 |
| "Major Matt Mason was an action figure created by Mattel. He was an astronaut who lived and worked on the Moon. When introduced in 1966, the figures were initially based on design information found in Life Magazine, Air Force Magazine, Jane's, and other aviation- and space-interest periodicals. Later, the line attempted to transition into the realm of science fiction." (source). The fact that his last name was "Mason" would surely amuse contemporary conspiracy theorists regarding the Moon landing. Like other "action figures" (a word I don't remember from those days), Matt Mason came with plenty of accessories, some of which are familiar to me as I look at the pictures online. I think I might have a Space Crawler like this, and maybe the Lunar Base Station as well. |
Innocence again.
Melrose is where we moved after Ferndale. It was a small duplex very much like the one on Ferndale---with two front doors on the same porch at right angles to each other, and moreover it was, quite literally, around the block from our previous address.
Looking up and down the block on Melrose, one would see little mid-century bungalow houses just like it, some duplexes and some single family residences. The grass front yards were ample, sloping down to the street, and if any of then had garages they were small. The driveways were narrow and most houses did not have garages. There were few trees in the yards, so it felt open and modern. Some houses, like ours, were rentals often occupied by married students and their families, and others were working class folks. It was very egalitarian in style. Three houses down towards twenty-fourth street lived a kid whose father competed in demolition derbies in Nevada, the county seat, which was pronounced Nuh-VAY-duh. To a young boy, there is hardly anything cooler than a demolition derby. The cars were older model American cars from the 1950s. His highly dented Chevy usually sat on a flatbed trailer in their open driveway.
I turned four years old while we lived on Melrose.
Our duplex on Melrose backed up to the Blackburn's house. In those days we often did not have high fences between back yards. One might find a low wooden fence with a gate in it. Kids came and went between yards and houses without ever going into the street, climbing over fences as needed. But most people, even without kids, didn't mind if you cut through their yard, so long as you didn't make trouble about it. Kids were afforded those kinds of rights back then, in part because the kids learned to take care of themselves. Sometimes several back yards might have no fences between them at all, forming a large interior lawn. These were fantastic places for kids to play in a semi-supervised way. The moms could see out the kitchen windows, but even that was overkill, and usually moms had better things to do that keep close watch on their kids playing with other kids.
Even moving a short distance as we did, kids on your block are different. You had new friends. The event horizon for kid friendships went up and down the block as far as one could see from your house, and along a longer street like Melrose there must have been overlapping pods of kids that played together. Back then there were many more kids than today, packed into the same block. There was never a shortage of kids to play with.
You went over to their houses in the afternoon and knocked on the door. Milk delivery was still common at that time, so every house had a milk box next to it. My family never got milk delivery. It seemed like a luxury unaffordable to us. It was easier for my mom just to get it at the supermarket when she went there. Milk delivery felt "old time." Everything anachronistic was fascinating to me. I was aware from a young age that I had been born at a moment in history in which everything was in flux, everything was changing. One of the reasons I knew this is because people talked about that happening. It seems quaint to mention this now, but the 1960s really felt like that, and people today still identify it, but most believe would have a hard time believing me when I say I was aware of this at the time, and I wanted to gather as much information about the "before years" of the civilization that existed before I was born, when more men wore hats and every television show was black-and-white.
I identified myself from my earliest memories as a "new model of kid," like all the kids my age. I was the future, and I knew it. I could tell that kids that were even a little bit older than me were somehow different. I knew it had something to do with color television, and the way it captivated kids in a much deeper way than black-and-white television had done. We ourselves had a black-and-white television, as color was considered a luxury beyond our means. Televisions were expensive back then. Rent and food was cheap, but consumer items were very expensive for many people which is why they gave them away on game shows as prizes. Today it is the reverse. Rent is expensive and consumer goods are cheap. One can buy multiple televisions for a month's rent.
When you went over to someone's house, the wooden front door might be open already and you could see through the screen door. Perhaps the mom was home, and she might make treats or sandwiches while you played or watched television, so long as it was not close to dinner time. No mom would think of trampling on the sacred privilege of making dinner for her own kids, unless it was authorized. We always called the moms Mrs. so-and-so and the dads Mr. so-and-so. It would have been unthinkable to call them anything else. We didn't see the dads as much because they were usually out working the day.
The space program was going on. We hadn't gone to the Moon yet. At a friend's house across the street I watched a Saturn V rocket sitting on launchpad waiting to go to the Moon. I recently tried to figure out what mission that, in 1968 or 1969, because I could then pinpoint the date of that memory, but I couldn't isolate it. Astronaut and rocket toys were common. One of the astronaut figures was called Matt Mason. Of course this made an impression on me because of the name. I got a Matt Mason set for my birthday. I remember playing with it on the sidewalk in front of our house. It didn't last long as I played with a lot.
I learned to ride a bike on Melrose. My dad taught me how, taking the training wheels off my purple Schwin bicycle. Purple was my favorite color. He guided me down the sloped driveway and let me go. I went out into the street and turned to follow it. Just like that it was all easy.
I learned to read on Melrose too. My mother, and especially my father, read children's books to me and my sister. One evening, sitting on the couch in the living room in Melrose, all of a sudden I realized I could read the book on my own. It felt like one of those magic eye images today where you can see three-dimensional image in an otherwise meaningless group of colors. At first you don't see it, and you struggle, and then all of a sudden your eyes see it can see it and you can't imagine not seeing it. Everything was decoded I read the book back to my parents I don't remember what book it was, but I have a feeling I would recognize it instantly if I ever saw it.
In the other half of the duplex lived the Abels. Mrs. Abel--was her name Judy? *--and my mom were good friends, as they were both young mothers, both probably in their mid Twenties. It was hard to tell as a kid. Some years ago I was asking my mom about the Abels and her face lit up with happy memories of having a friend next door. I think she said they were from Oklahoma. She said the father was a graduate student at Iowa State, and I think he was doing research at the Animal Disease Lab, which is well-known research facility outside Ames, although I did not know that at the time*. Back then it never would have occurred to me that anything notable could happen in Ames, Iowa. My dad worked at the Animal Disease Lab too, maybe at the same time, but not as a student but in some kind of normal job. My sister would know. She has a lot of things written down from her research.
The Abels had daughters--I think two girls. One of them was my age and her name, I think, was Kristine Marie. The other one was around two. Sometimes they came over to our house, because our front doors were right next to each other. Normally girls wouldn't come over, as my sister was too young to play, but in this case we did together, the Abel's daughters and me.
They probably came to my fourth birthday party, which I remember having in that house on Melrose. That would have been October 1968. I remember holding up four fingers because I was four. During the party I cried and threw a tantrum. I don't remember what it was about---maybe something my sister did.
Throughout most of childhood, I didn't get along with my sisters and didn't treat them well. My oldest sister Kate has mostly forgiven me and gotten over it, but my younger sister Anne still bears a grudge about many things. It was the stupidest thing I ever did, not being a gracious and protective older brother to my sisters. I've suffered for that for a lifetime, and if I could live my life over, it would be the number one thing I would differently.
It was rare for people to come to our house at all, in part was it was usually messy, as my mother was not a conscientious housekeeper. One might debris on the kitchen floor and items strewn on the couch. My mother loved sewing, knitting, and crocheting, and it was not usual to find knitting needs and pins in between the cushion of the couch. Also there was often loose change, and it was the indirect way my sisters and I accumulated meager funds for spending on kid activities.
No other kids ever had messy houses like ours. Every other mom seemed like she kept a perfect house in the midcentury sort of way. The messiness of own house was biggest reason I rarely invited friends over. It became a lifelong habit for me to always be the mobile one, the one who visited another person. When another boy came over to knock on our day to ask me to play, we usually went outside.
In the evenings we watched television. Star Trek was a television show we watched. My dad loved reading science fiction. I'm pretty certain that the first Moon landing in 1969 happened while we lived on Melrose. I don't have any memory of seeing that one, only a later one. But I know I saw it because my father woke me up and made me sit and watch it on television, because he knew it was important for me to have seen it.
I was not yet politically conscious of the world. I knew there was a war going on. People talked about Vietnam and it was on the news. There was footage Army soldiers in green uniforms.
Army men was a popular toy for boys. I loved playing with Army men. They were my favorite toy, and it was easy to play with Army men with other kids because one could divide the set. Having a bigger set of Army men was a big draw for kids to come over and play.
Of course in this cae by "kids" I mean primarily boys. If a girl was involved playing with us indoors it was usually because she was a sister of the one of boys. This applied to playing people's houses, or their backyards. We usually played in people's houses or backyards during the day.
In the late afternoons and early evening after dinner it was very different. Kids were let loose to play out in the street with other kids until it started getting dark, which in the summertime allowed for a lot of free play time. No one thought anything of it, playing with other kids outside in the early evening while their moms and dads were inside. Everyone just trusted each other. We played outdoor games, girls and boys together---the more kids the better, organizing and supervising ourselves. Games like hide-and-seek, or tag, or some variant of those that we had up, could range over all the block.
In some games, we had to pick who was initially "It". This was typically done by elaborate procedure whereby the participating kids sitting on the ground in a close circe and putting our feet in the middle touching side-by-side. Whoever suggested it first could call out "one feet or two feet" and the rest of us would comply. Two feet was more ceremonial, making the game seem more important with its choice of It. The initiator could then decide which rhyme to use to count the feet, sometimes after a small debate. They would begin tapping feet around the circle, one word at a time. One of the rhymes went like this:
Engine, engine, number nine, going down Chicago line,
If the train should jump the track, do you want your money back?
The person whose foot was touched on the last word of the rhyme would answer the question in the affirmative or negative:
Depending on the answer, the foot counter would resume:
Y-E-S spells YES and you are not It.
And likewise for N-O spells no.
Whoever's foot was touched then would withdraw that foot from the circle and the rest of the kids would close their feet together so they constituted a continuous ring of shoes once again. Then the next round would occur, either the same rhyme or a different one. There were many rhymes, some involving yes or no questions, and others that involved a question that demanded a number, which was then counted.
Bubble gum, bubble gum in a dish,
How many pieces do you wish?
Eventually all feet were eliminated as "out" and the last person became It for the first round of the game. This procedure could last quite a while if the number of kids was large and "two feet" rule had been called. Being It was usually not what you wanted to be, because it made you an immediate de facto outcast from the group, someone the others would try to avoid. But sometimes one might want to be It, for whatever reason. The key point is that everyone knew this process was fair. So long as normal rules were followed, no one objected to the outcome. If you were chosen to be It, you accepted the verdict and took your turn. Kids took this kind of honor very seriously with each other.
Hide-and-seek---everyone knows how to play it, even kids today, but I doubt they have the kind of games we did, roving over the block in the twilight with a dozen other kids. We don't live in that kind of nation anymore.
Whoever was It had to close and cover their eyes, typically by nestling their face down into their folded arms, while counting to arbitrary number in order to allow the other kids found hiding places. The number to be counted varied as appropriate the game and the conditions under which was played. In a backyard or indoors in a single room or the basement, counting to ten might suffice for the kids to find their places. Outdoors on the block, and with more kids, it might typically be one hundred.
The person counting (It) was expected to count loudly enough that it could be heard by anyone nearby. As they approached the final number, they were expected to speak the numbers more deliberately, and to say the last number very loudly as a way to signify they had fulfilled their obligation to keep their eyes closed. At that point they could uncover and open their eyes. Then they were expected to announce as loudly as possible, without screaming, "Ready or not here I come". Everyone knows that phrase, and exactly the cadence and pitch in which you are supposed to say each syllable. At that point It would seek to find and touch each person in the game.
Even if discovered by It, the other played could avoid losing the game by reaching and touching "home base" before being physically tagged by It. Home base usually was some tangible large object next to the place where It had been counting, like a porch, a swing set, or a vehicle.
Otherwise the person, if tagged, the player was "caught" and had to return defeated to the original gathering area. In the next round of the game, It might be that the person first eliminated, or else chosen by some other rule, so that the foot-counting procedure did not have to be duplicated. Only if the game was switched to a new one would the kids re-initiate the counting of feet.
Like I said, none of this was ever done with adult supervision. From the initial suggestion of the game onto its end, it was entirely organized by the kids. Having adults involved would have made it no fun. It would have felt like performance for the adults instead of spontaneous play.
The fact that it was both boys and girls was very positive for play. It gave the game a balance between the kid energies of masculine and feminine. Girls often loved the rhyming and counting role. A girl could be the rule-setter too if she was the oldest one there (see Wendy in Peter Pan).
Having a mix of boys and girls meant it was more ambient and fun. But personally I was never a "no girls allowed" type of boy. I loved girls. Many were so pretty and I liked being in their presence. I couldn't wait to grow up and get married to a pretty girl that I would meet some day in the future.
Disputes in hide-and-seek might arise over whether someone was touched or not, but usually this did not disrupt the game much. The disputing parties might appeal to the other kids to settle it rather quickly. A more serious accusation of unfairness involved "peeking" by It during the counting, typically by not properly covering their eyes while the other players fled to hiding places. Peeking was grounds for restarting the count, often with one of the other kids staying behind to monitor It until well into the count. This might be a sacrifice a swift-footed boy would offer to do, giving away some of time for hiding in order for the game to be played fairly. There was typically no punishment for this infraction by It beyond a suspicion laid upon them for the rest of the evening, but if repeated too often over time, it might become a permanent black mark on one's reputation in such play.
At some point in the evening all the kids had to go home but this rarely happened all at once, but rather in stages as each kid, or each group of siblings was mandated to return by their parents, or if one of the younger siblings was becoming too tired to continue and had to be walked back to their house. Everyone understood this. The outdoor games might continue with a sufficient quorum of willing players at least until dark. Staying out past dark was a privileged condition, and it might be allowed only if older kids were present.
When we lived on Melrose, the mother of one of the kids around the block called her kids home for dinner by the use of a cowbell while standing on her front porch. This was not unheard of in America at that time, but in town it bespoke of rural backwardness. My mother thought it downright gauche to hear that cowbell from a few houses away. I'm glad that I got experience that, as it has became a trope of a different time in America.
*Hence the "Ames Strain" of anthrax, associated with the 2001 anthrax attacks. I was living in New York at the time. It did not occur to me that this name referred to my hometown.
** on second thought, I think mom said her name was Linda. Judy (Mullins) was another woman my parents knew when they were first married, who, along with her husband Don, were good friends of my parents in married student housing.
