Orphan Dorothy Gale Garland stood at the south end fence of her aunt and uncle's farm in Kansas watching the ominous clouds of 1939 gather in every direction. A storm of global proportions was coming her way. From the east, the Greater East Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere was burning down China and Korea to clear the field for a new harvest. To the west, the New Order's Luftwaffe was using London and other English port cities for target practice. A quietly beautiful girl, doe eyed and achingly vulnerable looking, soon the politics that be would sweep the house she and her fans lived in up in the air and onto the laps of the wizard of hate and the witch of fear.
Uncle Henry couldn't read the headlines without rolling up the paper and spanking her Auntie Em's buttocks for the wickedness of their species. He would then cry and hand what was left of the Wichita Eagle to his wife to beat his bald pate with till not a word was readable. Every night this was the sole entertainment in the farm house. Dorothy longed to hear the radio again but the news blurbs of conquests and fallen capitals had shorted out the squeak box.
Movies. How Dorothy longed to go to the movies. On the Main Street of Bumfucked K Town, where farm boys with fingers itching for triggers and rectal penetration, smoked Camels that would carry Hope and Crosby and Bogart across the desert- the desert where many of them would die under the boots of Rommel and Patton. The soda fountain at the drug store served fruit phallic splits and breast shakes. The precious cherry she reserved for matrimony sat unguarded atop a puff of whipped cream. Hollywood's leading man, their biggest box office draw, wasn't even a man, but a boy, soon to be called, soon to be tested, soon to serve and soon to save Dorothy.
As Herr Hitler and Gobbles closed the noose around Hollywood, controlling production and even script development through their omnipotent censor, the Jewish moguls who owned the studios shook with fear for loss of the biggest market for their fare. The Axis market now included almost all of Europe, Asia and that part of Africa with electricity. They had been accommodating the paint brush mustache for years. Now, without him and Tojo, Hollywood movies would just be home movies.
The world behaved itself and slugged through the Great Depression while curly topped moppet Shirley made the movie theater her temple. But Shirley's seduction, though complete, was as short lived as childhood. The world was sick of responsibility and girls have to mature quickly or fall from grace. So the public turned to the typhoon of testosterone. also short and cute, energized and musical, Mickey Roo.
Bad boy of Boy's Town, cabin boy in Captains Courageous and Judge Harding's son, Mickey Roo took the reins of Tinsel Town's fate and turned growing up into a series of adventures and comedies the world much needed. He woo'd girls and whizzed around in jalopies. Turned the barns of foreclosed farms into Las Vegases at a time when even Broadway could barely keep the lights on. He was horse feathers, malarky, bullshit but divine in his distraction. Most of all he was short and ordinary looking. He was us. Attractive in his energy, his spirit, his courage and humility.
Mickey Roo always saved the show, usually got the girl but could not spare Dorothy the ride she would take out of her Kansas farm into a world of color and horror. Even the cruel rhythms of nature in the Mid West would be missed when houses fly and children walk out of doors into a world they don't recognize. Even the dust bowl half the country had become with its quiet starvation and dehydration of hope could not compare to the technicolor terror enveloping five continents.
Mickey Roo packed up his gear and traded his tailored suits for olive drab. He was off to see a wizard of smoke and mirrors and death. Under a sky where flying monkeys drop bombs on children and old people. Where witches watch your every move in their cauldrons. Down the yellow bricked path of fear to join the Tin Tank, the Hay Bag and the Big Pussy. Puckering the ruby lips of her mouth and vagina, Dorothy muttered there's no place like shoes…
Somewhere, beyond a light fracturing mist lingering after a holocaust, skies are blue and free of military aircraft. Wizards fly away in balloons or burn like trash in ditches. Witches melt like shit in the rain or swing at the end of Allied hemp. Dorothy was bruised, beaten, raped and saved. Mickey was intact but when he returned to Hollywood he had become too much of a man for his career.
The world had grown up. Never again would it listen to children or teenagers. Even Rock and Roll and Rap are performed by young adults for the most part. Mickey was not a kid. He was a veteran and he looked it. Roo's career would continue and span over nine decades. He would never cease to delight us with his humor and spirit. Through Depression, World War and Cold, social revolution into our current Great Recession, Mickey the Roo entertained, distracted and inspired us to put on a show and make a life out of what was handed us.
*Mickey Roo marks Satire1's 300th post