Hispanics in Texas trot out their own flavor of the jolly old elf to ring in a Feliz Navidad.
He usually has black hair and a black beard, sometimes just a mustache. Like Santa, he wears a hat — though often it’s a sombrero. He dons a serape or a poncho and, in one case, a red and black zoot suit. And he makes his grand entrance on lowriders or Harleys or led by a pack of burros instead of eight reindeer. Meet Pancho Claus, the Tex-Mex Santa.
Amid all the talk about Santa Claus’ race, spawned by a Fox News commentator’s remarks that both Santa and Jesus were white, there is, in the Lone Star State, a Hispanic version of Santa in cities from the border to the plains — handing out gifts for low-income and at-risk children.
Born from the Chicano civil rights movement, Pancho Claus is a mostly Texas thing, historians say, though there may be one somewhere in California. Lorenzo Cano, a Mexican-American studies scholar at the University of Houston, says Pancho was apparently conceived north of the border as Mexican-Americans looked to “build a place and a space for themselves” in the 1970s. His rise coincided with a growing interest in Mexican art, Cinco de Mayo, Mexican Independence Day and other cultural events.
Now, Pancho is an adored Christmas fixture in many Texas cities.
Each city’s Pancho has a unique local flavor, but all share roots that set Pancho apart from Santa. Here’s a look at just a few. Oh, and Feliz Navidad.
PANCHO IN THE PLAINS
In the West Texas plains, Pancho Claus is Pancho Clos, so as not to be confused with that other Mr. C.
“Pancho Claus comes from the South Pole, and Santa Claus comes from the North Pole, and every year they get together here in Lubbock,” says Robert Narvaiz, vice commander for Lubbock’s American GI Forum and coordinator of that city’s Pancho project.
Lubbock’s Pancho dates to 1971, when the forum decided to infuse a little Hispanic culture into Santa. They gave him a sombrero and serape, and held a big party at a park, giving out candy and fruit to 3,000 children.
Today, Pancho visits schools, churches and supermarkets, but the biggest event — now supported by three different car clubs and dozens of bikers — remains the party at Rogers Park. There, on the Sunday before Christmas, Pancho hands out gifts.
“We’re just trying to reach those kids that might get left out somewhere along the line,” Narvaiz says.
Julian Perez, a 71-year-old retired heating and air conditioning repairman, has been Lubbock’s Pancho for 30 years and remembers when three men, all of whom have since died, first came up with the idea. “I wanted to quit, but I just can’t. It just makes me want to do something for the kids,” says Perez, who wears a long salt-and-pepper beard, oversized sombrero and colorful poncho when he assumes the role of Pancho.
ZOOT SUIT PANCHO
Pancho Claus! Pancho Claus!” thousands of children chant excitedly, stomping their feet. Just as the shouting reaches fever pitch, Pancho arrives — this one dressed in his signature red and black zoot suit, fedora perched on his head, waving from the back of a lowrider as he throws stuffed animals into the crowd.
This is Houston’s Pancho, a k a Richard Reyes.
Reyes, 62, transformed into Pancho in the early 1980s, blending his interests in theater with his Hispanic heritage and a desire to work with at-risk, low-income children — a mission he took on after his teenage sister was killed in a drive-by shooting.