Mrs. Claus and the Icicle Ceiling

MSU alumna Lisa Heileman, ’86, is better known during the holidays by another name—Mrs. Claus. With a dash of Spartan spirit, she is spreading the joy of the season across Michigan and beyond.

By: Ryan Loren

There’s an old poem, says Lisa Heileman, ’86, that is widely credited with expanding the mythos around Mrs. Claus and her role in the Christmas holiday.

Penned in 1889 by Katharine Lee Bates (author of “America the Beautiful”), the poem brings Mrs. Claus out of the shadows and onto the sleigh. Capable, curious and determined to share in the wonder of the holiday, Bates's Mrs. Claus claims her own voice and agency.

Lisa Heileman, '86, as Mrs. Claus (Photo by Jessica Birkett)
Lisa Heileman, '86, as Mrs. Claus
Photo by Jessica Birkett

Titled “Goody Santa Claus on a Sleigh Ride,” the story has become both an inspiration and guide for Heileman, who first donned the bonnet of Santa’s dutiful wife seven years ago. With warmth, purpose and a cheerful dedication, she has found festive fame and a new path forward as a Mrs. Claus who would make the fiercely independent “Goody” proud.

“Mrs. Claus is still developing,” says Heileman. “She doesn’t have as long of a history as Santa, but she’s getting a bigger and bigger role these days. One of the things I’ve learned is that Mrs. Claus can do it all on her own. I don’t always need Santa with me, but I always let everybody know he is working hard with the elves.”

Of course, Heileman has her own Santa— he’s a family friend.

“My husband is friends with Santa. I know that sounds very strange,” she laughs, referring to longtime friend Sam Militello, who famously portrays Santa in Detroit’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and owns a reindeer farm in St. Clair. “Santa had asked my husband to create graphics for the trailer he carries his reindeer in. He also made a candy cane pattern for the fence panels, and they became really good friends.”

Her husband, Tim, introduced Heileman to the reindeer farm on their third date. There, they met a 9-day-old calf named Rodney and his mother, Annabelle—an early glimpse into the world she would soon join. In the 12 years since, the couple has grown more involved on the farm as “reindeer wranglers,” and Heileman was eventually invited to become Mrs. Claus.

Dressed in her finest fox-fur suit and “snowflake bonnet with the sunrise ribbons on it”—just as in the poem—Heileman found the role a natural fit. It pulls on all her strings, from high school theatre to her work in event management and local government, and the four years she spent as a Spartan developing skills in urban planning, public speaking and community engagement.

“MSU gave me opportunities to do a lot of internships, and, by the time I graduated, I slid right into the work environment,” she says. “The skills I learned at MSU translated well into being a Christmas performer. You really can do anything with a degree from MSU. You can take all those experiences and turn it into something that is uniquely yours.”

Lisa Heileman, '86, left, as Mrs. Claus with Santa Claus at Meadow Brook Hall in 2023.

Heileman made her first appearance as Mrs. Claus during a Belle Tire corporate event at a bowling alley in 2018, followed by gigs in Rochester and Royal Oak.

“It’s a support role—directing lines, reading to the children, taking pictures and being a grandmotherly figure to the little ones who might be afraid of the big jolly man,” she says. “People are slowly opening their eyes to how important Mrs. Claus is, but there’s quite a bit of work yet to be done to break the icicle ceiling.”

While the world is still catching on to the value of Mrs. Claus, good performers are in short supply. There is only one Mrs. Claus for every 73 Santas, so the role is a responsibility as well as a privilege.

To refine her craft, she attended Santa Nana’s Holiday University, a traveling school just for Mrs. Clauses. There she learned performance skills as well as how to build a consistent backstory with new Santas. How the couple met, how long they’ve been married and whether to follow the traditional lore of Santa being 1,755 years old are more than minor details. Santa and Mrs. Claus need to be ready to answer every question and make every child feel heard.

Heileman also recently enrolled at the renowned Charles W. Howard Santa School in Midland, Mich., where she picked up new skills ranging from American Sign Language to techniques for working with neurodiverse children.

“They call it the Harvard of Santa schools,” she says. “I met Santas from Germany, the Bahamas, all over. I joined the world’s only completely Santa-and-Mrs.-Claus choir, and we sang Christmas music for all the other Santas. We focus on the spirit, the joy and the magic. It’s about being the best you can be for the kids.”

Lisa Heileman, '86, as Mrs. Claus.

Heileman has crafted her “Goody” with great care. The average Christmas performer spends about 700 hours in the suit from the moment they start. That ticking clock has urged Heileman to reach out and bring as much merriment as possible to every appearance.

In just a few years, she has become the brightest star this side of the North Pole. She appeared with Santa on a throne of 27 hockey sticks during a Detroit Red Wings game in 2024—a gig they were invited back to this year when the Wings host the Dallas Stars on Dec. 23. She also played the part for the Detroit Lions in 2022, welcoming 3,500 nice-listers just hours after a 1,500-person event at Meadow Brook Hall.

“In the fourth quarter, they took us down to the field to bring a toy to a child,” she says. “We were able to wave to everyone as we walked to and from the tunnel. It was exciting. I felt like Taylor Swift out there.”

Heileman also serves as Recording Secretary for the Michigan Association of Professional Santas (MAPS) and the International Brotherhood of Real Bearded Santas (IBRBS).

Recently, she found a picture of herself at 3 years old with Santa at the Masonic Temple during her father’s work party. Standing on a stage that felt enormous, her mind went blank when he asked what she wanted for Christmas. All she could muster was, “Jellybeans and icicles.”

She still laughs about it.

“That’s one story I’ll always carry,” Heileman says. “I hope when children meet me that it sparks a memory that brings them joy in the future. A memory that they can look back on and smile about.”

See below to read the 1889 Katharine Lee Bates poem, "Goody Santa Claus on a Sleigh Ride."

Goody Santa Claus on a Sleigh Ride (1889)
By Katharine Lee Bates
Katharine Lee Bates
Katharine Lee Bates

Santa, must I tease in vain, Deer? Let me go and hold the reindeer,
While you clamber down the chimneys. Don't look savage as a Turk!
Why should you have all the glory of the joyous Christmas story,
And poor little Goody Santa Claus have nothing but the work?

It would be so very cozy, you and I, all round and rosy,
Looking like two loving snowballs in our fuzzy Arctic furs,
Tucked in warm and snug together, whisking through the winter weather
Where the tinkle of the sleigh-bells is the only sound that stirs.

You just sit here and grow chubby off the goodies in my cubby
From December to December, till your white beard sweeps your knees;
For you must allow, my Goodman, that you're but a lazy woodman
And rely on me to foster all our fruitful Christmas trees.

While your Saintship waxes holy, year by year, and roly-poly,
Blessed by all the lads and lassies in the limits of the land,
While your toes at home you're toasting, then poor Goody must go posting
Out to plant and prune and garner, where our fir-tree forests stand.

Oh! but when the toil is sorest how I love our fir-tree forest,
Heart of light and heart of beauty in the Northland cold and dim,
All with gifts and candles laden to delight a boy or maiden,
And its dark-green branches ever murmuring the Christmas hymn!

Yet ask young Jack Frost, our neighbor, who but Goody has the labor,
Feeding roots with milk and honey that the bonbons may be sweet!
Who but Goody knows the reason why the playthings bloom in season
And the ripened toys and trinkets rattle gaily to her feet!

From the time the dollies budded, wiry-boned and saw-dust blooded,
With their waxen eyelids winking when the wind the tree-tops plied,
Have I rested for a minute, until now your pack has in it
All the bright, abundant harvest of the merry Christmastide?

Santa, wouldn't it be pleasant to surprise me with a present?
And this ride behind the reindeer is the boon your Goody begs;
Think how hard my extra work is, tending the Thanksgiving turkeys
And our flocks of rainbow chickens — those that lay the Easter eggs.

Home to womankind is suited? Nonsense, Goodman! Let our fruited
Orchards answer for the value of a woman out-of-doors.
Why then bid me chase the thunder, while the roof you're safely under,
All to fashion fire-crackers with the lighting in their cores?

See! I've fetched my snow-flake bonnet, with the sunrise ribbons on it;
I've not worn it since we fled from Fairyland our wedding day;
How we sped through iceberg porches with the Northern Lights for torches!
You were young and slender, Santa, and we had this very sleigh.

Jump in quick then? That's my bonny. Hey down derry! Nonny nonny!
While I tie your fur cap closer, I will kiss your ruddy chin.
I'm so pleased I fall to singing, just as sleigh-bells take to ringing!
Are the cloud-spun lap-robes ready? Tirra-lirra! Tuck me in.

Off across the starlight Norland, where no plant adorns the moorland
Save the ruby-berried holly and the frolic mistletoe!
Oh, but this is Christmas revel! Off across the frosted level
Where the reindeers' hoofs strike sparkles from the crispy, crackling snow!

There's the Man i' the Moon before us, bound to lead the Christmas chorus
With the music of the sky-waves rippling round his silver shell —
Glimmering boat that leans and tarries with the weight of dreams she carries
To the cots of happy children. Gentle sailor, steer her well!

Now we pass through dusky portals to the drowsy land of mortals;
Snow-enfolded, silent cities stretch about us dim and far.
Oh! how sound the world is sleeping, midnight watch no shepherd keeping,
Though an angel-face shines gladly down from every golden star.

Here's a roof. I'll hold the reindeer. I suppose this weather-vane, Dear,
Some one set here just on purpose for our teams to fasten to.
There's its gilded cock, — the gaby! — wants to crow and tell the baby
We are come. Be careful, Santa! Don't get smothered in the flue.

Back so soon? No chimney-swallow dives but where his mate can follow.
Bend your cold ear, Sweetheart Santa, down to catch my whisper faint:
Would it be so very shocking if your Goody filled a stocking
Just for once? Oh, dear! Forgive me. Frowns do not become a Saint.

I will peep in at the skylights, where the moon sheds tender twilights
Equally down silken chambers and down attics bare and bleak.
Let me show with hailstone candies these two dreaming boys — the dandies
In their frilled and fluted nighties, rosy cheek to rosy cheek!

What! No gift for this poor garret? Take a sunset sash and wear it
O'er the rags, my pale-faced lassie, till thy father smiles again.
He's a poet, but — oh, cruel! he has neither light nor fuel.
Here's a fallen star to write by, and a music-box of rain.

So our sprightly reindeer clamber, with their fairy sleigh of amber,
On from roof to roof , the woven shades of night about us drawn.
On from roof to roof we twinkle, all the silver bells a-tinkle,
Till blooms in yonder blessèd East the rose of Christmas dawn.

Now the pack is fairly rifled, and poor Santa's well-nigh stifled;
Yet you would not let your Goody fill a single baby-sock;
Yes, I know the task takes brain, Dear. I can only hold the reindeer,
And so see me climb down chimney — it would give your nerves a shock.

Wait! There's yet a tiny fellow, smiling lips and curls so yellow
You would think a truant sunbeam played in them all night. He spins
Giant tops, a flies kites higher than the gold cathedral spire
In his creams — the orphan bairnie, trustful little Tatterkins.

Santa, don't pass by the urchin! Shake the pack, and deeply search in
All your pockets. There is always one toy more. I told you so.
Up again? Why, what's the trouble? On your eyelash winks the bubble
Mortals call a tear, I fancy. Holes in stocking, heel and toe?

Goodman, though your speech is crusty now and then there's nothing rusty
In your heart. A child's least sorrow makes your wet eyes glisten, too;
But I'll mend that sock so nearly it shall hold your gifts completely.
Take the reins and let me show you what a woman's wit can do.

Puff! I'm up again, my Deary, flushed a bit and somewhat weary,
With my wedding snow-flake bonnet worse for many a sooty knock;
But be glad you let me wheedle, since, an icicle for needle,
Threaded with the last pale moonbeam, I have darned the laddie's sock.

Then I tucked a paint-box in it ('twas no easy task to win it
From the Artist of the Autumn Leaves) and frost-fruits white and sweet,
With the toys your pocket misses — oh! and kisses upon kisses
To cherish safe from evil paths the motherless small feet.

Chirrup! chirrup! There's a patter of soft footsteps and a clatter
Of child voices. Speed it, reindeer, up the sparkling Arctic Hill!
Merry Christmas, little people! Joy-bells ring in every steeple,
And Goody's gladdest of the glad. I've had my own sweet will.

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