When I was 6 years old, there was only one thing I cared about. Star Wars. I had only seen the movie maybe two times by mid-1978. But I had the Storybook, 45 record and the coloring books. I was a Star Wars expert (for a 6 year old anyways).
During the summer of 1978, my great Aunt and Uncle Viv and Wade made their annual visit to New Mexico from Peoria Illinois. They knew how much I loved Star Wars so my Uncle Wade drove me over to the Kmart on Hobbs and Main and gently walked me to the toy department. He had heard that Star Wars had some new action figure toys out. We entered the toy isle to find hundreds of action figures on the pegs and in displays around the toy department. I started to look through them and got really excited that I could get Darth Vader (with a lightsaber that slid out from his arm) or a Stormtrooper. Per the back of the card, there were 12 different figures in all. He didn’t buy me a few. He bought them all. It wasn’t even Christmas. We left that store with all 12 figures and that was one of the happiest days of my life.
We went back to our apartment (a duplex-style house on the old Walker Air Force Base now converted into Roswell Industrial Air Center). The place was always cold even in the summer. It was cinder block and had black tile floors. No amount of rugs would keep the floors warm to bare feet. It was hard to hang posters and pictures because the walls felt and looked like concrete. I remember sitting in the living room in front of our new 1977 Zenith and ripping all those carded figures open and proceeding to have large gun and lightsaber battles. Even little Jawas weren’t safe from Darth Vader’s blade. (If I could go back in time, I’d convince my Uncle that he needed to buy me a second set to leave Mint on the Card, but I digress).
Across the street, a friend of my mother (who she worked with) and her son lived in a similar but larger version of our duplex concrete apartment. Thus, for the early parts of my childhood he was my best friend. We’d ride bikes and explore the train tracks that were just outside the fence line of RIAC. We bragged about new toys. I would show off the Star Wars figures. He would show off either the Space 1999 starship or Micronauts. During one afternoon while I was playing with one of his Micronauts and he was happy having gun battles with Han Solo, he asked if he could borrow it. My first response was “hell no!” Star Wars was the world to me. There was nothing I loved more than those figures. I also didn’t loan many toys as I didn’t have much and took great care in my toys. Yet, after him begging and saying I could borrow all of his Micronauts, I reluctantly agreed.
Days went by. I was worried about my Han Solo but I convinced myself that he was in good hands and I had his toys thus we'd be all good, right?
I went outside and saw him playing. I walked over and asked nicely, "Can I have my Han Solo back?" He looked at me with concern. He stumbled and slowly replied, "sure." My blood pressure rose but I was anxious to get my Han Solo back. Besides, Luke and Ben were not able to rescue the Princess without him. He went inside and returned a few minutes later. He extended his arm and I opened my hand ready to get my beloved Han Solo figure back. Plop. Han Solo fell to my palm. "Where's his Head, Shawn!!??" Han Solo had been beheaded. Shock then anger then sorrow. Shawn shook his head. "You're kidding me, right?" I said. (now the following may or may not have been said. remember I was only 6.) "I loan you one of my most favorite figures and you have the balls to return him with no fuckin' head!" I repeated myself. "Where's his fuckin' head!?" As I started to inspect the rest of Han Solo, his arm fell off. Jesus! Han Solo just lost his fuckin' arm!! Moving his legs back and forth, his left leg fell to the ground. Shit! Han Solo is now a paraplegic! What horrors did this action figure go through to suffer such violence and damage.
He knew I was not only sad but angry. He told me I could keep his Micronauts. Thing was, I didn't want is farking Micronauts. I wanted my Han Solo. I was so distraught that I dropped Han Solo and ran home. I told my mother and then I cried. She promised to get me a new one but that day never came. It taught me a lesson and forced me to be a selfish bastard that never shared his toys again. There were many many times that I said, "no way Jose" when someone wanted to borrow my Snake Eyes (the one with two Uzis) or Go-bots.
This sad story would get a happy ending. 15 years later, I would find a Han Solo at Starbase 10 in Albuquerque. He cost $20 bucks but he was worth it. He's in my displace case right now. And no, you can't borrow him!
