Don’t fall for it, dummy
Many years ago, in the cruelty of youth, several friends and I
developed and exercised a game we called
”
hyping the dummy.
”
Leo Szyskowski, Bernie Bachli and I were 16 that long-ago summer
and fall and were the chief participants. A few others joined us,
usually after they had been hooked. We were among the habitues of
Butch Odesky’s Sweet Shop on Cherry Street in Toledo. We were not
bad youngsters but the heady rush it gave us was too powerful to
resist.
I am unsure just how it started but once it did we became
enthusiastic players. It worked like this: One of us would select a
victim among our friends, and the others eagerly joined in to see
how far we could push it before the target became aware.
Don’t fall for it, dummy
Many years ago, in the cruelty of youth, several friends and I developed and exercised a game we called “hyping the dummy.”
Leo Szyskowski, Bernie Bachli and I were 16 that long-ago summer and fall and were the chief participants. A few others joined us, usually after they had been hooked. We were among the habitues of Butch Odesky’s Sweet Shop on Cherry Street in Toledo. We were not bad youngsters but the heady rush it gave us was too powerful to resist.
I am unsure just how it started but once it did we became enthusiastic players. It worked like this: One of us would select a victim among our friends, and the others eagerly joined in to see how far we could push it before the target became aware.
If Floyd Brown, say, was chosen, one of us would greet him effusively and ask if he would like a Coke or a cup of coffee. When he accepted, another would inquire how his day had been. Whatever his reply, all would either congratulate or sympathize with him.
Floyd was a good fellow and bright but he was also human so the unusual attention gratified him. We pushed the game by telling a joke, which reminded him of one. No matter how many times we had heard it before, we laughed uproariously. Floyd laughed in appreciation of our appreciation, then told another that earned a second burst of laughter.
After a few minutes, Floyd wised up and blushed. “I don’t know what you guys are up to but count me out,” he declared. But he could not remain angry long and shrugged it off.
It worked like that on many people when they realized that we were having fun at their expense. Douglas Kelly, Jack Hartmann and others reacted as Floyd had but a few became indignant, then sullen.
With John Johnson, a mild youth, we finally gave up. No matter how often we bought him coffee and laughed at his jokes, he never tumbled to it. We put him off-limits because the anticipated denouement never arrived.
Girls were not fair game, either. Most girls of our acquaintance fed on flattery like it was their natural fare. If we said their new hairstyle or dress was attractive, they glowed in appreciation. Bernie, somewhat smoother than the rest of us, remarked to one girl, “Many people have told you how fair your skin is but has anyone ever remarked about the light dancing in your eyes?” She practically purred.
Whether it was because the novelty had worn off or that we finally ran out of victims, we eventually gave the game up. Perhaps it was because each of us fell for it when the others colluded to see the result.
It was a game that wouldn’t do well in this era, with all the worldliness society has acquired over the years – especially for someone as sophisticated as you. May I buy you a cup of coffee or perhaps a Coke?
