Nestled in the hushed hills of northern Michigan is a kindly carpenter, a soft-talking Grand Traverse County man who builds wooden toys the North Pole way — the Santa way.
His masterpieces include trains that spell out a child’s name, tops that seem to spin forever, Michelangelo-caliber crafted wagons, rocking horses, and other such childhood treasures.
A spunky, spirited boy lives within 91-year-old Fritz Clous — always has, always will — and the joy he inhales in carving out such time-honored riches is measured by the tried-and-true craftsmanship in his hands and the ageless sparkle in his eyes and mind.
Born and raised in the shade and shadows of the lilliputian hamlet of Hannah, which is located a dozen or so miles south of Traverse City and a just few miles west of Kingsley, Fritz has been called Santa “Clous” more than once in honor of his toy-making skills and, of course, in recognition of the last name that was written on his birth certificate in 1934.
He’s the youngest child born during the smothering throes of the Great Depression to Frank and Hedwig “Hattie” Clous. “There are just three of us left,” he said. Francis “Fritz” Clous was born when a new car cost about two bits over $600 — a king’s ransom during the Depression, to be sure — and when they were still riding horses and traveling by sleighs and wagons pulled by horses named Pat and Jim, as the Clous horses were so named.
Fritz remembers the latter alright, albeit a memory scented with one aromatic caveat. One winter, as Fritz was hanging tight to his little sled that he’d tethered to the back of his father’s sleigh … well, let him tell the story.
“We had a (second) farm that was a mile and a half south of Hannah and it was probably a 3-mile ride from our farm north of Hannah where we lived to that other farm to the south,” he said. “In the wintertime, dad would load a set of sleighs with manure and haul them up to that other farm, and I’d hook my sled to it and ride behind him, and that load of manure, for 3 miles. I remember hooking my rope to that bolt that was hanging down on the back of the sleigh. I still remember the ride. I still remember the manure.
“But that was fun because the roads were all full of snow, and I was just a kid. It was exciting. And if the manure did fall off, it didn’t bother me because I was a farmer, it was all in a day’s work. Dad was a farmer (of) corn, potatoes, oats and wheat, so the rest of us were farmers, too. I learned my carpentry on our farm using hand tools, all hand tools. I even used to make baseball bats.”
Fritz went to St. Mary’s of Hannah School, from which he graduated in 1952.
“I was in the top 10 in my class,” he said, breaking into a grin, “but there were only 10 in our class. The studies were simple and easy. We walked to school a mile and a half and of course, it was ‘up hill, both ways.’”
The toy with no name
As he sat at his kitchen counter, Fritz talked about his seven children, 18 grandchildren, 28 great-grandchildren and “all those other children” he’s never met, but for whom he’s made toys for. He talked about his marriage to the love of his life, Lois, who passed away seven years ago at age 85.
“We were married one week less than 65 years, so we almost made it,” he said softly as his eyes misted over. “We had a wonderful marriage, just wonderful.”
Fritz said the two met in Traverse City while she was studying to become a practical nurse, and within a year, they were married in 1953. Chocolate cookies, fresh bread, pies and more, were constantly being baked by Lois. And when she wasn’t baking, she was canning fresh vegetables and fruits, and making caramel corn.
And for years the two of them would attend the Buckley Old Engine Show, which was founded by his brother Leonard Clous in the mid-20th century, a popular festival that was and still is located just a few miles southwest of where they lived.
“She ran a little stand where she served hamburgers and hot dogs,” he said, “and I’d do a little bit of this and that. We loved that.”
It was at the Buckley Old Engine Showgrounds that Fritz would share with the children in attendance one of his favorite handmade toys, one that he said has “No Name.”
“If it does have a name, I don’t remember it,” he said. “My Aunt Rose gave me one a long time ago and asked if I could make one like it out of wood. Well, that’s what I did. And then I made another and another.”
That toy is a simple wooden paddle that has four strings tied to a wooden ball hanging from it and four carefully whittled and colorfully-painted articulating birds on top — birds that dance if the paddle is twisted and turned in a flat, circular motion.
It is a toy, said Fritz, that might help young students hone the hand motor skills needed to write cursive, which he said is becoming a lost art and in the way of communicating.
“I took one to the Old Buckley Engine Showgrounds where they have Education Days and that’s where I would show it to the students who came there, and they liked it,” he said. “Some of the teachers asked for it. I think just about every school in the area has one of ‘em.
“Being able to read and write cursive is important. I had a person tell me that where she works they had to let a gal go — a young gal, just 26 years old — because she could not read cursive, and that had to be part of the job. That’s sad.”
200 hand-crafted toy trains
In the past three decades-plus, Santa Clous has shaped, painted and put together 200 wooden name trains — one of his specialties that he began making 33 years ago as personalized prizes that he’s shared with his family, friends and families he doesn’t know.
“I just like making ‘em,” he said, smiling. “But I gotta’ admit, I like doing the ones with the shorter names. ‘Bob’ is my favorite because it made for a nice, short train — less cars. ‘Charlotte’ was a long train. I’ve got one over there right now for ‘Zachary,’ which is (my great nephew) Stephen’s great-grandson.”
The axles he uses in the trains come in bags of 1,000 and he’s now using his fifth such bag.
Fritz recently completed a “toy tree house” with blinking lights, a miniature version of a real one that he envisioned being located in a tree in a family’s backyard. He will donate that toy tree house to the St. Patrick’s Catholic Church in Grawn that will use it in a fall festival fundraising event.
Thirty-five years ago he made a rocking horse of walnut and maple for his daughter, Connie. About the same time he also handcrafted an incredibly detailed wagon, beneath which both axles turn in opposite directions when pulled around a corner.
“It’s just like the old apple wagons, where turning at such sharp angles was needed so the wagons didn’t brush up against the trees and knock apples off,” he said while adjusting an apron a friend had made him that has the sewn-inscription: “Sawdust is man glitter.”
He makes more simple toys, too, like perfectly balanced tops that are set in motion with a string.
“The kids love ‘em,” he said. “Well, most of ‘em love ‘em, some get bored because the tops spin and spin and can spin for two minutes and more, so they get bored.”
Fritz’s four-legged shadow, a 5-year-old Bernese Mountain Dog/poodle mix named Louie, follows his carpenter master everywhere.
“Master?” Fritz joked. “Companion. He keeps close to me, unless he sees a squirrel.”
Yes, he has his own Santa suit
“I used to play Santa Claus a lot,” he said. “Dori Rodes, who lives next door, was my elf, and we would give out toys that I had made. I was Santa Claus at other places, too. I’ve taken toys up to (the St. Mary’s) daycare, dressed in my Santa suit.”
Fritz worked at Cone Drive in Traverse City, a specialty machine shop, for 43 years. “A lifetime, and I really enjoyed it,” he said. “Good people, good work, some of my coworkers even called me Santa Clous.”
Fritz leaped from story to story like the real Santa jumps from rooftop to rooftop. While telling one story he suddenly paused to tell another story of when he “played Santa” for his grandson’s daughter, Emilee.
“When I got all done she said, ‘I know that was great-grandpa,’” he said, laughing. “She said, ‘I could tell by his hands.’ She knew my hands. So I got gloves after that.”
But Fritz is not just a master toymaker. He makes larger, more intricate prizes, too. For his own house he’s made tables, chairs and chests of drawers, and many of the latter are filled with the toys he’s made. For the little ones in his family he’s made bedsteads (headboards and their matching frames).
Outside he built a merry-go-round, “but that needs some new boards, because the kids said so and they should know,” he said.
He also built a 13-foot long desk for St. Francis, and funeral biers atop which the cremated ashes of those who have passed can be carried into churches.
“Those biers are maybe about three feet long and trim 20-inches wide and they open with a curtain on their sides,” he said. “They have small wheels on them, so they can just be wheeled down the aisles.
His love of crafting is a constant companion in his life.
“I make Christmas stuff all year long, all year. Birthday gifts, too. And I love it. I’ve been blessed to have the skills that I do,” he said.
Yes, there lives in the hushed hills of northern Michigan a kindly carpenter, a soft-talking Grand Traverse County man who builds wooden toys the North Pole way – the Santa way – on a road just north of “Clous Road,” the road Santa Clous grew up on and that was named in honor of his father, Frank Clous, some 80 years ago.
Weather permitting, Fritz walks a mile every day. If the weather is being a bully, he pedals away on a stationary bike.
Every day though, he saunters on down a small hill behind his house to seek solace in his workshop.
“Carpentry brings me peace,” he said. “It’s relaxing. I don’t look at it as a job, I look at it as being creative, something that I can share. And if you can do something good — something creative — for the kids, then that’s all the better.”