Once you reach a certain level of celebrity, people begin to talk about you.
He's no A-lister, but Michael Holtz of 1210 Hovey Ave. in Normal, knows what this is like.
The now-retired plumber's house — or more specifically, the Christmas lights display that involves lugging hundreds and hundreds of plastic figurines out of storage and setting up what seems like miles of electrical cords every year — has gone viral online multiple times, and turned into memes, unleashing a barrage of commentary on social media.
But even before that, Holtz's display was fodder for urban legend as people speculated about what, exactly, would motivate someone to do this every year.
Although it's grown significantly since, the lights display has been an annual tradition since the 1990s.
"I've heard one of my kids died. I heard [it was about] autism. I've even got a friend who I think purposefully went out and started a couple of rumors just to get a laugh out of it," Holtz said in a recent interview with WGLT. "For the most part, I never really got on Facebook much to explain these things, so the rumors just kept getting more crazy and more wild."
The saying goes that truth is stranger than fiction.
But the way Holtz tells it, there is no complicated backstory and little-to-no-truth in the local stories that circulate about him.
The things that motivate him, he said, are really quite simple.
"Little kids that come by — you just see the smiles and the happiness and you think, 'I've gotta keep doing this. I gotta keep doing this,'" Holtz said.
And the origin story of the now nearly 1,000-lights-strong display also is simple: Over the years, he just got more and more of them.
"I always wanted a Nativity scene because my grandparents had one and an aunt had one. Of course, getting those, you've got to have a Santa," Holtz said. "Then you've got elves, and Tiggers and [Winnie the] Poohs and drummer boys — and it just kept going and going."
[Some people have asked if the display reflects a case of hoarding; Holtz jokes that as long as he is willing to give things away, he's safe from the diagnosis.]
Over the years, longtime Pantagraph columnist Bill Flick has written a spattering of articles on the display . The way he remembers it, Holtz's set-up enlarged significantly after it was featured in an article around the early 2000s.
Flick said after driving down Hovey in west Normal one year pursuing a tip, he saw two houses decked out with Christmas lights on either corner of the intersection.
"It was like a face-off: Who can do the best job of decorating the yard? I think it was doing a story on them that generated Mike to really go begin going overboard in terms of blow molds, lighting in his yard, and on his roof and then eventually in his neighbor's yard," Flick said. "Mike continued on in his own competition to see just how big and massive his display could be."
At the time the first article was published more than 20 years ago, Holtz estimates there were maybe 500 or 600 lights and plastic blow molds on display.
At his peak years, there were 1,700.
This year, there are around 1,000.
That means for any given category — Santa Clauses, reindeer, snowmen, elves, you name it — there are hundreds of the same type of figure. And Holtz is clear: It's "not quality I'm trying to achieve here, it's quantity."
"When he went over 1,000 blow molds I thought, 'My gosh, this guy is nuts,'" Flick said. "Occasionally I might poke a little bit at Mike, but it's all in the spirit of what he does and the spirit of Christmas in my world — which is to have fun, show off your lights and your yard and create a community that way."
'What is this guy thinking?'
To some extent, that has worked.
For his unfathomably large display of lights, some people send Holtz letters of gratitude.
Some people leave $20 for the power bill.
Some people donate their own blow molds to his collection, once they've decided to downsize.
Holtz has been at this so long now, there are adults who bring their children on a walk or slow drive-by the house to look at the same extravagant display of plastic and electrical power they remember from their youth.
There are those who come alone, too.
"There was a guy who showed up at my door one night and he was crying," Holtz recalled. "He goes, 'I just wanted to come by and thank you for your lights. Me and my son would drive by 3-4 times a night. He was 10 years old and he loved it. He died in an accident.'"
Another woman found comfort in driving by after her mother died. Her mother had found the whole thing tacky, but would still laugh audibly "because it's outrageous, like, 'What is that guy thinking?'"
But not everyone finds joy in this display.
For some people, the yellow glow that can be seen at least two blocks down the street signals a waste of resources.
One online commenter called Holtz an ecoterrorist, a title he disputes because he uses LED lights.
"There might be 1,000 of them, but I'm still conserving," he jokes, adding it all costs only about $200 extra per month to power the lights.
Online comments, some of which "can be really hateful" can be tuned out; in-person experiences less so.
Over the years, Holtz said people have thrown golf balls at his windows, plucked their choice of blow mold out of his lawn to steal, or called the police to protest the display. Eventually, comments from cars driving by prompted him to drop a habit of standing outside and waving while dressed as Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.
"One of every 500 people that come by here want to do something to you. They want to mess with you and it really drags you down," Holtz said.
It's prompted him, on occasion, to evaluate how much energy he has left to dedicate to the endeavor.
The job of pulling the blow molds out of storage — tucked away like Tetris blocks in the tight spaces of an expanded garage and freestanding shed in the backyard — and lighting them takes about 70-80 hours; tearing it all down and tucking it away until the next year takes another 40-50.
Holtz is now in his 60s and said 42 years of working as a plumber have led to pain in his knees.
"It's all going to come to an end some day. I've got to take care of my knees,or do something because I can't keep going up on that roof or I probably will fall off one of these days," he joked.
For some people, like Flick, the day that 1210 Hovey Ave. goes dark is one to dread.
"Every late October I keep wondering, 'OK — is Mike Holtz out on his roof?' One year, it's not going to be Mike Holtz," Flick said. "That will be a devastating year for people like me who love to drive by homes and look at nice jobs or decorations."
Holtz, too, probably dreads that day, which is why he's kept at it all for as long as he has.
"A guy who used to play Santa Claus told me once... I said, 'Where's all the joy in [Christmas]?' and he goes, 'You only get what you put into it,'" Holtz said. "So it always struck me that he's right: You put something into it, you get something back."
