I first heard about John Duval Gluck on Christmas Eve. As my family sat around the Christmas tree after opening gifts, my uncle Dan mentioned a great-granduncle of mine who had been New York’s Santa Claus. My brothers and I peppered him with questions, and he told us what he knew. He was fuzzy on the details but dug up a few photos and an old Seagram’s V.O. holiday print ad that featured Gluck as a man who’d “helped save Christmas” once upon a time. How had I never heard of this guy? A quick Google search pulled up little. But my curiosity was piqued—I wanted to know more about this long-lost relative of mine. It turned out there was much more.
With the few leads from Uncle Dan, I scoured newspaper archives, the New York Public Library, and Ancestry.com. I found that Gluck, in fact, had been the toast of New York a century before—a regular presence in the newspapers, a widely quoted expert on philanthropy, and a man friendly with many of the era’s biggest stars and politicians. It came thanks to his founding of the Santa Claus Association, which for fifteen years answered every letter a New York City kid sent to St. Nick. Without Gluck and his group, these hopeful missives would be sent to the Dead Letter Office and destroyed. He made Santa real for thousands of New Yorkers.
Under this glowing tale, however, a more illicit story line swirled—suspicions of thievery, blackmail, and espionage; an arrest; and eventual exposure as a huckster. Who was the real John Gluck?
My search to uncover his true story took me to Florida, Texas, Washington, DC, and the far corners of Gotham. I connected with experts on Christmas, the US Postal Service, and New York City. I met with relatives I hadn’t known existed. Frances, a widow of Gluck’s nephew, recalled John fondly; after some digging, she found several storage boxes full of his papers. She sent a fifty-five-pound trove of John’s personal correspondences, official Santa Claus Association documents, and original Santa letters that served as the backbone of the story you are about to read. Among the papers was a letter from Muriel, the daughter of another of John’s brothers. Muriel proved a wonderful resource on John’s personality and checkered history, and she remembered her uncle warmly, if also as a bit peculiar.
Through their invaluable input, loads of research, and luck, the rest of the pieces—a riveting Bureau of Investigation (the precursor to the FBI) report on Gluck’s schemes, a Supreme Court case against the Boy Scouts of America, and lots of Santa letters—fell into place. They revealed a man who yearned for escape from a mundane life but who lost his bearings once he broke free. He was a fitting man for his time—from World War I to the Great Depression—when civic engagement and optimism were at a high point and could be easily exploited by a man with a touching cause and a good story. This was when Christmas became the garish, commercial, spectacular holiday we celebrate today, with Gluck himself playing a key role in its transformation. But it was also a time when the whole party was about to come to a crashing end.
This may be a story about Santa Claus, but all of it is true. Anything in quotes comes verbatim from the original letter, testimony, or report. In some cases I have adjusted the formatting for consistency, but I have left any misspellings or grammatical quirks intact. In a few cases I have used italics to indicate exchanges that took place but where the exact wording was not documented. Where firsthand accounts could not be found, I have noted what combination of sources I drew on in order to render the scene. Telling the true story of a fabulist presents challenges, but I verified Gluck’s claims with additional sources whenever possible.
I like to think Gluck embodies the myth-making spirit of America—combining ambition, charm, and a healthy share of bull, when it suited him. He wanted not just a good life but greatness, and his story can be a cautionary tale or an inspiration, depending how you look at it.
Alex Palmer
Brooklyn, New York
February 2015