Rudolph Revealed: An In-person Interview

February 2026 | Vol. 70, No. 1
By Samuel Garloff, DO, PCOM '78

WGRP reporting from the North Pole. Shortly after the Christmas holiday, I arranged an interview with Rudolph, the famous red-nosed reindeer. What follows is a transcript of our conversation.

Rudolph, thank you for agreeing to this interview.

“Let me guess, you want to know about my nose. Well, pal, you’ll have to hear the whole story, start to finish…

I was born on November 16, 1947, and my birth was anything but natural. You see, Montgomery-Ward in Chicago gave out booklets every year to children for free at Christmas time. One year, they asked Robert L. May, an advertising copywriter, to write a Christmas story for the children so they wouldn’t have to buy a story elsewhere and cut into their profits. May wrote “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and I magically came to life. Montgomery-Ward gave away millions of the booklets over the years. One year, Robert summoned his courage and asked for sole ownership of the story. As a result, he became a millionaire collecting profits on books, records, lunch boxes, toys, clothing, TV shows, etc. Montgomery-Ward actually sold the merchandise that May grew rich on. I got nothing. Oh, the irony!

Because I came to life as an advertising promotion, I had no reindeer parents. Santa, however, agreed to let me live at the North Pole. I was shunned by the reindeer community as an outsider and forced to enroll in reindeer kindergarten, where I suffered even more estrangement as all the other reindeer calves knew each other. At that time, Prancer’s wife was the teacher and reported that I failed prancing. Let me ask you, who does that to a calf? You can imagine what I went through years later when I joined the sleigh team.

My childhood was lonely. I had no playmates. As we grew, the young bulls ignored me, and the young calves pitied me. It was bad enough that, as a youth, I couldn’t play in any reindeer games. When I reached adolescence, I was left out of the dating scene. I attended the Reindeer Prom alone. I was the only unaccompanied young reindeer bull there. I don’t have any good memories of growing up.

When I was drafted into the Hooved Forces, I was forced to play the enemy during war games. My role was to be captured, interrogated, and incarcerated as a POW. When I was discharged from the service, I couldn’t find decent employment. Oh sure, human children loved me, but that just made the reindeer community dislike me more.

Santa was no help. Once his sleigh was garaged after Christmas, he ignored us. I’m telling you, if I had opposable thumbs, I’d stab him in the hindquarters. Don’t judge me. I see the look on your face, and it speaks volumes. If you only knew the truth about how he runs things, you’d feel the same way.

Years past he worked his elves 24/7 and continuously demanded they increase output. He worked hundreds of elves into early retirement due to work-related injuries. Then, when Nixon opened up trade with China, he outsourced almost everything. He never asked about child labor or working conditions. He got heavily discounted toys and didn’t have to provide health insurance to the elves any longer. Ever wonder how he paid the Chinese? Every Christmas Eve, he collected all the milk and cookies left for him and sold them to the government for distribution to elementary school lunch programs. What a piece of work…

What about the elves, you wonder? They are the homeless of the North Pole. Oh, officially, there are no homeless at the North Pole, but look inside any abandoned toy workshop and under the bridges late at night. The elves help each other as best they can, but they suffer. It’s pitiful, I tell you, just pitiful.

Hardrock, Coco, and Joe haven’t been seen in years. But every Christmas Eve, the COE (Community of Old Elves) raises a glass to their memory and sheds tears remembering the old days.

Me? Santa uses me when the weather is bad. He has me fly point to protect the natural-born reindeer. Trust me, there’s nothing glamorous about it. If the sleigh ever hits anything, I’m a goner. It won’t matter to anyone. I’m an outcast, living a fringe life. No family, no friends, and no mate. Even Montgomery-Ward doesn’t exist anymore.

My life now consists of drinking vast quantities of Nog-Grog nightly. By myself, of course. Nog-Grog is 80 proof and pretty smooth if you drink a lot of it quickly. That’s the one thing old Santa does for all the inhabitants of the North Pole. He keeps us oiled just enough to prevent riots and protests.

I also have a subscription to Only Fawns. Don’t judge me… I’m an incel.

Now it’s time for me to come clean about my nose, although I suspect you have guessed the secret.

It’s not magic, never was. It’s fulminant Rhinophyma, untreated. You see, I don’t have health insurance.”

Reporting live from the North Pole,

WGRP