Welcome to the Club - Fall 2021

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Welcome to ...
THE Club
Toys That Almost Killed Us
Part 2
In the summer issue of “Welcome To
The Club” we heard how firecrackers,
pocket knives, and empty spray cans
were common playthings in the “good old
days.” Tired of “explosive” and “cutting
edge” experiences, in this edition,
Lee explains how she decided to ditch
playing with the boys, and opt for less
dangerous activities with the girls.
Enjoy. (Read Part 1 by visiting
welcometotheclub.ca, Summer
issue, page 34)
First up: Chinese skipping.
The girls had long pieces of
one inch thick elastic used in
waistbands from their mom’s
sewing baskets. They’d knot it
together and then two girls would stand
about four feet apart, elastic around
their ankles. The “jumper” would start
at “ankles” and there was a pattern to it.
First you’d jump on the elastic on one
side, then the other, then in between,
inside and outside. Then you’d do a
crossover, hooking the elastic at the
front of your ankles and jumping over
the other side and repeat. Every move
had a name: hornet, Yankees, wildcat,
etc. Once you’d finished the first cycle
at ankles, you’d move up to calfsies,
kneesies, thighsies, waisties. If you
messed up, it was the next girl’s turn
and you’d switch places. Well, being
a competitor, I thought, “this will be
easy because I can jump like a boy.”
Sure enough, I advanced to thighsies,
but when I went to do the crossover, I
stumbled, tripped over the elastic, and
ended up sprawled, red-faced, knees,
hands and chin scraped bloody.
While the girls played with “Indian
Rubber” balls, I and most of the boys
preferred Wham-O SuperBall. The
black, synthetic rubber ball, when
thrown to the pavement with all one’s
strength, could bounce higher than a
three-story house. In a tie-in to my
current home of Sarnia, Ontario,
it was made with polybutadiene,
hydrated silica, zinc oxide,
stearic acid and other goodies,
most of which continue to
be produced right here.
Dale’s older brother, Jack,
the de facto leader of the
boys because of his size
and strength, wound up and
almost left his feet hurling the rock
hard ball onto the pavement. Up...
up….up it sailed, all of us craning our
necks skyward, trying to spot it in the
sun. Dale yelled out that it had sailed
to Heaven. Jack briefly turned his head
sideways to call him stupid and the
falling sphere caught him square on his
forehead, careening off his noggin’ way
up in the air again. Jack was felled by
the blow and developed a goose egg the
exact size of the ball right between his
eyes. I read in Wikipedia that in the late
By Lee Michaels, Sarnia
1960’s Wham-O made a SuperBall the
size of a bowling ball as a promotional
stunt. It fell from the 23rd story of a
hotel in Australia and destroyed a
parked convertible on the second
bounce. All I know is that a SuperBall
fell onto the roof or Mr. Smith’s cruiser
and put a huge dent in it and we all
ran like the wind because he was
a constable at the local RCMP
detachment. (He also made
a kick-butt outdoor rink,
complete with boards and
lights in his backyard every
winter where we almost killed
each other with slapshots with a
frozen solid puck).
By far, the toy that caused me the most
pain was the set of “clackers” that were
all the rage. Two heavy tempered glass
spheres (later changed to hard acrylic
plastic), each attached to a separate
string. You’d put the tab attached to the
strings between your fingers, and start
swinging them, your wrist moving up
and down, trying to get them to “clack”
together both on top of and below your
hand. Doing so, though, took a lot of
practise, which in turn led to black
and blue arm forearms on most of
the kids in the neighbourhood. And if
that wasn’t dangerous enough, they’d
shatter, sending shards flying in every
direction. They were eventually pulled
from the market in both the United
States and Canada after being classified
as a “mechanical hazard.”
I haven’t even scratched the surface
of toys that no parent of today would
allow their kids to play with: electric
Easy-Bake Ovens that could
shock or burn you, BB guns
that left red, welted miniorbs
on your skin, and lawn
darts that impaled many a
foot.
But after playing with
knives for years, it was the most
benign toy that I remember
piercing the skin. I was playing
pick-up sticks (a “girl’s game”)
on the wooden front porch of the
three Ruf sisters’ house when Jack
and Dale sauntered over. “That looks
easy,” they said. “We want to play,
too.” So after explaining the game, we
began. Mind you, these weren’t the
flimsy little twigs kids play with today.
These were thick, heavy duty, very
pointy pick-up sticks. Jack’s pudgy,
clumsy fingers were no match for his
little brother’s slim digits. When Dale
handily won the game, Jack picked up
the last stick and furiously slammed it
pointy end down on the deck, impaling
the webbing between Dale’s index
finger and thumb to the deck. The girls
shrieked, Dale cried, Jack ran away and
I pulled the stick out. Give me a safe old
ivory jack knife anyday.
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FALL 2021 Popular Slogans... Apple – Think different.
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