Page A3 / The Joan
De Arc Crusader / Wednesday, December 25, 2024
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A
Joan De Arc kid’s epic correspondence with Parker Brothers Inc.
By J. Bueker
My
childhood infatuation with games of all sorts met with a decisive turning
point in the late 1960s when our mother began frequenting the remarkable
little thrift stores hidden away in Sunnyslope with her kids in tow. For it
was there I experienced a most startling revelation: an amazing array of
antique Monopoly
games dating clear back to the 1930s and 1940s. I’d no idea the game existed
so far into the distant past and I quickly became utterly fascinated by
these early examples of the famous Parker Brothers pastime.
Thus commenced my legendary obsession with procuring every possible ancient
edition of Monopoly
on which I could lay my greedy hands. At first only mildly interested in
accompanying Mother to the dusty old Sunnyslope thrifts, I now viewed those
quaint little shops as a frightfully imperative destination and I would make
an immediate beeline for the toys and games section upon entry to each
establishment. Parker Brothers of course had
been the gold standard in board games for many years, peaking in the decades
following their momentous acquisition of
Monopoly
in 1935. Among the company’s legendary offerings were the immortal
Sorry!,
Clue,
Careers,
and Risk,
in addition to popular card games like
Pit
and Rook,
games that would help to define my very childhood. I also became enamored of
somewhat more obscure Parker titles like
Dig,
Finance,
and Camelot,
relics from the past that enjoyed significant popularity in the ‘40s and
‘50s and could also be found gracing the shelves of the Sunnyslope thrifts.
The singularly renowned and ubiquitous Monopoly
however held a unique place in my esteem and no other game could remotely
approach its unchallenged prominence. I’ve innumerable memories of this
timeless cultural icon stretching back to my very earliest years, long
before we ever came to Arizona, observing my siblings playing the game back
in Michigan and studying the distinctive and intriguing board and playing
pieces. By the time we were ensconced on Joan De Arc, I was actively
participating in the fun. The Goodwill thrift at
Hatcher Rd. and Central Ave. was a particularly fruitful source for old
Monopoly
sets, including the glorious version that would quickly become my favorite
to this very day: No. 9, also known as The White Box Edition, the deluxe
Monopoly set issued throughout the ‘40s and into the ‘50s. The No. 9 set
featured fancy Grand Hotels with gold lettering, a luxuriously embroidered
game board, and a double supply of play money, among other extravagant
accoutrements. The beautiful textured white box was adorned with that
whimsically cool cartoon of one man chasing another down a street in
apparent pursuit of his money. My first White Box from Goodwill was a
shining milestone in my blossoming game collection career, and within a year
I was the proud owner of around a half dozen various antique
Monopoly
sets. My family was puzzled by this behavior. It
was very unclear why I felt the need to possess multiple copies of this
game, or any game for that matter, and since the Buekers had for years
already owned a copy of the 1961 standard edition, we technically didn’t
need any additional Monopoly
sets at all. My emerging collector mentality seemed genuinely inexplicable
at the time, and when I started lugging all those old games home from the
thrift stores, it was thought to signify one of my more notable childhood
eccentricities.
So now that I was an official
Monopoly aficionado, I naturally became interested in how it all began. Who
conceived of this marvelous game? What did it originally look like? How has
it evolved over the years? What accounts for its unprecedented popularity?
Craving detailed information about the history of
Monopoly
and the ultimate genesis of the game, and lacking an Internet to gather this
information, I came upon the idea of simply approaching Parker Brothers
themselves directly by sending a letter outlining my inquiries. I strongly
suspect one of my parents interceded to suggest this course of action,
though that particular memory now seems to have faded from my slowly
degenerating brain cells. But I was also expertly familiar with the contents
of the game’s printed set of rules, on which was clearly stated at the very
bottom: “Questions on this game will be answered gladly if correct postage
is enclosed.” I therefore summarily crafted and
sent off a brief missive in August of 1969 requesting of the manufacturer
some basic historical information regarding their celebrated game. I
probably just addressed it to the location listed on the game boxes, “Parker
Brothers, Salem, Mass.,” confident my message would find its way into the
right hands. I was decidedly uncertain that I would ever receive any sort of
response, but it didn’t take long to find out: perhaps but a week later, an
official-looking communique from the famous game makers appeared in the
mailbox at 3219. Thrilled beyond compare, I
immediately tore open the letter and excitedly absorbed its contents.
Parker’s reply comprised a brief synopsis of
Monopoly’s
history, acknowledging a fellow by the name of Charles Darrow as the game’s
inventor and early advocate, a salesman turned savvy game entrepreneur who
solicited Parker in the mid-1930s to assume publication of his game as sales
became increasingly unmanageable. The letter also noted that while
Monopoly
was the most popular board game in the world, it was officially banned in
Russia and Cuba, an interesting reminder of the ongoing Cold War and the
game’s undeniably robust capitalistic nature.
Monopoly
wouldn’t be published in Russia until 1988 on the very eve of the Soviet
Union’s dissolution.
Only many years later would I
discover that the “history” of
Monopoly
that Parker Brothers had so carefully cultivated since their purchase of the
game was somewhat more fable than reality; turns out the origins of the
thing were significantly more complex than the Parker boys were letting on.
Monopoly
actually derives ultimately from
The Landlord’s Game,
a rent and tax board game that was created in 1903 by one Elizabeth Magie as
an educational tool to illustrate certain economic principles. The game then
passed through a series of permutations before it finally came to Darrow’s
attention in the early 1930s. Charles Darrow does deserve a great deal of
credit for shaping the game into the familiar form we all know and love, and
also for engendering its initial popularity, but he was hardly the inventor
of Monopoly
or its underlying concepts.
Darrow’s
most enduring contribution was unquestionably the distinctive graphic images
he devised for the Monopoly
box and game board. The aforementioned raucous street chase scene on the
game box, the forlorn man gazing out from his cell on the Jail space, the
distinctive railroad train symbol, the Go space with its majestic arrow, the
mysterious Chance question mark – these iconic images were all the inspired
work of Mr. Darrow. While not the ultimate creator of the game, the man
polished Monopoly
into a much more marketable form and made possible its transformation into
the matchless phenomenon it would become.
While quite delighted with
Parker’s response, I was disturbed to find that not all was copacetic on the
home front. It seems my correspondence with the storied game company had
aroused the indignation of my eldest sibling Susan, who was quick to
register her displeasure at my actions. Sue insisted that the good folks at
Parker Brothers had far more important things to do than cater to the
frivolous requests of some goofy 11-year-old living in Phoenix, Arizona of
all places. Her annoyance only increased when Parker graciously indulged my
desires with their remarkably prompt and generous note. I struggled to
understand my sister’s concerns -- this was the coolest thing ever!
The Parker letter served only to fuel my desire for ever more information on
the game and I decided to risk further condemnation from my sister and relay
a follow-up request to Salem. I was exceedingly curious about the appearance
of the original copy of
Monopoly and so I sent out a
second letter requesting a photo of this holy grail of board games. Sue’s
outrage no doubt attained its zenith at this juncture but I simply could not
be deterred. Again I was unsure I would ever receive a response, but lo and
behold about a week later a large brown rectangular parcel arrived at the
house.
This could only be the highly
coveted photo I had requested of the first
Monopoly
game ever made. I carefully opened the package and withdrew a clasped
vanilla envelope containing not one but two photos. The wonderful folks at
Parker had not only sent along a nice black and white image of what they
deemed the original edition of
Monopoly,
but they also included a cool 8x10 publicity shot of the venerable Charles
Darrow! My Monopoly
cup had officially runneth over. I still have the photos carefully preserved
inside the original vanilla envelope tucked within the brown cardboard
parcel.
Parker Brothers no longer exists
as an independent company, long ago demoted to a mere brand name in the
aftermath of Hasbro’s acquisition of the firm in 1991. I shall however
remain eternally grateful for the patient kindness and thoughtful
consideration the good folks at Parker showed a fanatical 11-year-old
Monopoly
devotee way back in that magical summer of 1969.
Oh yes and I do hope my sister has forgiven me by now.
The "First Baloney Prize" on Joan De Arc
By J. Bueker
My father had little difficulty identifying yours truly as his
offspring most interested in game play, an activity of which he was also
quite fond. The man therefore invested a significant amount of time
instructing his youngest child in the rules for the gaming nearest and
dearest to his own heart such as gin rummy, pinochle, and perhaps most
prominently, chess. This ensured for him at all times a readily available
game partner and thus the two of us spent many a night at the kitchen table
in the family room at 3219 engaging in various such game competitions. Yet
there was always something of an exalted quality to our chess matches --
that ancient and sublime game that seems to inhabit its own unique
intellectual plane.
At some point in the ‘60s, Carl’s interest in chess prompted him to
purchase a paperback on the subject that would become a book of primary
importance for me on Joan De Arc: “Great Brilliancy Prize Games of the Chess
Masters.” Written by prominent chess master Fred Reinfeld and published by
Collier Books in 1961, the volume featured the complete notations and
analysis for some of the most creatively conceived games of all time by some
of its greatest players. I was particularly impressed by the “First
Brilliancy” prizes awarded to each of these masterpieces by some chess
authority or another. Inspired by this remarkable book, I took the trouble
one evening to carefully document for posterity one of my frequent chess
matches with Carl, which he naturally won as usual. Ever the epitome of good
sportsmanship, I awarded my father the “First Balony (sic) Prize” for his
stellar chess performance that night.
Below is the actual chess notation document inscribed for our game
played on the evening of March 21, 1971:


_______________________________________________________________________________________________________JDA
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