Steve Grutzmacher: Just Say ‘Pull’

Note: The following column originally appeared in the pages of the Door Reminder in November 1998. I reprint it now, as we head into the holiday shopping season, to serve as a reminder of the perils that exist when one gets caught up in product fads/manias.

I once heard or read that someone tried to count the number of support groups available in this country and gave up when they reached 200. Included in this assortment was everything from traditional, well-established groups such as Alcoholics Anonymous to a support group for individuals who once had, and had now lost, their nerve to jump out of planes called, appropriately enough, Skydivers Anonymous. In essence, this seemingly harmless exercise, served to illustrate once again, just how far we Americans are willing to stretch a valid concept.

The impetus for my recollection of the above was a small story I ran across this past week. I should say, at the outset, that I have never understood the mania surrounding Beanie Babies (Note: From this point on just visualize your own “tm” or “r” symbol immediately after, and slightly above, the “s” at the end of Beanie Babies or Beanies. I’m not going to take the time to drop these in throughout this column, but these things are trademarked and/or registered and may even have other legal powers well beyond those available to actual living and breathing beings).

Sure, Beanie Babies – at least some – are kind of cute, but that hardly explains the fanaticism they inspire among true collectors. I actually own one myself and I have purchased several for children. None of these purchases, however, ever exceeded the suggested retail price.

When I was 7 or 8 years of age I spent part of the summer with my grandparents. I believe it was my father’s mother, Grammy Irene, who stayed up one night and stitched up five beanbags for me to play with the next day. These were rather simple creations: 4” x 6” rectangles of bright red, soft material, filled, of course, with beans. I loved them. My friends in the neighborhood loved them. We tossed them high in the air. We tossed them to one another. We played beanbag tag. We did everything you could possibly do with beanbags, which, of course, isn’t very much, but it did amuse me for most of a morning. They were simple, yes. But they possessed a certain je ne sais quoi.

I still have at least two of these beanbags and when I watch the prices Beanie Babies currently command among true collectors, I occasionally wonder just how much these relics might be worth. After all, they are more than 30 years old, they were “born” and “retired” on the same day, and there is only a handful (pardon the pun) still in existence. Indeed, if anyone is interested, the bidding starts at $2,000 each and all the proceeds will be donated to a local charity.

Having now exhausted every possible digression I can think of, allow me to return to the story, which gave rise to these ramblings.

Tamara Dee Maldonado, from Salinas, Calif., (naturally) was a young mother with a dangerous habit: a habit which led her to tragic ruin this past week when she was arrested and charged with using stolen credit card numbers to obtain her “fixes.” Yes, folks, Tamara Dee Maldonado is a Beanie Baby Addict.

Following arrest, Tamara told her story to police. It is a common story, but it is tragic nonetheless. Though a divorced, single mother, her life was largely unremarkable until, as an employee of McDonald’s, she was forced to place Beanie Babies into Happy Meals. It was this defining time which caused her life to spiral, uncontrollably downward. Soon, every available dollar she earned was going toward the purchase of her “drug of choice:” Beanie Babies!

As with any drug, the abuser steadily builds a tolerance. Soon – far too soon – more and more Beanie Babies were required to satisfy Tamara’s addiction. Faced with limited monetary resources (she was, after all, employed at McDonald’s) she turned to crime. Thus, she contacted her ex-husband and threatened to run off with their child if he did not bring her discarded credit card receipts from the garbage of the hotel at which he worked. Here again, you see the awesome effects of her addiction: the husband is forced into the role of co-dependent.

Before she was apprehended, Tamara had spent $8,000 using the credit card numbers supplied by her ex-husband. Tamara was sentenced to six months in prison and five years on probation for commercial burglary. When police searched her home they found 206 Beanie Babies, which means, if you do the math, that she spent an average of $38.83 per Beanie. Hopefully, the time in prison will allow Tamara to work through her addiction and she will be able to start a new Beanie-free lifestyle. But, as is always the case with addicts, it will ultimately be up to her.

How long Beanie Babies will continue to inflict their hysteria on this country remains to be seen. I am, however, confident we will survive this ugly era. After all, we did manage to survive Disco.

Of course, the beginning of the end for Disco music was when thousands gathered in Shea Stadium in New York and, to my personal delight, blew up (literally) a tremendous pile of Disco albums.

While a similar fate for Beanies has a certain amount of appeal, I’ve always entertained another vision. Though I dislike guns, I often daydreamed of traps loaded with Beanies rather than clay pigeons. Picture with me for a moment the graceless flight of a Beanie – say Glory Bear – arcing across the horizon until, suddenly, at zenith, it explodes in a shower of colorful imitation fur, plastic eye shards, and, of course, beans.

And there, dear readers, in this simple daydream, lies the essence of the mantra needed by Tamara Dee Maldonado, and all addicts like her: Beanie Babies…Just say PULL!