Intermission...

CHiPs motorcyle

When I started kindergarten, my lack of understanding the English language, and my status of only child made my socializing with the other children difficult. It did not help that I was a painfully shy child who was taught early on that the squeaky wheel did not in fact get the proverbial grease, but instead got the very real hand across the face. Lesson taught: keep quiet.

While that made me a teacher's dream, it also made me a teacher's nightmare. If I did not understand, instead of asking for help, I just smiled, kept quiet and faked it until I could figure it out alone. This, of course, lead to many misunderstandings of the sitcom variety that I may touch upon later. Just know that I quickly learned that a bum was not an explosive devise, and that "Dick" is not short for Dick Van Dyke.

Because we were young children and required supervision, I suppose, instead of a traditional recess with the older kids of the school, we were kept inside and had "Play Time." We had a variety of games, toys and other things to amuse ourselves. The most popular toys were the blocks and the miniature play kitchen set up. The teacher would assign us to either the block corner, or the doll corner. We would raise our hands and hope to get picked, and hope we got to where we wanted to go.

I usually went back to my desk and drew in crayon.

One day the teacher started to notice that no girl wanted to play with blocks and no boy wanted to play house. So instead of picking those with raised hands, she just randomly assigned kids. I ended up in the block corner. That's where I met Max.

Max was an Argentinian boy, who also struggled with English. We found a kinship in that. The more we spoke the more things in common we had. Turned out he lived about two blocks from my house.

I told my mother about him on the way out of class and she went up to his mother and introduced us. I guess my mom and his mom hit it off immediately, as we started hanging out on swing set after school quite a bit.

In class, Max and I became best friends. We always volunteered to play in the block corner. If one of us was chosen and the other was not, the chosen one would give up their spot to some other kid and we'd both go draw.

We started to notice that the teacher started making an effort to separate us. Max came up with an idea. He'd sneak in a toy from home and we'd play with that at our desks.

The first toy he ever brought in for us to play with was the CHiPs Motorcycle Launcher. Wed make ramps with stolen blocks from the block corner, we'd make obstacles with those fat crayons the school provided, we'd draw people and cut them out and make standees so the motorcycle could run them down, but most of all we'd found our own way to have fun.

Of course our teacher put the kibosh on it once she caught onto our setup. She told our mommies on us. Our mommies had our backs, but told us not to make waves in class and to mind our teacher. So we did... In OUR way.

We pretended we were no longer friends when the teacher was watching and we went back to our withdrawn ways. Finally noticing we were no longer participating and sad, the teacher relented.

We celebrated by playing with Max's CHiPs Motorcycle Launcher once again.

I don't know whatever became of Mrs. Micelli, our kindergarten teacher, or that CHiPs toy, but I do know that Max and I are still friends.

28 years and counting.

Mego Batgirl

[Preface: In previous posts I have alluded to an incident involving a set of Magnetic Batman and Robin figures. At times I come across as bitter, and in truth, I am to a certain extent. This incident is a painful childhood memory, and to this day I still carry some of the hurt. I don't speak of it often, and I have been putting this one story off for a while to the point that I have updated less often than I would like to. Today, I have decided it's now time to let go.]

It was the Christmas season of 1980. Ronald Reagan had just been elected president of the United States, and my father was overjoyed. In January he would take office, and President Carter and the lean times of the 1970's would finally be over. I would turn 5 that first week of January, and we would celebrate it Uruguay, with our extended family, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins that we were only able to see every 2 to 3 years.

As the 1980's had promised, this new decade was already looking good for my family. My parents had saved up and were now home owners of a 2 family walk-up in Ozone Park, Queens. This Christmas was to be celebrated like no other. As such, the first week of December included a shopping trip to Alexanders to purchase a full sized tree, decorations, more lights than should be allowed, and a few odds and ends for family.

Normally shopping trips involved my mother and I on a bus or the subway, as we were a 1 car family, with that 1 car being my father's mode of transportation for work. This Christmas, though was special. My father wanted to come along, as he felt that it was his responsibility to make the outside of the house glow like the sun. If it involved ladders, nails and hammers... it was man's work. We piled into our 1972 mustard yellow Ford Maverick (with the brown vinyl roof) and went off for a Saturday of shopping.

I don't recall much from that shopping trip, other than it was cold outside, hot inside, and boring. Relief came over me as we approached the checkout lanes. That meant it was time to go home.

That's when I saw it.

The one image that would burn into my mind for decades to come. I still dream of it.

Over each checkout lane hung white chains from the ceiling. Usually they attached teddy bears, dolls, balloons, anything that would bring a young child to a high pitched scream, and thereby force the parent to buy it to shut them up.

But I did not see teddy bears or dolls. I saw aisle after aisle, checkout lane after checkout lane, from ceiling to right above the counter... Mego magnetic Batmans and Robins. They had been taken out of the boxes and were hanging from their hands and feet. Some were posed as though they were climbing. Others held hands and made a Batman/Robin chain from over one counter to the next. It was beautiful.

And I wanted them so badly I could taste it. And it would indeed taste good. Like candy flavored candy topped with candy and sprinkled with even more candy.

I went to my father, the weak link in the "asking for stuff" chain of command. I asked him, "If I'm really good, do you think Santa will bring me a Batman and Robin like those?" as I pointed above our heads. It was too close to Christmas to even consider asking for anything outright. I was never a stupid child. I was just a little naive.

My father's response was a parental cliche', "You'll have to remember to ask Santa."

Fine. Now I just needed to find Santa, or one of his many emissaries.
[note: my parents once explained to me that Santa is a rather busy man, and as such he cannot be everywhere. To that end he employs emissaries around the world to stand at street corners and at shopping centers to "take orders" from the children of the world, and that these emissaries reported to the big man himself daily. I was a rather inquisitive child, and my parents were rather creative in answering my logistical questions with answers that had a little real world logic for backing.]

I wrote a letter to Santa with the help of my mother. I placed the letter in a mailbox and went on to dream of Christmas morning.

Christmas came and went. No Batman or Robin.

Evidently, the man can fly around the world in the span of one night delivering toys to every boy and girl, but he cannot read Spanish.

Immediately after Christmas, my mother needed to make another trip to Alexander's to buy some odds and ends for our month long trip to South America, and exchange some clothes which were too small for me already. Since my birthday was coming up soon, my mom said I could pick out something as a gift. I knew exactly what I wanted and made a beeline to it.

When I arrived... all those wonderful chains above the checkout lanes were bare. I asked my mother if she remembered the toys that were there a month previously, and she did not.

As I went to the toy section, I remember walking by a dump full of boxes. I know now that it was full of Mego 8 inch Batgirls, Catwomans, and Supergirls. What I knew then was, it was NOT the Batmans or Robins I wanted, so I didn't really care.

Disappointed, I grabbed an 8 Inch Mego Batgirl.

I have never hated a toy so much in my whole life. It really wasn't her fault though. She was just a victim of circumstance.  Just was a substitute for what I really wanted, and never received. I just couldn't look at her and NOT see that image of Magnetic Batmans and Robins.

And I could never look at Santa the same either.

Decker

This is what I generally refer to as the  Saga of Decker.

I obtained my Mego Decker action figure one chilly morning during one of my many childhood visits to my godfather, all the way over on the east side of the Van Wyck. Yes, a trip consisting of a total 15 minutes from my home. Across the street from my godfather's place was a small general store. It was a cross between a hardware store and pharmacy from what I can remember. On occasion my mother and I would go there to pick up little things while my father visited with my godfather.

On one such occasion, I noticed a spinner rack full of carded toys. Not much in the way of selection, but I did spot a Star Wars figure. There amongst the dredge was an Empire Strikes Back Han Solo! Oh boy, this was my chance to actually OWN a Star Wars figure. Finally I could shut up the jerk with the Bespin Luke.

I grabbed Han Solo and as I was about to show my mom, I noticed a figure from Star Trek the Motion Picture. Being that I was about 4 or so, and as of yet unable to read, I thought it was Kirk. Well, I knew my mom was a fan of the show. I had caught her watching it on occasion. I figured, I bet she'd get a kick out of it, so I grabbed it to just LITERALLY SHOW HER.

Of course it played as as follows: I carry two figures up to my mom who is talking to the guy behind the counter. I show her the Star Trek figure first. She takes it from me. I go to hand her Han Solo, and she puts it counter and says we'd better get back. Once across the street, I'm handed my new toy: Star Trek's own Decker.

I guess in the confusion of her not paying attention to me as I tried to explain which I wanted and which I just wished to show, she misunderstood and just grabbed the first thing I handed her and paid for it.

So there I was with my brand new "I don't know who the heck this is" Star Trek guy. I figured he was Kirk. So I called him Kirk. He became my new best friend, being that he was the only 3 3/4inch figure I owned at the time. (I had a previous relationship with a Comic Action Hero Penguin, but that ended badly... for the Penguin.) Still, Decker and me, we had lots of fun. Sometimes he'd wear a cape and fly like a superhero. Sometimes he'd put on a parachute and become a daredevil the likes of which had not been seen since Evel Knievel.

One day, a year or so later, I was playing with the kids next door when one particular kid flung Decker high into the air... and he landed on the roof. Bye Bye Decker.

A couple of more years go by, and the neighbors have their roof redone... and off the roof flies Decker. A little worse for wear, but still good ole Decker. Of course he's caught by the kid next door, who has experienced a bout of amnesia it seems since he claims Decker was his all along and that *I* threw him on the roof. His mother takes his side. Again, Decker seemed lost to me.

But that did not last long. All it took was patience, and a little bit of the sneak, and Decker was back in my possession. Yes, I bided my time and when I saw the opportunity, I stole him from the kid next door. Granted since he was mine to begin with, I don't actually consider it "stealing" so much as I consider it liberating a POW.

Decker was an indoor toy from that point on. He wasn't quite the same, the ravages of being behind enemy lines had left their scar. The kid next door was a toy biter. Decker came back from the front without any fingers on his hands, and missing a good 40% of his paint. But he was mine.

I still have Decker. It's funny, for a figure I never wanted, he turned out to be a pretty good toy.

Super Powers Superman

When I was a child, my choices of after school TV viewing were pretty limited. Sure, you had GI Joe, Transformers, Voltron and Thundercats, but that was a measly 2 hrs of cartoon viewing! Unlike today where there are entire channels dedicated to cartoons, we had to make due with the many syndicated live action (read:mind numbing) reruns of Diff'rent Strokes, Three's Company, and of course, the deathbringer of afternoons... MASH. To this day, I cannot stand to hear the first few notes of "Suicide is Painless" without having a panic attack. MASH signaled the end of a fun afternoon and the beginning of the nightly parental confiscation of the the TV. Oddly enough, MASH made for a pretty good segue into the 6 o'clock news.

Now, not all live action syndicated shows were bad. In fact one stick out rather predominantly in my mind: 

The 1966 Batman TV show.

Every afternoon, Adam West would don the cowl, and Burt Ward would slip on the pixie shoes and for a half hour (and sometimes a full hour) would battle evil in beautiful technicolor!

As soon as the show was over, it seemed like every kid on the block would flood the stoops and streetcurbs, all with the same thought in mind:

"I wanna be Batman!"

"But you got to be Batman last time! You be Robin."

"But I won't want to be Robin."

"I'll be the Joker." 

"My porch is the Batcave."

"My bike'll be the Batmobile."

And so on until dark when mothers near and far would stick their heads out the front door and declare, "DINNER!"

That simple 20 year old show captured the imagination of every child I knew. So much so, that on Saturday Mornings, when The Superfriends would come on, Batman seemed to be a shell of the man we spent the week with. 

One day, while watching TV a rather curious commercial caught my eye. Kenner introduced me to the Super Powers lines. Finally, I would get another chance at Batman and Robin figures! (I had experienced a setback a few years previously in attempting to acquire a  Mego Magnetic Batman and Robin set. But that is a story for another time.)

They even released a Batmobile. It didn't look like the REAL Batmobile, but any car Batman was in automatically BECAME the Batmobile.

On our very next shopping trip to Cityline for various clothing related things, we stopped into the Woolsworths. Now, Woolsworths was a welcome retreat after spending hours upon hours watching my mother buy underwear and socks for the family. Woolsworths had a toy section I could go and browse in. After a few minutes, my eyes went straight to a locked display cabinet. (This was one of those "I need a salesman to open the case so I can buy it" things.) From behind the glass Batman and Robin seemed to wave at me. 

To say that it took one minute to locate my mother and drag her to the toy section would be to exagerrate. I do not think it took that long.

Normally I was not a begging sort of child. In fact, I never really ASKED for stuff. I was always rather subtle. The usual "Oh mom, look how neat that it," and then I would go through the work of explaining exactly HOW neat the item was, and that it's probably alot of fun, and well you get the point. I'd try to get my mom to offer to buy it for me. I would feign humility saying how it was unnecessary and make her insist. In the end, I would come home with the toy.

This was not one of those times. I downright asked my mom for Batman and Robin. And the Batmobile. In hindsight, I do believe the Batmobile was the dealbreaker. I was asking for too much at the end of a day where too much money had already been spent. So I got the "Mommy would buy it for you if she had the money" speech. Lord, I hated that speech. That may be why I never came right out and asked for things. I just didn't want to take the chance that I would get that speech.

But all was not completely lost. At seeing my apparent disappointment, my mother said she had enough money to buy one. I could get one at thet very moment, and as soon as she saved some more money we would come back and I could get the other one.

I wasn't about to fall for that again. I'd fallen for that line before with other toys. Sure, we'll come back... and by that time there wouldn't be any more. So my choice was either get a Batman without a Robin. Who would Batman call "Chum"? I could get a Robin without a Batman. Who would rescue Robin when he was tied up? Or I could get nothing.

And suddenly a third choice looked out at me from behind the glass: Superman.

Superman didn't need anyone. He was Superman! 

When the sales clerk came over unlock the case and he asked which one I wanted, I calmly said, "Superman." My mom was rather perplexed. "I thought you wanted Batman and Robin." 

"I want Superman more," was the only answer I could come up with.

We did return to Woolsworths during our next shopping excursion. I went straight to the toy section and there were no Super Powers figures at all.

And once again, I went without Batman and Robin.