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

You Know You’re Getting Old When…

• You wonder how you could be over the hill when you don’t remember being on top of it.
• Getting lucky means you find your car in the parking lot.
• The little gray-haired lady you help across the street is your wife.
• Your idea of weight lifting is standing up.
• Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can’t remember them either.

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Epistle 7 – Sputnik

I recently learned the remarkable fact that Sputnik, the Russian missile that was the first to orbit the earth, was launched on the same day as Leave It To Beaver. Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence. It must have been all part of the diabolical scheme by the Evil Empire, to “bury us”, as Nikita Khrushchev so delicately put it when he wasn’t pounding his shoe on a poor, unsuspecting UN table. What a classy guy.

Anyway, as the Russians were rocketing into space while we launched several mighty missiles into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Florida–or worse yet, just had them tip over without ever making it to the beach–the Boomers of America were taught that every other family except theirs behaved like the Cleavers or the Andersons in Father Knows Best. Ward Cleaver’s casual Friday attire was a sweater and a tie.

He smoked a pipe and gave sage advice on everything to his sons, Wally and the Beaver, while June Cleaver toiled away in the kitchen with a flouncy dress, high heels and a lacy apron that never got stained. Wally and the Beaver had neat rooms and actually communicated with each other despite their age difference. They even talked about life with their parents, for God’s sake! If that wasn’t a subversive Russian plot to destroy the fabric of the American family, I don’t know what is.

Well, none of that nonsense in my family, no sir. Children were meant to be seen and not heard, and the seeing part was kept to a bare minimum. If my mother had a flouncy dress, which I doubt, it was carefully stored away for Easter and Christmas, and my father smoked Lucky Strike cigarettes.

My brother was not put on this earth to help guide me through life like Wally did for the Beaver. He was put on this earth to torment me beyond human endurance. For the first several years, my brother and I slept in bunk beds, him on top and me on the bottom so he could accidentally step on me as he climbed up.

I suppose there are still doubters who fail to accept that our idyllic version of the American family was a worthy target for Communist propaganda. Okay, maybe the Beaver wasn’t a Cold War pawn. Maybe every other family really did live like that. Ozzie and Harriett and David and Ricky were the normal ones.

It’s a shame Khrushchev didn’t have more shoes.

We Will Win

You Know You’re Getting Old When…

• You begin every other sentence with, “Nowadays…”
• You constantly talk about the price of gasoline.
• You don’t remember when your wild oats turned to shredded wheat.
• You sing along with the elevator music.
• You are proud of your lawn mower.