A Grand Tradition of Christmas : Pomp and Circumstance Is Part of Yuletime at Yosemite

By MONA GABLE

Dec. 20, 1987 12 AM PT

This may be hard to swallow.

But possibly the most sought-after Christmas dinner in America features boar’s head and peacock pie, a strolling minstrel and dancing bear. It’s hosted by a stout English nobleman named Squire Bracebridge. And it all takes place in the shadow of Yosemite’s magnificent Half Dome.

All right. I’ll admit that some of this is make-believe. Squire Bracebridge is a fictional character, the creation of writer Washington Irving nearly 170 years ago. The bear with the pink voile tutu is really a guy in costume. The boar’s head and peacock pie are only papier mache. But the part about Half Dome is true. Trust me.

This is a story about the Bracebridge dinner, a re-creation of an 18th-Century Christmas feast that’s been held at the splendidly rustic Ahwahnee Hotel in Yosemite National Park for more than half a century. At $100 per person, not including tax and gratuity, this three-hour Yuletide fantasy does not come cheap.

From Far and Farther

Still, expense has hardly been a deterrent. Guests have journeyed here from such far-off places as Boston, Miami and Sydney. And last year, 30,000 people requested reservations, though fewer than 10% could be accommodated at the five dinners, which begin a few days before Christmas each year.

With its medieval-style British trappings, the popularity of the Bracebridge may seem astonishing. But at the heart of its appeal is a longing for an old-fashioned Christmas.

“I started coming here with my grandmother and my dad in 1934, when it was $7.50 for the dinner,” says George Hause, a Los Angeles audio technician, whose two college-age daughters have been attending the Bracebridge since they were small girls. “It’s more a show, more than a dinner to us. It’s a family event.”

His wife, Joan, adds in a tone of amazement: “And to think all those years we were eating turkey and creamed onions and calling it Christmas!”

Like the Hauses, a small group of guests have been returning year after year.

“They don’t have a family, so their friends who come to the hotel for Christmas are family,” says Carl Stephens, who has decorated the Bracebridge set since 1950 and is the Ahwahnee’s head gardener. Unfortunately, he notes sadly, “that group is getting smaller each year. Some of them have gone on to the Big Bracebridge.”

‘My Own Christmas Palace’

“It’s like coming to my own Christmas palace,” says Claire Bardella, an elderly San Francisco socialite. In her white fur hat and red pantsuit, she could easily be mistaken for Mrs. Santa Claus. She has been a Bracebridge regular since her mother took her to her first dinner when she was a teen-ager in the 1930s.

“I know everybody here,” she says. “I go down the main aisle, stop at every table and throw my arms around everybody. There’s no place like it in the world.”

Judging by one Bracebridge ceremony, she may be right.

The Bracebridge is based on a story by Washington Irving about Squire Bracebridge, an English baron who treated family, nobility, and humble villagers to a lavish feast each Christmas at his sprawling Yorkshire manor, Bracebridge Hall. The Ahwahnee’s dining room may not be a baronial hall, but you’d hardly know it by the oohs and aahs of the well-heeled crowd.

“Look at that window!” sighed one woman filing into dinner, as she saw the lofty stained-glass panel of the Virgin Mary and Child. “It’s almost like going down the aisle to get married.”

The ceremony begins with the arrival of about 20 female singers clad in jewel-toned Renaissance gowns. Next comes the Squire and his entourage--the parson, the jester and a group of male singers--who smile and wave as they march down the center aisle. Taking his place at a huge oaken banquet table on a stage, the Squire proclaims: “Hail to Bracebridge Hall!”

In Old English

Speaking in Old English, the Parson, played by British actor Geoffrey Lardner, announces the order of the feast: “Hail the boar’s head comes on high!” Courses are then whisked down the aisle on the shoulders of men in Tudor dress and presented to the squire, who approves them before they’re served: “With feathers spread, and head held high . . . serve the peacock, and I’m guessing, ‘tis replete with spicy dressing!”

Guests don’t really get served peacock pie, of course, or any of the other fanciful entrees on this symbolic menu. An impressive parade of waiters swiftly trot out from the kitchen with the real stuff--filet of sole, poultry souffle and roast beef.

But some in the sophisticated crowd buy the illusion anyway.

“I thought it was a real fish!” exclaimed Cornelia Hoppe, an interior designer from San Francisco, as four lackeys carrying the first course--a huge papier mache fish--swept past her table.

A Dancing Bear

Between courses, guests are entertained by a golden-haired minstrel and a dancing black bear. A jester who juggles flaming torches and bowling balls. A mixed chorus singing obscure and familiar carols. And a solo performance of the Christmas classic, “Cantique de Noel,” which typically draws rounds of applause.

After a recent performance of the Bracebridge, many guests came away impressed.

“The singing was outstanding,” said Patti Ogden, a real estate agent from Auberry, Calif. “The people in it seemed to really enjoy what they’re doing. It’s brought the most feeling of Christmas to me I’ve had all week.”

“I really liked the decorations,” said Jean Hoppe, who came with a friend from San Francisco. “And there was a sense of caring on the part of the participants.”

Still, there were a few quibbles about the performers.

“The bear’s tour jetes need some work,” said Ogden, who also teaches ballet.

“My first graders could teach him a thing or two,” added Charlie Clark, a retired math professor from Twain Harte, Calif. “The black bear is not indigenous to Yosemite. It should be brown.”

“I didn’t care very much for the Squire,” noted his wife, Jean.

So how did this English fellow with his taste for peacock pie wind up in a classy resort hotel--a hotel in a national park at that?

It all started in 1927, when the grand Ahwahnee Hotel opened to tremendous public fanfare. Built at a staggering cost of $1 million, the six-story structure was conceived as a resort for the rich and famous. But apparently park officials overlooked one thing. Yosemite didn’t draw many tourists in winter, so the posh new hotel stood to lose a great deal of money.

Enter Don Tressider, then president of Yosemite Park and Curry Co., who hired Garnet Holme, a well-known California pageant director, to produce an old-fashioned Christmas celebration that would lure guests--and revenue--to the hotel.

A Touch of Ansel Adams

When Holme died two years later, his replacement was a young Californian with a background in classical music and a flair for photography: It was Ansel Adams who created much of the text and music that is still used today. He also played the jester for many years.

“He was a marvelous person,” Claire Bardella recalls. “Each Christmas he always gave me a kiss. I would say, ‘Ansel, it’s like running through a forest barefoot.’ ”

These days, the music director is Andrea Fulton, an attractive, no-nonsense woman in her ‘40s. Fulton took over from her father, Eugene Fulton, a well-known San Francisco choral conductor, after his death in 1978. As director, she hires the singers, researches new music, checks costumes for wear and tear, and rehearses the chorus for months before the performance.

“It really is a monumental task,” she says, describing her job as part psychiatrist. “With singers you have thousands of emotional problems. One Christmas morning, I had 12 people in my hotel room.”

But these minor human dramas aside, she loves the Bracebridge.

“I think my greatest memory is the feeling of family spirit. My mother has been in the Bracebridge for 41 years, so there’s a feeling of longevity. I can’t wait for the first rehearsal.”

That goes for Ray Jason, a San Francisco street performer who’s been playing the jester since 1982. “I’m a solo performer, but I like being part of an ensemble,” the fair-haired artist says. “I love doing this. We do a receiving line at the end of the show, and I’ve never seen anything but people coming down that aisle glowing.”

Not Always Smooth

Still, things haven’t always gone smoothly at the Bracebridge. Like the Christmas several years ago, when a streaker sprinted down the center aisle.

“All of a sudden, I was pushed aside,” Andrea Fulton recalls. “I saw this little pair of buns. It was a remarkable feeling to have no control. But I just wanted to howl because it really was funny.”

“Everybody was losing their false teeth and eyeglasses,” Claire Bardella said.

“We’ve had moments when the plum pudding--which is wreathed in gas jets--dripped flames all over the carpet,” says Wyatt Insko, a San Francisco music teacher who plays the organ at the Bracebridge. “One time we barely made it out of the hall, and people dropped it (the pudding) right there. We had to use fire extinguishers to put it out.”

The Bracebridge has also had its share of controversy. In 1977, the National Park Service instituted a nationwide lottery after a barrage of complaints about the 12-year waiting list for reservations.

‘Like Opera Tickets’

“Up until then, there was a way of perpetuating oneself, like opera tickets,” Wyatt Insko explains.

But when George and Joan Hause got notified they’d have to play the lottery to get reservations, just like everyone else, “we were upset,” he says.

That’s something of an understatement. In protest, the Hauses organized a fierce letter-writing campaign to public officials--including President Carter: “At a time when you’re urging a return to old family traditions,” he wrote, “to do something like this is counterproductive.”

Hause is still unclear about what happened. “We got our confirmation, but we don’t know whether it was because of the lottery.” But the Hauses haven’t missed a Bracebridge dinner since.

Is it worth all the trouble and expense? That all depends on who answers. “I enjoyed it,” said first-timer Terry Ogden, an elementary school teacher from a small town in Northern California, “but it wouldn’t break my heart not to come back. There are too many other things to do.”

“We’ve been looking forward to doing this for many years,” Jean Clark says. “I hope we can bring our grandchildren some year.”