Brands from the Past: Fisher-Price Customer Stories Contest Winners

In July we asked for your stories and memories about Fisher-Price, and, as we promised, here are the top five submissions. We hope you enjoy reading them as much as we did.

By Joseph C. Pescatrice, Cape Coral, FL

The Fisher-Price Corn Popper was a great success for FP and my four boys from 1959 to 1969 but it was my nemesis. I was working two jobs and going to school at the time with precious little time to sleep. It had colored wooden balls inside a plastic dome that popped up as the toy was pushed making an ungodly sound that would wake the dead, or in this case, me.

I know some of our friends and relatives thought it was cute since they bought many of them for the boys to replace those which somehow were sent out with the trash on a regular basis. I must admit the sound still lingers in my memory and as I grow older, I will make sure each of my grandchildren and great grandchildren has one to delight their parents.

By Loise E. LaBorde, Yucaipa, CA

I remember the fun I had with my 2-year-old son and 3�-year-old daughter as I pulled the hen and they trailed along behind. You see, I would put a few eggs in my apron pocket and at intervals (when they weren't looking) I would place one behind the hen. Squeals of joy as the little ones found the eggs that the hen laid. I still have the hen and my daughter still remembers the magic of those times.

By Pauline Clarke, Sheffield, MA

When my oldest son was just a toddler, he received three Fisher Price toys for his birthday the xylophone (which he called a "Dringa-dring" for its sound), a puppy on wheels that made a clackety sound when pulled, and a push toy he called a popcorn popper. The moment he saw his dad get out of the car in the driveway after work, he'd run and fetch all three toys and stand at the door, pull strings in hand, waiting for his father to come in the house. Then he'd hand each of us a string, run ahead with the popper and laugh delightedly as we all dashed after each other, making as much noise as possible. I can't see a Fisher-Price toy without thinking of those joyous homecomings.

By Mary Ann M. Jones, Averill Park, NY

For each of my children, now 34 and 32, the pleasant chimes of the Happy Apple rocking back and forth, were a busy mother's gift. As Stephanie gained strength on her tummy, pushing up from the floor, she delighted in the cheerful smile looking back at her. She giggled and reached out to explore this new friend. To her excitement, her efforts in reaching produced the familiar chimes that had become so soothing.

Later, when Brandon was an infant we worried a bit that the apple might become a hard ball in the hands of his toddler sister, now two. However, one of my favorite memories of the Happy Apple came on a rainy day when mom, toddler Stephanie, and infant Brandon were home together.

Brandon was lying on his tummy on a blanket. In an instant I was aware of an unusually quiet moment (never a good sign with a toddler around). I went to the living room with trepidation and found Stephanie laying next to her brother, lovingly rocking the apple for him. She looked up and said, "Shhhh Mommy. Baby sleeping." It was the first sign that Stephanie was graciously welcoming Brandon, this strange new person, into her life. And I began to realize that we were indeed becoming a family of four.

By Andy Marks, Providence, RI

Back when The Fab Four dominated the airwaves, my big brothers used a transistor radio to keep abreast of the doings of those mop-top Liverpudlians as well as those of the Dave Clark Five and the Beach Boys. This cutting edge piece of technology was a prized possession, and, therefore, off limits. I still remember the satiny action of the silver tuning knob when I would turn it. I remember the supple feel of its red leather slip-case as vividly as the subsequent head smack and brotherly remonstration, "Hands off, idiot. You'll break it". Around this time, the Fisher Price "Transistor" Radio Music Box entered our home, most likely as a birthday present for one of the little kids. It played nursery rhymes and, where the stations would have been displayed on a real radio, it showed cows jumping over the moon and cats frolicking in boots several sizes too big. The thing wound up with a red doohickey made to look like a tuning knob.

This was all well and good, but the thing about it that stands out in memory is its heft. Someone at the toy company thought it would be a good idea to arm America's disenfranchised younger siblings with about a pound of rock maple with a tough, plastic handle to provide leverage. To me and my sister, this cute toddler toy represented the nuclear option in our personal cold war with our older, bullying brothers. One blow from this tot tune box could be counted on to deliver devastating, first-strike capability. With this promethean plaything at hand, mutual destruction was assured. Therein lay its power as a deterrent.

Harmony reigned in our house as harmonies issued forth from this toy slash weapon...that is until the younger set got hip to the dual use offered by the FP "Equalizer", as we had dubbed it. "Mom says come in for your bath, now" Clunk "Ow, Comere, ya little... Get back here...MOOOOM".

After this turn of events, it never occurred to us that we were getting our just desserts having set a bad example. We never noticed that our older sibs had had the decency to refrain from seeking redress from higher powers when we were the ones wielding the offending radio. The worm had turned. Karma, as an idea, was in its infancy in America, so we didn't see telling Mom as squealing. All we knew was, when a preschooler slammed the FP Nursery Radio into your kneecap by way of emphasizing his declaration of, "Don't wanna," that sucker hurt.