BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Let me tell you something, Buzz Lightyear ain’t got nothin’ on my childhood.

The year was 1967… The date, December 25th…

I was right at two months shy of being 6 years old and just as important – especially to a wide-eyed child who had a fascination with the space program – the United States was less than two years away from safely landing two men on the Moon then returning them safely to Earth.

Of course, prior to Science Fact establishing a foothold, Science Fiction is what will capture our attentions…

Lost in Space was keeping kids entertained, me included. I even had a puppy love crush on Angela Cartwright who played the part of Penny on the series. Much to my chagrin I suspect my Kindergarten teacher, (Miss Flynn was her name at the time), probably still has an audio recording (on reel-to-reel tape, originally) of me saying, “Penny on Lost in Space is my girlfriend.”

Yeah… for real… Of course, Ms. Cartwright was several years older than me, and had absolutely no clue that I even existed, but hey, that was a minor obstacle to a 5-going-on-6 year old. So there… I preemptively embarrassed myself. Therefore, if I ever run for public office and the tape surfaces, nobody can claim I was suppressing it.

Star Trek, in its original incarnation complete with an overacting William Shatner and stoic Leonard Nimoy, was keeping adult minds occupied with thoughts of space travel and life beyond our solar system. And, some of us kids followed it as well. Although, I will readily admit that I didn’t have a proper appreciation for the women’s Starfleet uniforms until I hit puberty, but we won’t go there…

Instead, let’s get back around to December 1967… Christmas Eve and Christmas Day in particular… You see, even back then the toy industry was on board with current events marketing and media tie-ins. While I often tell my daughter that when I was her age I received a stick, a rock, and a cardboard box for Christmas if I was lucky, the truth is there were a few plastic items under the tree – although, they didn’t begin to harbor the electronics and technology of today. Back then, if “Santa” left you something that ran on batteries, it was considered the high-ticket item of the holiday.

So, 1967… There I was, an almost 6 year old with a crush on a gorgeous older woman “space babe” who happened to be a TV star coupled with an intense fascination with the U. S. Space Program. “Santa” had it pretty easy that year…

The toy of choice for boys (yes, I realize that is sexist, but we are talking about 1967 here so please just suck it up and deal with the fact that our society hadn’t pulled its collective head out of its collective ass just yet… I was only 5. I had no influence on attitudes just yet, not that I do now either)… Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah… The toy of choice for boys that year was an astronaut action figure known as Major Matt Mason. (He was originally introduced in 1966 and gained steam by the following Christmas)… Yeah. WAYYY before Buzz Lightyear came onto the scene…

Click Here For 1966 Major Matt Mason TV Commercial

Major Matt Mason was cool. He was a military astronaut, he was bendable, had a removable helmet to go along with his molded on pressure suit, and he came with bitchin’ accessories like a Jet Pack and Space Sled. The Sled involved flying it around by hand while making your own whooshing noises, however the Jet Pack was another story. You hooked a string to a point above you such as a doorframe, then pulled the string on the bottom of the pack – a whirr of the flywheel gear would ensue, the spiraly decorated spindle in the back would turn, and Matt Mason would zoom upward. Of course, when you released the tension on the string he would plummet back to the ground, but that was just a minor technicality, because on the Moon there would be far less gravity to deal with. Besides, Major Matt Mason was a Major… And an Astronaut.  The perils of space were many, but he was tough and he could take it…

And, those were just the accessories that came with him on the blister card packaging – (therefore, you tended to collect extra Jet Packs and Sleds each time you bought a figure to replace the damaged Major. You see, the wires in his arms and legs didn’t hold up to the friction of bending and unbending for very long… The perils of space he could handle. The perils of being bent into a pretzel by little kids were a different story…) – But, back to other accessories. He even had himself an oddly barrel-shaped suit for excursions on the Moon’s surface, sold separately or even with a figure in the package (after all, those appendage wires would soon be breaking). The corrugated arms of the suit moved by the use of an ultra-high tech mechanism, that being an air bellows. Squeeze – the arms splayed open. Release – the arms folded back toward the shell. See, I told you we didn’t need no stinkin’ batteries…

Well, almost… The Major did have a few powered accessories – the most notable of these being the Space Crawler. A bizarre contraption with offset spoked legs that thumped and wobbled across the floor with him in the driver’s seat. Let me tell you, on hardwood you could definitely hear him coming… The round humps that have little, molded turbine-looking tops were where you put the two D-Cell batteries required to power the motor. One of the really cool things about the Space Crawler is that it was designed so that you could turn it on its side, attach it to the top of the multi-level moon station (something I received from the red-suited elf the following Christmas) and it would spin around like a big radar antenna.

In addition to receiving the Moon Base/Station, I also picked up a few of the Major’s crew, an alien or two, as well as the FireBolt Laser Cannon. After all, if you are the Earth’s first line of defense against alien invasions, you definitely need a Laser Cannon.

Alas, as with most childrens toys, the Major, his crew, and all of their accessories disappeared from my toy box as they broke, fell from favor, or just plain ended up lost. Unfortunate, because they were discontinued in the early 70’s and are now a toy collector’s dream, garnering some serious cash.

And so, what has made me relive this here for you now? Well, obviously Christmas Eve is tomorrow. I’m Forty-Odd years older than that kid who played with a bendy astronaut doll and had a crush on Angela Cartwright, but even after all this time I remember Major Matt Mason, and the fact that it was one of my favorite toys of all time.

I understand that Tom Hanks is currently developing a film based on the toy. Given how close he and I are in age, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had a Major Matt Mason too.

You know, of course, it will be a moral imperative that I go see this movie if it ever comes to fruition…

And, lest you think I only dreamed this childhood memory…

Christmas Eve… After the fat elf visited. I was down the hall in my room, of course, fast asleep…

A little closer look at what the dude in the red suit left under the tree…

Yes, that’s me on Christmas Morning…

No, I’m not pulling his head off. Just his helmet…

And what of my crush? What of Angela Cartwright / Penny Robinson and Lost in Space? Well, as you can see in the first Black & White picture, 1966 was a good year Space Toys. I was able to defend our home against alien invasion with an official Lost in Space laser rifle (that broke down into three laser pistols)… And, those spinning things it shot off the end? Hurt like hell. True story…

More to come…

Murv

(Color images of Major Matt Mason toys and accessories borrowed from various nostalgia and antique toy sites around the web. Black and white photos from the Sellars family photo archive.)

Part 2 of 2…

Continued from: Yes Sir, Officer Obie…

When last we left off I had just received a driving award from the City of Saint Ann, Missouri, presented by Officer JellyDonut.

Now, something I need to point out. I hate driving. I consider it a nuisance. However, I also see it as a responsibility. Therefore, I am one of your safer individuals on the road. I realize everyone says that, but EKay and my friends are always insisting that I NOT drive on road trips because I actually obey the speed limit and it will take us too long to get where we are going. True story.

Therefore, I am hoping it won’t come as any surprise to you that this was only the second ticket I had ever received in my life, because… Well, to be honest, it’s the truth. I know, it kinda spoils my bad boy image, but what can I say? At any rate, that first citation had been for following too closely. I was awarded with that one in Perry County, Missouri, a notorious speed trap, while I was on my way to visit relatives in Fulton, Kentucky. That was 24 years ago this coming Christmas Day. In that particular case, while I was actually following someone who was showing me a different route I’d never taken before, I probably was following too closely and deserved the ticket, notorious speed trap or not.

So, here I was, just shy of 24 years later with a brand new driving award. I figured what the hell. Going to court to contest it will just eat up time, and an attorney is just going to cost a mess of money. I’ll just pay the fine and be done with it. Good plan, eh?

I thought so. The City of Saint Ann, however, did not… I called the court and asked about the fine. A very rude woman barked, “Court appearance only!” I wondered silently if she was perhaps Officer JellyDonut’s sister. I tried to explain that the officer had told me I could simply plead guilty and pay the fine, however, before I could finish the sentence she all but yelled, “Court Appearance Only!” and hung up in my ear.

Now I was convinced that she was related to Officer JellyDonut.

I contacted some of my cop buddies and asked them to look into it, which they did, but met with resistance themselves. I didn’t want them to “fix” the ticket. I just wanted to pay the fine and be done, but the City of Saint Ann wasn’t going to let that happen.

Therefore, I had no choice but to wait. Which I did. But, I won’t make you wait because it would be kind of boring…

December 1st finally rolled around and I had gathered my ammunition. I figured if I was going to court anyway I might as well contest the ticket. So, I had printed copies of the Missouri Vehicle Regulations as well as the Missouri Driver Guide, both of which stated the limit was five feet, not two. In addition I had my own personal measurements, but in order to back that up I also had the manufacturer’s detailed dimensions of the vehicle and cargo area, along with the length of the item in question, for which I could produce a dated and time stamped receipt if necessary. The math – length of item minus cargo area – fully supported my claim. The projection could not have been sticking out 5 feet 3 inches from the rear of my vehicle.

Now, I’ll be honest – I’ve never been to traffic court before, so I was a little nervous. I was about to do what I had been taught not to do – I was going to argue with a cop and a judge. But, hey… That’s sort of what court is for, right?

After researching procedure I determined that it would be best for me to arrive early, as the accused are taken in the order they show up. So, I put on some nice clothes, tucked my documentation into my pocket, and carried myself off to Municipal Traffic Court 30 minutes early.

Here was the problem. I was thirty minutes early based on the time Officer JellyDonut had given me. I had also called to verify the time and had been given same by Sister JellyDonut. Thing is, court had been in full swing for some time. Fortunately, I wasn’t late. I just wasn’t the first in line… In fact, I was damn near the last in line.

Nothing I could do about it now. I was in for the long haul. I stood in the line, waiting to go through the metal detector. When I made it to the head of that particular line I dumped my valuables into the tray, walked through, then waited as Officer Bewildered became intensely confused by the 2 GB flash drive in the tray. It took him a bit to decide that it wasn’t a high tech terrorist weapon and didn’t pose a threat to Municipal Security, whereupon I was finally allowed collect my belongings. I told him thank you, to which he appeared to become even more confused.

I entered the courtroom and found myself a seat among all of the other criminals, then proceeded to watch the Kangaroos in action.

Now, the reason this entry is title The Group W Bench is simple. That’s where I was sitting. Granted, I was on a hard metal chair that made my hemorrhoids ache, but for all intents and purposes it was the Group W Bench.

On my left was an older man who kept wobbling in his chair and muttering to himself. Throughout the three hours that followed he would hand me his AA coin and ask me to read it to him.

On my right was Pig Boy. That’s pretty much all I can think of to call him. I came up with that not because he was almost as big as Officer JellyDonut, which he was, but because he sat next to me grunting like a pig. In between grunts he would mutter commentary about each pending case in the front of the room. Well, I should be a bit more accurate, his commentary wasn’t so much about the cases per se, as it was about the women involved in them. Whenever the accused was male, he would just sit there and grunt. But, if a woman was up in front of the judge, the grunting accelerated and was punctuated by commentary. Unfortunately for me there was a bumper crop of women coming up before the judge that particular evening so my right ear – which is my good ear – was treated to grunty, under-the-breath observations like, “I’d fuck her…” “too old…” “Whore…” “Great ass…” and so on…

What’s worse, he was a straggler who came in after I did, which meant I had to endure him almost the whole night. What’s even worse than that is the fact that somehow or another he was called up a few folks before me. Figure that one out.

And so, for three hours I sat. Reading an AA coin to a man I didn’t know from Adam, while watching Officer JellyDonut – yes, he was there – act pissy toward men, but flirt with all the women. Hmmm… Maybe he was related to Pig Boy too…

I saw a woman get fined more than $150 for jaywalking, while the next case, who was some idiot who had been driving on a suspended license, was dismissed. I witnessed people having cuffs slapped on them and hauled out of the room, and I saw other wingnuts tell the judge they needed a continuance “just because”…

A pretty woman of African-American descent was called up before the judge at one point. She was wearing a sharp looking business suit, stylish leather jacket with matching handbag, and some high dollar heels. Seriously. She was probably wearing and/or carrying a $400 ensemble, easy, because they sure didn’t look like knockoffs to me. I don’t claim to be an expert, but I’ve shopped for the Evil One on a few occasions. At any rate, turns out she owed several hundred on tickets and failure to appear charges – but informed the judge she couldn’t afford it. If I was her I would have dressed down for court if that was going to be my story.

The major offenses of the evening seemed to be driving on suspended licenses, or without insurance. Those seemed to be the easy ones. Show a license or insurance card, the case would be dismissed save for the $25.50 court costs. There were a few folks who had unpaid tickets dating back to 2003. They were easy too. They just got themselves continuances. I think maybe my favorite was the woman who claimed to have had her license reinstated. They had her sit down while they ran her through the computer. She came back as suspended, AND with two outstanding arrest warrants. No big surprise there, I don’t guess. What was a bit of a shocker though was when the judge told her he would just ignore the arrest warrants and give her a continuance.

From the looks of things, I figured if I ever managed to get my minute or two in front of the judge, I should be in good shape because I was somewhere in the middle. I didn’t have a warrant out for my arrest, so he wasn’t going to just dismiss my case outright, but by the same token I hadn’t jaywalked, so the odds were against me being led out of the courtroom in handcuffs.

And so, I continued to sit and watch the circus, alternately reading an AA coin to a stranger, and listening to rude, sexually-oriented comments from another. Finally, after nearly three hours, my name was called – or, a vaguely recognizable facsimile thereof (which is another story in and of itself) and I stepped up before the judge.

“Good evening, sir,” I said.

In my hands I held paperwork. Literal proof by both law, manufacturer’s specs, and tape measure that I was innocent of the crime for which I had been unjustly accused. I had already planned – not rehearsed, mind you, but planned – that I would NOT be disrespectful to, or about, Officer JellyDonut, even though I believed him to be utterly incompetent (I still believe that, by the way.) I was simply going to write it off to everyone being fallible and the improper measurement being an honest mistake or perhaps a faulty measuring device.

However…

You saw that coming, right?

The judge looked at my file, mouth the words “reckless driving” with a look of absolute astonishment, then shook his head, rolled his eyes, pointed to a row of chairs and said, “Mister Sellens [sic] why don’t you sit down for a bit.”

At this point I figured I’d been moved to the Group X bench. I wasn’t quite sure what was up, but he proceeded to mumble with the city attorney (at least, that’s who I think the guy was) then a minute or two later said attorney came over to the corner of the desk and called me up. He proceeded to improperly paraphrase what the ticket said and asked if that is what I understood the charge to be. I said yes, though I explained that it was not an unsecured load as he had just stated, but a missing flag. He corrected himself. I then proceeded to explain that per state law the limit is 5 feet not 2. He indicated that they knew this, which was apparently why I was talking to him instead of the judge. However, my sheaf of paper with specs, circles, arrows, and paragraphs were to be of no use to me. When I began to explain that the measurement was inaccurate he told me that they were going to take Officer JellyDonut’s word on the measurement. It seemed that even though he was woefully misinformed about the traffic and vehicular laws he was supposed to be enforcing, they were going to trust him to operate a tape measure and actually know where the vehicle ended and highly technical things like that. I mean, after all, they let him carry a gun, right?

And so, I was not allowed to present my case. I suppose I could have been far more adamant, insisting that it be brought before the judge and that I be allowed to present irrefutable evidence that Officer JellyDonut was in error. However, it was almost 9 PM. I had memorized the AA coin and been listening to Pig Boy for three hours. It was hot, stuffy, smelly, and all around unpleasant in the room. I was tired, annoyed, and stressed. People had been and still were coughing, sneezing, and snotting all around me, including the judge who had been through an entire box of tissues already.

I just sighed.

The attorney guy looked at me and said, “We’re just going to make this into a $49.50 parking ticket plus $25.50 court costs. So, a $75.00 fine and you promise you’ll never do it again.”

I looked at Officer NoButt who was holding up his britches with one hand and guarding the court with the other. I heard someone start sneezing behind me.

“Sounds fine to me,” I said. “Thank you and have a wonderful evening.”

I paid my fine the next morning. The folks behind the counter were rude and sarcastic. I wished them a wonderful day nonetheless.

Saint Ann is now a part of my no-fly zone. For various reasons I will have no choice but to venture into their airspace from time to time, but unless it is absolutely necessary, I’ll get to Bridgeton via Berkley from here on out.

Yeah, okay… So, it didn’t turn out quite as funny as most of my other blogs, but hey, at least now you know the story…

More to come…

Murv