The Crazy Real-Life Story Of The Man Who Created Santa Claus

When it comes to Christmas, there's a lot of imagery that just screams holiday cheer (loudly, repeatedly, and for many more months than is really necessary). There's Christmas trees and decorations, holly and mistletoe, snowmen and reindeer, and the biggest one of all — Santa Claus.

There's a good chance you've heard the rumor that Coca-Cola invented our modern image of Santa. Listen to them tell the story, and they'll say that it was their illustrator Haddon Sundblom who, in 1931, "established" Santa with his jolly countenance, red suit, white beard, and ho-ho-ho habit.

Read between the lines, though, and you'll notice that they're careful not to say they actually created Santa — because they absolutely, definitely did not. 

Santa as he is known today first appeared way back in 1863 — a year which, Smithsonian notes, was notable for the fact that the American Civil War was in full swing. It's no coincidence that Santa appeared to spread a little holiday cheer, and the man who actually did create the jolly old elf that is known and loved today had a fascinating — and occasionally dark — story.

There's one illustration in particular that pretty much cemented Santa's image as a jolly, rather round chap sporting a big white beard and with a preference for wearing red (that's pictured here). But here's the thing — it's not just a guy that's breaking into homes and dropping off toys. Thomas Nast used Santa to push a lot of propaganda — just take another look.

He's not carrying a sack of toys. That's a soldier's backpack he's got — along with other military imagery like a dress sword and an Army belt buckle. He's also carrying a horse and a pocket watch that could be considered toys... so what gives?

Ryan Hyman of the Macculloch Hall Historical Museum says (via the Smithsonian) that Nast and his colleagues had realized the popularity of Santa and their Christmas images were a chance to spread wider awareness — and in this particular case, he was appealing for fair wages for soldiers. The horse is meant to represent the Trojan horse and treachery (this time of the United States government), and the time on the watch — ten minutes to midnight — signified the pressing need to make a decision to pay members of the military more.

Santa might not be as loaded with propaganda today, but when Nast first created him, he was a vehicle that advocated for civil rights and social change.

In 1860, states started seceding from the U.S., and it wasn't long before the conflict escalated into a full-scale war. Thomas Nast joined Harper's Weekly not long after — in 1862 — and according to the Massachusetts Historical Society, it wasn't long before he became known for his wartime illustrations. At the same time he drew scenes that unconditionally supported the Union and cheered them on their way to victory, he also drew some of the most sentimental, touching scenes of what it was really like for soldiers on the front lines.

Good propaganda is important in any political cause, and it's impossible to stress just how popular Nast and his illustrations became. According to Gen. Ulysses S. Grant (via the Smithsonian), Nast "did as much as any one man to preserve the Union and bring the war to an end." 

Santa Claus was just part of that. Nast's depiction of Santa brought home the loneliness of war, the sadness of soldiers on the front, and the worry and heartache suffered by those at home. Harper's Weekly had circulation numbers of more than 100,000 (via George Washington University), and that's a lot of people seeing his message. Even President Abraham Lincoln was said to have commented on the importance of his heralding of emancipation, quoted as calling Nast "our best recruiting sergeant," adding, "This emblematic cartoons have never failed to arouse enthusiasm and patriotism, and have always seemed to come just when these articles were getting scarce."

Thomas Nast was behind another enduring symbol of the U.S., too — Uncle Sam. According to History, Uncle Sam was a real person. His name was Samuel Wilson, and he was a New York meat packer who supplied the Army with valuable rations through the War of 1812. The barrels he shipped meat in were stamped "U.S.," which soldiers began calling "Uncle Sam's."

Newspapers took the reference and ran with it, and it wasn't long before Uncle Sam became synonymous with the United States. But, it wasn't until Nast started drawing a personification of Uncle Sam that he started to take on a personality of his own.

In 1869, Nast drew an illustration called Uncle Sam's Thanksgiving Dinner, and The Atlantic says that it was basically illustrating an idea that Abraham Lincoln championed — it wasn't blood, nationality, or ethnicity that made someone American, it was the sharing of common ideals and convictions. Nast's illustration shows a diverse group sitting around a Thanksgiving Day table while Uncle Sam carves the turkey, and it includes the captions "Come one, come all" and "Free and equal." The message was clear — Americans are Americans, no matter what they look like.

Gradually, Nast's Uncle Sam evolved to sport the white beard and the stars-and-stripes wardrobe known today. (Although it is worth noting that the most famous depiction of him — the recruitment poster — wasn't Nast, but another artist named James Montgomery Flagg.)

One of Thomas Nast's biggest targets was the corruption of Tammany Hall, New York City's stronghold of the Democratic party. It was led by William "Boss" Tweed, and just to give an idea of how corrupt an organization this was, let's look at the building of the Municipal Courthouse. Tweed was in charge of funds, and his kickbacks meant the courthouse ended up costing the state $13 million. Put another way, the original budget was $300,000, but Tweed's oversight meant the state was charged $350,000 on carpet alone (via The New York Times).

Nast, says George Washington University, kicked off a campaign to bring the corruption of Tweed and Tammany Hall to light. In 1871, he was offered a bribe to go away to Europe, which he turned down — but he did move his family to New Jersey when it escalated into a matter of personal safety.

Tweed and his immediate group of cronies were dubbed the Tweed Ring and made a habit of grossly overcharging the state for construction projects. They were also known for naturalizing immigrants in exchange for their votes and using their political influence to put an end to court cases.

Ultimately, it was Nast's cartoons that were credited with turning the public against Tweed and his cronies, and Tweed was arrested (but miraculously, still kept his seat in the senate). What followed was a dramatic run from the law, which finally ended when he was arrested in Spain — where he was identified based on one of Nast's illustrations.

Thomas Nast continued to work after the fall of the Tweed Ring, but things took a bit of a turn. According to the Massachusetts Historical Society, much of Nast's work for Harper's Weekly had been done under publisher Fletcher Harper — and Harper gave Nast the freedom to pretty much do whatever he wanted to. Over the course of his career, that had included things like promoting the idea that newly freed slaves should be given the same civil rights as any other American, along with things like women's suffrage and rights for groups like the Chinese immigrants who were settling in the west.

Things changed after Harper's death, and along with a shift in management, the industry was also seeing a change in printing methods. New methods didn't work as well with Nast's distinctive style, and coupled with new management's desire to become less radical, Nast found himself — at just 39 years old — less frequently called upon. 

Nast's grandson, Thomas Nast St. Hill, says (via American Heritage) that he took the opportunity to travel and do some investing. Tragedy followed. The silver mine he invested in fell through, and when he made another investment in a Wall Street firm that ultimately failed, he lost all he'd risked.