SANTA DAVE AND CONNIE CLAUS: FINDING JOY IN THE RED SUIT

by Shanon Weaver

For David and Connie Eldred of Plano, Christmas isn’t just a holiday—it’s a way of life. What started with a beard and a sixty-nine-dollar Santa suit has grown into a shared adventure that fills their December calendar with laughter, stories, and purpose.

David grew up in Red Cloud, Nebraska, where the holidays glowed a little brighter.

“They turned on the Christmas lights the night after Thanksgiving,” he remembers, “just strings of colored bulbs between the streetlights. It was magical.”

His father played Santa for local children while David and his brother stood outside in the cold, ringing jingle bells to sell the illusion. His uncle, who ran the Texaco station, built plywood reindeer and a sleigh, hitched them to an old Jeep and trailer, and gave kids rides around town.

“Those things shaped my desire to do this,” David says, “because it’s just freakin’ fun.”

Decades later, that spark returned. Retired and ready for something new, David grew the beard he’d always threatened to grow and ordered a Santa suit online.

“I figured the worst that happens is I’m out sixty-nine bucks,” he says.

A few months later, a chance conversation changed everything. Sitting in a doctor’s waiting room, he met a woman who turned out to be the president of a Plano PTA.

“She said, would you consider playing Santa for us?” he recalls.

He agreed—and when the day arrived, he put on the suit, climbed into his BMW Z4 convertible, and headed to the park.

“I got out, and there were kids everywhere,” he says. “I was hooked.”

One appearance led to another. A DJ named Party Pete began passing along his number, and before long, “Santa Dave” was appearing at schools, churches, and community gatherings all over North Texas.

“I try to always behave in a way that wouldn’t embarrass Santa,” he says. “You never know when someone’s watching.”

Soon, Connie joined him as Mrs. Claus. A longtime preschool and second-grade teacher, she brought her natural warmth and storyteller’s instinct to the role.

“We’re a team,” she says. “Most of the time, if he goes, I go.”

Her Mrs. Claus is mischievous and motherly all at once.

“I tell them the elves are in charge of the kitchen while I’m gone,” she says, “and I hope they don’t burn the cookies, because I don’t want to have to bake more when I get back.”

Some of Connie’s former students now bring their own children to see them, and the circle keeps growing. This year, they plan to set up their front yard for neighborhood Santa photos—no lines, no fees, just cocoa and conversation.

“It’ll be a free deal,” he says. “Just come by and visit.”

The suit has taken them farther than they ever imagined. In Branson, Missouri, visitors to Silver Dollar City called out to David as “Santa” even when he wasn’t in costume. On a trip to Ireland, three men at the Guinness Brewery stopped him for a picture.

“They said, ‘Santa, what are you doing here?’” he laughs. “I told them, ‘Even Santa gets a vacation.’”

The requests he hears each year are mostly sweet—dolls, toys, and games—but sometimes the adults join in.

“Nobody’s asked for anything really strange,” he says. “I just hope they didn’t ask for a Ferrari.”

That good humor clearly runs in the family. Their grandson in McKinney builds a Christmas display each year, sells cocoa for a dollar, and donates the proceeds to the Humane Society.

“The spirit of Christmas lives on,” David says, “and I’m passing it to the next generation.”

Asked what advice he’d offer to other seniors looking for a spark of joy, his answer is as simple as it is sincere.

“Be positive, be thankful, be grateful,” he says. “Your mind controls a lot more of how you feel than you think.”

“And be kind,” he adds. “Love your neighbor. Do good.”

For David and Connie, the work of being Santa and Mrs. Claus isn’t about make-believe. It’s about connection—the smiles, the laughter, and the reminder that wonder doesn’t have an expiration date. Each year, they choose joy—and help everyone around them believe again.