Posted on by Phil Strawn

In Remembrance: My Rocket Ship To Mars


Back in the 1950s, before the internet and home shopping networks, us kids were convinced that anything sold in a comic book had to be the real deal. Tiny Sea Monkeys, X-Ray Specs, Space-Ray-Guns, Real Hand Grenades, and yes, like the one above, a real Rocket Ship. What a gullible bunch of schmucks we were.

It took me nearly a year to gather and cash in enough soft drink bottles to purchase my very own rocket ship. I was just a quarter short, and fortunately, my grandfather came to my rescue; he knew where I lived! I was beyond thrilled, trembling with excitement like a dog trying to pass a peach pit, as I sent the order form by mail. In six weeks, my ticket to Mars would be in my hands: a bona fide rocket ship complete with illuminated controls, atomic fuel, a disintegrator ray gun, and space for a buddy and me. When I proudly showed the advertisement to my neighborhood scientist and mentor, Mr. Mister, he tactfully agreed to help me assemble the contraption upon its arrival, not wanting to burst my small bubble. According to my mother’s calculations, my rocket ship should arrive just after Thanksgiving but before Christmas, allowing Mr. Mister to assist me in assembling my celestial chariot. My nights were filled with restless anticipation, I developed a rash, and my appetite vanished; I was a jittery, nervous wreck of a kid.

A week after stuffing my face with turkey, the postman dropped off a ginormous flat box at our doorstep. The moment of truth had arrived. With my mom’s assistance, we lugged the package into our living room, and I eagerly began unpacking my “spaceship.” Instead of finding an epic disintegrator gun or an atomic fuel cell, I only uncovered a pile of flat cardboard, a string of Christmas lights, and two measly C batteries. Oh, and to top it off, the instructions were in Japanese. Talk about a recipe for a miniature meltdown! In my time of need, my mother summoned Mr. Mister from next door. After assessing the comical catastrophe, he instructed me to head over to his place for some cookies with Mrs. Mister while he worked his magic on assembling the rocket ship. Now that’s what I call outsourcing! What a guy! All of us boys wanted to be like Mr. Mister.

Two hours later, I returned home to be greeted by the sight of a rocket ship chilling in the middle of our living room. It was a real looker, decked out in red, white, and silver, all prepped for a space adventure. So, I hopped in, ready to blast off into the great unknown. I couldn’t locate the blastoff switch. I turned to Mr. Mister for some wisdom, and what does he say? “Looks like they forgot to send the engine with the ship. Let’s see if we can piece one together out of spare aircraft parts I have in my garage.” Yeah, right. We both knew it was BS. As I climbed out of the rocket, I accidentally fell backward into the ship. We tried patching it up with tape, but nope, it was toast. There I stood in the dim alley, staring at the crumpled remains of my dream rocket ship to Mars. The things we do for adventure!

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15 Replies to “In Remembrance: My Rocket Ship To Mars”

  3. I was a sucker for gadgets as shown and sold on cereal boxes. Like an Atomic Bomb Ring, a secret decoder ring, a periscope, etc. Too many to remember for sure, but all of them stimulated my imagination to take me on new adventures. The rocket ship sounds like it could have been fun.

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  4. Ah, yes, I remember all the fun toys offered in comic books and in the tiny comics included with Bazooka and Fleer bubble gum wrappers. You could mail a nickel with a few comics to get a valuable 1/4 inch toy or you could mail 60 plus comics without money for the toy. Of course, I’d scrape comics off the parking lots and dig them out of gravel until I had 60. I never knew anyone who ordered the glasses that could “see through clothes” but everybody talked about them. Odds are you did. 🙂

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  5. Sir:

    This is the saddest tale I have ever heard. I am furious and distressed that some company in NEW YORK would take advantage of a young Texas lad with aspirations for space travel. Worse, that 63-cent postage was a ripoff.

    Tell you what I’ll do: you send me a cashier’s check for $10,000, and I’ll send you a postage-paid rocket ship engine and verifiable installation instructions (in original Martian language) and a money-back satisfaction guarantee (Good in all British Commonwealth Membership Countries until February 30, 2025). Heck, I’ll even toss in a pair of x-ray glasses, but honestly, they only work at Wal-Mart.

    I hope this offer makes you feel better.

    Your friend,

    Mustang

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  7. Wow! You actually had, for a moment, a real Flash Gordon spaceship. I had to settle for the following:
    “In our yard was an old wooden rowboat, well-settled and rotting to become one with the earth. I made it into my Flash Gordon spaceship ready for traveling the stars as the brave space pioneer.”

    Frohlich, Robert. Aimless Life, Awesome God . Kindle Edition.

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    1. Yes, he was a saint. My mother tolerated him, and couldn’t tolerate Mrs. Mister because she looked like Jayne Mansfield, but to us kids, he was Mr. Wizard, Santa Claus and Captain Kangeroo in one package. I can’t think of anyone who made a more significant impact on my life than him.

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