I’ll admit it. The Huddle House is my second favorite place to eat breakfast. First place goes to the Beau Rivage Casino in Biloxi, but by the time I get there I’m no longer hungry. Besides, the Huddle House contains answers to several Mysteries of Life.

Mystery of Life Number 38298: Why Do People Keep Trying to Win Junk in the Grappling Hook Machine?

Answer: Because there’s neat stuff in there.

One day, after finishing a breakfast burger and a Dr Pepper, I absently gazed around to see whom I could offend (it was Saturday, after all). My eyes chanced upon the Grappling Hook Machine and its kaleidoscope of colorful stuffed dolls, only fifty cents to try and snag one. And right there in the middle of its Plexiglas window sat the most amazing prize ever.

I speak of that Harley Davidson icon herself…Betty Boop

There she was in all her big-head, tiny curls, itty bitty glory. I wondered whether I could snag her, but it would cost fifty cents to try and I wasn’t sure I really HAD fifty cents, and besides what would I do with a stuffed Betty Boop doll. Maybe, I thought, Miz Roo would like to ride around with Betty riding two-up!

I asked Miz Roo, who was sitting across from me, what the big deal was about Harleys and Betty Boop, sorta breaking the ice.

“Dunno,” she said. “Never thought about it.”

I pointed out that there was an entire section in the JP Cycles catalogue devoted to Betty Boop trinkets, drawings, and statuettes. They even had Betty Boop t-shirts and Betty Boop riding leathers, Betty Boop coffee mugs and Betty Boop leather hoodlum hats (softening the “rough trade” image a little). Betty Boop coin purses, Betty Boop cooking aprons, Betty Boop biker wallets.

She chewed thoughtfully, cogitating the ramifications of her answer. She looked over at the Grappling Hook Machine and saw the little Betty Boop doll inside. Her eyes met mine and twinkled, and she asked, “You gonna eat that bacon?”


Mystery of Life Number 28789 – What’s the Big Deal with Harleys and Betty Boop?

Answer: Because she’s unobtainable, therefore an object of desire.


I read on the Internet that Betty Boop is a Harley icon because she’s so trashy, and Harely riders have thing for trashy girlfriends. Well, that just doesn’t quite answer the question, does it?

If Harley riders really had a thing for loose women, we’d all want Olive Oyl t-shirts and stuffed dolls. At least Betty didn’t have a baby out of wedlock! Yes, I speak of “Sweepea” and yes, I know Olive told everybody that Sweepea is her nephew, but we never actually meet any of her sisters, do we? And that baby is around for a very LONG visit with “Aunt Olive” and her two…count ‘em, TWO…horny sailor boyfriends, and need I remind you that this all takes place BEFORE the pill?

(****!)

Besides, Betty has a Harley in her history. In the 1934 colorized and edited classic "Betty Boop's Trial," Betty is molested by a sex-hungry motorcycle cop on a big v-twin with just one thing on his mind. Then she gets a bike ride on the handlebars, falls for the cop, and is last seen bouncing off two-up into the sunset.

OK, it’s fiction. The guy is obviously an over-the-edge basket case just waiting for IAD to call him downstairs for a few questions. Why Betty would consent to riding on his bike was beyond me.

I didn’t have time to think about it. I had my eyes on the half-buried Betty Boop tantalizing me from within the Grappling Hook Machine. I knew that I’d never have her. It wasn’t meant to be. Slightly depressed, I paid the bill and pulled Miz Roo toward the waiting Roostermobile, causing her to spill some Diet Coke she hadn’t finished drinking.

Suddenly, outside…a VENDING MACHINE TRUCK. I bounced over and stared though the back window of the white van, its engine still running. There were dolls everywhere! Picachu dolls. Sponge Bob dolls. Raggedy Ann dolls.

But I didn’t see any Betty Boops.

Just then, a suspicious vending truck driver appeared from around the corner, catching the Roo staring into his van. “What can I do for you?” he asked loudly.

“Betty Boop,” I answered. “I want to buy a Betty Boop.”

“No.”

I tried plying my wiles. “Aww, c’mon. It’s for the little lady, here!” I pointed to Miz Roo.

“Is that a soda stain on her shirt?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I confessed. “She’s a dribbler, poor thing. She got one look at that Betty Boop in the Grappling Hook Machine and…well, she just started droolin’.”

Vending Truck Driver stared at Miz Roo, trying to figure out why a slack-jawed drooler was looking so…so intense! “Cain’t help ya,” he said. “Haven’t got any, and couldn’t sell ‘em if I did!”

And with that, he went inside to remove all the money from the machine. We turned and headed back to the Roostermobile. Then I heard Vending Truck Driver call out, “If I had one, I’d give it to the poor lady…y’all gotta know that I would…’cept they ain’t machine washable.”


Mystery of Life Number 14 – Why do people buy stuff for their six-month old grandkids?

Answer: Guilt.


A few weeks later, Miz Roo and I are back in the Huddle House, sitting at a six-person table on a busy Saturday morning. I see a waitress walk around from the cooking/dish breaking area and head to a table full of people at the other end of the restaurant. She reaches under her arm and pulls out a Betty Boop doll and GIVES IT AWAY to one of the women seated there.

Unable to contain myself, I call the waitress over like she was a New York cab. “What’s with the Betty Boop doll?” I asked her.

“Oh, she won it,” the waitress replied. “Last week. But it got hung up on the claw and wouldn’t drop, so we had the Vending Truck Driver get her a new one.”

“D’ya think he’d bring me one, too?” I begged.

“Nawp,” she shook her head. “He won’t even sell US one!”

We ordered breakfast, but my heart wasn’t in it. I picked at my waffle and stared at the lady on the far end of the Huddle House. She was holding the Betty Boop for a better look, brushing dust off her hair, fluffing her little animal-print skirt.

Were those PANTIES?! Betty Boop was wearing black silk panties!



This was too much for any sane man to tolerate. I leapt to my feet and stormed over to that table. I tapped the lady on the shoulder.

“Ten dollars,” I said. She stared at me as though she were seeing Charles Manson.

“Pardon me?”

“I’ll give you ten dollars for the Betty,” I said. “Cash American money.”

She was middle-aged with short, wavy hair that bounced as she giggled. She stuffed Betty Boop back into her purse, saying, “No, I can’t. I won it. It’s for my granddaughter.”

“How old is your granddaughter?” I probed.

“Six months,” she said, pushing her purse further away from me.

“Lady, “ I tried reasoning, “by the time your granddaughter realizes who and what Betty Boop is, that doll will be a slithering mass of dust mites.” I let that sink in, and then added, “Fifteen dollars.”

“Oh, I just couldn’t.” I sensed weakness.

“You can buy a lot of candy with fifteen dollars,” I whispered. “Kids LIKE candy.”

She looked across the table at her breakfast companions. One of them was lady in her mid-hundreds, shaking her head back and forth.

“Please,” I tried a softer approach. “It’s for my wife. She has a Harley and always wanted a Betty Boop doll to ride around with.”

“Oh, hell…if it’s for a Harley, here ya go!” She tossed me the doll and snatched fifteen bucks out of my other hand. Right then, I realized that somewhere, there was a little toddler who would never know how close she came to knowing a grandmother’s love.







Win some, lose some.