No tears for Tiny tears
As a child I don’t think I was unusually susceptible to the power of advertising. I wasn’t especially into acquiring goods, either.
But there were a couple of things I craved because I’d seen them on TV. They seemed magical, and I thought I needed them in my child version of the pursuit of happiness.
The first was Flavor Straws (or rather, “Flav-r Straws”:
The straws promised to alleviate the bad taste of the dread milk, turning it magically into chocolate or strawberry milk simply by sipping through them. Why this was so very much better than mixing in the Hershey’s syrup by hand I don’t really know. But hey, that’s the power of advertising.
The straws themselves failed to deliver the goods; they didn’t flavor the milk much. And when, in my frenzy to help things along, I tore one open and tasted the pellet of flavoring inside, it was dreadful, bitter and artificial and really quite ghastly. So the Flavor Straw died a fairly quick death, at least in my house.
Tiny Tears was another thing altogether. She was a baby doll with a gimmick: you could fill her with a bit of water, press on her belly, and she cried “real” tears out of two little ducts next to her eyes. Not only that, but she came with a nicely fitted layette, and a little pipe though which she could blow bubbles.
Even better, Tiny (at least the version I saw most advertised on TV, and the one I eventually received in response to my pleas) looked a bit like me, because she had short dark curly hair. Don’t go by the illustration at her Wiki entry, which denotes a later version. The one I had looked like this:
My mother must have given her away in due time. I could replace her now to the tune of many hundreds of dollars; she’s a collectible. Although I think I’ll pass on that, there was something about that particular doll that stirs a depth of memory. Doing the research for this post, and looking at the photos, it all comes back to me: the ads, the excitement, the longing, the opening of the doll box, the experimenting to try to get the tears to work—like the Flavor Straw, not always successful, but on the whole far more satisfying.
It was Chatty Cathy for me. My Uncle worked for Mattel in the early 60’s and sent me the doll, I must have been three or four. I loved her for years. I saved her for my own girls but when I got her out of storage her face was all smashed in and her eyes were halfway through to the back of her head. Sad. I can still hear her saying, in that American accent, “Please play with me” and “I love you!” It was very exotic for a little English girl.
I had that doll too! Just exactly like the one pictured, certainly not the ‘newer’ version. Next to my ‘ballerina’ doll she was my most favorite of all. 🙂 My younger sister was partial to the Chatty Cathy but for me, nothing beat my Tina Tears. Fun memory post this evening, thanks.
Those “Flav’r Straws”? You can get them again – now under the “Got Milk” label. We have Cookies and Cream flavor in our pantry right now… But to be fair, we’ve had them for a good couple of months, and the kids kind of gave up on them after a few glasses of milk. So maybe it’s the same old story.
I dunno, I tried yet another brand of the things a year or so ago under yet another label, and I liked it all right. I know it wasn’t homemade cocoa or anything (I just taught the 10-year-old how to make that, lest the art be lost), but I don’t like white milk, and the magic straws moderated its plainness…
I remember Flav’r Straws, and being underwhelmed by them too! The doll I vaguely remember, as the tears thing seemed interested to me. I never wanted one though. I had a deepseated phobia of dolls thanks to being exposed to a rerun of a particular Twilight Zone episode at the tender age of 3. That’s what happens when you force a 14 year old big brother to babysit his toddler sibling.
The first material object I can recall wanting due to advertising was a Cuddly Dudley stuffed dog. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cuddly_Dudley). I was given one and he did not disappoint; he “slept” on the foot of my bed, and I had him in my room until I left for university. My mom apparently discarded him at that time, alas.
Does anyone remember Mary Hartline? She was my favorite, though I also had a hairless version of Tiny Tears. I don’t think I actually played with my dolls, but I liked making clothes for them. We always had puppies and dogs, which are a lot more fun than dolls.
Why would anyone want Flavor Straws when you can chomp down on Oreos and chase em down with cold milk?
Flavr-Straws!!! Geez now you’re really in my wheel house. I loved those things but there was a secret to getting them to work right. You had to bob the straw up and down a few times in the glass of milk until faint whisps of the flavoring began to appear in the milk. Then you had to suck up a mouthful of milk through the straw and quickly expell it back into the glass. After you did this several times you had a glass of well flavored bubbly milk. But you’re right after one summer they mysteriously disappeared and now that I look back at it the reason may have been my mothers reaction to my methodology.
FIZZIES!!!!! Killed by the junk science nazis..
DaveindeSwamp, you can still get Fizzies. http://fizzies.com/ Of course, they’re “healthier” now with vitamin C…which makes them kind of a pill version of EmergenC, I suppose, not a candy at all…
“I tore one open and tasted the pellet of flavoring inside, it was dreadful, bitter and artificial and really quite ghastly.”
Sigh.
I don’t know why your senior boomers have to explain everything to you, Neo.
The correct method is to take at least 3 flavor straws and jam them into the milk at the same time and pump up the ratio of milk to flavor pellet.
As to the disappearance of them…. well, one innovation that they incorporated lives on as:
“Flex Straw bends, but it doesn’t fold.
You can drink through a Flex-Straw hot or cold!”
Hilarious.
I have a dim recollection of those straws, though I cannot recall whether they added taste or not. But at that age I somehow expected a ruby colored glass to add strawberry flavor to plain lemon lime soda pop.
Regarding an outright cheat: Against my Father’s explicit admonition, I somehow managed to order an “unbelievable deal” Revolutionary War soldier set, advertised in the back of a comic book.
Hundreds of multi-colored three-dimensional Continentals, Mohawks, and British Red-Coat regulars were promised for the astounding price of three dollars fifty cents plus shipping or something.
An illustration that looked to me like it might have been inspired by an old movie along the lines of Drums Along The Mohawk, capped the enticement off.
“They’re going to have to pack all of this in a crate!” I thought.
A few weeks later, after being brought home from school early by said father, and with three stitches through my lip because of a playground accident – I was climbing up a tall slide and fighting the other boys who were sliding down after being repeatedly warned by the teacher not to do it – the same father who had been called from his office, pointed to a package that had arrived for me and was sitting on the dining room table.
It was about half the length of a Kleenex box.
Inside was my army. It contained hundreds of flat and virtually two dimensional brittle plastic pieces that were only able to stand upright because they had little flat bases. The Americans and their cannons were all blue, the British all red, and the Indians … I don’t know, probably yellow or green.
Unbelievable deal alright. My dad just loosened his tie and looked at me.
I had better luck some years later with X-ray vision glasses. They didn’t work, and we knew they wouldn’t before we got them. But merely brandishing them in the company of friendly neighborhood girls provoked some surprising responses.
Now that German pellet pistol for two bucks, that was really useless.
I had that doll too! I think it has lamb’s wool for the hair. It was one of the few dolls that I wanted from my grandmother, who kept all that sort of stuff for me. Unfortunately, she didn’t keep the ones I wanted. I did get a cloth doll that my mom made for me.