FAME
Those of you who watch “The Daily Show” probably know that Jon Stewart recently did a thorough job of mocking the National Toy Hall of Fame, and particularly their selection of “the ball” as one of this year’s honorees. His faux argument was that recognition for the ball was long overdue, especially after the Hall had dissed it the previous year by passing it over in favor of “the stick.”
I’m a big fan of the ball myself. In fact, my parents used to tell me that it was one of the first words I learned, and as a toddler I would reach both hands toward the full moon and call out “ball, ball.” (Yeah, I know it was a metaphor.) They couldn’t give me that ball, but they gave me plenty of other ones, and those balls were always my toys of choice. I’ve never cared much for things like skating or swimming, but show me any game with a ball and I’m all over it.
Our golden retriever is the same way. Sometimes I’ll forget that fact for a moment, and absent-mindedly bounce a ball to myself, only to have a 95-pound animal snatch the thing from my grasp. At that point I consider myself fortunate if both my hands are still intact.
So, anyway, Mick and I are on board with the ball induction, but the stick? It does make one wonder what is going on these days at the Toy Hall of Fame. If they are going to induct everything that kids like to play with it’s definitely going to get a little weird. Dirt would have to be on the list, and snow (which will have to be kept in a special refrigerated display case). How about body parts? From what I’ve seen of young children, the Hall will certainly need to induct a set of car keys.
In case you’re wondering, the National Toy Hall of Fame is a part of the Strong National Museum of Play, which happens to be located in my hometown of Rochester, New York. The museum is the legacy of Margaret Woodbury Strong, a very wealthy and very eccentric widow who died in 1969 with 77 million dollars and over 70,000 pieces in her collection of dolls, toys and various other stuff.
For many years the museum searched for its own identity, because there was no particular rhyme or reason to the collection, which consisted mostly of pedestrian, mass-produced objects. Museums are supposed to be educational in order to maintain their not-for-profit status, so the Strong kept trying to make some connection between its inventory and American history, but it was a stretch.
Through trial and error, and demographic studies, the museum finally began to hit its stride during the 1990s when it decided to emphasize families and play. In 2002, that strategy led to the acquisition of the Toy Hall of Fame from A.C. Gilbert’s Discovery Village of Salem, Oregon. Together they now occupy a 282,000 square-foot facility, constituting the second largest children’s museum in the United States.
The Toy Hall of Fame has been inducting four honorees per year since 1998, so there are now 44 hall-of-famers. Nominees, which can come from anyone through the museum’s website, are evaluated by an advisory committee made up of “curators, educators and historians” to select a final four each year.
The criteria they are supposed to use are as follows.
1. Icon status: The toy is widely recognized, respected and remembered.
2. Longevity: The toy is more than a passing fad and has enjoyed popularity over multiple generations.
3. Discovery: the toy fosters learning, creativity or discovery through play.
4. Innovation: the toy profoundly changed play or toy design. A toy may be inducted on the basis of this criterion without necessarily having met all of the first three.
Twenty-seven of the inductees are trademarked items such as the Slinky, Frisbee and Hula Hoop, while most of the others are old standards such as the Teddy bear, rocking horse and kite. There are surely some oddball picks, however.
What criteria do you suppose were applied to the “cardboard box,” for example? I guess you could make an argument under number 3, but that same argument would apply to just about any object in the universe that a child could get his hands, or eyes, on. I’m thinking that bubble wrap has an inside track on next year’s awards.
When I was an adolescent, I felt the same compulsion of most boys that age to rid myself of childish toys, so I gave them all away (including my baseball cards, God help me). Fortunately, I missed a small black box, which resurfaced in my parents’ basement many years later.
There were a few stray baseball cards, including a Mickey Mantle that’s worth several hundred dollars, and a couple of the original Lesney matchbox cars. There were some little toy soldiers that we used to call “army men,” a couple of empty pill bottles that I must have used to represent something else, and something that every little boy covets, a jackknife.
I find it interesting that none of those items reside in the Toy Hall of Fame. Another staple of my youth, the BB gun, is also noteworthy by its absence, along with its less hazardous cousin, the squirt gun. There are no toy guns of any kind, in spite of the fact that they have always been among the most popular toys for young boys. The only toy soldier is G.I. Joe (which seems more like a doll to me), even though the manufacture of little toy soldiers goes back centuries. Something tells me that there is an element of political correctness at work in the Hall.
I don’t know whether or not this year’s phenom, the Zhu Zhu Hamsters, will ever be in the Toy Hall of Fame. I guess it depends on longevity and the judgment of history. But baseball cards? Come on.
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