The Stringy and Spot Club

My father, David X. Sheehan Sr., exited the U.S. Navy in 1946. His hitch was up, in the Naval District of Portland, Maine. He had met my mother, Willa Anne Tibbetts, while on Shore Patrol duty at George’s Delicatessen, where she waitressed and he and his partner often ate.

My parents married at the end of September of 1946, and finished up their honey-moon, in Boston, by attending World Series game 3 between the Boston Red Sox and the St. Louis Cardinals, which the Sox won 4-0. Unfortunately, as was one the cases in the “Curse of the Bambino” era, the Red Sox lost in a game seven.

The honey-moon over, my father, who I called Papa, got a job with Stromberg-Carlson, an electronics company, which spearheaded the implementation of central telephone buildings throughout the southwest and the south. These buildings housed everything needed to give folks access to telephones in the home, something, because of WWII, the country sorely needed, a communications upgrade.

Papa, worked for Stromberg-Carlson from late 1946 through 1953. During this time, I was born in March of 1947 and my brother, Christopher, was born in June of 1948. Our family lived in 37 different states in those seven years in periods of a week up to three months at a time. `In this seven-year span, Chris and I shared having the first cases of Diphtheria in over fifty years in Jefferson City, Missouri, as well as having our tonsils removed in Hobbs, New Mexico. I think we spent more time together than most siblings would, normally. Each time we would make a move from one city to another (which, by the way, was done by bus or train as we didn’t own a car) we boys, were allowed to carry one item each with us.

For Chris, it was a black animal of some sort, it was not cat or dog or any recognizable thing, but had big black eyes that jiggled, when Chris would move it. It was a big bundle of knitting wool sized loops of curls forming the creature that Chris named “Stringy”. Mine was clearly a dog, stuffed and soft with eyes like Stringy’s, it was completely blonde, so naturally, I named him “Spot”. Woe be the day, one of these friends could not be found, which was virtually impossible. Stringy and Spot ate at the finest Howard Johnson’s or closest restaurant available, and they slept, each with his master, every night.

By day, we played all manner of games with Stringy and Spot, they were our friends and were included in every thing but daily baths, and believe me, they could have used a shower. They often needed a little mending, so when Spot’s neck began to pull away from his body, I would use pieces of cloth from pillow cases or old face clothes to hold his head high. Stringy was easier, Chris just tied the loose strings together and “voila”.

As the years went by, and Chris and I learned to talk and put ideas together, we formed the Stringy and Spot Club, which took place each evening, whenever the final goodnight came from Mama and Papa. We’d sing “It’s the Stringy and Spot Club were glad to be here, we’ll have lots of fun here”, and that would open the imaginary radio show. (For brothers’, only 4 and 5 years old, that was pretty good, I think.) Each show was better than the last and usually included all of the events of that day we brothers had. New toys were invited in to be interviewed, and give their thoughts on their new home. The show would end when one of us fell asleep, usually looking forward to a new tomorrow. Unless one of us was ill, the Stringy and Spot Club ran continuously until Chris and I were in our twenties. LOL (Just making sure you’re still with me).

In 1953, we moved to West Bridgewater, Massachusetts, because I was of first grade age, and soon, Chris, would be too. Papa went to work for New England Tel. & Tel. Co., and was able to accrue his time with Stromberg-Carlson as part of the deal. Stringy and Spot Club continued from 113 Copeland Street to our first home at 361 Spring Street in 1957, the same year a sister, Patricia, would be introduced to us. Mama would set Stringy and Spot on our pillows each day, and as time went by, they graduated to a shelf in out closet, until they, like today’s history, disappeared.

By the late 1960’s, I was married with children and Chris was in the Navy.

By the 70’s, telephones were run on a different system, and eventually, with microchips, the actual offices were finished, now taking up very little space. Papa, called himself a dinosaur, and prior to retiring, was one of a handful of men that had knowledge to repair the systems he had been so much a part of building in the 40’s and 50’s.

By the end of the 80’s, Mama and Papa had passed. Only Chris and I remain to tell the story of the Great Stringy and Spot Club evening shows.

The intervening years, have brought so much to recall. Technological advances, including cell phones with which you can interface with friends on Facebook and similar media, pick up email, and interface with the internet. Also, we have seen horrors around the world, including the tragic events of September 11th 2001 on our own soil. Certainly, much stuff has happened.

2021, having survived (thus far) the rigors of COVID19, I can still remember those nightly extravaganzas, and Stringy and Spot. I think it demonstrates why Chris and I are so close today, though we live a couple of hundred miles apart. We speak of those days only in nostalgic moments, and it eases us both.

My wish for parents of today is that they would let your children be creative, and work stuff out together, with no technology, just see what happens with pure imagination.

Good night Stringy, Good night Spot.