Balsillie vs. Bettman

Time for me to sound off with my thoughts on this whole kerfuffle regarding Jim Balsillie's bid to purchase the bankrupt Phoenix Coyotes and bring them to Canada. I'll start right out by admitting that I'm Canadian, and I live in Balsillie's neck of the woods, so my opinion will obviously be biased in his favour (note the Canadian spelling of "favoUr", eh?) I'll also state, for the record, that I'm not heavily into professional sports of any kind, hockey being the only one in which I have even a mild interest. Even so, I hardly ever watch the games and I only follow the season by way of news reports and hearsay. As a sports fan (or non-fan), I really couldn't care less what happens to the Coyotes. As a Canadian, I care a great deal.

Now that that's out of the way, I can state, with a clear conscience, my opinion that Gary Bettman is a pompous, manipulative hosehead with a greatly over-exaggerated sense of self-importance.

Why in the name of Gordie Howe would the NHL Commissioner object to saving a bankrupt franchise by moving it from a place where no market exists for it (which is why the team is now bankrupt ... Duh!) to a place where there is a strong, thriving market for it? Because the strong, thriving market is in Canada, that's why. Bettman strikes me as just another arrogant Yank who can't stand the idea of America's northern neighbour doing anything better than the good old U.S. of A.

Bettman's main argument against Balsillie's acquisition of the team is that he (Balsillie) is trying to circumvent the NHL's rules in moving the Coyotes to Canada. Well, when the rules are designed to put you at a disadvantage, you sometimes have no alternative but to skirt them, if not break them outright. Seems odd that neither Bettman himself nor his vaunted rules had any objection to moving the Quebec Nordique to Colorado back in '95. Ah, but that involved moving a Canadian franchise to the U.S., and that changes the whole picture, doesn't it?

Bettman cited a concern that the NHL's Board of Governors might not approve Balsillie as a suitable franchise owner. "I don't know whether or not he could get approved," Bettman said. "That's, as I said, something I don't get a vote on. If in fact it becomes an issue for board consideration, the board of governors of the league will make that decision."

Sounds like passing the puck ... er, I mean, the buck ... to me. I'm not the obstacle here. It's that darned Board of Governors. Well, has anybody asked them? And who's on the Board of Governors, anyway? More U.S. fat cats? Hardly sounds either fair or objective to me.

It seems to me that hockey has become more about money and politics than about the game, which probably explains why people like myself, who admire the game, can't be bothered the follow the professional league.

I'm struck by the curious similarities between the Balsillie/Bettman feud and the movie, Bon Cop Bad Cop. For those not familiar with the movie, it's about a pair of detectives; Martin Ward, from Ontario, and David Bouchard, from Quebec, who become reluctant partners when they are assigned to investigate the murder of a hockey tycoon who had been instrumental in moving a Canadian team to the United States. More murders of hockey officials ensue and it soon becomes clear that the detectives are on the trail of a serial killer bent on punishing league officials guilty of moving Canadian hockey teams south of the border.

The killer's ultimate target turns out to be the league commissioner himself, one "Harry Buttman", who is on the verge of committing the ultimate sin, moving the Montreal team to the States. Although he is a target, Buttman is portrayed in the movie as arrogant, deceptive and altogether unlikeable. I found it particularly amusing that Buttman is played by Richard Howland, a midget, which I interpret as the director portraying the Hockey Commissioner as, quite literally, a small man. Ward and Bouchard end up tying him up, stuffing him into a body bag and locking him in the trunk of a car, "for his own protection", but can't help enjoying the activity. Maybe that's the kind of therapy that Mr. Bettman needs.

Before I get back on topic, I'll digress just a little further by highly recommending Bon Cop Bad Cop to those who haven't yet seen it. It's one of the most enjoyable Canadian made movies I've ever seen. It captures, better than any other movie I've seen, Canada's Anglophone/Francophone split personality, and the ever-present tension between the two cultures. It's a riveting drama liberally imbued with dashes of uniquely Canadian humour. It should be required viewing for any Americans who still picture Canadians as beer-swilling, French-speaking lumberjacks whose cops all ride around on horseback. (Well, okay, everybody in this movie happens to be fluent in French, including the English-speaking detective from Ontario, so I guess the movie doesn't do much to dispel that particular Canadian stereotype).

Getting back to reality, Jim Balsillie argues that his bid to acquire the Coyotes is about "The passion that Canadians feel for the game of hockey." Quite right. Hockey is Canada's game, much moreso than America's. Everybody knows that. It's a part of the Canadian identity. America took the Nordique from us and they took Gretzky. This is us, taking our national identity back. Don't stand in our way, Bettman. We may not stuff you in any car trunks, Canadians are much too polite for that, but some of us would be more than happy to come down there and demonstrate a proper "jersey pull" for you.

Kids On Moms

I usually avoid re-publishing other peoples' work on this blog. Yes, everything you've read here to date, Dear Reader, is 100% original material, written by myself, available exclusively on this blog, and no-where else. Don't you feel privileged?

As it's Mothers' Day tomorrow, and I have no better ideas, I'm making an exception this weekend and re-publishing something that was sent to me by e-mail. It's a list of insights about mothers, according to a group of second-graders that were interviewed on the subject. Out of the mouths of babes, as they say...

Why did God make mothers?

1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.

How did God make mothers?

1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring
3. God made my Mum just the same like he made me. He Just used bigger parts.

What ingredients are mothers made of?

1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.

Why did God give you Your mother & not some other mum?

1. We're related
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's mums like me.

What kind of little girl was your mum?

1. My mum has always been my mum and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.

What did mum need to know about dad before she married him?

1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook?
3. Does he get drunk on beer?
4. Does he make at least $800 a year?
5. Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

Why did your mum marry your dad?

1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mum eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mum didn't have her thinking cap on.

Who's the boss at your house?

1. Mum doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mum. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mum is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.

What's the difference between mums & dads?

1. Mums work at work and work at home & dads just go to work at work.
2. Mums know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller & stronger, but mums have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
4. Mums have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your mum do in her spare time?

1. Mothers don't do spare time.
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.

What would it take to make your mum perfect?

1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.

If you could change one thing about your Mum, what would it be?

1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my Mum smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.

And with that, I extend my wishes for a very happy Mothers' Day to all mothers everywhere. Especially mine.

Contentment

"Nobody ever got anywhere in the world by simply being content."

This quote is attributed to Louis L'Amour, a writer best known for his frontier adventure stories. From what I've read of Mr. L'Amour, he knew his share of hard times and adversity, and he certainly managed to rise above it and make a name for himself.

Mr. L'Amour is certainly worthy of admiration, and I think that most would agree with his philosophy. It suggests that we must constantly strive to improve our lives and ourselves. It warns against complacency and stagnation. We've heard the same sentiment expressed many times in other ways. "A rolling stone gathers no moss," as the saying goes.

The trouble with this philosophy, as I see it, is that it sets up its adherents for perpetual dissatisfaction. We can never be satisfied that our accomplishments are "good enough". The moment we do so, we are seen as quitters; lazy and lacking in ambition. No matter how much we have, no matter what we achieve, no matter how high we ascend the ladder, we must always reach for that next rung.

Is contentment really such a vice? Is it so wrong to be happy with our lives as they are, and not to want more? When do we relax, and just enjoy the fruits of our labors?

Recently, my brother-in-law suggested that I consider upgrading to a larger house. I live in an older three-bedroom bungalow, in a quiet suburban neighborhood. I like my house. There's plenty of room for my wife, my daughter and me. We have a small, one-car garage which suffices because we only have one car. There are things that I'd like to renovate or improve (we desperately need new kitchen cabinets) but I have absolutely no desire for a larger, more modern house. I'm happy here. This is good enough. I'm content. Should I feel guilty?

I'm a computer programmer/analyst by profession. I'm reasonably happy with my job. I enjoy my work, but I'm no workaholic. I put in my 40 hours a week and then I go home. I don't work a lot of extra hours unless it's absolutely necessary. I'm not working on any revolutionary inventions, I'll never be recognized as one of Canada's great writers (or even bloggers), I'll never find a cure for cancer and I'll never win nor even be nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. I'm just another cog in the wheel and, for the most part, I'm content to be so.

I believe that we can't all be great. The world needs its garbage collectors, its janitors, it's pizza delivery men and its insurance salesmen just as much as it needs its leaders, its rocket scientists and its visionaries. The wheel needs its cogs as much as it needs the engine that turns it.

I once heard a comedian (I forget which one) make the following observation. Did you ever notice that those people who claim to have lived before were always somebody famous? Everybody was once Caesar or Napoleon or Cleopatra. Nobody was ever the guy who used to clean the horse droppings off the streets in a previous life.

There's nothing wrong with striving to better ourselves, our lives or the world in which we live. I humbly suggest, though, that there's nothing wrong with being content with what we have either.

CKMS, HBC, HUH and Other Obscure Acronyms

Recently, my buddy, Mart, reminisced on his blog about a radio show that he and I used to do at the University of Waterloo's campus radio station, CKMS-FM, back in our younger days. That triggered some fond, and humorous, memories for me, so I've decided expound a little on the subject myself.

Mart said, on his blog, that he owned a radio and cassette recorder during his teenage years, but he just didn't use them. That's not entirely true. He didn't use them in the same manner that most other teenagers would use them; that is, for recording and playing music. He did, however, use the cassette recorder to create mock radio broadcasts. His repertoire included a soap opera parody that he called "General Crisis", a classical music show called "Classical Masterpieces" and, most bizarrely, a series of news reports by a pair of anchormen named Herb Jennings and Earl McGumphrie, representing an Imperial broadcasting network. By "Imperial", I mean belonging to the galactic empire in George Lucas' Star Wars universe. These "Imperial Reports" were meant to be the kinds of news reports that citizens of the Galactic Empire might expect to hear if Imperial journalists were on the scene during several key scenes from the Star Wars movies, describing the unfolding events. Jennings and McGumphrie always seemed to run afoul of these situations and get themselves in trouble. During one report, for example, McGumphrie accidentally managed to get himself locked inside one of the pods carrying an imperial probe droid just before it was launched toward the Hoth system.

Mart initially conceived of and recorded these things on his own (apparently he was badly in need of a hobby in those days) but he eventually played the recordings for me. Since he and I always shared the same quirky sense of humor, not to mention a certain fanaticism with regard to all things Star Wars, I was naturally taken with the idea and soon got into the act.

I should explain, at this point, that Mart was always more original than I. He was the "idea man". I, on the other hand, had a way of taking his ideas and extrapolating them into ponderous mutations of their former selves, to the point where they bore only the faintest resemblance to Mart's original, simple concepts and tended to scare away small children and the elderly. You might say I was the Bill Gates to Mart's Steve Jobs.

Mart's recordings reminded me of an audio version of a Canadian comedy show by the Second City comedy troupe that was on television at the time, called SCTV (the Second City Television Network) so I suggested that we develop Mart's recordings into a radio version of SCTV, which we called HBC (the HUH Broadcasting Corporation).

"HUH?" I hear you ask. What does "HUH" mean?

* Sigh! *

It stands for "Highly Uncontaminated Humor" but, to really explain things, I need to go back even further, to Mart and my pre-adolescent days.

You see, Mart and I used to be neighbors. That's how we got to be best friends. Then came the day that I moved across town. Now, that wasn't really so very far away, but neither of us was of driving age yet and we did live a healthy bike ride apart, so we kept in touch by mail for a while. (Note: for the benefit of my younger readers, "mail" in this context refers to the non-electronic variety, involving the delivery of paper documents by the postal service, a process which generally takes several days).

It wasn't long before we began enclosing extra things with those letters; drawings, jokes and such. This evolved into a full-fledged, home-made, hand-drawn comic book roughly resembling the satirical magazines that were so popular with pre-pubescent males such as ourselves at the time, like MAD and CRACKED magazines.

We called our magazine HUH Magazine, "HUH" being, as I said, an acronym for "Highly Uncontaminated Humor". Don't ask me what "contaminants" were supposedly missing from this particular form of humor. I suspect the most appropriate answer might well be "anything that could be considered to be of cultural or intellectual merit". I offer for your consideration a rather elaborate parody of the original "Star Trek: The Motion Picture" movie poster that I drew for an early issue of HUH Magazine. I won't divulge how long it took me to painstakingly hand-render this, except to say that I wore out at least two cases of colored markers.

So, you see, HBC was a sort of transformation of HUH Magazine from a paper medium to audio.

It's also worth noting at this point that, later on, around the same time that we did our stint at CKMS-FM (remember CKMS? I'll come back to it. I promise!) Mart and I decided that drawing cartoons might be a neat way to make a living. Hey, it seemed preferable to actually working (no offense to Mssrs. Adams, Schultz, Ketcham et al) and we actually went as far as assembling a portfolio of material and submitting sample comics such as the example presented here to United Features Syndicate and some other places.

The astute reader will have surmised from the fact that neither the names "Halma" or "Mielke" are today revered among the echelons of great cartoonists that every last publisher whom we approached respectfully declined our proposal. On the other hand, I still maintain to this very day that comic strips such as Kit 'N' Carlyle stand as irrefutable evidence that there is, indeed, no justice in this world.

As I mentioned earlier, Mart was the idea man while I had a tendency to realize his ideas beyond any reasonable justification. The concept of recording funny programs to tape was Mart's, but it was I who decided that we should develop it into a full-fledged parody of a radio station. Mart came up with most of the subject ideas and invented most of the characters. Aside from Jennings and McGumphrie, the Imperial newsmen, there was Luthor Heinberg, the classical orchestra conductor, Stan McGee (yet another reporter, but without the Star Wars slant) and a food critic whose name eludes me at the moment. I, on the other hand, found it necessary to sit down and draw caricatures of several of the key characters, such as the one of Earl McGumphrie, shown here. Somehow, creating a physical image made the characters more real to me.

Did I also mention that I'm a pack rat? By now I'm certain that Mart, who follows this blog, is likely picking his lower jaw up off his desk upon seeing that I've actually kept all this material for all these years.

So what has all this to do with CKMS-FM? Simply this. During my high school years, I met a Danish chap by the name of Peter Karwowski (well, okay, he was Polish; in fact, he still is, last I checked) who also remains a close friend to this very day. Peter was also interested in recording and broadcasting at the time and, in fact, briefly started a career as a radio announcer after finishing college. His interest in the broadcasting arts led him to CKMS-FM, where he volunteered as an overnight announcer on weekends. When I learned of this, I saw an opportunity to share HBC with someone other than just Mart and I asked Peter if we could use the station's recording facilities to do a somewhat more polished version of HBC and whether he might be willing to play segments of our work on his show.

Peter entertained the idea but, as it turned out, the good people at CKMS-FM were foolish enough to give Mart and me our own show which we imaginatively dubbed "The Andy & Mart Show" (guess which one of us chose the order of the names), so we started broadcasting HBC ourselves, rather than besmirching Peter's show with it, a small mercy for which I'm sure he remains grateful. We defined HBC for our listening audience as the "Hosehead Broadcasting Corporation" rather than the "HUH Broadcasting Corporation", partially because Bob & Doug McKenzie were very much in vogue at the time, and partially because we didn't want to have to explain what the acronym-within-an-acronym "HUH" meant, for reasons which, by now, will be all too clear to the reader.

The Andy & Mart show featured the usual combination of music interspersed with weather, news items, and special features including our own HBC segments and we always infused it with a liberal dose of our off-beat brand of humor, such as the time that we made finger shadows for our listening audience. In fact, the station's Programming Director, David "Doc" Hight (who wasn't a big fan of our show, I must admit) once sarcastically introduced us as "The Andy and Mart Comedy Carnival" just before surrendering the microphone to us at the end of his show, which immediately preceded ours. Much to his dismay, I took his pointed jab as a compliment and enthusiastically adopted the new name from then on. You just can't insult some people.

It would appear that I have once again taken Mart's quick, off-hand reference to our days at CKMS and inflated into ... this. I guess some things never change, as they say.

The Opposite Of Selfishness

Next month, my wife, Judy, and I will celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. That feels like an accomplishment. Most of my daughter's friends seem to come from single-parent families, foster homes or homes that include either a step-parent or a live-in boyfriend or girlfriend. Teenagers who live with the same two, lawfully-wedded people who conceived them definitely seem to be a minority these days.

To those of my friends who read this blog whose first attempts at marriage were not as successful (and you know who you are), I'm not gloating. The fact is, a successful marriage takes the complete commitment of both partners. It takes understanding, compromise and, of course, love. No one partner can ever make a marriage work single-handedly, no matter how hard they work at it.

That having been said, I give Judy most of the credit for the success of our marriage. I have my share of personal foibles and she learned to accept a number of shortcomings on my part early on in our relationship. I like to think that I've matured over the years and overcome some of them, but I demanded a lot of patience from her during our time together, and I've not yet attained perfection.

If I'm making marriage sound like a lot of work, it is, and yet it isn't. A successful marriage is founded on love and, when you love someone, you don't mind going that extra mile for them. Sacrifices don't feel so much like sacrifices. You do things, not out of a sense of responsibility, but out of a simple desire to make your partner happy. Let me give you a couple of personal examples.

Practically since the day we were married, Judy has arisen with me early each morning, and fixed my breakfast and lunch before seeing me off to work. For many years, she didn't work outside of the home. The special needs of our son, Christopher, demanded a full-time, stay-at-home parent, and Judy shouldered that responsibility. That meant that she didn't need to be up at any particular hour and, during Christopher's infancy, she was often up with him in the middle of the night. She accepted most of the midnight parenting because I had to get up for work the next day, and she didn't. This, of course, made her even more tired when our alarm woke me for work the next morning, yet she still got up with me, made my breakfast and lunch while I showered and shaved, joined me for a cup of coffee, and then retired back to bed (if Christopher wasn't already awake) only after I left. She did the same after our daughter, Jessica, came along as well.

Most of her friends were aghast upon learning that she did this. Most swore that they would never, ever do that for their husbands. Judy didn't have to do it either. I didn't demand it of her. She did it for me because she wanted to. Making me happy made her happy. To her, it didn't feel like a sacrifice at all.

I try to reciprocate. Judy never learned to drive so, whenever she needs to go anywhere, I generally drive her. She likes to have her mother, sister and best friend over to visit on Saturday evenings. As it happens, none of them drive either, and they would often choose not to visit us if it meant having to take a bus or pay for a cab. So, every Saturday evening, I pick them all up after supper and then take them all back home again at the end of the evening, sometimes in the middle of the night. I don't do it for them. I do it for Judy, because I know that she enjoys their company and might be deprived of it if I didn't help out.

These days, Judy does work outside of our home, and starts work about half an hour earlier than me, so I get up just a bit earlier than I would otherwise have to so that there's time for me to drop her off at work before going to work myself. While I shower and shave, she still makes my breakfast and my lunch, even after all these years.

Thinking about this recently gave me a new insight regarding the nature of love. It seems to me that love is the opposite of selfishness. Selfishness means putting one's own needs and interests first. When you love somebody, you put that person's needs and interests ahead of your own. And here's the key; you don't do it because you have to. You do it because you want to.

Sympathy For Judas

I try to stay away from religious topics on this blog because religion is too emotional a subject to discuss rationally. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that it is impossible to dissuade someone from a religious belief with which you happen to disagree, just as it's impossible to convince someone who already holds their own set of beliefs to adopt yours if they don't happen to share them, no matter how right you may think that your beliefs are. So let me say from the outset that any religious opinions that I may express here are strictly my own. I don't expect my readers to agree with them, nor do I even suggest that they are any more correct than anybody else's beliefs. I will also state, for the record, that I was raised as a Roman Catholic, although I hardly consider myself to be a "good" Catholic. An example of what I mean by that will become clear shortly. In earlier times, the Pope would likely have excommunicated me if he knew of my beliefs.

As it's Good Friday, I thought I'd share my thoughts about Judas, the apostle who betrayed Jesus. As you may have already surmised from this post's title, I have a certain amount of sympathy for Judas. This is hardly an original idea. The rock opera, "Jesus Christ Superstar" portrays Judas in a somewhat sympathetic light, depicting him as a man whose lack of faith in Jesus and whose fear of the authorities drive him to turn Jesus in for the good of his followers. It also suggests that Judas merely performed an undesirable service that had to be performed by someone. After all, if no-one had betrayed Jesus, he would not have died and the entire purpose for his coming would have been lost.

In recent years, it has been suggested that the Gnostic Gospels may include a Gospel of Judas and that, in that Gospel, Jesus, far from rebuking Judas, declares him to be his most trusted friend and, in fact, asks for Judas' help in betraying him. "You will exceed all of them," Jesus said to Judas, according to this Gospel, "for you will sacrifice the man that clothes me." This Gospel is not, of course, recognized by any of the modern Christian churches, but I present it as evidence that I am by no means the first person to suspect that Judas may have been very misunderstood. I do, however, wish to offer a new perspective that I have not heard suggested before. Perhaps Judas' problem was that he had too much faith in Jesus.

During his time among us, Jesus reportedly performed many miracles. He turned water into wine, he fed multitudes with just a few fish and a few loaves of bread, he walked on water, he healed lepers and paraplegics, he cast out demons, he even raised the dead back to life. Surely a man capable of doing all these things would not allow himself to be put to death. Perhaps Judas said to himself, "The Pharisees are fools! I'll take their money. We could use it! It will do them no good. Jesus is the Messiah; the Son of God! They can't hurt him!"

So he took the silver pieces, and he lead the soldiers to where Jesus was, in the garden of Gethsemane, and then he watched in stunned horror as they arrested Jesus, beat him, put him on trial and ultimately executed him, while Jesus did nothing to stop them. He didn't even speak in his own defence!

I imagine poor Judas, standing there, waiting for the miracle; waiting for the heavens to open and smite those who would raise a hand against the Messiah, and ... nothing. If I'm right, it was Judas who must have felt betrayed. Everything he had believed up to that point was suddenly wrong. His Messiah turned out to be all sizzle and no steak. And now Judas was unwittingly responsible for his death. I can well understand the despair that would have followed and led him to hang himself. When viewed in that light, it all makes perfect sense to me.

Call me a blasphemer if you will, but I believe that, if there is a heaven, there was surely a place in it for Judas. His only sin was not understanding Jesus' plan. Then again, what do I know?

Toy Story 2

Regular readers may look at the accompanying pictures for this post and think, "Oh, right, the toy jet plane. You've already told us about that." Very true, but this one's mine. If you've stumbled upon this blog and haven't read my original Toy Story post, you may find it helpful to read it first. You can find it here.

When we left off, I had bid unsuccessfully for a Marx battery-operated jet plane just like this one. After that, I kept an eye on eBay in hopes that another might someday appear. I didn't have long to wait. Within a week, there was a second one up for auction. That one eluded me too. A few weeks after that, however, the aircraft that you see pictured here appeared on eBay and, this time, I prevailed.

I must compliment the seller, who goes by the handle of cjwile on eBay. The toy was shipped promptly, finding its way all the way from San Antonio, Texas, to my humble southern Ontario home, within a single week. It was very nicely packaged and arrived in excellent condition, looking exactly as it did in the pictures posted on eBay.

I was somewhat disappointed, when I first turned the jet on, to find that the two inboard engines no longer light. I don't fault the seller for this. She never claimed that all the engines lit up; only that the toy worked, which it does. I chastise myself for neglecting to ask. Even so, had I known of this slight deficiency, I would likely have purchased the airplane anyway. It's not as though I plan to spend hours actually running it. It will become a treasured display piece.

Apparently, this particular toy is not at all rare, despite its age. I've seen several examples on-line now and there have already been more since I purchased mine. It must have been a very popular toy in its day, and the fact that there seem to be a fair number out there still in good, working condition over 40 years after the Louis Marx Company stopped producing them is a testament to their quality.

To begin with, the airplane is made mostly of tin, not plastic. This makes it much lighter than it would be if made of plastic, and gives it a much shinier finish. The markings, including the TWA logo, the passenger windows and the cockpit windows are painted on. They are not stickers or decals. In fact, the entire aircraft appears to have been spray painted and then had a clear coat of lacquer applied for an extra glossy finish and added protection.

I was amazed to learn, after doing some more creative Googling, that this toy jet plane is actually modeled after a real one; specifically a TWA Boeing 707. I found a picture of the actual aircraft on Airliners.net and found that the markings have been more or less faithfully reproduced, right down to the registration number on the tail! When's the last time you saw that amount of attention to detail in a toy?

Touches like this doubtless made this toy costlier to produce but they also make it more attractive and durable. Decals or stickers would surely peel away or fade over time. Aside from a few minor scratches, this toy looks almost like new. I did some reading up on the Louis Marx Company after I found this airplane. Back in the 1950's, they were the world's biggest toy maker, and I'm certain that this had to do with the company's motto, "Quality is not optional".

Judging by this particular toy, this was more than just an impressive-sounding slogan for the Marx toy company. Nobody makes toys like this anymore today.

Today, almost all toys are made of plastic and pre-printed decals are applied instead of painting the markings because it's cheaper and maximizes profit. Sadly, that's all that today's manufacturers seem concerned about. Nobody seems to take any pride in what they produce anymore because pride doesn't contribute to the bottom line.

I don't lay the blame for this entirely at the feet of the manufacturers. The consumer is as much at fault. How many of us are willing to pay a little extra for quality workmanship? Too many people look only at the price tag. By doing this, we encourage manufacturers to cut corners wherever possible to minimize costs. They're only giving us exactly what we ask for.

Okay, I'll dismount my soap box for this week. I got my airplane, and I feel good about that. I feel as though I got a little piece of my childhood back.

Memories, especially old memories, can sometimes feel almost like dreams. Think of a vivid dream that you've had, and then compare it to an old memory. Don't they seem much the same? Both were just as real in your experience. How can you be sure that the memory actually happened? This is not an original idea of my own. I believe Marcel Proust essentially said the same thing.

Until recently, I had this memory of a toy airplane that I owned as a very young child. I couldn't remember exactly what the airplane looked like. I remembered that it was red, white and silver, that its engines flashed on and off with red lights and that it made a loud, piercing sound. I didn't know who made it and I hadn't seen one like it since. Perhaps I had only dreamed it? But now, I know that I didn't only dream it, because I have something tangible; something that I can see and hear and touch. My airplane has become real again.

Since it was an old photograph of my sister and myself that led me to find my beloved toy jet plane, I thought it only appropriate to bring things around full circle, as it were, and close this chapter of my life with an updated photograph, showing me, my sister, and the legendary airplane, reunited at last, after all these years.