a peppermint in my pocket

Mr. Peppermint is my father. I shouldn’t tell you this, but you’re my friends and I want you to know. It’s a secret. You can’t tell anyone. That’s why he never comes to parent teacher night. See, he plays Mr. Peppermint on TV and it is hard for him. If he goes out in regular clothes people bug him and say, “Where’s the Peppermint suit and the candy cane and the flat top straw hat?” and if he goes out dressed as Mr. Peppermint, then kids run up to him and say, “May I please have a peppermint?” or “Gimme a peppermint!” or “Who are these kids?” “Where are their peppermint suits?” and he just can’t be a regular Dad…

I told this story in the din of the Reinhardt Elementary School lunchroom. Although related in strict confidence, a teacher seated at the same long lunch table a couple of kids down and across from me clearly heard with her Super-Sonic-Teacher-Ears. Her stare became a glare of disbelief – not that I would lie, everyone knew I was in my “own little world” and prone to “stories”– but that I would dare to tell such a preposterous story. She continued to look at me as though I had just lost my mind, as she loudly scooted her chair back, stood and carried her tray away.  Later, I saw her laughing in the hall with another teacher and they both turned and gave me a look as I passed. I felt bad about continuing to tell this lie over the next several months, mostly because I knew Mr. Peppermint would be disappointed in me.

Mr. Peppermint was, of course, a fictional character played by the great Jerry Haynes, an announcer with WFAA Channel 8, when, in 1961, he started a live hour of morning TV for kids. I was there from the very beginning. Mr. Peppermint was a soft spoken, sweet natured, patient fellow, who had a lot of puppet friends, went on adventures, had a magic candy cane and played folk songs on his guitar and sang. What more could a boy want in an ideal fantasy dad? When he did personal appearances, like at Sandy’s Red Goose Shoes in Casa View Shopping Center, a hundred kids showed up. Yet, he had a peppermint in his pocket for every kid, even though the peppermint pocket never bulged. It was magic the way a sad or shy child would brighten at the sight of a lanky red and white man passing out red and white candy. Mr. Peppermint was the kind of guy who made you want to remember to say Please and Thank You and No, Sir and Yes Ma’am. In a world where the father that I loved could turn highly irrational and violent in a moment, Mr. Peppermint was a tangible example of kindness and respect.

I retrospect, the proximity of personal and societal stress points in the early 60’s, such as the Cuban Missile Crisis, touring model bomb shelters and storing food in closets, my parents divorce, and the assassination of John F. Kennedy in my hometown just a few miles from my home, could possibly have had something to do with the creation of Mr. Peppermint as a fantasy father figure. At school, they had our parents fill out cards with questions like: “In case of a nuclear attack by the Ruskies and your family is completely wiped out, list three chums that your child can go live with.” Then they taught us duck and cover and started taking us to the darkened film room where they combed our hair with a purple light. Someone said they were looking for Russian spy’s. Later we found out the real enemy was head lice.  First, second and third grade were terrifying in their strict construct of absolute normalcy. It was really quite noble but clearly all adults had taken the vow, “DO NOT, under any circumstances, frighten the children.” Twilight Zone, the early TV show, is far stranger now, as the show’s tone of strained awkwardness and foreboding of weirdness, is exactly how adults acted in those tense days.

My relationship with Mr. Peppermint changed though on Nov. 22, 1963. I had been at school for about an hour when I suddenly imagined that I didn’t feel well. The teachers had pretty much given up on me at this point and so I was sent to the clinic. When Mrs. Herrick, the school nurse, stepped out of the clinic, I would rub the thermometer on my pants leg for a few seconds and pop it back in my mouth. After consulting my mom who was a teacher several miles away, I was on my way home. My big brother, 6 years older, was home sick also and they reasoned he could watch me. So, the school secretary, a woman who purported hid the Principal’s “Electric Paddle” from authorites, escorted me to the back door of the school and observed as I walked three houses down the street to where we lived. I felt like a man released from prison. They let me just walk out. I wanted to run and dance and scream but I walked in as sickly a manner as possible, barely controlling my glee.

My brother’s first words were “You’re a faker – you’re not sick. Leave me alone.” I settled in front of the TV with a blanket. There were cartoons on a local channel and I watched those while drifting in and out of a nap. I awoke to one of my favorite old cartoons, the 1936 Max Fleischer classic, “Christmas Comes but Once a Year” (see youtube). Half way through, the TV screen went blank and silent for a moment and the words, “News Bulletin” appeared on the screen. I don’t remember the exact words but I understood from the voice speaking, “News Bulletin” just remained on the screen, that the Governor or the President or his wife had been shot, Gangsters in a  motorcade had come wheeling around a corner firing bullets. Everyone had heard it and there was panic and the first lady tried to run away, too. Then they roared away and the police were chasing them. I ran for my brother.

“I told you to leave me alone.” “But Jay, they just came on the TV, the President, somebody shot him,  there was a motorcade of gangsters with sniper tommy guns, Downtown…” I was blathering word phrases that I had never known, but his face grew serious and sweet and he said, “you’re confused, it’s okay, lets see what’s going on.” He joined me in front of the TV. He switched the TV to Channel 8. Within seconds, there was Mr. Peppermint – only he was Jerry Haynes- not dressed in Peppermint but flustered and out of breath and confused. It was the first time I had ever seen Mr. Peppermint dressed as the regular guy that I had pretended he wasn’t. It was more fun to just pretend he was living in my fantasy world. But now, that would never be possible again. Mr Peppermint was the guy who would play children’s games and teach you to draw funny pictures but Jerry Haynes had to tell you the truth.  Jerry had been there and heard the shots and interviewed people and they said it was horrible, the President had been shot and then he ran 3 blocks and came right on the air. Jerry was not a newsman but all of the news staff was out covering the President and no one was in the studio but him and he apologized for being so out of breath and he cautioned all to hope that the early reports were mistaken and WFAA would bring us more facts as they became available. Well, the rest is just too terrible and too familiar. We all know how it ended.

Years passed, I grew up in a city that struggled mightily to throw off the terrible reputation of being a city of hate. It was a hard sell. Dallas was a city with a big wide streak of mean. The year before JFK, Adlai Stevenson spoke in Dallas and John Birch Society members, unable to shout Stevenson down, had stormed the podium, swinging placards and trying to incite violence. The rest of the country blamed Dallas for the assassination so the mean streak suddenly had a chip on its shoulder. The headlines of the Cleveland Plain Dealer Sports Section on the Sunday after the assassination, read Browns 24 Assassins 17.  Dallas was, of course, a racially divided city. A Dallas Cowboy had to file a federal lawsuit to stop red lining and Dallas schools were forced to desegregate in 1972, long after Little Rock and most of the South. But, Dallas mellowed and changed as time passed, eventually named an All American City, won a Super Bowl and Mr. Peppermint got syndicated nationally with a show called “

Peppermint Place

”. While I was long past watching, I took great pleasure that others recognized Mr. Peppermint’s value in the lives of children and wanted to see that continued.

Though I never intended to, it worked out that my wife and our young family did settle back in Dallas, very much in the same old neighborhood where I grew up on the eastern side of White Rock Lake. By then, Dallas had “America’s Team” and was known as a “Can Do” kind of city. There was even a very interesting museum in the old School Book Depository and another nearby devoted to the conspiracy theories of the assassination. I still could not pass certain buildings or places without thinking about the assassination but by and large, Dallas had placed November 22, 1963 into an appropriate perspective. I occasionally practiced law in the old Police Headquarters which had the jail where Lee Harvey Oswald was first jailed and the basement where Oswald was shot by Jack Ruby, as Oswald was being transferred to the County Jail. I couldn’t resist the urge to slip down to the basement and look at the spot where Oswald fell.

 One day, as I crossed the Mockingbird Bridge coming home from the office, I saw a man walking and I knew him instantly. It was Jerry Haynes. I wanted to stop and say something but, well, you know, that was the 7 year old in me. Now, I was a lawyer and it was getting late and my wife and kids were at home waiting. I would occasionally see Mr. Peppermint in movies or articles about him would appear in magazines. I always felt like I was catching up with one of the happy memories of my mostly bruised childhood. Now deep into my Dad role, I was fascinated to read that Mr. Peppermint’s son had flourished under Mr. and Mrs. Peppermint’s parenting, becoming a music icon as the driving force behind the band, the Butthole Surfers. 

A few years later, I was at the grocery store and I spotted Mr. Peppermint looking at canned tuna. I had to think if I dared to approach him, so I kept moving and weighed my opportunity. As I rounded an aisle, a young mother with a long braided pony tail and wearing Birkenstocks was struggling with a toddler trying to run off and create chaos and another fussy young one in the basket. As she wrestled with her runaway she raised her hand to swat and then thought better but I could see her about to boil over. It was sort of awkward and as I looked away, I realized I was right in front of the bulk candy and my eyes fell on the bin of peppermints. I had a plan.

 I dropped a quarter  in the sample box and took four peppermints out. I turned back to the mom and said, “Excuse me ma’am. I saw you were having trouble, whew, I’m a parent too and I know how hard it is. I thought maybe the kids would like a Peppermint…if you want...just distract them for a minute…” I was ready for the “How dare you…” but instead she said “Oh thank you. Hey look kids…” The kids instantly brightened. “And here’s one for you”, I said. “Oh, well…” she hesitated, suspicious just for an instant of my forwardness, but she saw I was being nice and accepted “That’s very kind, Thank You!”  I smiled at the kids, made a little small talk and then asked her, “Listen, I know this sounds crazy but Mr. Peppermint is about 2 aisles over…” “Mr. Peppermint is here?” she interrupted. “I love Mr. Peppermint.”  I took a breath and said, “Well, would you mind, you know if run into him, giving him this peppermint and just tell him some old guy said “Thanks.” She did a short nervous laugh and said, “Sure!” I  thanked her and turned on my heels and headed for the check out.

Finally, there was another incident in a different grocery store. It was about 11:15 p.m. and we suddenly realized we didn’t have lunches for the boys the next day. So off I went to buy healthful and energizing junk for kid lunches trying to balance goodness with what they are likely to throw away or give to the kid who forgot lunch. As I approached the check out line I was aware of a customer coming from a different direction but about the same distance from the register. Normally, I might have stepped up my pace just slightly to win the race but this time I slowed and looked up and there carrying a gallon of whole milk and a package of cookies was Mr. Peppermint. He had stopped at exactly the same time and we looked at each other. He knew from the surprise on my face that I knew who he was. I immediately said, “Please go right ahead, Mr. P.” He smiled and nodded slightly and said “Thank you kindly.” My mind was racing - say something but just enough, not too much, don’t be a stalker crazy man. He’s probably sick of people like me trying to make a peppermint connection…

All of the while I was unloading my basket on the conveyer belt and Mr. P was checking out. Then for a moment we were just standing there side by side. We were sort of dressed alike in sweater and scarf and hat against the winter wind and the young checker, said, “You know, you two look like you could be related.” Mr. Peppermint and I looked at each other. “Well”, I said, “He was like a father to me.”  “That’s so kind, thank you.” he said genuinely, “That makes my night.”  I wanted to take his hand in mine. Just standing there really did make me feel like I was standing next to the Dad I had longed for. After all these years, I had been able to express gratitude to Mr. Peppermint.  He took his milk and cookies and was gone.  There really was nothing else to say. Later, it dawned on me that Jerry Haynes probably still carries a peppermint in his pocket.