Ina Chadwick

Howdy Doody was not my friend. In fact, when I was five years old, I had to be physically removed from the back row of the Peanut Gallery because to my horror it appeared that Howdy Doody was dead and only came alive when a clunky human hand brought him to life--as soon as Buffalo Bob, the emcee for the iconic tv show at 5:00PM every weeknight asked, “What time is it kids?” 
Yikes! Howdy Doody was garroted. (I didn’t know that word then.) But he was ensnared with, trapped with fishing line just like my father used to catch trout on in our little lake in the Berkshires.  It was attached to every joint in his little body which was just about the size of mine that day. 
On TV at home he was about only 14 inches tall, in black and white. Now he was looming in color.  I wailed and begged to go home. My older sister said, “I told you, he was not real.” They had children wranglers for disruptive kids and the exit was swift. 
But the Howdy Doody pictured here came to me about six months ago in a prettily wrapped package sent from Greensboro, N.C. A writer/editor friend who lives there had roared with laughter when I told him of my Howdy Doody anxiety. The friend had been helping another friend clean out her home after her husband died. She offered him this 14 inch mint condition ventriloquist dummy manufactured by Ideal Toys in around 1959.  He has only one string attached at the neck to release the jaw. I won’t try to practice my ventriloquism. 
My friend was tickled by the symmetry of the owners career and mine. She was the Poet Laureate of Greensboro.
Now, here was a fear trigger from my distant past coming back in a way that made me smile, not cry.
I began Kindergarten that year with a drawing paper portfolio of pictures and ditties my mother helped me scribble. I was a poet. I still am. 
I think Howdy Doody brings Poetic Justice to my senior years.