Tag: my childhood

Memory Lane: ‘Melvin the Moon Man’ Reprint

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From June 9, 2018

 

Before the advent of video games featuring blood and guts flying all over the screen, children had to be content with benign, peaceful, harmless games–like this one.

Remco put out “Melvin the Moon Man” in 1959, and it was a hit. My parents got it for us for Christmas, and it was simple enough for all three of us to play: my sister, age 4, my brother, 7, and me, 10. If we had had a cat, he probably could’ve played, too.

You spin the handle of the unique Tumblebum dice glass (that, and the colorful graphics, were the game’s big selling points), and your plastic Spaceman traveled around the United Craters of the Moon collecting Moonbucks. The one with the most Moonbucks wins. No tactics or strategy involved. Just follow the map according to the roll of the dice.

I don’t know what Melvin cost in 1959, but it’s selling on eBay today for up to $150. In 1959 anything over $5 was a major expenditure for my father which my mother would have to weigh carefully. They really must have loved us to buy us silly stuff like this.

And that’s what makes this memory so sweet.

The Doll That Scared a Boy Silly

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From September 22, 2018

It is not the usual thing for boys to be afraid of dolls. Nevertheless, I knew a boy, who grew up to be a star athlete and a model citizen, who had a dreadful experience with a certain doll. I must not reveal his name, lest he be embarrassed by this anecdote. For the sake of convenience, I’ll call him Ariobarzanes.

As he was a new boy in the neighborhood, my friends and I decided to introduce him to our local wilderness, preparing him with lurid tales of Hangman’s Tree, which stood at the very heart of it. To this day, we whispered to him, as we followed the trail beside the creek, some evil force continued to string up people from that tree. But it ought to be safe to go there in the daytime. Probably.

Meanwhile, my friend Ellen, a very good tree climber, went on ahead to set the stage.

We had poor Ario pretty well pumped up by the time we entered the clearing where the tree glowered down on all of Middlesex County. And there Bobby and I stopped short, pointing and crying out, “Oh, no, not again! Oh, no!”

A hapless little doll hung from the lowest branch, swaying dismally in the wind.

With a great cry, Ariobarzanes turned and ran all the way back home without stopping even once, showing great promise of the track star he would one day be. He didn’t even need to use the path: he made one of his own.

I admit that this was a naughty prank, but Ario soon laughed it off and he and I became great friends. Best freakin’ shortstop we ever had, too.

But now you see, I’m sure, that under the right circumstances, a boy can be scared by a doll.

When We Were All Little Sages

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Sometimes what you knew turned out to be not true.

All this bowing down to children and asking them to please tell us what our public policies should be, reminds me of how wise we all were when I was in fifth grade.

Out on the playground, which was our grove of Academe, we liked to discuss weighty topics with one another: the more philosophically abstruse, the better. We especially liked scientific subjects.

One of the topics we discussed at great length went like this: “Ya know, every time they talk about shooting a rocket to the moon, these two dubular clouds appear on Mars…”

Dubular? What does that mean? Well, nobody asked! Each of us took it for granted that everybody else knew exactly what it meant. I didn’t know, but that didn’t stop me from repeating that baloney. It got so I didn’t have to know what it meant! Just saying it made us sound so wise.

If only adults had listened to us, back then! Obviously they had no appreciation for our childly wisdom.

But that seems to be changing fast.

Keep your eyes peeled for dubular clouds on Mars.

From November 2019

I’m Sick, All Right

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I haven’t been this sick since I was in knee-pants.

It’s horrible. Everything hurts.  No Daddy to scoop me up from bed and sing Sweet Violets. My wife is very worried. I miss my mother coming up the stairs to serve me ginger ale.

What can I do now, but ask for prayers?

And plenty of ’em.

A Summer’s Day, Back Then

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Let’s go back to 1960, when I was 11 years old. It’s summer vacation, school is out–let’s go! Live it up!

Gobble up my breakfast, then rush outside with mitt and bat to see if my friends Jimmy and Frank are ready to play ball. They are. So we shag flies for a while, until there are enough kids there for a softball game.

Hop on the bikes, race through the woods next door, and stop at the spring for a drink (who would dare to do that now?). Back on the bikes, over to the candy store. And then to Tommy’s Pond to catch frogs… or fish.

Afternoon is almost played out. A quick dip in our backyard pool seems in order: then grab the newspaper before anybody else, so I can see how Willie Mays made out last night. Box scores tell the tale.

Then suppertime. Corn on the cob. The farm is ten minutes away by bike.

After supper, a game of kickball on the street… till it gets dark.

That day it was over 100 degrees outside. We had a lot of days like that! It was the middle of July, of course it was going to be hot. No one heard of “Climbit Change” or “Global Warming.” We did just fine without it. If you wanted air conditioning, go to the movies. Or to the dentist.

That’s how it was.

I’ll Try to Do Better Tomorrow

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Turok: Son of Stone 10 - Turok - Son Of Stone - Mortal Combat - Indians - Dinosaurs

Two little posts today, that was my output. Well three, counting this one.

When I was a boy my absolute favorite comic book was Turok Son of Stone, the adventures of a couple of Native Americans in a lost world chock-full of dinosaurs, cave men, and everything else that made prehistoric life worth living. Dodging a pair of battling tyrannosaurs: it doesn’t get any better than that!

Anyway, I don’t have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and I’m looking forward to catching up on the nooze.

Meanwhile, if you’ve encountered any nooze articles you think I ought to look into and write about, please let me know.

‘Until We Meet Again’

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Roy Rogers and Dale Evans were BIG, really BIG on TV when I was a boy, back in the 1050s. And among other things, they sang hymns. And no one tried to stop them!

Hard to imagine… but I was there to see and hear it.

Trying to Restore My Memory

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The Cisco Kid - The Carriage and Western Art Museum

Duncan Rinaldo (right) and Leo Carillo (left) in The Cisco Kid

I’m trying to kick my memory back into gear. A spotty memory, part of “chemo brain,” is a standard leftover from chemotherapy and radiation. In my own case it’s taking a lot of time to fade away.

Yesterday I was exercising my memory by asking it what TV shows I used to watch with Grandma. I spent a lot of time at her house. I was too young to realize this, but television had only come along later in her life and still seemed a touch miraculous.

When the weather was nice, of course, we were out on the porch–me with my pick-up sticks, Grandma with her Reader’s Digest. When it wasn’t, we resorted to the living room and turned on the TV.

Here are three shows I remember from back them.

*The Cisco Kid (1950-1956). I loved this show! So exotic! Certainly nothing like it in New Jersey. Grandma always tried to please her grandchildren, so we watched The Cisco Kid. I’m not convinced she thought it was so great.

*Arthur Godfrey. Great Caesar’s ghost! Could this guy put you to sleep, or what? Grandma never missed it. He played a big part in early TV history, on air 1949-1959. And it was live TV: sometimes he liked to just throw away the script and wing it.

*Queen for a Day (1956-64). This started out as a radio show in 1949–and who can forget it? Old ladies competed with each other, and whoever could trot out the most abject misery got to be “Queen for a Day.” Really, this was just awful! Grandma lapped it up like chowder.

I want to get my brain back on line. Somewhere out there is Ozias, Prince Enthroned–but where is it? I’ve got the longhand copy, but the finished manuscript is still hiding in the blahsmos.

Come on, memory! No more lolly-gagging!

 

Sanity Break: ‘William Tell’

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Ah, 1950s television! A great time to be eight or nine years old!

Taking time out from the nooze, it popped into my head to revisit this old show–William Tell, starring Conrad Phillips, produced by British Broadcasting.

It has half an hour of high adventure, and the good guys always won. You marched behind William Tell because his cause was just. Freedom! He fought for freedom.

By cracky, do we need heroes now! People like William Tell. And maybe we’re going to get some. Maybe Donald Trump’s election was the start of something glorious. Hey! Once upon a time we followed George Washington, Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, Lafayette… and a new country was born. Our country.

Maybe it’s once again a time for heroes.

[P.S.–Sound supervisor, Fred Turtle. “And how are all the little turtles?” Check the closing credits if you don’t believe me.]

God’s Stuff: Box Turtles

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When I was a boy, there were a lot of box turtles. We lived next to our local woodland, and the edge of the woods featured blackberry patches. That made it very attractive to box turtles. And when it rained, they would wander around your back yard.

(Did I remember I was Mr. Nature?)

I kept box turtles as pets. Who didn’t? They got very tame, but they were also escape artists. When they were out of their turtle pen, they used to bother our dog, Rags, by eating his dog food and totally ignoring his strenuous objections. There’s not much a dog can do to an adult box turtle.

Now, of course, it’s been years since I’ve seen a box turtle. That’s progress! McMansions everywhere you look!

*Sigh* Nature is a memory.