Six Murderous Beliefs

Today’s Saturday Short is “Six Murderous Beliefs,” part of the Totally Insane Series. It’s about six beliefs that will kill you dead.

We jump right into the madness with a skeleton in a robe grinning maniacally at us. Or, based on the way its holding its hand, it’s waiting for someone to spill the tea.

And what is this tea? According to the ominous narrator, it is the six beliefs that are wanted for murder. They are:

1. Safety Is for Sissies
2. is RIGHT OUT
3. is also RIGHT OUT
4. still RIGHT OUT
5. The Other Fellow
6. I’m Lucky

Ominous Narrator tells us that these six beliefs kill more than 80,000 people a year, a number that is totally not pulled straight out of his nether regions. One of these beliefs may be about to murder…YOU. So let’s look at them in detail.

1. Safety Is for Sissies

…but football is for everyone! Sports stuff happens, a bunch of guys pile on another guy, and the Emerson Film Corporation shows off it’s football-related stock footage. Then we join four boys in a hallway. Three of them offer monotonous support to the fourth (Jim) whose arm is in a sling. He was, apparently, the one at the bottom of the pile-on. After the other boys leave, the coach comes up to check on Jim. It seems that our young player got hurt because he didn’t want to wear his shoulder pads. Um, aren’t those part of the standard football uniform? I know absolutely nothing about American football but I do know that. Anyway, Jim thinks that wearing safety equipment makes him a sissy. The coach tells Jim he’s an idiot, and by the way there’s a meeting of the aviation club this afternoon. There’s going to be a special guest: a test pilot!

Cut to Emerson Film Corporation showing off the stock footage they bought of very basic test piloting. Whee! Do a barrel roll! Type that into Google for extra fun! Now land the plane and turn off the film so the test pilot can open up the floor for questions. A girl asks the test pilot if his job is dangerous. The test pilot is very polite and does not burst out laughing at her obvious obliviousness. Jim asks if test pilots wear parachutes. Yes, two in fact. Jim thinks that’s silly. Parachutes are for cowards. The test pilot tells Jim he’s an idiot. He and the pilots like him are neither cowards nor are they fools. Jim looks down at his injured arm as we fade into the title card of Death sitting on a man reaching for a football helmet.

2. Your Number Is Up

…as lazily symbolized by this roulette wheel. This vignette is about two girls who are shopping for dresses. Sue likes this one but she’d rather have it in blue. Her friend tells her to hurry up; she wants to get home before rush hour. Sue thinks that’s silly. Danger is danger, but it won’t hurt you unless your number is up. Then Friend uses her x-ray vision to see another friend standing across the street. Sue runs out into the street to see if the other friend wants them to give them a ride home. As X-Ray Vision follows her out the door we hear squealing tires and a scream. X-Ray Vision hides her eyes from the implied horror as we fade into a title card of Sue running into the street between a car and a pair of dice Death is rolling at her.

3. The Law of Averages

…believes that math is more important than safety. A boy joins his dad by the ol’ woodworkin’ bench. Dad is making leg pieces for his new lawn chair. Son wants to use the power saw, but Dad won’t let him. He has to use the hand tools because power tools aren’t as safe. Son thinks that’s silly. He’s been learning statistics in math and says that only 2% of people are hurt in accidents, showing that he’s not been paying attention in school and will probably fail. Dad’s not impressed by the law of averages. Then Son notices Dad hasn’t put the safety guard on the blade. Dad says they don’t need it because the Law of Averages will protect him. Guess what? He did need that guard. Now Dad is through with the Law of Averages. And, possibly, that finger he just cut. The title card pops up featuring a row of soldiers (I guess) with Death’s bony hand circling the one with a skullhead. Is that picture from when Death was in the Army?

4. The Price of Progress

…is very high because Progress has killed more people than many other things. That is why Progress is wanted for murder. We see why as we join a boy installing a new switch on the kitchen wall. He tells his parents this will turn the radio off and on without forcing Mom to take all of two steps to the actual radio dial herself. Dad asks if Son is sure this will work. Yessir, it will because he bypassed the switch on the radio with wires! Mom is impressed with her son’s electrical skills and tries out the switch. BANG!

Cut to Mom sitting at the kitchen table, badly shaken. Son is awfully sorry. He should have made sure the wires were insulated and grounded first. Guess that’s the price of progress. No, that’s you half-assing it after skimming the instructions. Dad agrees with me. He scolds Son and makes him feel bad, as well he should. We fade into the title card where Death and a scientist are gossiping over their beakers and test tubes and Erlenmeyer flasks and other such scientific apparatus while the narrator tells us that Progress has its good side. It has cut down deaths from tuberculosis and is on its way to curing cancer. If he said anything after that I didn’t hear it because I was laughing from seventy years in the future.

5. The Other Fellow

…is the subject of next week’s short. But first let’s join Marilyn and her sailor-suited friend chowing down on hot dogs. They brag to each other about how they can stuff themselves and never gain an ounce. Enjoy it while you can, girls, metabolism only sticks with you until you’re forty. Now Marilyn wants to go swimming! Sailor Suit doesn’t think that’s a good idea. Everyone knows that if you swim less than an hour after eating you’ll get A Cramp. Marilyn thinks that’s silly. That only happens to other people. She’s swum lots of time after eating and never cramped. She puts on her swim cap and dives into the pool. She immediately cramps up. Sailor Suit calls the cute lifeguard over to save Marilyn from her horrible cramp. We fade to the title card of Chef Death offering Marilyn a hot dog at the pool as the narrator reminds us that we are the Other Fellow to other people. Deep, man.

6. I’m Lucky

…to not be riding in the car with this guy who’s driving like an idiot. He blows through a stop sign and pulls over to the side of the road. Johnny jumps out of the car and tells Harry that his driving is scaring him. He’d rather walk to where he’s going. Harry laughs it off. He’ll be fine, he’s lucky! Johnny’s not, so he heads off down the sidewalk as Harry peels out. The camera focuses on the speedometer as the needle climbs to 80 miles per hour. Then Harry misses a sharp curve and the speedometer drops down to 0 before Harry’s hand falls on it. His memorial card is Death giving him a four-leaf clover as he speeds through Deadman’s Curve. If you ever feel lucky, punk, watch out for MURDER! Or Clint Eastwood.

Now it’s time for a quick recap of the Six Murderous Beliefs highlighted from the most memorable parts of the illustrative skits. Block those beliefs out of your mind so you’ll live longer! Lock yourself in your room! Trust no one, not even yourself! Death is everywhere! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…………….

Act Your Age (Emotional Maturity)

Today’s Saturday Short is “Act Your Age (Emotional Maturity).” It’s about why teenagers act like idiots.

Tense music plays while a classroom full of students scribble furiously. The camera zooms in on one boy, Jim, who looks very disturbed. The camera focuses on his paper to reveal that he’s working on his algebra test. He scribbles out a wrong answer and breaks the lead of his pencil. No worries, it’s a mechanical pencil. All he has to do is screw another length out and…oops, there was only a tiny bit left and it fell out. Now he has nothing to write with. I guess keeping a container of spare lead wasn’t an option back then.

Thoroughly frustrated, Jim slams his notebook closed. He absentmindedly starts scratching at his desk with his empty pencil. In a few minutes he’s carved his initials in three-inch-high letters in the center of his desk. A shadow falls over Jim. It’s the teacher. Busted!

Now Jim’s in the office of Mr. Edmunds, the school principal, who looks an awful lot like the fake psychologist in “Control Your Emotions.” Mr. Edmunds ignores Jim with every fiber of his being until he realizes that Jim’s just going to stand there until he’s acknowledged. Mr. Edmunds takes the note from the math teacher and reads about Jim’s crimes. He asks Jim to sit down so they can discuss his pencil in a suggestive manner. I NEED AN ADULT.

Jim’s pencil isn’t one of your ordinary mechanical pencils. He won it in an essay contest. (From what I’ve learned from watching these shorts, essay contests were duels of honor back in the 1950s.) Mr. Edmunds would like to see the pencil so Jim gives it to him. Mr. Edmunds threatens to keep the pencil and does. Jim quickly begs for forgiveness. He’ll refinish the desk so no one will ever be able to tell it was scratched. He’ll start this very afternoon! “That’s fine,” Mr. Edmunds replies. “Well what else can I do?” Jim whines.

Seems that Mr. Edmunds has a problem he’d like Jim’s help with. It’s a serious problem involving all the students at the school. They’re all young people growing up. Yes, growing up is a problem. To illustrate why, Mr. Edmunds launches into a story about a baseball game he watched recently. The boy at bat struck out, possibly because he was wearing a fat suit. The scene fades out and back in, this time with a five-year-old boy not in a fat suit at bat. He also strikes out and throws a tantrum. Fade back to the fat-suit boy also throwing a tantrum.

“Why doesn’t he grow up?” Jim wants to know. Throwing a tantrum is childish behavior. It’s an infantile reaction, Mr. Edmunds replies, proving that he’s the hip young principal who’s studied psychology. Doesn’t he know that he’s ruining the game for others, Jim asks. Then he has a revelation. Scratching a desk up ruins it for others too. Why can’t he act his age, eh?

Mr. Edmunds would also like to know the answer to that question. He tells Jim he’s going to keep the pencil until Jim thinks he’s old enough to handle the responsibility of owning a mechanical pencil.

Cut to the classroom after school. Jim, now wearing a set of coveralls, is refinishing the desk. He’s got it sanded and now he’s preparing to stain and varnish it. He does know that this will take multiple coats, right? And he’s going to have to let each coat dry before he applies the next one? And the varnish is going to need at least twenty-four hours before it’s completely dry? No, he’s just leaving the desk where it is in the classroom so it’ll be used before it’s ready and have to be redone. Obviously Jim hasn’t taken shop yet. Bad 1950s educational short character.

As he works, Jim wonders why he can’t act his age. He goes to open the can of stain, but remembers he doesn’t have his mechanical pencil to open it. Um. You don’t use a pencil to open a can, Jim. Mr. Edmunds was right, you’re not ready for that kind of responsibility. He tries a wooden pencil, but it breaks. Jim throws the broken pieces across the room. He’s not ready to use any writing implement yet, it seems. “Hey, act your age,” he tells himself. “No use getting sore. That won’t open the can.”

The school janitor comes in. Hey, it’s the friendly neighbor from “How Friendly Are You!” He asks Jim what he’s doing. Jim tells him about his troubles opening the can. The janitor gives him a pocketknife to pry the lid off.

Does no one in this town own a flathead screwdriver? Jeez!

The janitor scoffs at Jim’s childishness before leaving the room in disgust. No use cleaning up until after Jim’s done ruining another desk. Once he’s gone, Jim remembers other students acting up in algebra class. There was Phil who stole Jean’s notebook to copy her notes. Was he cheating? Why, that’s childish! Then there was Phyllis who almost cried when the teacher called on her unexpectedly. That, too, was an infantile reaction. Why don’t we all act our age, Jim wonders.

The next day, Jim is back in Mr. Edmunds’ office to discuss the effects of childish behavior. Mr. Edmunds tells Jim how physical and mental development aren’t always in sync and gives him more examples to drive the point home. There’s the girl who always has to win an argument. When someone disagrees with her, she transforms into a five-year-old. Then there’s the boy who can’t take a joke who also turns into a five-year-old when someone teases him.

Five-year-olds are getting a bad rap in this short. I know they’re little kids learning how to act but they’re not this bad. Many of them are quite pleasant to be around, in fact. A little wearing on the nerves at times, but that’s just because they have so much energy and curiosity about the world around them.

There’s also the boy who makes weird faces. That’s childish. There’s the girl who cries at trifles. I guess she doesn’t like custard? And let’s not forget the boy playing baseball in a fat suit. That’s just weird.

What we need, Mr. Edmunds says, is some way of measuring mental growth, a way to compare different aspects of one’s personality. A lightbulb goes off over Jim’s head. He rushes out of the room. “Don’t you want your pencil?” Mr. Edmunds asks. “I’ll wait until I know how old I am,” Jim replies.

He’s really bad at math, isn’t he?

Back in the empty classroom, Jim is at his poorly refinished desk working on a “How Old Am I?” chart. Of course! A chart! That will solve everything! The janitor comes back in to mock him, but Jim doesn’t care. He has a chart now!

Two days later Jim is back in Mr. Edmunds’ office showing off his chart. He made several copies of it and gave them to his parents and friends. He compared the ratings everyone gave him and knows where all his personality flaws lie. He’ll work hard to bring his rating up so he’ll be able to act his age in a year or so. But know he knows he’s old enough to own a pencil. He takes his from Mr. Edmunds’ desk and leaves him a copy of the chart.

Once Jim is gone, Mr. Edmunds acknowledges us, the viewers. He shows us the chart and asks us to have our friends rate us on our personality defects. Constant judgment is the only way to maturity! March with the herd! Don’t stick your head up! Mob rule is the best rule!

Sharing Work at Home

Today’s Saturday Short is “Sharing Work at Home.” It’s about home economics and how it can save your family.

We join the Dad and Howard in the middle of wallpapering the living room. Let us all give thanks to every deity ever conceived of by mankind that this film is in black and white because that wallpaper is hideous. Martha comes in with a plate of sandwiches and tells Howard to wash his hands. Mom follows with a tray of drinks. “Who would have thought we’d ever manage to redecorate this room,” she asks “and do all the work ourselves?”

The phone rings. While Martha runs across the room to answer it, we’re left wondering why they left the curtains up while they’re repapering. And why didn’t they cover the furniture with dropcloths? Oh well, they’ll figure it out when they have to clean wallpaper paste off of all their upholstery. Oh look, Martha’s finally answered the phone. It’s Mrs. Burton asking about the next meeting of the Neighborhood Club. Mom offers to have the meeting at her house next month so she can show up the new ugly wallpaper. And to have the Neighborhood Ladies swap ideas on how to get paste off of everything.

The narrator finally wanders in to talk about what a difference has been made in the Taylor family as well as the Taylor Home. He takes us on a flashback to the last time Mrs. Burton called and Martha answered the phone. She immediately starts complaining about her life. The living room is messy. Mother is not well. It’s hard to keep house without a mother to supervise. Mrs. Burton cuts Martha off as she starts yapping about her home ec book and says she’ll call back later when Martha is far, far away.

Martha goes back to her home ec text. “General cleaning is made much easier if each person picks up after himself,” she reads. Suddenly she has a revelation! Maybe they should help out by picking up their own junk! But what’s this? “Jobs such as vacuuming, scrubbing, and dusting must also be done.” Aw. Martha knocks over the lamp and tears the shade. “More work!” she moans.

She goes into the kitchen to join Howard’s pity party. He’s having trouble working the can opener. Martha shows him the home ec book and starts proselytizing. They need to cooperate and get organized! They immediately sit down to make A List.

Flash forward to the completed List as the kids show it to Mom who is well again. Howard promises that they’ll keep on helping out around the house, but he won’t clean anymore. That’s women’s work. Dad tells Howard that he still has to keep picking up after himself and that they’ll assign jobs based on time and ability rather than gender. Good for you, Dad. You nip that misogyny right in the bud!

Mom wants to know what she’s going to do. Cleaning the house was how she filled her empty days, after all. The kids claim they’ll do it all themselves but Mom’s a savvy woman. She knows that’s an empty promise. They’ll pick up one thing and then find seventy other things to do. She goes to the Holy Home Ec Book, turning to the page that lays out the Approved Roles for Family Members: Dad works and brings home the money, children go to school, and Mom keeps house. From these roles let us not deviate or it will bring down Societal Wrath.

Mom improves the chore list. Now the kids will clean their own rooms, Dad will clean the bathroom, and the odd jobs will go on a Honey-Do list. Howard announces proudly that the odd jobs will be done in their spare time. And that was why the odd jobs were never done.

We cut to a montage of the family trying out the New & Improved Chore List. Mom and Martha clean the living room together. Howard cleans his own room. Martha irons and sets the table (not at the same time, that would be silly). Dad washes the dishes. Howard scrubs the floor. Mom puts the trash can down.

Later, in the living room, Howard has finally gotten around to fixing the lampshade. It could use a new cover to replace the torn one. Mom offers to make one. Howard says the frame will be ready after he takes it to school to solder it together. “School!” Martha exclaims in horror. She had gotten so caught up in cleaning she forgot to go to school! No, wait, she has to pick out a sewing project for her home ec class. Why not a new slipcover for the davenport? Or “couch” as regular people call it. Or “sofa” if that’s your regionalism.

Dad says that new covers for the davenport and lamp will show off how dirty the walls are. Mom emphasizes this by moving a picture to show the dirt. Time to wash the walls, then. No, wait, Mom wants to redecorate the living room. Dad tries to stop her by mentioning how much a decorator will cost, but Howard eggs her on by mentioning how another family did all the work themselves. Dad, resigned to his fate, says they can borrow the tools and then they’d just have to pay for paper and paint.

Cut back to the half-papered living room. The narrator talks about how they’re better and happier now that they’re doing something together. They’ll all go blind together, too, from that horrible wallpaper pattern. Thanks home economics book!

Foundation Foods

Today’s Saturday Short is “Foundation Foods” in glorious, washed-out color. It’s narrated by a woman with a very pointy voice. I’m not kidding, her voice will hurt you if you don’t pay attention to the importance of Foundation Foods. It’s all angles and edges.

We begin with a chart of the seven (7?) food groups before switching to Sally Brown cutting out pictures of food from a sheet of paper. She’s pretending to plan dinner before she goes home to make the real dinner with her mother. Mrs. Brown already knows about Foundation Foods because her entire life is spent in the kitchen.

Sally’s father also knows about Foundation Foods because he’s an architect working out of his living room. He tells his children that bodies are like buildings: if the foundation is good the building will be complete and beautiful. We are then treated to a montage of construction workers laying the foundation for a hideous Brutalist block building. Ugly is beautiful! Black is white! Up is down! Don’t question the narrator!

In the kitchen, Mrs. Brown contemplates a head of lettuce and wonders where she went wrong. We fade to a farmer in the field contemplating another head of lettuce wondering where he went wrong. The narrator tells us all about the farmers, dairymen, poultrymen, fishermen, ranchers, truck drivers, railroad engineers, and sailors who bring food from the fields to the store.

Back at the Brown house, it’s time to gather for dinner in a room with the ugliest wallpaper in the world. I’m not sure but I think this might be the wallpaper that Oscar Wilde was in a battle to the death with. The narrator tries in vain to distract us from it’s jarring pattern by telling us to eat slowly, chew thorougly, clean your plate, and don’t drip eyeblood on the tablecloth.

Later Mrs. Brown sits in the kitchen (of course) studying recipes in a magazine before switching on the radio to learn more about cooking and Foundation Foods. Sister needs a hobby.

Finally, finally we get to the seven (7?) food groups. And they are:

1. Leafy, Green, and Yellow Vegetables
2. Citrus Fruit, Tomatoes, Raw Cabbage (Who’s eating raw cabbage?)
3. Potatoes and Other Vegetables and Fruits Not in Groups 1 and 2
4. Milk, Cheese, Ice Cream (Ice cream is a food group!)
5. Meat, Poultry, Fish, Eggs, Dried Peas, Beans
6. Bread, Flour, Cereals Whole-Grain, Enriched, or Restored
7. Butter and Fortified Margarine (Butter is a food group!)

Maybe it’s just me, but this list seems a bit overly complicated. Perhaps we could combine and reorganize the fruits and veg a bit? Like just have one group for fruits and one group for vegetables? No? We have to break them up by nutrients? Okay, you do you then.

The narrator also wants us to know when we are suppose to eat: 7 a.m. is breakfast time, 12 noon is lunchtime, and 6 p.m. is dinner time and don’t you dare deviate from that schedule! If you do you will never get through the day or night in the narrator-approved fashion. Remember her voice? Remember how it will cut you? Don’t. Break. The. Schedule.

The proper breakfast is milk, cereal (of the Cream of Wheat variety), poached eggs, and sliced oranges. First of all, what time did Mom get up to cook all this? Second of all, why can’t you just break the oranges into segments like a normal person? It’s easier and less messy than all that slicing. Plus they’re easier to peel whole.

We go to lunch with Jim Brown who is on the track team. He gets milk, rice pudding, stew, bread & butter, and the world’s saddest salad consisting of a sliced tomato on a pitiful lettuce leaf. Please note how big the portions are. Or maybe that’s what school lunches look like now, too. I don’t know, last time I had a school lunch was in the 1980s when we counted ourselves lucky to get a breadtangle of pizza with a single, solitary pepperoni on it. (I brought my lunch to school most days.)

After school we join Sally while she drinks a glass of milk and awkwardly eats a bunch of grapes. You are allowed to pick them off the stems with your fingers, Sal. Meanwhile Jim is turning down a candy bar. That’s pleasure food and he’s not allowed any pleasure. He’s in an educational short.

For dinner we’re having overcooked meat, soggy peas & carrots, another sad two-ingredient salad with no dressing, bread & butter, fruit cobbler, and milk. Appetizing! Excuse me while I explode your bathroom after all that milk! Have you heard of this thing called “water?” It’s really good and an essential building block of life!

Sally goes to bed at 7:30 for some unknown reason. I guess she’s not allowed to be up when the sun goes down. Maybe a witch cursed her at her christening. Jim, however, is allowed to go to bed at 9:30 because high school people need less sleep. Excuse me, Ms. Narrator? I have a sheaf of research from later in the century that proves that statement wrong. Shall I leave it on your desk?

Madame Pointyvoice wants us to know that we are not like automobiles. We don’t turn off when we go to sleep at night. We need the energy from food to keep tossing and turning all night long. Maybe the Browns should invest in some better mattresses for the kids’ beds?

We end the short by reciting the Overly Complicated Pie Chart of Foundation Foods. All together now! Seriously, do it or the narrator will cut your jugular with her sharp voice.

Developing Self-Reliance

Today’s Saturday Short is “Developing Self-Reliance,” part of the Pull Yourself Up By Your Own Bootstraps, Kid series. It’s about Mr. Carson and why he doesn’t want to deal with his students outside of class.

We begin with a close up of a baby being fed while the narrator talks about how babies are helpless, useless creatures not worthy of attention until they learn some self-reliance. We cut to a close up of a toddler barely staying still while his mother ties on his snowsuit hood and then to a little boy letting his mother comb his hair. The narrator says things like this teach a child to be dependent. They won’t even feed their dog or do their own homework if their parents do things for them. All they’ll do is just get by. We then switch to an office where a young man brings a sheet of paper to his boss. The boss yells at him for not doing his job and breathing the same air as himself.

This is what happens if a young man doesn’t learn self-reliance, the narrator says, revealing his identity. He is Mr. Carson, a high school French teacher who is supremely annoyed that one of his students, Alan, came to him “complaining that he doesn’t feel that he’s accomplishing much.” Mr. Carson, you could just tell him you don’t have any extra-credit assignments for him and let it go. Oh, you can’t? Okay then, we’ll wait for you to finish your rant.

Alan asks Mr. Carson how one develops self-reliance but Mr. Carson won’t tell him because that would be encouraging dependence.

Mr. Carson will give Alan a typewritten list he keeps in his desk for just such an occasion, however. It has the

STEPS TO SELF-RELIANCE

1. Assume responsibility
2. Be informed
3. Know where you’re going
4. Make your own decisions

Alan doesn’t understand. This is a difficult list that requires much thought. Mr. Carson says they’ll go over the steps together. Wait a minute here, didn’t you just get finished saying you wouldn’t tell Alan how to…you are a terrible teacher, Mr. Carson!

It doesn’t matter, though, because Alan realizes he’s about to be late for his next class so he assumes responsibility and runs away. His next class is a totally empty science lab. Alan ponders the meaning of assuming responsibility as he sets up his experiment. Then he thinks of step two. Why should he be informed about anything besides his schoolwork?

He finds out later that night when he asks his mom if he ought to wear a tie for his date. “That depends,” Mom replies, “will you be expected to wear a tie?” A lightbulb goes off over Alan’s head. He needs to be informed about his social situation! He decides to wear a tie because he might encouter his date’s parents and he doesn’t want them to think he’s a slob.

Once Alan gets the tie on, Dad takes the opportunity to strike up a conversation about what courses Alan will be taking next semester. He’s not sure. One of his friends will be taking speech and another will be taking American Literature. Dad doesn’t want Alan to choose his courses based on what his friends are taking. He asks Alan what he wants out of his courses, what does he want out of life? Alan pulls out the card as another lightbulb goes off. He needs to know where he’s going and make his own decisions, he mutters to himself.

“What in the world are you talking about?” Dad says in a line that’s so good it has to be ad-libbed. He must have been taking acting lessons from Dick York. Alan shows Dad the self-reliance card. Dad approves and asks if Alan’s read Emerson’s essay “Self Reliance.” He thinks they have a copy somewhere. He stares at the bookcase in utter confusion until Mom points it out. Alan promises he’ll read the essay whether or not he takes American lit next term.

Back to Mr. Carson. He tells us this is not the end of Alan’s story but the beginning. NOOOOOOOOO! We were so close to getting out of this short! Mr. Carson talks about how he “watched” Alan for the next several months. He watched Alan join the student forum and did his homework and talked to his friends and chose his courses for the next semester. Um, Mr. Carson, that’s called “stalking” and it’s highly illegal. Excuse me while I call Child Protective Services and the board of education on you.

Alan’s journey to self-reliance reached its pinnacle at a contentious student forum meeting about The Parking Situation. Seems that the students have been getting ticketed for parking on the street by the school because it’s too narrow for all those cars and bikes. Just when the argument gets loudest, Alan calmly steps in and offers a solution. Since the school built new tennis courts, he says, why can’t they convert the old ones into a parking lot. “We can do what little work there is,” he says, proving that he knows nothing of grading, paving, or determining the right-of-way from the back of the school to the street.

The other students are impressed by Alan’s self-reliance. They ask him to propose his plan to the principal. Alan just barely keeps his smugness under control as he accepts responsibility.

Back to Mr. Carson. He’s proud of Alan. He shows us the self-reliance card one more time before the camera pans over to reveal…Gasp! Alan was sitting there the whole time! He smirks with great self-satisfaction as the end music plays.

It’s All in Knowing How

Today’s Saturday Short is “It’s All in Knowing How,” presented by the dairy council. Remember that, there’ll be a quiz on it later.

But first, are you ready for some football? This short is! Bob isn’t, though. He’s not playing as well as he used to be. He’s falling all over himself, missing his kicks, and he’s lost his pep. Even his friends and girlfriend have noticed. Especially his girlfriend Alice–she immediately ditches him for a peppier guy. Even the paperboy is more energetic and cheerful than Our Bob. His sadness is so great it causes the soundtrack to skip.

At dinner, Bob is mopey and depressed. He doesn’t know why he’s so grouchy, he just is. Later his parents and the coach get together at the bowling alley to discuss Bob’s mood. The coach (who’s also the biology teacher) tells them that Bob had passed his last physical and the doctor is totally unconcerned that a teenage boy has no appetite or energy. Totally normal! Nothing to see here! Rather than encouraging Bob’s folks to get him to a pediatrician who didn’t get his degree out of a box of Crackerjack, Coach Biology suggests another method to fixing their son.

He begins to work on Bob the next afternoon. After a tortured metaphor comparing the human body to an airplane, he sends Bob over to Alice’s house to help her with her nutrition project. Class projects: they cure what ails ya.

Bob and Alice spend a “fun” evening in the living room with construction paper and glue, making a chart to show how much of each kind of food they each need every day for their nutritional needs. The narrator goes over this chart in excruciating detail, building up to the coup de grace of nutrition: dairy. Dairy, the narrator tells us, is the perfect food and must be included with every meal. Milk is wonderful and everyone should drink a quart of it every day. I would like to invite the narrator to hang out in my bathroom after I drink a quart of milk and see how much he loves that food group afterwards. Because, trust me, my digestive system is not the narrator.

Some undetermined amount of time later, Bob’s dad tells Bob that he had faced the same problems of no pep and poor appetite himself. Once he started taking care of himself, though, everything was hunky dory all the time! Bob agrees. Since he made the chart with Alice, he’s turned his life around. After eating right and getting enough sleep, he’s Mr. Pep! It helps that he dropped football and joined the basketball team instead. Why, he even has enough energy to go on a double date with his parents and Coach Biology at the bowling alley!

And that’s why charts are lame.

The Procrastinator

Today’s Saturday Short is late because it’s about “The Procrastinator,” part of the Discussion Problems in Group Living series. It’s the story of Jean and how she never faces any consequences for not getting things done.

We begin with Jean fiddling with her hair and playing tic-tac-toe with herself while blasting second-rate jazz. Her mother calls her to do the dishes, but Jean lies and says she needs to do her homework. Mom calls back for her to turn the radio off so she can get something done. “The radio doesn’t bother me at all,” Jean replies. “Well it’s bothering everyone else in the house so turn it off,” Mom doesn’t say.

At some indeterminate time in the future, Mom comes in to turn off the radio because her ears are bleeding. She sees the random doodling in Jean’s notebook and scolds her for fiddle-faddling her time away. She tells Jean in no uncertain terms that she needs to buckle down and get her homework done by 9:30. Jean sulkily returns to the table.

The next morning Jean meets her friend Marge at the bus stop. Marge asks about Jean’s homework. I guess Mom must have called her to back her up on scolding duty. Jean breezily reveals that she didn’t finish her vocab but she’ll get it done in first period history before changing the subject to the upcoming class elections. And that’s why Mom should have specified which 9:30 she meant when she was fussing the night before.

Everyone at school is milling around the bulletin board waiting for Mr. Brown to come out of his office and tack up a piece of paper. The kids gather around it and start chattering excitedly. As they disperse, Jean and Jim the Overly Southern Kid condole Marge because she lost. Marge congratulates Jean for winning the race for Social Chair(wo)man. After Jean leaves, Jim complains about her win. He doesn’t like it because she keeps putting everything off to the last minute. Why hasn’t anyone told her about what a problem that causes, he asks Marge. She shrugs and says she’s told Jean but Jean just ignored her.

In April the Social Committee meets to plan The Class party. Jean shows off her sketch of the decorations. Everyone likes her ideas, but Jim warns Jean that she needs to appoint some committees to help get everything organized before the big day. (The 1950s: When in doubt, form a committee!) Jean takes his advice, appointing a boy to buy wire, another boy to sell tickets, Marge to form a committee to make and send out the invitations. Jean can handle everything else. When Marge tells her that she can’t do the other 500 things alone, Jean announces it’s time to go to the drugstore. To pick up her Ritalin prescription, one hopes.

In May Jean barges into Mr. Brown’s office to reserve the gym for The Class party that weekend. Mr. Brown scolds her, telling her she should have reserved it some time ago, then tells her that Jim already reserved the gym for his We Hate Jean party, cleverly disguised at The Class party. He then tells Jean she could solve all of her problems if she made a list of the things she had to do and the time she had to do them in. Jean thinks that’s a great idea, but she has some new records to listen to first.

That night Martha’s Mom calls Jean’s Mom to ask about the refreshments for the party. Jean told Martha she was in charge of them, but she didn’t tell her what she should make. Jean’s Mom assures her that she’ll have her daughter call her back later that afternoon with instructions. She catches Jean trying to sneak out to play with her friends. She tells her that she needs to get on it with the refreshments. Jean says she will but first will Mom pick up a few of the things they need for decorations? She hands Mom a CVS reciept-length list of the things she needs. Mom scolds her for putting off so much shopping and no she can’t get them because she has book club that afternoon. Jean shrugs and says she’ll get what she can tonight or tomorrow.

You see where this is going, right? She does no shopping and gives up on calling Martha when the line is busy. Meanwhile, the narrator says, she’s polishing her nails so they’ll look pretty for the party tomorrow. This is some strange new method of polishing your nails with an emery board. I don’t think that’s going to work, Jean. Try using a brush, the polish goes on smoother that way.

Now it’s Friday, the day before the party. Or the day of, the timeline has gotten a little confused here. The party committee is in the gym complaining. Martha says that her mom had to take the day off to bake cookies for the party and…WHAT? Why did she do that? What kind of excuse did she use? Did she just call in sick or did she actually tell her boss that she needed to bake cookies for her daughter’s class? I don’t know where Martha’s mom works but I guarantee you that excuse would not fly at any place I’ve ever worked. And why couldn’t Martha bake the cookies? She’s old enough to use a stove. The way these films harp on home economics you’d think that Martha could use mass cookie baking as a class project.

Anyway.

Jean comes in holding a small paper sack and her decoration drawing from earlier. Marge takes the bag from her, commenting on how small it is. Jean admits that it wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. Jim jumps in and unloads on her. He rips her a brand new one for putting everything off and leaving them to cover her lazy hindquarters and you know what? He’s had enough. And another thing…. As he’s hollering, the group disperses and starts hanging up the one role of crepe paper Jean brought while the narrator wonders why Jean procrastinates so much. Gee, narrator, I don’t know, maybe because everyone’s always covering for her so she never faces the consequences? It’s a mystery.

And that’s why I’m now craving Fiddle Faddle.

Am I Trustworthy?

Today’s Saturday Short wants to know “Am I Trustworthy?” It’s the story of Eddie Johnson and how he needs to control his larcenous impulses.

It begins with a meditation on feeling left out, but that’s another short we’ll discuss later. Eddie comes home and dumps all his stuff on the floor, making Dad pause as he dismantles the lamp. What’s gotten Eddie so down? Is it his horrible haircut? No, he wasn’t elected treasurer of the hobby club. Didn’t they know he wouldn’t steal from them?

Dad, worried that Eddie’s mind immediately went to theft, asks him what happened. It’s a simple story that didn’t deserve all the screen time it got: Eddie wanted to be treasurer, but no one nominated him so he wasn’t elected. His friend Bob got the job instead while Eddie was put on the clean-up crew. Eddie, furious, declares he won’t clean a darn thing until he’s given control of the cash drawer.

Dad explains that people have to trust others to do things. “But I wasn’t going to take their money!” Eddie cries. Yeah, maybe people don’t trust you because you immediately start talking larceny whenever money comes up. Dad ponderously explains what trust is and how it’s demonstrated in everyday life. After yammering on for five minutes, he finally gets to the thesis statement that people have to show they can be trusted with little things before they can be trusted with big things.

Eddie thinks about Bob and all the little things people trusted him to do that he did. He decides he’s going to be like Bob. He’s going to do his job and give the correct change. Then, once he’s gained everyone’s trust, he’s going to steal Bob’s identity! Maybe if he is Bob he can get hold of the money and then it will all be his! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!

But there’s one thing he has to do before he becomes the Talented Mr. Ripley. He has to make a Trustworthiness Chart! Which is not really a chart, it’s a three-item list of the groups Eddie has to prove he’s trustworthy to. He’s so excited about this list that he steps all over his Dad’s lines.

And that’s how Eddie learned about trust. Next up: how Dad got his tie caught in the guillotine paper-cutter at work. Seriously, what was up with men’s ties in the 1950s?

The Benefits of Looking Ahead

Today’s Saturday Short is about “The Benefits of Looking Ahead,” something we’re all nervous about doing right now. Fear not, this is looking ahead from 1950 which…isn’t much better. Oh well.

This is the story of Nick Baxter who is trying out for the role of Droopy the Dog. He’s sitting around in shop class after school reading the paper while his friend Don sands something. Nick is mad that he wasn’t chosen Most Likely to Succeed. Don wrote the article so he tells Nick that the three students who were selected got the votes because they actually work for what they want. Nick, on the other hand, mopes around and is pointlessly stupid. Nick thinks that making plans is dumb, so Don tells him that he will be elected Most Likely to Be a Bum.

The word “bum” causes Nick to have a vision of his future. He’s living in a dingy apartment, wearing an artfully ripped sweater, and eating what looks like a raw potato. He dismisses the vision and goes to work on his table. After knocking it to pieces with a hammer, he has a revelation: He needs to make a plan for his table! He needs a diagram and measurements and a general idea of what he’s doing before he does it! Nick immediately sits down to draw.

He has another vision as he admires his completed end table. This time he’s working in a bare office, talking to his parents on the phone. He’s bragging about being elected to chairman of his club and mentions that he has a wife. Nick realizes that he wants to be a successful married man, so he sits down again to write out a plan for his whole life from age 18 to death.

Because this is a postwar short, the fact that Nick’s made a list means that he will achieve all of his goals. There is absolutely no way in the world that anything will happen to knock his plans off track. He has a list, after all! Life’s little curveballs don’t ever affect you if you have a list!

The short ends with Nick and Don meeting again in after-school shop. Nick can’t stay to chat because he has every hour meticulously planned out for the rest of his life. Sadly, as soon as he walks out the door, a piece of Sputnik falls on him and gives him a serious head wound that takes him months if not years to recover from.

Okay, I made that last part up. We all know Nick’s life plan will deflect Sputnik from his head. Lists are magic!

Are You a Good Citizen?

Today’s Saturday Short is a piece of patriotic propaganda from 1949 entitled “Are You a Good Citizen?” It’s the story of Mr. Heineman and how he’s a good citizen. Sadly, it’s not about Jamie Hyneman of Mythbusters and fantastic goatee fame, but the smooth-faced Alfred Heineman who is tired of softballs flying through his front windows.

It begins with a group of random people giving Mr. Heineman an advance copy of tomorrow’s paper. He has been nominated First Citizen of the Town and so will preside over Citizenship Day. While Mr. H shows the random people out, young Jim looks over the newspaper’s official Citizenship Checklist. Yes, it’s another entry in the “Rule Your Life by a List” series!

Mr. H is a good citizen because he:

1. Performs basic civic duties. This means one has to pay taxes, serve on a jury, vote, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. (That last bit was meant to be read in a Yul Brynner voice.) Jim philosophizes on how, when he’s old enough to vote, he will “use his ballot for all it’s worth.” I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but I’m worried.

2. Takes part in group activities. Good citizens join a club, church, and/or political party. Loners are losers and, quite possibly, Communists. Please pause this at 3:28 and take a good look at the signs in the window of the candidate’s headquarters. Specifically the one in the lower right corner.

3. Knows and obeys the law. This is how Jim and Mr. H met. Jim hit an autographed (!) softball through Mr. H’s window. Mr. H laid a huge guilt trip on Jim in which he compares breaking a window to robbing a bank. Jim whines about how unfair the law is because he and his friends just can’t play softball at the playground. It’s too small and there are too many little kids there. They can’t play in the vacant lot down the street because the property owner chased them off. Where else can they play except the middle of the street? Never fear, Jim, Mr. H has the answer because he

4. Keeps informed on public affairs. Mr. Heineman isn’t having one single bit of Jim’s whining. He goes to City Hall and gets a copy of the town plat. He shows Jim how a shady developer bought up most of the land that was supposed to go to the playground and how the only vacant lot in town is the one the boys were chased off of. Jim starts complaining again, but Mr. H cuts him off to explain the democratic process.

Jim and Mr. H canvass the town to get a bond referendum on the ballot of the next election. They convince everyone that the town needs to buy that vacant lot so people can drive down the street without dodging ball-playing boys. The referendum passes, the boys have their ball field, and front windows across the town are finally safe. This is how Mr. H checked off the last item in the list

4. Be a good neighbor. I guess he works for State Farm?

The short ends with Mr. Heineman making a speech about the rights and duties of citizenship and how important they are to a capitalist society. Think it over, won’t you?