Kim Jackson

Watching TV on Sunday I happened to catch commercial for a new TV show that I can’t wait to see: grown men testing out the fictional gadgets of Wile E. Coyote from the Roadrunner cartoons.

I want that job. And I have credentials. Growing up I watched a steady diet of Warner Bros. cartoons, so I am familiar with contraptions, provided by the Acme Corporation,  like boulder  catapults, dynamite arrows and rocket-powered skates. Testing out the Coyote’s gadgets  sounds like a blast, considering most of them blew up the Coyote. I’ll be sending in my resume.

The show reminds me of the debate that kids imitate what they see on television. Is that true? Absolutely! It’s one of the great things about growing up in the TV generation.  If it’s on TV it must be true. Watching TV and reading comic books helped kids answer a lot of important questions: Would I bounce if I jumped off the house? (Probably). Where can I get invisible paint? (You have to make your own out of everything in the bathroom AND kitchen cupboards). Do X-ray Specs really work? (Sadly, no).

From the age of 5 through 7 I went through a phase of testing cartoon physics 0n my own. I can tell you the results were spotty.

Anvils:  Dropping them on people’s heads, etc., was always funny, but I found out reality was impractical. My grandfather was a blacksmith and he had an anvil in his shop. This mass of iron was way too heavy to figure into my plans. That was an experiment thankfully averted, but would have been useful as part of a teeter-totter launching device (see Flying). The next heaviest objects were large river rocks, but I could never get a big enough one over my cousins’ heads.

Safety pins: A stick to the bum was always a great sight gag, but never as much fun in the real world, as I found out after sticking my sister with one. To my great disappointment, she did not shoot up through the ceiling like a rocket (see Flying).

Guns: Not an option. They were never a problem, because from my earliest recollections I learned to fear my father’s belt and grandfather’s razor strap if I messed with any firearms far more than I wanted to repeat any shenanigans ala Elmer Fudd and Daffy Duck (See “Rabbit Fire,” 1951).

Super strength: Popeye and Mighty Mouse were my role models here, particularly Popeye, who’s arms swelled up like balloons when he ate spinach, just in time to beat Bluto senseless. One night at dinner I wolfed down my meal, which included spinach, and quickly rushed outside to test my muscles before the effects wore off. I immediately grabbed one of those old metal pedal tractors and tried to press it over my head. I got it about eye-height before it came crashing to the ground, narrowly missing my feet. Clearly spinach was not effective. I made a mental note to try again in the morning after eating Mighty Mouse’s favorite cereal, Cheerios.

Flying: The jury is out here because of a lack of evidence.

The teeter-totter method was of limited success. Small objects flew great, but getting a kid big enough to jump on the other end, from a high spot, was difficult. No conclusion.

The pin method was  a no go. After testing on my sister, I, like any good scientist, tested it on myself. Painfully, no result.

A trusty Official Mattel Beany & Cecil Beany-Copter, circa 1960.

My most ambitious test flight came when I was about 6. We lived on Santiam Highway, currently the site of the Carriage House Plaza, in the early 1960’s . I was enthralled with a cartoon called Beany & Cecil and the fact that Beany could fly with the use of his propeller-topped cap. One day a commercial came on and there it was: A Beany-Copter by Mattel. I had to have one.

After much badgering I was given one and the flight trials began. The operation of the cap was simple: you put the propeller on the top of the cap, wound it up, then pulled on the two yellow cords to release the mechanism that allowed the propeller to spin, thus lifting me into the heavens. The cap didn’t really fit well. It was hard plastic, uncomfortable and kind of just sat on top of your head. Today it would be classified as top-flight nerd gear.

Now, Beany could fly just by standing on the ground and somehow making his hat’s propeller spin. I tried this and — nothing. The propeller took off and I was left standing there holding the stupid yellow cords. Of course, the next logical move was to get to higher ground. I climbed a ladder that was leaning against our carport roof and, from what seemed like a really high vantage point, lept out into space and pulled the ripcords.

Seconds after hitting the driveway, I came to my senses and learned a valuable lesson that day — that Mattel made defective Beany-Copters. The propeller wasn’t supposed to leave the cap. Everyone knew that, just by watching the cartoon. But my day of flying glory would have to wait. After several trials I lost the propellers.

I recently came across a Beany & Cecil cartoon titled, “Beany’s Beany Cap Copter,” in which Beany, Cecil and Cap’n Huffenpuff are off to Washington, D.C., to patent Beany’s invention. In that episode, Beany demonstrates how the copter works, saying, “don’t climb on anything, just stand on the ground.”

Good advice. I wish I’d seen that one before I took a test flight. I’m sure that episode was in response to a wave of kids launching themselves from carports all over the country, giving  Mattel lawyers heart attacks.

But likely I wouldn’t have listened anyway, much like today. I have to see things for myself. Besides, maybe my technique is going to be the right way.

Now, where are those Cheerios?

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