If Christmas has a heartbeat in South Florida, it beats to the rhythm of Leslie Ann Hooker’s sleigh bells. For more than two decades, she’s been the undisputed Queen of Christmas—the woman behind the snow globes, toy soldiers, carolers, and Santas who’ve turned countless homes, hotels, and holiday soirées into scenes straight out of a storybook. But this year, after twenty seasons of holiday miracles, Leslie is finally allowing herself a little rest.
Her journey began, as she puts it, “as a total fluke.” Someone asked if she could carol. She said yes—though she’d never done it before. At the time, she was performing with an Andrews Sisters-style group called Bambi and the Blossoms. She ran to the store, bought three red dresses, and assembled her first trio of singers. A week later, a client called asking if she also had a Santa. “Of course,” she replied—though she didn’t. She found one anyway. “Quitting isn’t an option for me,” she says with a grin.
By the end of that first year, she had twelve carolers; soon after, Santas were calling other Santas, and Merry Christmas Entertainment was born. Within five years, she was coordinating up to fifty performers—carolers, toy soldiers on stilts, magicians, face-painters, and marching bands. “Nobody was focused on Christmas alone,” she says. “They’d tack it on and do it sloppily. I wanted to do it right.”
What started as caroling quickly grew into full-scale festivals and parades. “If a family wanted something festive and over-the-top, I made it happen,” Leslie says. Word of mouth carried her everywhere—from local events to royal palaces. When she was hired to decorate the children’s area for the Princess of Jordan, her space was an explosion of red, gold, and tinsel beside a minimalist floral display. The princess loved it and hired her for every Christmas and Easter thereafter.
Yet her proudest achievement wasn’t the grandeur—it was the people. Leslie made a point of hiring veterans, single parents, students, and anyone who needed a chance. “We became a family that met once a year,” she says. “Everybody had a place.”
The work was joyful chaos. She’d be leading a choir one minute and rerouting Santas across three counties the next. “I keep my phone behind my caroling book,” she laughs. “I know the songs by heart, so I’ll be singing while texting, ‘No, you have to make a left!’”
Her attention to detail was legendary. Every Santa got two calls—one at night, one in the morning—to make sure everything was perfect. “Christmas magic happens on the job site, not in the office,” she says. “It’s like getting kids ready for school—chaotic, noisy, but it all comes together.”
Of course, not everything went according to plan. When she couldn’t find Christmas trees for a Boxing Day party, she improvised with Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots and guards in boxing gloves. Another year, a Santa accidentally went to church instead of a toy store, leaving a hundred kids waiting. “There’s a problem every day,” she says. “But you fix it and keep smiling.”
Behind the glitter was a deep sense of purpose. “My job is to bring joy,” Leslie says. “I can’t get that Christmas feeling unless I’m doing it for someone else.” Her Santas have appeared in hospitals and nursing homes, even visiting terminally ill children on their last Christmas. “So many families I’ve made happy,” she says softly. “That’s what matters to me.”
In time, though, the season began to shift. After her husband’s sudden passing, the business felt different. Clients stopped calling and started texting. Her Santas grew older, and beloved carolers moved away. “It felt like the universe was telling me I’d done enough,” she admits.
Now, Leslie is slowing down—taking only the projects she loves and leaving the rest. “If I can’t do Christmas the way it’s supposed to be done, I’d rather not do it at all,” she says.
Still, she hasn’t stopped creating. These days, she pours her energy into restoring historic homes across the country—an English Tudor in Milwaukee, a 1910 farmhouse in Montana, and others she’s lovingly preserved. “I don’t flip them,” she says. “I keep them. They’re passion projects, just like Christmas was.”
As she looks back, she hopes people remember the warmth that lingered long after the lights dimmed. “I gave it everything I had,” she says. “Now I just want to enjoy Christmas from the other side—for once not running the show, just watching it sparkle.”