there was no weight to him at all,” Geno says. “he was barely conscious, but I was talking away to him. 

The next thing, he opened his eyes and looked up at me and gave a little smile. The mam and dad were in tears. It was really touching now, really tough stuff. Later the parents called to tell me that he passed away that evening.

He shakes his head, sighs: “Sometimes you have to do a lot of acting. The tears are welling up, and I’m going, don’t Geno, don’t. You wouldn’t be human if it didn’t get to you. But Santa can’t be crying.” 

In his native Tramore, Geno’s white hair and beard and his habit of wearing shorts year-round make him a familiar figure on his daily stroll to the beach. Even in high summer in the Sunny South East, there isn’t a day goes by when a child doesn’t recognise him as the big man himself, incognito and on holidays.

“I have loads of tattoos and I wear shorts all the time,”· he says. “Kids come up and say, are you Santa? And when they ask me why I have all the tattoos, I say, they’re only drawn on by the elves to disguise me. 

“And they say, ‘oh yeah, so people don’t recognise you. But I knew it was you.’” With the perfect logic of a young child, they have it sussed: for 10 months of the year, Geno Kavanagh is just Santa Claus’ disguise.

Joy to the World 

At Killarney Men’s Shed, members Billy Gleeson, John Dutton, Pat Somers and Christy Byrne have been as busy as any Christmas elves in a veritable Santa’s workshop of handmade Christmas decorations and cribs.

They are putting the finishing touches to a spectacular wooden throne which will take pride of place at the Christmas in Killarney festivities, held in the Kerry town each weekend in December.

In walks Andrew Joy, dressed casually in athletic wear.

Andrew really is one of those examples of nominative determinism: when a person’s name matches their occupation. From late November right the way through until Christmas morning each year, Andrew brings joy to thousands of families each year as Killarney’s resident Santa.

This year, he even made a guest appearance in Cork, where he and his sleigh float were stars of the show at the first “Corkmas parade” in mid-November, to launch the Rebel City’s council-backed ‘Christmas in the city’ initiative.

As Santa, Andrew is guest of honour at a weekly Magic Parade each Saturday evening in December that can draw crowds of up to 5,000-7,000 people to Killarney town centre. The parade is the centrepiece of Christmas in Killarney, the community-run, non-profit festival held in the town each year.

Andrew also welcomes families to a Santa’s grotto in the quaint setting of Deenagh Lodge in Killarney National Park.

But unlike Geno Kavanagh, the clean-shaven, short-haired Andrew goes incognito with ease: children on the street would never know that this is the man who undergoes a daily transformation into the familiar figure of St Nicholas.

“It’s a buzz cut each year come the end of November,” Andrew says, running a hand ruefully over his shorn head. “Otherwise you really overheat in the wig and hat. 

I have thought of growing the beard, but I’m not quite there yet: it’s white and grey on the sides, but foxy in the middle. I’ve a few years to go yet! 

For authenticity, Andrew has instead invested in a very high-end handmade beard from a US wig company. The effect is stunningly realistic, but the year that Andrew first started using it, customs officers turned Grinch: having ordered his €1,800 beard in plenty of time for his Christmas appearances, he got notification that it was being held at Shannon Airport.

“I had to drive to Tralee and pay the customs fee, and then I had to drive to Shannon to collect it to make sure I had it on time,” he says.

Andrew had no acting experience when he first got roped into playing Santa about 25 years ago. But with a family background in hospitality — his father was once head chef at The International Hotel, and the family also ran Jarveys for tourists — he says that an ability to read people and adjust how you engage with them is almost as important as acting talent.

“I think it’s more about gesture and mannerism,” he says. “It’s about having a connection to the role, and knowing the importance of the magic of it. It sort of comes naturally after a while. Your whole demeanour changes, your attitude, the way you look at things. You slow down.” 

“The characteristics are openness, warmth, being loving, and the ability to read each individual you encounter, from the ones that are shy, to the gregarious excited ones, to the ones that are screaming.” 

Andrew’s last duty each year is an annual visit to the children’s ward in Tralee General Hospital on Christmas morning, where he has to get used to being upstaged by men in a different coloured costume: children are often more wowed by the accompanying Garda escort than by the sight of Mr Claus, he says.

Santa has to give of his best to every family he meets, and the impacts can be draining.

With a frequently exhausting regimen over the course of six weeks in the lead-up to Christmas, Andrew jokes that from St Stephen’s Day onwards, all he really wants to do is sleep. 

But his involvement with Christmas in Killarney is far more year-round than most people could imagine. “The suit gets cleaned and packed away, and Santa doesn’t appear again until photoshoots start probably the first week in November. 

“But the work for the festival starts with a meeting around the second week of January, where we do a wrap up, and then we have around six weeks off, because any stuff you have to purchase, things for lighting and displays, those trade shows happen in February or March.” 

But it’s all worth it, he says, when little guests arrive to the grotto and that spark of magic is brought to life.

He says:

When a child comes and meets Santy one-on-one, it steps aside from the commercialism of Christmas and goes into the element of magic, awe and wonder. 

”A lot of it is in the body language of the child, in their eyes, and the intensity of their watching and listening.” 

For Andrew, sometimes the real magic is in seeing even the most world-weary parents regain that spark of Christmas magic themselves.

“You might have a man of 35 years reach out to get the sensation of the suit,” he says, “and then you see it, in their eyes. An adult has gone from being a true believer into having to be creator of the magic of Christmas themselves, but sometimes with that that red velvet suit and the sense of touch, they have gone back to their own childhood in front of you.” 

“When we leave childhood, we go through all sorts of questioning phases with society: we reject things, and question them, and the whole lot, and then we find we’re still all part of it. Deep down, everybody keeps the spirit alive inside themselves.”