The Tale of the Ruby Top Hat

I’ve told this story before, but I thought I’d go into it in a little more detail. Why? Grampa’s rambling again.

I was in Third Grade, so it was probably the fall of 1972. We were having a school fair for all the families; besides an enchilada plate there were a variety of activities, like clothespin fishing for prizes and tossing games. Also on the agenda was a ‘country store’, where donated items were on sale to raise funds for the school. The table was set up for it during the school day, so we all had a chance to spy out the goods ahead of the evening festivities. There was one thing I became fixated on: a red glass top hat.

When the time came around, I begged Mom for the money. All of us kids were giving a certain amount to spend; as I remember it the hat cost a little more than my budget. That meant no other activities for me, but I thought that worth it. I knew there was a girl who had her eye on the hat, so the first thing I did was I sped to the ‘store’ and snatched it up. I had to carry the glass item the rest of the evening. I’m sure my parents must have thought I was an odd duck, but Mom did indulge me.

I learned much, much later that it was made by a company called Fenton, that produced a wide variety of glass top hats for table settings. Most of the smaller ones seemed designated as toothpick holders; my red one was a bigger example. I’ve seen them described as everything from candy dishes to candle holders. So why did I want one?

Well, as I’ve stated before, top hats were part what might be called my ‘pop cultural relics obsession.’ The hats used to be everywhere, symbols of authority, from rich men to reverends. Perhaps because of the care needed to preserve them. ‘Broken’ examples could appear on carthorses, scarecrows, and snowmen. Or on bums with some pretension, especially after the Stock Market Crash and the Great Depression. They persisted for a while as a necessary accoutrement for solemn occasions: bridegrooms and presidents were expected to wear them on their way to take their oaths. John F. Kennedy was the last president to be inaugurated wearing a top hat. By the time I was growing up they were again relegated to ‘bums’: hippies might wear them as well as retro ‘granny glasses’ for a cultural statement.  Oh, and glittering Broadway musicals. I wanted a top hat, and this was the only example I’d seen in the wild, as it were. If only for playing purposes, I had to snatch it up.

Of course, for playing purposes it uses proved to be limited. While it would be a proportionate fit for say, Chester the Chimp, it couldn’t stay on, and be top-heavy at that. Eventually I settled down on it as a nest for our Formulette toy owl, Owlie, who snuggled down into it as just the right size. 

When I was past a certain playing stage the hat should have been stored or displayed somewhere appropriate; instead, it resided in the regular toybox where, despite its thick glass, it inevitably broke and was thrown away.

But I was always on the lookout for top hat replacements. There was one up in the garage rafters, a little black plastic one, in a batch of parental memorabilia, apparently a party favor from a wedding or something.

 We decided we couldn’t extract that one; not from any respect for our parents’ memories, but just for fear that we’d be caught. Wonder what ever happened to that. Eventually we got a red plastic top hat, attached to a velvet -flocked toy bank.

 It was just the right size (if not a perfect fit) for another squeaky, ‘Professor Worm.’ Over the years we got several action figures with their own little top hats.

 

Susan and John both found me a couple of smaller examples of Fenton glass hats at various sales. One was clear, the other as red as my remembered one.

With Aughra for Scale

Then Steampunk rolled around, and top hats became fashionable again (for a certain factor of fashion) and much more available. I remember our cousin Kirby (our great-aunt Maggie’s son) started wearing a brown top hat during the last months of his life. He was dying, and no longer gave a hoot what people might think of him in our little Texas town. It might help people remember him when he was gone; I got the impression that he, too, always wanted one, and was ready to let his freak flag fly. I wonder whatever happened to his hat when he passed away. I’m not saying I exactly wanted it. But I wonder.