In the corner booth of a dank oat and hay joint around the corner from the area’s signature workshop, a grisled, moist-eyed flyer ogles a young doe waiting tables as he asks for a Molson.
     He then resumes staring longingly outside at a group of adolescent bucks teeming with energy as they alternate taking drags on a lone cigarette. The veteran now known as “Donner” complains, "They don't let us smoke anymore. I mean I’m glad I quit, but they didn’t have to make it a rule."
     Once the rising young stud in one of the most notorious teams of eight ever, he now nears the end of what has been a successful, albeit controversial career. "They didn't used to have all these rules," he mutters, raising a hoof to begin counting what he now considers stringencies. "No smoking, no beer within a month of Christmas, no reindeer games, no hanging out on Kringle Alley."
     It's the last one, the prohibition against buying affection in the North Pole’s red light district, that seems to have him most peeved. "A buck spends an uncountable number of hours breaking light speed to get the fat guy to every house in the world without crapping on a single roof, and we're not supposed to let off a little steam with the ladies when we get back?"
     His entry point into bitterness is well documented. In 1939, more than halfway through what will probably be a more than 200-year career once Donder retires after the 2004 Christmas season, Santa's popularity was sagging. It was worse for the reindeer.
     The U.S. and world depression was persistent as Hitler marched through Europe. Kids throughout the world were being told not to expect much come Christmas morning. The lowered expectations created lingering doubts among kids and their parents about eight flyers and Santa.
     Readying himself for another worldwide flight was Donder, who many considered the strength of the reindeer team. Brought up in the late 18th century from the North Pole's AAA club in Yellow Knife, Canada, where he had been known as “Dunder,” he instantly became the club's star.
     "Aw, you know, there was a lot of attention coming my way," he says now. "We all know it takes eight of us to make the thing work well. I was just doing my job."
     Back home in his new North Pole home, however, Donder became a celebrity. With his chummy personality and his penchant for passing praise, Donder was instantly a hit with the elves and his teammates.
     Even more notable was his popularity with the does. "All the reindeer were great," said Trixi, a longtime casino owner in the North Pole's nightspot-rich Claus District. "But Donder was special. I know my business did better on nights when other deer thought he ‘might’ show up. Everybody just wanted to be around him."
     Donder soon gained a reputation as a doe-izer, but his affable personality made it impossible for anyone to hate him for it. "He was smooth and slick and all that, but he was genuinely so nice and so talented with a sleigh that we all just loved him like a brother," said Dasher.
     But a reindeer's job, and that of Santa for that matter, depends on a believing public. As that belief dwindled, so did the demand for annual deliveries. The North Pole's economy was struggling and reindeer jobs were in jeopardy.
     Santa called the group into his stable office one day and told them he may have to cut back to six, or even four reindeer.
     To this day the North Pole owes a lot to Alan McTavish, the North Pole's marketing director at the time. He approached Santa with a scheme that to many seemed insane. Instead of cutting back on reindeer, Santa should add one.
     "A reindeer with a red nose, no less," said Santa, who recalls vividly his conversation with McTavish. "It seemed like a really bad idea. First, we didn't have the money to add personnel, but that's exactly what he was suggesting. Then the red nose. I mean I thought people would think we were lushes."
     In the end, Santa trusted McTavish to try to sell his concept in the United States. The marketing veteran visited with Macy's and J.C. Penny's before finding a receptive ear with 34-year-old Montgomery Ward marketing writer Robert May.
     Montgomery Ward managers had the same concerns about the red nose, but gave May the go-ahead.
     The Rudolph campaign was a hit. First distributed as a coloring book, the ongoing legend turned into a hit song for Gene Autry in 1949, then an annual standard television special beginning in 1964.
     The promotion did wonders for the North Pole's economy, but Rudolph, who Donder considered nothing more than a mascot at the front of the sleigh, instantly became so popular that children everywhere forgot the names of the other reindeer. In Donder's case, they not only forgot his name, when they did sing it they got it wrong.
     "When I came up to the big team from Yellow Knife, they changed my name from Dunder, because they thought everyone would think I was clumsy,” he said. “Actually, I agreed, so I was happy to become Donder. But Donner? Donner? What is that?" Donder asks. "I'm named after a pioneer party that ate each other? What kid is going to put his arms around that?"
     Donder says he does appreciate that he and his buddies were able to keep their jobs, but said eventually Rudolph's popularity began to wear thin. "The guy still doesn't fly well. He hangs on in the front lighting his nose every five seconds and suddenly he's a hero?" Donder grouses. "We'd been through fog before. That light doesn't help us see better. Maybe it helps others see us, but we had never been in an accident anyway. I mean face it, as far as flying goes the kid is basically a trailer we're pulling up there."
     Between 1940 and 1974 "Donner" earned a reputation as a malcontent. In 1958 Mrs. Claus returned from the Betty Ford Center intent on drying up the North Pole. Santa mollified her by toughening a few alcohol laws, including the one-month pre-Christmas ban for the reindeer, but Donder nearly quit. In fact, Santa almost let him go several times for being a cancer in the stable, but needed his flying skills to anchor the ever-changing personnel. Donder was moody, quick to deflect blame for near mishaps and often too concerned with his own statistics.
     He now says it was a surprise phone call that helped him turn his career around.
     “It was the middle of November 1974 and a few of us on the team were on a bender before the one-month ban was supposed to kick in. We were at my house and the phone rings. I recognized the voice on the other side and sobered up right away. It was Nixon,” he said.
     Donder had formed a friendship with Richard Nixon in 1962 after the former presidential candidate lost in his bid to become governor of California. He and Nixon both felt they were highly skilled, but largely unappreciated, which gave them both a reason to relate.
     Nixon, suffering through the worst year of his life, having already resigned the presidency, attempted to talk sense to Donder.
     “He told me I had to forget about the recognition, to just do my job and I’d be a lot happier. He said to take it from someone who lost everything because he had been too concerned about his  legacy,” said Donder. “When I looked at how Nixon went down, I realized he was right.”
     From that moment on, according to not just Donder, but some of his fellow reindeer, he became a team player like never before. It didn’t cure his bitterness, but he looked past his own anger for the good of what he still believes is an important tradition.
     Now, just two Christmases away from retirement, he plans his future. Always a fan of barley-based beverages, he just inked a deal with Canada’s beer manufacturer Molson to market a Christmastime ale called “Reinbeer.” He’s also in discussions with Pepsi, Purina and Mattel with an interest in endorsements.
     Never married, he hasn’t ruled it out, but considers it a long shot. Whatever his post-sled career entails, he says, he’ll stay busy.
     As for who will replace him, some of the candidates may among the very bucks outside the restaurant stamping out the cigarette they all just shared. The thought makes Donder reveal a rare smile. “People might be scared to think of that,” he said. “But not so long ago I looked just like those guys.
     “ Just like ‘em.”
Behind the Jingle Bells
By Steven Gardner
November 29,2003