I THINK IT WAS THE BIGGEST gathering we had ever had in my house. It seemed as if everyone I knew was there—except Guppa and Mrs. Jones, of course. They had driven in to the city early in the morning, so that they’d be in the studio, with their demonstration waterwillow set up, well before “Fantastic Contraptions” went on the air. These were still the days of live television. We’d be watching the show as it happened.
Everyone had taken the day off. It felt like a national holiday. Throughout the morning, people had come by with television sets. There were several in the living room, a couple in the kitchen, and four on the dining room table. No matter where you were, you wouldn’t miss the show. There was a lot of chatter and eating, but I was too nervous to do anything but sit in front of one of the sets and wait for the show to come on. At last it did. The theme, a novelty number with pennywhistles and kazoos and gongs, hushed everyone, and from then on anyone who spoke, even to praise Guppa and Mrs. Jones, was the target of shushing from all sides.
They were the last contestants, preceded by a woman who had invented a bathtub that automatically washed a dog, a child prodigy with a multiple pantograph that allowed him to write “I will not scratch my fingernail on the blackboard” a hundred times with one motion of its master pencil, and a man with a model of a microscope that he claimed could show details smaller than any observed before. The people gathered in my house were worried by this last contestant, because his gadget seemed to have real merit, but I knew that he didn’t have a chance. While he was explaining how the microscope worked, why it had higher resolving power than conventional microscopes, and describing the limits imposed by the wavelength of the light, Freddie actually yawned. The microscope just wasn’t funny. He was sure to come in last. I was more worried about the lady with the dog-washer. The dog had squirmed and howled while it was being washed and finally leaped from the tub and shook water all over Flo. The crowd loved it. That could be trouble.
At last, it was Guppa and Mrs. Jones’s turn.
“Now, Flo and Freddie,” said the announcer, “here are our final contestants for today, from Babbington, Long Island, here are Marie Jones and Herb Piper!”
“Well, hello there,” said Freddie. “Marie Jones. Herb Piper. Marie, may I call you Marie?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Jones. “Please do.”
“But call me Herb,” said Guppa.
This brought on a kind of sucking noise in my house. I think people were embarrassed that Guppa had said something a little foolish. The audience in the studio loved it, though. We were off to a great start.
“All right,” said Freddie, laughing along with his audience. “If you insist.”
“Marie and Herb,” said Flo. “Tell us a little about yourselves—are you—married?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Jones
“But, uh, not to each other,” said Guppa.
“Really!” said Flo. More laughter. “I see!” She paused to let the laughter subside, then leaned toward Guppa and Mrs. Jones and asked, “Do your spouses know that you’ve slipped out together like this?”
“Huh?” said Guppa. “Oh, sure. In fact, my wife, Lorna, helped us quite a bit.”
“And my husband,” said Mrs. Jones. “Howard.”
“Well, that’s good,” said Freddie. “We wouldn’t want to get you into any trouble.” People were roaring now. We were a cinch.
“Marie and Herb,” said Freddie, “why don’t you explain for the people just what your invention does.”
“Well,” said Guppa, “it waters your garden automatically.”
“Yes,” said Flo, “I see you have a water sprinkler there.”
“That’s right, Flo,” said Guppa. “That’s a standard water sprinkler.”
“And attached to it—” said Flo.
“You can get a water sprinkler like that just about anywhere,” said Guppa.
“Right,” said Flo. “Attached to it I see you have—”
“I got this one at a hardware store right in Babbington,” said Guppa.
“I’ll bet that’s where you got the hose, too,” said Freddie.
“That’s right,” said Guppa, nodding his head. “Right at Babbington Supply.”
“Trash-can lid, too, I bet,” said Freddie.
Still nodding, Guppa said, “They’ve got just about everything you need.”
By now, the audience was laughing nearly continuously, and I figured that we were nearly there, but then came the crowning touch, more than I could have hoped for. Flo extended a long-nailed finger toward one of Mrs. Jones’s windflowers. The camera showed a close-up. Flo flicked the windflower, and it spun and shone in the studio lights. We saw a close-up of Flo’s face. She was suppressing a laugh. “What do you call this?” she asked.
“A windflower,” said Mrs. Jones.
“And what do you call the whole thing?” asked Freddie.
“A waterwillow,” said Mrs. Jones.
“So this is a waterwillow with windflowers?” said Freddie. “Waterwillow with windflowers, waterwillow with windflowers, waterwillow with windflowers. Whew! My wips are weawy!” There was no way we could lose now.
“What are these windflowers for, Marie?” asked Flo.
“Oh, they look pretty,” said Mrs. Jones. “And chickens like that sort of thing.”
“Chickens?” shouted Flo. The audience roared.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Jones. “Chickens enjoy watching anything that spins and catches the light.”
“Not only does it water your garden!” said Freddie, “It entertains your chickens! Wow! Say, Flo, didn’t your uncle have some chickens—” and they were off. The rest was anticlimax. I knew that Guppa and Mrs. Jones would win. They’d made Flo and Freddie laugh, and that was what it took.
They won a set of camping equipment, everything from tent to mess kit, including a hefty cylindrical battery-operated camp lantern with a lens that could focus its beam from floodlight to spotlight. When Raskol noticed it in the array of prizes, he nudged Marvin and me and said, “Hey! That’s the perfect thing for the watchtower.”
[to be continued]
Have you missed an episode or two or several?
You can begin reading at the beginning or you can catch up by visiting the archive or consulting the index to the Topical Guide. The Substack serialization of Little Follies begins here; Herb ’n’ Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here.
You can listen to the episodes on the Personal History podcast. Begin at the beginning or scroll through the episodes to find what you’ve missed. The Substack podcast reading of Little Follies begins here; Herb ’n’ Lorna begins here; Reservations Recommended begins here; Where Do You Stop? begins here.
You can listen to “My Mother Takes a Tumble” and “Do Clams Bite?” complete and uninterrupted as audiobooks through YouTube.
You can ensure that you never miss a future issue by getting a free subscription. (You can help support the work by choosing a paid subscription instead.)
At Apple Books you can download free eBooks of Little Follies, Herb ’n’ Lorna, and Reservations Recommended.
You’ll find overviews of the entire work in An Introduction to The Personal History, Adventures, Experiences & Observations of Peter Leroy (a pdf document), The Origin Story (here on substack), Between the Lines (a video, here on Substack), and at Encyclopedia.com.
🎧 637: I think . . .