Meet
Fritz--The Autograph Hound
by Beverly C.
Lucey
Nothing is more important to a teenager than having --or
appearing to have--a circle of friends. Probably each
decade brings a new way to show off such social success.
Who had the thickest wallet full of classmates pictures,
with elaborate messages written on the back that all
started with "Never forget"? Most of us have forgotten the
'great times we had at Scott's house.' We've forgotten
Scott. We've even forgotten anything significant about the
fifty close friends whose pictures we uncovered in a box
during that last move. Elaine who?
Who had a slam book? The good kind, that friends would
sign, as opposed to the bad kind, which trashed the
misfits?
Whose yearbook is filled with the most writing? (Omigosh
you got him to sign yours! I don't believe it.)
If you were really lucky while you were growing up you
broke an important visible bone--the arm, the leg--and had
to wear a plaster cast. No one could refuse to sign a
cast. You could thump around the halls with names and
hearts and flowers and best wishes for everyone to see. I
was a clumsy kid but I never got to wear a cast. I
couldn't be a walking billboard advertising my popular
self.
Truth be told, I wasn't all that popular.
Sometime during the mid-Fifties, my mother bought me an
Autograph Hound.
Mine was pink. It looked like a canvas daschund. It came
with its own collar which held its own special pen. When
your friends came over to hang out in your room, you could
ask them to sign your autograph hound. Why, you even had a
pen handy.
Still, how many times could I ask Jane, Arlene, and Janice
to sign the silly thing? They were the only girls I ever
had over. As a kid with a good imagination and a sense of
drama, I believe I experimented with handwriting and made
up names. Often boys' names. Boys were not allowed in my
bedroom, of course. And no one would be so lame as to take
Pink Fritz to a YMCA dance. For all I know I might have
signed Frankie Avalon at some point. Fabian. Bobby Rydell.
Freddie "Boom Boom" Cannon. I was pathetic. I would have
to move to a new town before I could even think of
unearthing the desecrated monument to my fake popularity.
High school ended. I went off to college. Mom turned my
room into a den and threw out all my kid stuff. Just as
well.
On the other hand, there are days when it's actually fun
to remember what a geek I was. The great thing about
growing up is that after a few decades, who cares?
It is amazing though, how going to a flea market, or
seeing a picture of something you used to own brings back
sights and sounds and smells from times past.
In this case, if you've never seen a real fake autograph
hound, I found it on line. Just so you know I'm not making
this up.
Where to Buy an Autograph Hound
Go To Rewind the Fifties Home
