Catalogs

When I was a child we would, occasionally, get a thick catalog from Sears and Roebuck.  They had a competitor named Montgomery Ward.  My dad always referred to the two of them as Sears and Sawbuck and Monkey Ward.  When he was growing up in the rural areas of southeast Arizona, these catalogs were his only view to the outside world. Sometimes their pages were turned into toilet paper.  Today we’d call it recycling.

For a while J.C. Penny entered the catalog fray. Hickory Farms joined in and then Harry and David, who sold pears and fruit,.  Despite this, catalog purchases waned during the 60’s and 70’s.  Monkey Ward went out of business and Roebuck disappeared. 

When it came, I would purloin the Sears catalog and head straight to my room.  I knew I was safe because my mother thought Sears was “cheap” and she would never be looking for the catalog.  The first place I turned was the toy section. Today a Toys R Us catalog contains a plethora of electronic, digital and video toys.  There are life-like battery operated cars and SUVs that rich kids drive around their yards, and video games killing cops and contributing to childhood obesity.

In the catalogs I read were pictures of blonde girls with pageboy hair styles –always wearing pink clothing-- and Brylcreemed boys wearing plaid or striped shirts who consistently played with some form of sports equipment.  In my day, sitting on my white chenille bedspread—or sometimes on the toilet—I would peruse the pages and dream of what it would be like to have my own miniature oven that would make cupcakes or a bike that had a headlight. Or better yet, a cowboy outfit. I had the good sense to know that I would never be, nor look like, those pink, blonde girls. 

Those catalogs—which came only once a year—unlike the deluge today—offered a glimpse at the possibilities of childhoods that would never be mine.  Believe me, I wasn’t complaining. But cupcakes in your own bedroom…. well that's something to covet. 

Then, sometime in the late 1960’s, we no longer got the Sears catalog.  Just like we no longer got mail delivered twice a day during the Christmas season.  Catalogs became a thing of the past.

Catalogs began their revival in the 1980’s, and remain one of my favorite things to get in the mail. One of the most memorable catalogs was the  J. Peterman—parodied on Seinfeld.  Through its descriptions and hand drawn illustrations, you could image yourself in the Australian bush or a Moroccan Kasbah. They sold a dream as well as overpriced clothing and leather messenger bags.

I know that my mother latterly saw catalogs as a shopping blessing.  With two daughters on either side of the nation, a catalog provided an easy, effective way to “take care of Christmas.”

As well as my elderly mother’s gifts for me, my sister and the grandchildren, I have received a blanket lovingly sent from my hundred-year-old Sunday school teacher, baklava from my childhood best friend and other gifts that only a catalog could provide.

When my mother passed away and my sister and I went go through her mail, catalogs were in abundance.

But I fear for them.  The Internet is the catalog enemy.  So are the environmentalists.  Between the un-p.c.-ness of using too much paper and the convenience of shopping online, I predict the demise of my old friends.  I will miss them when they go as much as  I welcome them when they come.