Boomers . . . and How They Got That Way

Epistle 8 – The Devil’s Head Ring

At the tender age of 10, I was battered by the full force of life’s disillusionment. I fell from the giddy heights of ecstasy—a trip to the Wisconsin Dells—to the dregs of existence, all in one horrifying descent.

Today, I am told the Dells is considerably more uppity than it was in 1955, with theme parks, posh hotels, culinary delights and cutesy boutiques. Back then it featured souvenir shops with rubber tomahawks, fake feather headdresses, cotton candy and WWII LST boats that landed our troops on the Normandy beaches, and then probably sank. And that’s not all.

Back in the good ol’ days the Dells had arcades with wet floors, pinball machines (mechanical, not electric), and nickel peep shows that hinted at a lady of questionable character baring her privates, which she almost did just when the show shut off. And she almost did again after you put in another nickel. And another one. The show was a wheel of still photos that you turned faster and faster as your libido soared, until you ran out of nickels.

But that was not the reason for my plunge into the depths of despair. That was due to the Devil’s Head ring with ruby eyes that I purchased for the princely sum of $4.25. In addition to the ring’s obvious esthetic value, it also had a clever “one size fits all” design, which meant you could bend it to exactly fit your finger, just like at Tiffany’s. What a treasure!

All the way home on the bus, I subtly flashed my ring under the jealous gaze of my companions, relishing their envy. All that evening, I nonchalantly strolled about the neighborhood as the adults marveled that someone so young could be so worldly. They didn’t say so, but I could read it in their raised eyebrows and shaking heads.

You certainly can’t leave a priceless piece of fine jewelry like that out for anyone to steal. The temptation would be too great. So I wore it to bed, sinking into dreams of the grand life only a Devil’s Head ring could bring.

I doubt if you can even imagine my despair the next morning as I awoke to find that my left hand was green. It’s true, green. The Devil’s Head ring was not crafted of precious silver. It was made of some base metal, coated with silver paint to deceive even the most expert eye. That reacted with the passionate heat of my 10-year old body to turn my hand green. And one of the ruby eyes fell out. Oh, the anguish, the shame of it all. I was clothed forever more in a suit of cynicism, with a cheap watch as my only bling.

Was Bernard Madoff ever in the jewelry business?

We Will Win

Filed under: Boomers . . . and How They Got That Way

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