In response to Virginia O’Hanlon’s famous question, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” our family knew him as Uncle Glenn but I was much older when I learned of his alter-ego.

Every year he made sure that all his nieces and nephews got a visit from the jolly, old elf. Generous and compassionate, he helped so many family members through rough times but never for attention. Never one to brag or seek accolades, he was grateful to have the resources to share and most often, the recipients were surprised

Equally generous with compliments, he was always modest and relatively quiet, yet could quickly become the life of the party. In his self-deprecating way, referring to himself as Knothead, even during a serious conversation he did the unexpected like turning his baseball cap sideways, making a goofy face and changing his voice to say something silly as a different character.

He was smart, too; starting in the mail room and working his way to the top in the banking business.

Recently I had the opportunity to visit with him and Wilma, the love of his life.

Santa Claus is real and it’s an honor to recall his legacy. Each of his siblings loved him…. because he was easy to love.

His death came quickly. It’s part of this earthly journey. Envision a ship leaving the harbor and loved ones gathered around bidding farewell and waving until the ship disappears from their view … but on the other side loved ones are eagerly anticipating your arrival … when the ship faintly comes into view on the horizon their anticipation turns to shouts of joy and outreached arms to embrace you on your arrival…

In one of her letters to her husband who worked in another state during WWII, his mother mentioned how much Glenn loved fruit. He ate cantaloupes and watermelon from their garden until she thought he might pop.

They had wild berries to harvest and Grandpa’s apple orchard was next door. He shared with me how he ‘stole’ apples from Grandpa’s trees warily because he knew if he got caught, there would be big trouble. They rarely bought anything from the store. Times were tough and they worked hard to survive in humble circumstances.

About three years later, I came along. In addition to hard labor, he had never known anything but life in the holler and the one room school at the mouth of Buckingham.

After finally attending the nearby high school for two days, he was profoundly affected when he arrived home that evening and was told they were moving to a suburb of Louisville. It was not his choice because basically he had none, so, they packed up the very next day and headed for the big city.

Culture shock was only part of the big change. He was country, had no friends and was downright miserable. Everything familiar was gone. He was very unhappy but his eldest brother, Russell, convinced him to play baseball. Russell and their father had played on a local league back home.

With Russell’s encouragement he did play baseball and became very good at it. We got to see him play at a family picnic and were awed by his form.

He pitched for one of the Detroit Tiger’s farm clubs, the Kentucky Colonels in Louisville until an injury ended his career hopes.

Always soft spoken, gentle and laid back, he was one our favorite uncles — kind, funny, considerate, modest and generous.

He learned how to handle personal finances and often helped family members without prompting. Most of our Christmases as a child were financed by him. He helped all his siblings and many of his nieces and nephews to further their education.

I believe that he always yearned for the holler. We reminisced about his youth and rehearsed our memories.

They enjoyed visiting with both their families until the past few years when traveling became difficult.

Always helpful, he took care of the house cleaning, perhaps from his habits developed as he and his father lived the life of bachelors for a long time. Following retirement, every day he asked his wife what he could do for her that day to make things easier for her.

He picked out the clothes — he had very good taste — for gifts that he never failed to send to my mother, his other sisters and his mother-in-law.

Though they never had children, he supported all his nieces and nephews in any way he could.

He loved his in-laws. There was no “my family” or “your family” — there was simply family.

So, in answer to Virginia O’Hanlon’s famous question, my response would be a resounding “Yes!” because I knew Santa on a first name basis.