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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.

Chess Clinic

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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