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GREENSBORO — His name is Toddy, and he keeps a Santa globe in his tent.

As many of us celebrate Christmas, Toddy is probably huddled up in his tent, looking at his Santa globe and thinking about where he’s going this afternoon.

He told me he’d like to go see his wife, Nina, and his young daughter, Gladys. She’s 3. But there’s no Nina in any directory, and when I tell Toddy that, he says she has a private number that he doesn’t remember.

So today, on Christmas, Toddy will probably stay at his camp beside the railroad tracks. He’ll probably look at the Santa globe someone gave him and say to himself, “Well, at least I’ll have something for Christmas.’’

At least that’s what he told me.

“I look at it all the time, to tell you the truth,’’ he says from his bed underneath the tent. “Santa and his reindeer. Yep. He’s holding the ceiling up, and he’s alright with me.’’

Today is just another mark in Toddy’s notebook. He uses it as a makeshift calendar to keep tabs of how long he’s lived in the woods.

He told me he’s been there since July of 2009. He created a big tent beside the tracks out of discarded cardboard signs and tarps blown from passing trains.

He uses metal crutches, wood slats and plastic cable pipes as joists to keep his tent from falling down. He ties off and secures everything with anything he can find — from vinyl rope to duct tape to electrical cords.

His tent is his home. Behind his curtain of tarps, he has a plastic trash can to store his clothes and food in, and cinder blocks to support the mattress and box spring he found.

On and around his mattress is a big mound of comforters, packing blankets, sofa cushions and a Winnie the Pooh blanket.

In the corner hangs a headless lime-green skeleton. Above his bed is a mirror to reflect light from a small lantern. Beside him on a makeshift shelf is a small cigar box for his cigarettes, pens and anything else he can find.

And up by his roof, inches from his eyes, is his Santa globe.

“They was giving away stuff down on East Market Street, near the Food Lion, and I got it,’’ he says. “So, until I get home, I’ll have Christmas right here if I don’t get there by Sunday. So, I’ll just look at it and have Christmas every day. Every day.’’

News & Record photographer Jerry Wolford found Toddy nearly two years ago. Since then, Jerry has been visiting him at his camp in the woods — talking, taking pictures and trying to figure him out.

A few weeks back, Jerry saw Toddy with his Santa globe and heard him say, “Well, at least I’ll have something for Christmas.’’

That’s when Jerry told me about Toddy. Toddy told me the same thing when I visited him.

He was lying in bed, barely awake. I sat on his trash bin while he told me stories about what he owned — a factory, a bank, a ranch in Texas and this property beside the tracks.

Right.

“I’m living here because this is my property, and until this contest is finished,’’ he tells me, “we’re seeing who can stand it the most of staying away and carrying on.’’

Right.

Toddy’s real name is Stephen Vanstory . Local cops know him.

Starting right before Christmas 2007 and spanning a period of six months, court records say Toddy spent three short stints in a local jail cell for a variety of misdemeanors.

His first 40-day jail stay came when he scuffled with a female cop. According to the arrest warrant, he took an “aggressive stance toward her, while lowering his shoulders, making a fist and attempting to strike her.’’

He doesn’t remember that.

His other jail stays included two 10-day stints for trespassing twice at the old Post Office off East Market Street, property owned by the United House of Prayer For All People. His last arrest came May 2, 2008 .

Toddy remembers that.

“No! No! No!’’ Toddy told me the other day. “That’s Vanstory property!’’

So it goes with Toddy, the man with a Santa globe right above his head.

When he got arrested, he gave his address as 305 W. Lee St., the address of the Greensboro Urban Ministry.

Today, he stays in the woods beside the railroad tracks, creating his own world inside a cathedral of trees, surrounded by a makeshift wall of blankets and tarps.

After talking with Toddy, I stand outside his tent and listen. In the distance, a train whistles, a car honks, all sounds of our busy city. Then, as if on cue, Toddy starts to sing. 

It’s the same tune he sang for me earlier, in his rich bass voice, right there flat on his back in his bed.

Have you seen my baby?
My baby, my baby,
You know I love you so.
You know I do, really do.
Have you seen my baby?
My baby, my girl.

Contact Jeri Rowe at 373-7374 or jeri.rowe@news-record.com