At the age of 64, I still believe.

I believe in Santa. I believe in him because I met him 60 years ago, and I have a long-standing business relationship with him. No, I am not his lawyer. His lawyer is Fred Gayley, who I believe ranks right up there with Perry Mason as one of the greatest lawyers of all time.

If you’ve ever seen the 1947 Christmas film classic, Miracle on 34th Street, you will remember Fred Gayley as the lawyer who came to Santa’s rescue when misguided New York public health officials locked Santa up in a psychiatric hospital and sought to have him involuntarily committed as “Krazy Kris Kringle,” for the simple reason that Santa was telling everybody that he was Santa.

Santa Claus was put on trial. Fred Gayley successfully defended him (and in the process saved Christmas), by proving that Santa Claus was sane when he said he was Santa for the simple reason that Santa was and is indeed Santa!

I understand that since that time Fred Gayley has continued to represent Santa, particularly in defending pesky products liability cases. And if Fred Gayley ever needs any help, I will be happy to represent Santa on a ho-ho-ho pro bono basis.

While I have never represented Santa, I have a long-standing personal and professional relationship with him.

I first met Santa some 60 years ago in December of 1956 when I was four and Santa was … well, Santa is timeless.

I met Santa at the Goldsmith’s Department Store in downtown Memphis. In those days Santa worked from 9 to 5 at Goldsmith’s taking orders from little kids like me who climbed on his lap. And then at the end of a long workday, Santa and his Chief of Staff, Rudolph, would climb in Santa’s sleigh at the Memphis airport, fly to the North Pole and then pull an all-nighter assembling the toys that had been ordered during the previous day at Goldsmith’s. And then, in the early morning hours, they would take the red-eye (actually the red-nose) back to Memphis for another day of visits from all those Memphis “Tiny Tims” like me.

I was accompanied to Goldsmith’s Department Store that day by my mama. She drove me downtown in her 1955 Ford Fairlane and walked me through the “Enchanted Forest” to Santa’s fake North Pole on the first floor of the department store.

There, after standing in line for what seemed like an eternity, I finally arrived in the presence of Old St. Nick and climbed on his lap.

Santa and I then had our first conversation. “So, Billy, have you been a good boy this year?” Santa asked.

I thought for a second and replied, “Well, I guess that depends upon what your definition of ‘good’ is.”

Santa then responded with a hearty ho-ho-ho and said, “Sounds like you’re going to grow up to be a lawyer. You may even want to go into politics!”

Santa then asked me what I wanted him to bring me for Christmas. Without hesitation I responded, “A Davy Crockett coonskin cap, a hula hoop, and a pogo stick!”

“Well, we’ll see what we can do,” Santa said. He later told me that in his business he learned not to make too many promises.

Santa then gave me a candy cane and a warning: “Now be a good boy, Billy, for the rest of the holidays! I’ll be watching!”

“I’ll do my best,” I promised.

I later learned that after my departure, Santa checked both his “naughty” and “nice” lists. As it turned out, my name appeared on both.

But Santa gave me the benefit of the doubt, and on the morning of December 25, 1956, I got to dress up like Davy Crocket and spin a hula hoop around my waist while jumping on a pogo stick.

Over the next several years, I continued to meet with Santa each December at Goldsmith’s Department Store and present him my wish list. At various times I requested an electric football set, a BB gun, a Winky-Dink kit, and a 1951 Ford Thunderbird (Santa was unable to deliver on that last request.)

But sometime in the early 1960s, I discontinued my annual December visits with Santa. I had become a sophisticated teenager, and regrettably, I had suspended my belief in St. Nicholas.

Nearly 30 years later, Santa and I were reunited, and I owe it all to my youngest son, Will.

On this long-overdue occasion, my meeting with Santa did not occur at Goldsmith’s Department Store in downtown Memphis. By that time, the classic old department store had closed. To my disappointment, Santa had moved to the ’burbs, holding forth in a new fake North Pole in a suburban east Memphis shopping mall.

I walked into the mall carrying my infant son Will. He was just a few months old and could not yet speak. Nevertheless, after standing in a long line, Will and I approached Santa. To my great relief, Santa remembered me. “Hey, it’s little Davy Crockett! Welcome back! Who have you brought here with you, Billy?”

“This is my son, Will,” I responded, placing him on Santa’s lap.

“Well,” laughed Santa. “What would little Will like for Christmas?”

“A train set,” I replied.

“He wants a train set?” Santa asked incredulously.

“Well, we both want one.”

Over the next several years, I kept returning to see Santa at the suburban shopping mall each December. And I kept bringing him more kids with more requests for gifts that “my kids and I” wanted.

Santa and I were back in business. And then, sadly, after many wonderful years, all three Haltom kids became sophisticated teenagers, just as I had many decades ago. And one by one, they stopped believing in Santa.

But I still believe, and one of these days, I hope I have a grandchild so that I can renew my annual visits with Jolly Old St. Nick. And when that happens, my now grown children will believe again, too.

Yes, Tennessee, there is a Santa Claus. And I intend to do my best to keep him in business.

BILL HALTOM is a shareholder with the firm of Lewis Thomason. He is a past president of the Tennessee Bar Association and a past president of the Memphis Bar Association. Read his blog at www.billhaltom.com.