The funny thing is, though, as a 10–11 yr. old boy shopping the Toys ‘R’ Us shelves for Atari games back then (1980–’81), this magnificent box art was what caught my eye (and had me promising my dad I’d get straight A’s on my next report card if he bought it for me), even though I knew full well that the actual game would look nothing like it. How about Missile Command?

Check out that box art! Huge, menacing ICBMs incoming and outgoing, and a cataclysmic fiery explosion! Heck, the “missile commander” even has a hot assistant! But the screenshot? The fiery explosion is nothing more than a blocky golf ball, and the vapor trail a jaggy pixelated streak. But I still spent countless hours on this game, imagining I was the sole defender of six cities, whose millions of innocent lives depended on my instincts and split-second decisions under immense pressure. I still remember seeing the box at Toys ‘R’ Us, with a price tag of $39.99 with a vinyl ticket-holder beneath it, from which I had to fetch a ticket to bring with me to the counter to purchase the game (yes, security measures were intact).

How was this possible? In the days long before the hyper-realistic graphics now standard in home video games, us youngsters simply “filled in the blanks” with our home entertainment systems, connecting our own cosmic fantasies with the pixelated graphics presented on the screen. And it worked. I’m sure you’ll hear countless testimonies from other ’70s kids.

Incidentally, this threw me even further back, to my pre-Atari days of handheld LED electronic games, specifically Mattel Electronics Basketball, which I used to play religiously in ’78–’80, often until the unit’s plastic casing was blazing hot from being held in my palms for so long. Here’s an even more extreme example of box vs. in-game art.

Yes, those tiny red LED blips on the court were indeed basketball players, and I (the brightest of the LEDs) struggled against these defenders for 2-point and even 3-point shots from Downtown.

A more popular handheld game amongst my friends was Mattel Electronics Football, which some kids would smuggle to school to play secretly at recess instead of real sports like kickball or 4-square.

Oh, and when Coleco came out with a 2-player version? Dood, it was on. We re-enacted our own Super Bowls on a daily basis. How’s that for filling in the blanks, huh?

I remember in 5th Grade (1981), these handheld electronic games were so popular and prevalent on the schoolyard that the teachers banned them from school.

Geez. Would you believe that while I Googled the above images, I discovered iPhone apps by touchgrove that replicate these games down to every last detail—even a price sticker on the box??!

Aw heck, there’s even the 2-player Football for the iPad???

I’m actually totally speechless to how they were able to replicate these in such amazing detail. But, as virtual as they are, for me there still is no substitute for the tactile feel of the real handheld game—from the audible, noisy frenzied clicks of the buttons to the distinct glow of the LED lights, which allowed me to play the game in the complete darkness of my room, long after my parents thought I was asleep. Nevertheless, the folks over at Touchgrove sure know how to market themselves to us ’70s kids. Wow.

Every train has its destination. In the old days, it was the promise and adventure of a new town and often a new life. Or perhaps it’s the dream getaway you’d been saving up your money and vacation days for.

I wish I could say that our final destination on the Filmore & Western was as exotic and exciting as those above. But…it wasn’t.

Downtown Santa Paula was touted as a great stop for sightseeing, tourist attractions, museums, shopping and dining, but we were met with a droll, hot and dusty dud that we had to spend almost 2 hours in. Sure, the surroundings were quaint and some buildings historic in architecture, but believe me, 2 hours is an eternity when you’re with a kid who keeps asking “Where are we going now? Where are we going now?” incessantly while you scan the streets for something to entertain yourselves with.

We’d already eaten on the train, so we looked for cool places to shop. There were no cool places to shop. So we looked for benches to sit on. There were no benches to sit on. It was freakin’ hot, so finally I said, “Let’s find a restaurant to sit in and just have a drink.” Luckily, there was a place that fit the bill—The Mupu Grill.

It was a slight relief to sit on patio wrought iron furniture with cold lemonades and a much-needed Stella for daddy as we sipped our drinks and wondered, again, what the heck we were doing there. Perhaps we took a wrong turn somewhere. Or maybe I just didn’t read the signs. Or, there’s the possibility that I was just so fascinated with the steam train that I didn’t even realize we had to get off of it.

We weren’t alone. While walking down Santa Paula’s Main Street I recognized other passengers from the train with the same kind of bewildered yet hopeful look as they scanned the street for points of interest. There just weren’t any.

Not to completely knock downtown Santa Paula, though—according to their website, there were a lot of things to do there, if only I’d done some research beforehand, or maybe was handed a handy “things to do in Santa Paula” brochure for first-timers like ourselves.

Nevertheless, somehow we managed to pass those 2 hours and run back to the train depot in desperation to get back home. What a relief it was to be back on that old Baldwin, chuffing steadily back to civilization.

On the train, I was surveyed by a lady who wanted to know if the steam train excursion was something worth taking, and, more so, something worth maintaining. One would think that after the gruel of the time in Santa Paula I would have said “Hell no,” but instead, I actually gave her nearly half an hour’s worth of testimony to the fact that this Baldwin 2-8-0 Steam Locomotive was definitely a diamond in the rough, and that it’s the only one of its kind in all of Southern California that can be enjoyed at a very reasonable price.

She was really surprised at how much I had to say, and had no idea how important and sought after experiences like this were, by die-hard steam train fans that longed for the thrill of a real live steam engine in action. Believe me, it’s not easy to come by, and when it does, it’s usually at a premium.

Take, for example, the Santa Fe 3751 (above)…one of the country’s premier passenger steam locomotives, owned and operated by the SBRHS (San Bernardino Railroad Historical Society)—they have to go through so much red tape, paperwork, politics and insurance/liability hassles with Union Pacific and BNSF just to run the darn thing on a mainline, and they’re absolutely lucky if they can manage to get it on the rails once or twice a year. So when they do, it ain’t cheap to hop on board. Sure, as a 4-8-4 it’s a much larger sight (and sound) to behold than the Baldwin, but it comes around only once in a blue moon…while our good ol’ 2-8-0 toots away happily once a month, April through September.

So, despite the downer of a denouement in downtown Santa Paula, I leave you folks with a happy ending; as happy as the lady was when she walked away with a clipboard full of my comments, regarding how rare and unique this experience was. Thousands of Googling SoCal residents and parents want to know: Was it worth it? Yes. Why? In a modern world seemingly bursting at the seams with instant gratification, the Fillmore & Western’s Baldwin 1913 2-8-0 #14 Steam Locomotive is truly a remarkable living and breathing retrospective to a time when things were much, much more than a mouse click away. And for some like myself, a parent of the next generation, the privilege to share, inspire and teach this knowledge to my son (and having him beam a smile back in appreciation) makes me a proud one.

Thanks for reading.

One of Greg’s latest obsessions is Cartoon Network’s The Amazing World of Gumball. It’s one of those shows that cute and demented at the same time; a well-written and well-drawn batch of silliness that’s fun enough for kids, and twisted enough to lure some 40-something moms and dads (who are still kids themselves) into watching it with them.

This is one of those videos that Greg and I watch over, and over, and over…and we die laughing each and every time. But why? I’ll tell you why. It’s the things hidden in the details.

There’s something a little off about the characters in Gumball, and that’s totally what I dig…that weird, disconcerting, underlying grit that hides just beneath the “cute” crust that greets us.

Take Banana Joe, for instance. Look at those eyes. He’s got that trippy “one-eye-faces-this-way-while-the-other-faces-the-other-way” thing going on, and you’re not sure which to focus on, right? But you focus anyway.

And what’s up with that mouth? Why is it a sickly shade of grey? Is it some kind of stretchy donut? What part of a banana could be associated with that grey thing? None!

Yet, we can probably all relate Banana Joe to someone we knew in our lives; like that weird, nerdy wacky kid in school that nobody really liked, but they liked to hang out with him simply because he was so out there.

Beyond that, though, is what actually happens in the video. Just little twists and turns here and there that catch you off guard. They’re unexpected. Like this part, where it suddenly breaks into a short sequence of him clapping.

Oh sure, it could be just clapping, but what follows is a complete nose-dive downward spiraling descent into utter lunacy. If you thought he looked weird as a singular object, just imagine him splitting himself exponentially into several smaller vignettes, multiplying by the second like those animal cells did on those old Biology class science films.

Ah yes, that lovely anomaly of a mouth now becomes the focal point as you continue to wonder what the heck it is. Meanwhile, the mess in his room begins to crowd around you in unison with a growing chorus of Banana Joe voices, all in various pitches, chanting and singing at the same time.

The screen continues to chop itself into smaller but more obnoxious portions, the volume and chaos building upon itself like demented Duplo blocks. Your eyes begin to go wild as they’re confronted with a myriad of madness, each frame featuring Joe in various states of wackiness. He’s clapping in one, singing in another, and even doing the kickworm in another! Now if that isn’t a subliminal ’80s pop reference to reel in us 40-somethings, then I don’t know what is. But you got me, Cartoon Network.

Before you know it, the screen is completely populated with tiny, bite-sized chunks of craziness that sing, squirm and wiggle like happy maggots in a carcass. By now, the sound is deafening, and, if you were like me the first time around, you’re probably saying to yourself, WTF?! What is up with that darn donut-shaped mouth?! And what the heck is that thing…a…a…banana butt? Is it funny, or nightmarish? It’s almost obscene, but you still can’t resist watching every frame. That’s the magic of it all.

Finally it all comes together in one sickly shattered self-portrait, whose fragmented face has by now become somewhat hypnotic. If you don’t know Banana Joe by now, you’ll never never know him. But wait—we still haven’t arrived at the punch line, which wraps the whole enchilada into one heap of hilarity—Banana Joe’s dad.

By the end of the commercial, you’re probably wondering what kind of people they have working on this cartoon. Man, I wish I were one of them.

The question of the universe: Why did they shut the Skyrail down?

I went to Busch Gardens a couple of times as a kid in the ’70s, but sadly the only real memories that I have of it are a lake, flamingos, a bird show, and my dad and uncles being happy that there was free beer (I’m certain the free beer is what convinced dads to spend “quality time” with their families there on the weekends).

The only way I remember the Skyrail, though, is seeing it abandoned and “frozen” in its tracks throughout the early ’80s, each time we passed the facility on the 405 Freeway.

Literally, there was one solitary train eerily hanging from its rails, devoid of passengers, on one random curved section of track high up against a building. Each time I saw it, I would trace the track it would have traveled on, noticing how it snaked around the brewery and even inside it!

Eventually, the abandoned attraction became a strange obsession of mine as I attempted to peer through its shroud of mystery. For one, how could I have not ever been on that ride, knowing that my parents always took full advantage of L.A.’s amusement parks in my childhood? Its design was so classic and awesome—Why did they close it down? And, why did they keep the tracks—and a whole train—up if for so many years, if they weren’t ever planning to open it back up again?

The Skyrail Station in its better days. I would've loved this when I was a kid.

Property of Peopletron

There had to be someone else I knew who had the same questions. I began to ask my friends about it in junior high and even through high school, and nearly everyone, except perhaps the biggest nerds, could give a rat’s ass about some “stupid abandoned train hanging over some stupid brewery in the stupid valley.”

Finally, I was able to get some kind of answer from my folks, who said they’d heard that somebody had fallen to their death from the monorail as it toured the inside of the brewery. I’m supposing it caused such a scandal that they just shut it down. I could just see it now, though—shocked and terrified onlookers with the signature gasps of sudden fright and the blood-curdling horrific female scream as they see someone plummet to the ground. That monorail was pretty high up, so I’m sure it wasn’t a pretty sight if that had actually occurred.

Interestingly, I found an old Busch Gardens thread from 2005 in which one comment gave a somewhat chilly insight to the “dark side” of the Skyrail:

Another memory I have is that every so often the brewrey tour monorails would somehow jump the track and de-rail. YIKES! Especially since they were the hanging type of monorail. I remember them being controlled by the tour guide/driver so maybe they were always going too fast around the curves when they should have been slower.

Meanwhile, on a happier note, I’ve found more pictures of Busch Gardens which have blown away more cobwebs in the attic of my mind:

This picture totally unearthed a long-lost memory of me seeing—and even posing for a picture with—that eagle mascot, who strolled the grounds alongside the other exotic birds around the lake. Funny how some memories virtually disappear until something conjures them back into existence. Strange indeed, how our brains function.

I chuckle every time I see that picture. Friendly Greeter. Is there an Unfriendly Greeter at the other entrance?

It just so happens that Patricksmercy (in whose collection the above photo resides) rode the Skyrail back in its heyday, and was more than happy to share his experience with us here on Lefty Limbo. As he recalls:

It was fun! My Catholic School St. Augustine took us on a field trip there, two classrooms of 2nd graders in school uniforms with two Nun escorts and a couple of mothers. The Sky Rail took us through the various plants showing the beer being processes step by step as we viewed from the sky rail.

Thanks, Patricksmercy, for sharing your delightful story of the Skyrail in happier days. Yet the darkside beckons ever so pervasively, so off I go once again to dig for evidence…

Luck would have it that they had one last weekend at Angel Stadium in Anaheim, so guess where we were? Yup.

Thanks to one of his classmates being a Monster Jam regular, his mom gave us some tips on buying tix and getting the most out of our adventure. One thing for sure was to order Pit Party passes. This gave us the opportunity to see and touch the trucks up close, meet the drivers and get autographs, and spend Mommy and Daddy’s money on merchandise and toys.

If I’d traveled back in time 20 years and told my 21-year-old self that I would one day attend a Monster Truck event, my 21-year-old self would’ve laughed and said “Aw HELL no!” But sure enough, it came true. It’s my kid’s fault. No, actually it’s mine. I just happened to do a search for “Monster Trucks” on my iPhone’s YouTube one night while in the back seat of our truck, to entertain antsy ol’ Greg. And this is the video that started it all:

Li’l Greg’s always been a daredevil—always looking to push his limits, taking risks and finding the most dangerous stunts to pull. And when he saw the Grave Digger going all out with a missing front wheel, he was hooked. Period.

Of course, what would a Monster Jam be without Grave Digger? This was its 30th Anniversary in the business, still going strong. There were so many people at this Pit Party that it was impossible to get exclusive shots of a star vehicle. Typically we had to share the shot with other kids whose parental units also felt the need to preserve these landmark occasions.

It is kinda cool though; perhaps 20 years from now some guy will see this picture and say “Holy crap, that’s me standing in front of that wheel!”

Speaking of wheels…

Now the above is not a monster truck wheel; it’s a wheel from a CAT Front-End Loader that was also on display. There were families lined up and crawling all over this thing like ants until finally a CAT rep came over and told everyone they couldn’t be on it. Hmm. Where was he that whole time beforehand? At lunch? Texting? Nevertheless, he didn’t seem to mind me sticking Greg in the rim, so I took a shot.

Here’s Greg with his classmate whom I mentioned earlier, who’d gone to Monster Jam consecutively for the past 4(?) years. If it wasn’t for his mom, we would’ve been totally clueless about prime seat locations and the Pit Party. Behind them is El Toro Loco, who was a top contender. Not sure why it was hoisted up like that. I think the crane company was trying to sell themselves on how they could handle heavy loads.

This shot looks super Atomic Age to me; it reminds me something I’d see at Disneyland’s Tomorrowland back in the ’60s, perhaps next to Monsanto’s House of the Future or Mission to Mars.

Have I got video footage? Tons. I’ll post them eventually.

I’ll tell you one thing though, Greg loved it, and it was a great time for all of us. He went to bed that night saying “This was the best day of my life,” and the next morning he dug out each and every one of his Hot Wheels 1:64 Monster Trucks, to stage a Monster Jam of his own.

I’d actually bought the majority of these over a year ago, back when he was still crazy about trains. He didn’t care for the trucks much back then, but lately he’s been way more into the roar of gas than the hiss of steam.

And of course, nothing would be complete without him wanting not one, but several Monster Jam tattoos to show off the following week at school. These tats actually last quite awhile, even through showers. I needed alcohol and Q-Tips to rub ‘em off…to put new ones on. A far cry from the old transfer-tattoos I remember from my childhood, which would disappear at the first drop of moisture.

So if your kid is into monster trucks, I highly recommend attending the Monster Jam. Save up some pocket cash if you can, though, ‘coz buying the tickets is just the beginning. There’s enough bright and shiny merch there to have your kid tugging at your shirt all evening. Some words of advice:

• The best seats appear to be in sections 225 to 229. These sections give the best view of the field, plus 228 and 229 are close to where the trucks enter. For the jump and obstacle setup this year, these sections also had a good angle for photos and videos. For two adults and one child in our section (208), it was about $145 from ticketmaster.com, including Pit Passes ($10 each). Ticketmaster.com does charge service fees though, so you may be able to find them cheaper elsewhere.
• The trucks are LOUD. If you or your kid are sensitive to loud noises, you’ll want to bring some ear plugs. Otherwise you can fork out for some novelty “Monster Truck Wheel” plastic ear muffs, at a super special low price of $20.
• By all means, get the Pit Party passes. They’re inexpensive and totally worth the opportunity to see the trucks in the flesh before the event and even meet the drivers (if you don’t mind waiting in line for the celebrity ones).
• Merchandise prices, on the other hand, will add up quickly. $25 for a t-shirt, $10 for the Hot Wheels 1:64 Monster Jam trucks (we bought him Mohawk Warrior), $5 for a checkered flag, $35 for a Monster Jam blanket, $10 for a program/yearbook.
• The show’s about 2 hours long, and your kid’s gonna get hungry and/or have to use the restroom. Try to get aisle seats to avoid having to walk through the rows. It’s crowded and tight.
• And when your li’l tike gets hungry? $7 for an Angel Dog, $3 for fries, and $3 for soda ($2 for bottled water). Basically about $12 a person for a basic stadium meal (Correct me if I’m wrong, btw). And yes, there’s always the pizza and cotton candy doods that walk the stands. I think those are $5 a pop.
• REMEMBER WHERE YOU PARKED. Either take note of the section number, or drop a pin on your iPhone’s map app. Dood. After the show it’s like a freakin’ ENDLESS SEA of cars. I totally forgot where we parked and we were walking aimlessly for over half an hour in the freezing cold. Totally not cool when you have a kid or baby with you, who’s totally beat and wants to go home. One of the stadium staff was friendly enough to let my family wait indoors in a heated area while I searched for my car. Luckily I was able to retrace my steps from where we entered and turned, etc. and found the car eventually.
• Last but not least, enjoy the show! =)

You may remember my discovery of this park in a previous post, while on a typical ’70s child rant that “they just don’t make ‘em like they used to.” In this case I was referring to the disappearance of the infamous “Rocketship Playgrounds,” which were almost standard issue for Westside L.A. parks of the ’70s. Lo and behold, a quick flick of Flickr (now populated with my own photos) would reveal that there was still a standing rocket in Torrance, CA. So you know that I brought my family out there at Warp Speed.

It was truly an awesome sight to behold. Yes, there it stood, a real live rocket, towering in all its gleaming galvanized steel glory, complete with that funky musty steel smell that I remember so well from my childhood (just grab hold of the hand rails then smell your hands afterwards, and you’ll know what I’m talking about).

This was truly a cosmic experience for both myself and my kid, who finally got a chance to be on top of the world—nothing has topped this gargantuan in height. For all you Westside ’70s kids who, like me, had thought that playground rockets had blasted off our planet ages ago, this rocket will surely send you into Hyperspace.

Funny, I don’t remember them wrapping that third stage in the fencing material back in the day. I’m sure that was a later addition for added safety. Heh. Safety. Whoever thought of that back in the ’70s? I sure didn’t.

Dood, look at that slide from the second stage. I bet you anyone who grew up in the ’70s (or earlier) can fondly relate to these memories:

• In the summer, the slide was the perfect mirror to blind you with the sun’s reflection
• At the same time, the slide itself also got as hot as the sun; the perfect way to sear your legs while wearing those ’70s corduroy short-shorts
• Some kids found the perfect way to make the slide faster—by scooping up sand and pouring it down the slide from the top
• Other kids, mostly younger diaper-wearing ones, found ways to make the slide not so fast—by making sticky skid marks on them with their pee or poop-filled leaking diapers. Either that, or there was some other mystery bodily fluid that added that undesirable speed bump on the steel (spit, snot, etc.)

Luckily that afternoon, the weather conditions were perfect for launch, so my boy gave it a shot.

I’ll tell you one thing, I’m glad the City of Torrance never knocked this thing down. Heck, with a name like Rocketship Park I should hope not, but with all the bureaucratic politics and increased safety standards, I wonder how much of a fight they have to put up…to keep it up. Note to City: If you ever want to scrap it, don’t. Just give it to me and I’ll put it in my backyard.

Meanwhile, here’s Greg ascending through the stages. Keep in mind that this ship really is made for kids, so if you’ve grown considerably since your childhood (I haven’t), you may have some difficulty passing through these “airlocks.” I barely fit through them myself, and younger astronauts around me looked at me like I was crazy.

Once in the nose, who could resist taking the helm of this massive missile? Not Greg.

Actually, here’s a wider shot of that steering wheel. Who would’ve known that a rocketship would use a Three On The Tree transmission? American-made, son.

Here am I sitting in a tin can, far above the world…ok, it doesn’t look like much from this shot, but it sure is nice (and windy) up in the nose cone.

A bonus added attraction to our Rocketship Park visit was their Lunar Lander, which sat patiently nearby. I actually had more fun photographing this celestial sentry, with all its fittings that just screamed ’60s and ’70s.

You may recognize this to be the long-lost sibling to another Lunar Lander which I had the joy to meet when I was 6 yrs. old. It’s too bad it’s lost all it’s original markings, but it’s still a genuine surviving lander, nonetheless.

Yes, my earthly mortals, there was enough geek fodder on this tiny little platform for me to reminisce of a time when I could travel light years away just by taking a trip to the local park. It’s ironic that this aged, antique playground equipment is still way advanced in innovation and imagination compared to any of the plastic, über-safe stuff that’s occupied our playgrounds today.

It took awhile for Greg to really appreciate the structure; he’s much more of a Muscle Car and Monster Truck enthusiast, but eventually he caught on to some otherworldly charms, as soon as he climbed aboard.

Check out this crazy thing. I mean, it’s really just a cylinder with some pipe fittings sticking out of it. But in context, the possibilities are infinite.

Here’s the li’l astronaut himself, doing a systems check.

Once again, the almighty universal idea that any vehicle or craft can be maneuvered by none other than a steering wheel. This disc actually did spin, by the way.

By far, though, my favorite accessory of this spacecraft was its “radar dish,” which allowed us to scan a 360-degree radius of the city, in search for intelligent life forms.

The urge for me to emit sonar “ping” sounds was irresistible as I scanned the landscape, while the steel column responded with a series of metallic groans and squeals. How many beings had done this same search before me? I may never know.

To my surprise, after some moments I received faint yet distinct signals; intermittent beeps that transmitted coordinates of other playground rockets in faraway lands.

We are not alone.

Update: The above were taken from results within a Flickr.com search. Little did I know that when I ventured outside the bounds of the Flickr universe—and into the Google quadrant, I would have yet more encounters with an entirely new salvo of rockets, in a broad spectrum of longevity and decay. I’ll present those in my next post. Stay tuned.

I’ve always been a fan of Chris Burden, ever since I discovered his Shoot performance art piece in Norman Mailer’s book, The Faith of Grafitti. You can view the clip below with Burden’s commentary.

The whole act of getting shot in the arm by a .22 rifle just for the sake of art was so far out to me that I had to see more of what he’d done. And it turned out I liked mostly everything else he did.

With his Metropolis II exhibit opening at LACMA on January 14, I’ll have yet another opportunity to see what he’s been up to (this time, for the past four years).

It’ll also be a win-win situation for my kid, whose love for cars and trains will probably cause him explode when he sees this mega marvel of design that incorporates them both in the layout.

After seeing the intricate, amazing complexity of this piece, I’m dying to somehow convince Burden to put one of Mattel’s Video Racer cars on there—yes, a car which houses a micro video camera in its hood. Can’t you imagine how freakin’ awesome that would be to see the layout from that perspective?

Hmm. Maybe I can go there myself with one of those racers in my hand and sneak it onto the track. Um, yeah, good luck getting it back, right?

So it turns out that there’s prescribed viewing hours for this piece. Knowing L.A. and all the artsy folks residing here, a long, tedious line to get in would most definitely not be out of the ordinary. We’ll have to wait and see.

The latest addition from That ’70s Box, this one circa 1979. Definitely inspired by a National Geographic issue covering the Apollo 11 mission, and even more so, the infamous filmed footage of the Apollo 11 liftoff, as seen below on YouTube:

Rockets were simply awe-inspiring to me as a kid—from the real thing to the down-to-earth playground version—and to this day, it’s still amazing to me now how something so massive can generate enough thrust to push it all the way into space. Watch that footage yourself and you’ll see what I mean. See all that fire in the beginning of the clip? Can you imagine how much freakin’ propulsion power that is? Crazy.

In earlier renditions of this launch (circa 1976–77), I used to think that the rocket actually broke free from the tower, violently wresting itself from the various hoses and miscellaneous girder-wrapped connections that held onto it. You could see how I probably misinterpreted the images beginning at :34 onwards, especially around :48 when the ice chunks are seen falling—I thought those were pieces of metal and machinery.

At first glance, they were innocent, simple folders, whose illustrations (by Francis Golden) hoped to motivate the average student with exciting images of athletes in game-winning action—from the female tennis player frozen in an ace serve, to a football player soaring in mid-air, crushing his adversary in a touchdown attempt, to a group of runners, with one man clearly in the lead, his face filled with confidence and determination.

Mead (the manufacturer of Pee Chee folders) probably had the same intent as any other school-supply manufacturer: Make the kids happy and proud to be in school.

Instead, however, in most cases the Pee Chee folder became an instant billboard to reflect the complete opposite—that school was, indeed, the furthest thought from a student’s mind.

I would dare say that anyone who grew up in Los Angeles in the ’70s and ’80s would regard the Pee Chee folder as a pure icon of their school daze, with fond recall of the hilarious, mischievous and often demented artistic expressions which young, bored and angst-ridden students subjected those poor athletes to.

I myself have started a Flickr group devoted to the preservation of this folk art, and have been scouring the web for surviving specimens. I’ll be highlighting my favorite finds here on Lefty Limbo, so stay tuned.

In the meantime, I encourage all of you ’70s and ’80s kids to dig into your closet/basement/attic/trash/someone else’s trash for these long lost treasures, and post them up before they’re gone forever. Rock on.

This was the first time he'd ever seen the gap left by a newly fallen baby tooth.