Run, Spot, Run

AND BEARS, OF COURSE

I've collected teddy bears since 1968. My first bear was won for me at the Forest Festival in Elkins, W. Va. Ever since, it's been bears, bears, bears. I've never actually counted. But in the living room, there are shelf units with more than 80 slots for bears. Each slot holds from 1-10 bears. That's just downstairs in the living room. Most of the bears are upstairs, in the bear room, or in closets with specially-constructed shelves. Pictured below are: (left) a sign for a popular turn-of-the-(last)-century soda; (center) a 1930s bear, like the one my Uncle Bud probably had as a kid, holding a photo of Uncle Bud (Clarence Herr, my mother's younger brother) who died in Europe's famous Battle of the Bulge during World War II. The bear sits on a U.S. flag given to my grandmother when Bud was buried (he was 19). Later, Uncle Bud received the Purple Heart; and (right) a 1909-vintage advertising card for the once-much-in-demand Teddy Bear Bread.

I started writing about bears in the 1980s, when the first teddy bear magazines appeared. Over the years, I've written about bears in political cartoons, in Hollywood, in comic books, in World War II, in the life of early Native Americans, in advertising, on Wall Street, as nesting dolls, as earrings, in storybooks, on postcards and trade cards, and in sports. I've even written about strange "oddball" bears and magazine cover bears.

For all the time I've been a "bear person," I've had to listen to arguments about where the name "teddy" came from. From Theodore Roosevelt or King Edward of England? First applied by German bear makers or American bear makers? Isn't it amazing that something as warm and fuzzy as a teddy bear can still be the subject of controversy?

Growing weary of all the arguments, I made up my own story, printed in 1989 in "Teddy Bear and friends."

How the Teddy Bear Got His Name

"Teddy Bear and friends" magazine, June 1989

Once upon a time, God asked all the animals to meet him at the edge of the forest. He had to choose one animal for a very important position, and each beast had a chance to be the special, chosen-one.

So all the furry, scaly, feathery, sleek, fuzzy, bumpy, big and little animals lined up at the edge of the woods. God paced back-and-forth, up-and-down, examining each of his precious creatures.

"I have decided," he finally announced, "to give a special gift to the children of man. These little ones grow up more slowly than your own animal babies, and while they are growing, they play with objects they call `toys.' I often watch them. It gives me great pleasure to watch the children play."

God stopped for a moment in front of the handsome fox. None of the other animals stirred. Even the wind stopped whispering through the leaves.

"He must be round all over, with no sharp edges or points." The hooved and antlered animals backed out of the line. The pointy-earred wolf raced away into the forest.

"He must love to play, and be willing to do so for hours, just for the sake of having fun." With those words, most of the rest of the line faded away into the shadows, disappointed not to be chosen but eager to see whom God would pick.

Only the bear and the otter remained standing at the edge of the forest, flashing silly grins at God and at each other. Both were soft and fuzzy and round and playful.

"And," finished God, "Most important of all, he must be huggable, wanting only to hug and be hugged." The bear reached out his great shaggy paws, ready to embrace the otter in a warm bear hug. But the otter turned on his back, laughing, and slid his sleek body along the dewy, morning grass, down the hill, and away.

Now, the bear stood alone. "You, Brother Bear! Are you ready to be my gift to the children of man? Then so it shall be, henceforth and forever," proclaimed the booming voice of God.