How ‘The Chicken Man’ embraces his role as a Columbia Christmas icon
The paint is beginning to smudge on Ernest Lee’s self portrait — an image of himself dressed as Santa Claus spewing Christmas Cheer, seemingly across the dashboard of his custom “R.V. Truck.”
The image, painted on his driver-side window, gives the appearance that the Santa version of Lee is driving the vehicle.
Lee, a local artist known around town as “The Chicken Man,” painted it in the first days of December to announce the return of his well-worn Santa suit and the Christmas gift-buying season.
For most of December, Lee can be seen in a full Santa Claus getup as he sells the folk art paintings that have made him a celebrity around Columbia.
He dons his Santa garb proudly, if not at times with some slight discomfort.
“Catch me with my beard before I decide to take it off,” he jokes with The State’s photographer.
It’s a supremely Columbia tradition to give Lee’s paintings to loved ones for Christmas, or, to hope to be gifted one yourself. His art can be seen all around Columbia, on porches and in restaurants.
While his work resonates year-round, there’s something about the holiday season that draws people to him.
Lee can predict when a car passing by is a customer. He watches the vehicles slow, says to himself, “Here we go,” and waits for them to circle back if they missed the quick turn off Gervais Street where he is located.
His position on Gervais is accessible but unorthodox. He parks his truck and an accompanying trailer on a slab of concrete on a vacant lot on the corner of Oak Street. Across Oak is the Masonic Lodge and its massive parking lot. Behind him, a neighborhood begins.
“Can I park here?” Paige Stiles asks as she pulls her car onto the lot.
“I love how festive you look,” she says, exiting her car and approaching his table.
Stiles is shopping for white elephant gifts for a holiday party with friends. The theme this year is local. Instantly, she thought of Lee. She has three of his paintings herself in her office at USC.
“When I think of Columbia art, I think of him,” she said. “His style has become synonymous with Columbia.”
His days are long. He sets up his booth most mornings around 9:30 a.m. and stays until dark. He’s here on and off all year, but December can be hard.
His paintings have been falling down all day in the strong wind. He has tried to MacGyver a few solutions, but soon the wooden planks are on the ground again. It’s been in the low 50s all day, and he’s happy to have the Santa suit as an extra layer.
Spread across his lot are planks of varying sizes, some painted, some yet to be. The finished ones portray the iconic chickens he is known and nicknamed for, as well as palmetto trees and homages to the Gamecocks and to the Clemson Tigers.
When Joseph and Teresa Padgett walk up, they are not sure where to start.
“Do you think like a regular sized one, or one of these thin tall ones?” Joseph asks his wife as they peruse the selection. The couple are accompanied by their two young daughters.
As they shop, Lee beckons one of the girls toward him and reaches into a large black garbage bag.
“You want to see what Santa’s got in the bag?” he asks, pulling out a toy baby doll and handing it to her. Her face lights up. Then, to the girl’s confusion, he hands her a package of socks.
The bag is a mix of whimsical and practical treats like this. Cotton gloves, bubbles, little toys.
Giving the gifts gets him in the holiday spirit, he says. He’s grateful for his good reputation and gets excited to meet local fans.
A car driving by honks as passengers wave. Someone yells “Santaaaa” from an open window.
Lee waves back and chuckles. “Now they’re in the spirit,” he says.
