From Slinkys to Elmos: the 20th Century's most iconic Christmas toys
Here are a few of the gifts a Canadian family might have found under the tree over the last 60 years
One modern Canadian family experiences six decades of Christmas, starting in the 1940s. Watch Back in Time for Christmas on Dec 6 at 8 p.m.
Every holiday season, there's one toy that stands out as the year's "must have." A toy that will cause small children to have a meltdown if they don't get it, and leads otherwise decent parents to fight each other for the last one on the shelf.
Here's are some of the most iconic, must-have Christmas toys from 1940s-1990s.
1940s: Slinky
Of all the technologies to come out of World War II military research, the most underrated one might be a toy that walks down stairs, alone or in pairs.
In 1943, mechanical engineer Richard James was working for the U.S. Navy. His job was to create specialized springs that would keep sensitive instruments and equipment stable on ships. One day, he knocked one of the springs off a shelf and watched as it "walked" down to the floor, via a stack of books. He immediately saw the toy potential in the spring and went home to tell his wife, Betty. After more than a year of experimenting with different types of metal and coil patterns, Richard had made his ideal walking spring. Betty christened it the "Slinky," after coming across the word — which means "sleek and graceful" — in the dictionary. She thought it was a good description of the toy's movement and sound.
On Nov. 27, 1945, Richard and Betty took their initial run of 400 Slinkys to Gimbel's department store in Philadelphia and demonstrated the product. They sold out within 90 minutes. By the end of 1945, they had sold more than 22,000 Slinkys, and the walking spring Richard James discovered by accident was on its way to becoming an icon.
1950s: Mr. Potato Head
Mr. Potato Head hasn't always been a misshapen plastic oval. Back in the 1950s, he was an actual potato.
As a kid, George Lerner would entertain his younger sister by arranging various kitchen scraps onto a potato in order to make a funny face. (Pre-digital age kids were easily entertained.) Years later, in 1949, he designed a series of plastic, three-dimensional eyes, noses, mouths and other parts, with pushpins on the back, that could turn any spud into a wacky friend. Unfortunately, toy manufacturers thought that Americans, who'd just lived through wartime rationing, would be put off by the idea of playing with their food. He wound up selling the idea to a cereal company, who put the parts in cereal boxes as a prize.
In 1951, he explained his idea to Henry and Merrill Hassenfield, owners of the Hassenfield Brothers toy and school supply company. The brothers were immediately taken with it, bought the rights to it from the cereal company and set Lerner up with a five per cent royalty. The Hassenfields would shorten their company's name to Hasbro, and in 1952, they shipped their first Mr. Potato Head kit. It featured hands, feet, ears, two mouths, two pairs of eyes, four noses, three hats, eyeglasses, a pipe and eight felt pieces in the shape of facial hair. Potato not included.
1960s: G.I. Joe
In the early 1960s, Mattel's Barbie was hands down the hottest toy for girls. The impossibly-proportioned fashion icon with a seemingly endless array of outfit choices was what every little girl wanted, nay, needed to find under the tree.
Mattel's rival, Hasbro, needed a Barbie-level hit. Manhattan licensing agent Stan Weston thought he might have one: dolls for boys. Specifically, soldier dolls. But even with such a manly occupation, dolls for boys was still going to be a tough sell. Dolls were for girls. But Hasbro product designer Don Levine had an answer: don't call them dolls. Call them action figures.
G.I. Joe: America's Moveable Fighting Man was 12 inches of poseable plastic manliness that was up for any Communist fighting adventure a lad could imagine. The initial run featured a soldier, a sailor, a fighter pilot and a marine. You could also equip your Joes with a huge array of uniforms, weapons, and gear. (An activity that, in spite of looking like it was basically the same thing, was not at all like changing Barbie's outfits.)
1970s: Atari Video Computer System
In November of 1977, just in time for Christmas, the Atari Video Computer System — later rechristened the 2600 — hit store shelves. The way people played, and what kids wanted for Christmas, would never be the same.
The VCS wasn't the first at-home gaming console. Magnavox had released the Odyssey in 1971. Atari — who were already the biggest name in arcade games — had released a home version of their hit table tennis game Pong in 1975. But with both of those systems, you could only play one game. Pong only played Pong. Odyssey could only play games that were coded into the console. But the VCS games came in individual cartridges. And there were more and more of them coming out all the time. The number of games was potentially limitless.
At its launch, the VCS retailed for $199 USD. Adjusted for inflation, that's an eye-popping $839 USD.
1980s: Cabbage Patch Kids
In 1983, the Cabbage Patch craze hit toy stores across North America. The weird, soft-bodied, plastic headed dolls with a man's name tattooed on their butts were that year's must-have toy.
Each doll came with a name, a backstory, and a list of personality traits, likes and dislikes. They even came with adoption certificates, so their child owner could become their parent. Because they didn't have parents. Because they were grown in a cabbage patch, behind a waterfall, with the help of half-rabbit, half-bee creatures. (The Cabbage Patch Kid mythology is pretty strange if you stop and look at it for any amount of time.)
Regardless of where they came from, the dolls were causing parents to freak out. Stories of near-riots in toy stores became regular nightly news features in the run-up to Christmas. People travelled to other cities, and even across borders, to find them. A thriving resale market saw the dolls go for several times their retail value.
1990s: Tickle Me Elmo
Tickle Me Elmo was a talking, laughing, vibrating version of the beloved Sesame Street character Elmo. It was released in July 1996, and sold well, but wasn't hard to come by. In October, talk show host Rosie O'Donnell brought one of the dolls on her show. The surprise plug led to a surge in sales. By American Thanksgiving, Tickle Me Elmo was the must-have toy of the season, and things started to get weird and ugly.
Classified ads and websites were selling the toy, which had a retail price of $28.99 USD, for as much as $1,500 USD. In New York, parents chased after a delivery truck. In Chicago, two women were arrested after getting into an Elmo-related fistfight. And no, Canadians weren't above Elmomania. In Fredericton, a Wal-Mart employee named Robert Waller was trampled by a crowd of 300 wild-eyed Elmo seekers. He told People magazine his injuries included a broken rib, a concussion, a pulled hamstring, and "the crotch was yanked out of my brand new jeans."