I probably don’t have to
explain Mrs. Beasley to a certain vintage of my peers. She was a doll owned by
Buffy on the show Family Affair (1966 -1971). As such, she was a
plaything, but also an imaginary friend whom Buffy pretended to talk to and whom
she supposed to have a life of her own. The idea of an imaginary friend was a
sort of uncanny concept to us when we were very young. Mrs. Beasley somehow
partook of the weirdness of voodoo dolls and ventriloquist dummies; this was
not helped by her wide-eyed stare of happy madness. We did develop our own
imaginary friends in time, but they were “imaginary imaginary friends”, if you
get my meaning. We were never deluded into actually believing they were real.
All of which would be
neither here nor there if it weren’t for one very early SMI Christmas party. It
was a grand bash held once a year at the enormous New Braunfels Wurstfest Hall.
Tables and benches filled the enormous space, barbecue plates and soda were
supplied, and every employee got gifts for himself and his wife, and a bag of
hard candy (I particularly loved the rare hard licorice candy, wrapped in
silver paper) or a book of Life Savers for each of his kids. There was an
enormous fake sausage at one end of the hall to explore and the grown-ups
danced and Santa appeared on a dais and was available for photo ops with the
kiddies. We still have several of those pictures. Christmas music was bellowed
over the loudspeakers, and I think this was the first place I ever heard Rockin’
Around the Christmas Tree. We just wandered around in a daze trying to
amuse ourselves in an atmosphere of beer drinking and cigarette smoke. There
was little adult supervision; we just had to remember where ‘our’ table was.
There was one other feature
of the party and this was the ‘drawing.’ As I recall it, there was a big pile
of prizes on a raised stage. Names were put in the tumbler and drawn, and the
winner could go home with a nice bonus present. I think you could choose it,
but it may have been more random than that. And here is where Mrs. Beasley
enters the tale. A Mrs. Beasley doll was quite prominent on the prize pile, and
I conceived a strange desire to have her and a wild hope that we might win her.
My parents, once I unveiled
this thought, were rather distressed. Pop, in particular; I can imagine what
dark suspicions seethed in his mind. Why would one of his sons want a doll? And
what would people think if he went up to claim such a prize? Everyone knew he
had only boys at the time; would he take a ribbing for harboring a sissy? The idea
was flat out denied. So why did I want a spooky Mrs. Beasley? I probably couldn’t
express exactly why even at the time.
I certainly didn’t want a ‘dolly’
for dress-ups or tea parties or anything like that, and I never would have
asked them to expend any actual money for Mrs. Beasley. Now, for free, sure
maybe, and she was the most interesting thing on the table. I’m rather ashamed
to say its rather feeble allure may have been mostly merchandising; if Mrs.
Beasley was in our grasp, we would be one degree closer to the glamorous world
of television, a tangible link to the TV Time Loop. Perhaps we could bestow it as a present on one of our cousins
and win kudos that way. But only after prising those square glasses off her
face for use as a prop in our own toy ‘adventures’, perhaps perched on Chester
O’Chimp’s nose.
In the end, we were all spared the embarrassment. Pop did not win the drawing for Mrs. Beasley (I have the vague impression he got something else, but I can’t tell you at this distance what it might have been), and the incident was put behind us. I don’t think it helped my reputation as a shy, strange boy very much, except to reinforce it. But it is a very early example of my franchise involvement and toy fixation.
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