children's books

I’ve written before about my love of Great Danes, including Scooby-Doo & a large piece of chalkware, but one of my absolute favorite Great Dane things is the movie The Ugly Dachshund.

Walt Disney Presents The Ugly Dachshund

It’s a goofy & somewhat sappy retro Walt Disney film from 1966, featuring humans, not animated characters. In it Mark Garrison (played by Dean Jones) is married to Fran (Suzanne Pleshette), a little woman who loves her pedigreed dachshund Danke. He plays hen-pecked hubby to the delivery of Danke’s three puppies — and beyond, while Fran and her wiener dogs rule the roost. So when Mark is offered a “real man’s dog,” a Great Dane puppy, by the family vet, Mark takes the dog home and names him Brutus.

To say that Fran does not like the big “ugly” beast is an understatement. She not only doesn’t appreciate Brutus as a potential champion, like Danke is and (Fran hopes) Danke’s pups will be, but Fran finds Brutus lacking in, ah, shall we say “grace?”

The pup’s size & awkwardness (something Dane lovers find charming), is only aggravated by the fact that Brutus believes he too is a Dachshund, and tries to do what the little dogs do. The situation is further exacerbated (exploited) by Danke’s pups, who are terribly naughty and manage to leave the scene just as momma Fran walks in — leaving Brutus looking like the sole culprit. Ah, the Disney animal hijinks!

When Brutus is framed for destroying a fabulously retro (yet rather racist) Oriental themed garden party, the big dog is about to be kicked out of the Garrison home — but when the gentle giant saves one of the Dachshund puppies from death by garbage truck, Brutus is given another chance. Now it’s just up to Mark to train the big dog.

The Ugly Dachshund On VHS

There’s lots more hilarity, but who wants to ruin the film?

In true Disney fashion, the story ends well — including some comeuppance for Fran. Whether you love Danes, Dachsies, or just love to ogle a young Suzanne Pleshette (and who doesn’t?!), you’ll love this goody retro flick. (Of course, you’ll have to get past the insensitive stereotypical depictions of Asians… But it was 1966, so forgive them.) It’s not just me; the kids adore this film too!

Up until 2004, this film was only available in VHS and you had to pay hefty prices via eBay; but now that it’s on DVD, it’s not only more affordable (both in terms of pricing & the fact that DVDs don’t wear out like tape), but it’s dropped the secondary market prices on the VHS — and you’ll want one, if you’re a collector, because the video box is very different than the DVD packaging.

If you’re a collector, there are lots of Ugly Dachshund things to collect… Film stills, movie posters & other promotional materials, as well as early Disney tie-in merch, like a record album (which included Shaggy Dog songs too).

But one thing I didn’t know about, and so didn’t expect to find, was The Ugly Dachshund Little Golden Book (#D118). When I discovered this copy at a thrift shop, I squealed, had the clerk get it out of the case, hugged it to my chest and then paid the $8. Other than rubbed corners & the previous owner’s name inked in the “belongs to” inside the front cover, it’s clean as a whistle. And whistling I am. Oh happy day at the thrift store!

Ugly Dachshund Little Golden Book

It’s very rare to find the idea of ‘collecting’ portrayed in a positive light, unless one is discussing the ‘collections’ of a large institution focused on the preservation of recognized artifacts – places like libraries or museums. Us individual, lesser collectors, if movies and TV are to be trusted, are ill-proportioned, socially inept, and avaricious creatures with little regard for their own health or relationships – as long as we can keep and maintain a pile of precious junk. I can list a half dozen examples without breaking a sweat, and maybe two dozen if I get really sweaty. We often forget that some of the museums’ greatest treasures come from careful, solitary collectors, who often freely donate their priceless ‘junk’ to museums.

So, when I came across ‘In Search of the Saveopotomas‘ by Stephen Cosgrove (and illustrated by Robin James), I was a little surprised that an unhealthy ‘collector’ stereotype was being communicated to children as well. The book was offering them a cautionary tale against… well, I’m not sure what.

See, the Hoardasaurus collects things, but he’s generally a wreck because all he cares about is keeping his stuff safe from imagined thieves. Owning things, and placing too much importance on them, is ruining his life – not to mention his Scarface-worthy paranoia levels. Eventually, he’s convinced to give everything away and keep only what is essential to his survival, and to put even those leftover items into a bank (run by the Saveopotomas). Of course, all of his problems are solved when he gives up his collecting hobby, he can finally play with the other dinosaurs, and everything’s all unicorns and rainbows and candy-splosions. The end.

I think that one thing that needs to be distinguished and explained is the difference between ‘collecting’ and ‘hoarding’, as even occasional comments left here on Collectors’ Quest by readers have attacked the idea of ‘collecting’ without really understanding the idea behind it.

I’m sure that many of us have known people who have hoarded things, and who have soured our experiences with ‘collecting’, but we’re generally discussing people who have amassed such a quantity of ostensibly useless items out of fear of someday being caught ‘without’. You know, ‘without’ that newspaper article from 1945 that might be relevant today, or ‘without’ the perfect shade of shoes to wear with a certain pair of pants that they don’t even own yet. It’s my belief that a ‘hoarder’ collects out of fear – not out of a desire for quantity or quality, not within a theme, and to the detriment of their own health. This is the story of the Hoardasaurus – the person who doesn’t realize that almost everything in this world can either be replaced, or is just as precious in memory as it is in its physical form. It’s a genuine phobia, and there’s a difference.

I can safely say that I’m not a hoarder, because I have a job, and I can have conversations that don’t involve Batman, and I can pay my bills, and I’m not afraid. While I don’t think that ‘In Search of the Saveopotomas’ had much space for the subtle distinction between shades of mental health, the generalization that people (or dinosaurs) that spend any time collecting things are shifty, imbalanced characters is an unwelcomed one.

Sure, I completely appreciate the idea of giving as its own reward, and I very much respect a lifestyle that requires nothing but essential items – but it’s okay to have stuff, dammit. We work hard, and if I want a row of 30 Green Lanterns overlooking my drawing table because it inspires me, I’m going to make it so. If having a display of unused china perched atop my kitchen cabinets makes me feel warm, and makes my guests smile, that’s the way it’s gonna be.

I do not ‘collect’ out of fear. I think that many of us do it so that we can share our enthusiasm for the artistry and history of what we collect, and because some perfectly normal personality types take real solace in having a few tactile things to retreat to. When that occasional tactile retreat becomes a burden, that’s when you’ve become the Hoardasaurus. Your hair turns purple, a bird starts living on your head, and none of the other dinosaurs want to play with you.

And of course, keeping your very valuable items in a bank should go without saying. I don’t think that a child needs to learn that keeping money in a mattress or a hollowed-out Taun-Taun is a bad idea. So, while I still don’t grasp the moral issue that the book has with having stuff, I can agree that an overimportance on owning things isn’t healthy. Still, I’ve found great comfort in the occasional talisman – a book to carry (though not this one), or a well-made toy. It goes without saying that I’m not going to heft a library around on my back because I think someone’s going to steal it.

Take that, Saveopotomas. We conclude with the following ominous statement :

“So if you take up hoarding
And are thinking only of you,
Remember the Hoardasaurus
… And the Saveopotomas too.”

In 1920, the Science News Service was established as a way of promoting science education through the media. The Scripps news service and a collection of scientists and science organizations collaborated to create a common and approachable way to cultivate interest in all sorts of sciences, from news releases to newspapers to education for children.

If you were born in the 1950s or later, you might have fond memories of a collaboration between the Science Service and Nelson Doubleday, Inc: The Science Program. The Science Service had a large repository of writers and subjects, and they lent their knowledge to Doubleday to produce a large series of octavo-sized, two-color booklets (called ‘albums’), each on a single subject. The series was obtained by subscription, and camewith a number of other promotional items beside just the booklets.
What is probably most memorable is the color photos. The booklets themselves were printed in only one or two colors, black with an accent, but as both a cost-effective method of printing and a way to engage readers each booklet came with a sheet of gummed ’stickers’ — color photos printed on glossy paper, numbered to correspond to blank sections on the pages of the booklet. As the Science Program member read the booklet, they would encounter a blank space, find the correct label, slurp the back of the image, and adhere it to the page. This mixed-media, in my opinion, gave much higher-quality images than in most children’s books, and it added an aspect of fun to reading. Also, while the booklets were distributed for many years, due to the ever-changing and improving world of science new ‘updates’ were written and stapled in the center of the booklet rather than re-publishing the entire books.

The books aren’t particularly uncommon — they were sold as a subscription service, which put them in the hands of children all across the United States. I’ve been lucky enough to come across numerous parts and ephemera from the Science Program. Besides the books, I also have billing statements printed on hollerith cards, all the little labels and notes included. Even if you pick up a single book, you might find any of these stuck in the book as a bookmark, or just as a safe-keeping place. The books were also distributed with ‘album cases’, cardboard sleeves which held 5 to 7 of the booklets in a safe, bookshelf-friendly way.

Collecting the individual books has a variety of variables. New subscribers received the same booklets that everyone else got, so the books were done in several printings. The book’s interiors, however, weren’t necessarily updated. The copyright date has seemed to change between some printings, and the cover may have some color or layout variations depending on the printing. The interior ‘updates’ may also be different or nonexistent, depending on when the subscriber received their copy of the booklet. I have also seen booklets with known printing errors, which identify the problem with another insert explaining the change — again, the actual contents of the book were unlikely to have been changed. Finally, as you may guess, there is a difference in books which have their stickers applied, versus those with the image sheets uncut; the latter are, of course, harder to find. I’ve noticed that the stapled centers are largely rusted, leaving some marks on the pages. The labels were stapled in the center, so it appears the sticker’s gummed back reacted with the metal in the staple.

When I was a little girl, I loved horses (I think most little girls do), and I was an avid reader. So it would only make sense that I would discover The Black Stallion series by Walter Farley.

In summer I would ride my bike (often pretending it was a horse) to the library, where I’d roam the stacks for books. Eventually, I’d pick out enough books to fill that banana-seat bike’s basket, and head home (perhaps whinnying on the way). The frequency of my visits varied by weather and the difficulty of the books I selected, but one thing never differed: there was always at least one copy of The Black Stallion series in that basket.

Being a voracious reader from a thrifty family, buying books wasn’t something I did. Libraries were the most practical way to ensure enough texts to sate my need — no, my greed to read. As a child, I was able to devote entire days to reading, and so, I never had late books and the fines that accompany them. It wasn’t until high school, with the added responsibility of hard classwork and my first job, that I learned the pain of overdue book fines. Once I did, I discovered the joy of cashing my pay checks (nearly litreally) at the local bookstore. Of course, by this time, I had no interest in horse stories.

Fade out on my late teen years, and in on my 30’s. I’m older, but no better off in the overdue library book department, so I have learned to be wiser in my book purchases. I regularly shop for books at rummage sales — not only for myself, but for my children. One fateful summer morning, I find a hardcover copy of The Black Stallion. But the cover is not as I remember it. Remember, I had read the library copies, so the books I had read were either dull cloth boards, or pictorial boards with the modern arch or ‘horseshoe’ shape as a window to the illustration. Here, in my hands, was a dust jacket with much more impressive art!

I paid my 50 cents (my, this was a while ago now!), and I think I whinnied with excitement.

That night, smitten not only by joy of rediscovering a long lost friend and the excitement of introducing The Black to my children, but by the artwork, I searched online for more books in the Black Stallion series.

In my searching, I discovered that I was not the only one interested in reclaiming their childhood favorites — prices can run quite high especially as many titles are now out of print. But I also learned more about the author, and this convinced me that I was justified in my obsession to get all the books.

In 1940, while working on his first book, an editor told him, “Don’t figure on making any money writing children’s books.” Farley disagreed, saying “If you can write a book that will interest children you can make a living.” He proved his point with The Black Stallion and developing it into a series that has sold over a hundred million copies in the last 60 years, complete with a fan club. At the time of his death, Farley had received over 500,000 letters from fans, and his books remain popular — so popular, that generations later, movies based on his books are being made.

Like Alec and The Black, Farley did what he loved; he dared to dream, to use his imagination, and to make the dreams reality. And he inspired others to do the same.

In 1989 when Farley passed away, his local library in Venice, Florida, designated its children’s wing the Walter Farley Literary Landmark to honor the author’s legacy and his activity in children’s reading programs. A permanent exhibit of Black Stallion memorabilia is on display there.

To make a long story short, I now own 10 books in the series, including many first editions and copies with fine dust jackets. I also have Man O’ War, the three Island Stallion books, and an elusive copy of Farley’s The Great Dane Thor… I’m still on the lookout for an autographed copy, original fan club items… Well, you know how these things happen.

But as Walter Farley himself said, “I believe half the trouble in the world comes from people asking ‘What have I achieved?’ rather than ‘What have I enjoyed?’ I’ve been writing about a subject I love as long as I can remember, horses and the people associated with them, anyplace, anywhere, anytime. I couldn’t be happier knowing that young people are reading my books. But even more important to me is that I’ve enjoyed so much the writing of them.”

And I’ve enjoyed so much the reading and collecting of them.