HOLLIFIELD: Feel the power

BY SCOTT HOLLIFIELD

Published: July 2, 2008

Kermit Love, a costume designer who helped create Sesame Street’s iconic Big Bird character, has died at the age of 91. We never met. (I’m speaking of Kermit. Big Bird and I both appeared in an off-Broadway production of “Road House: The Musical” back in the ‘80s. Ah, good times ... Wait, that wasn’t me.)

Though Kermit Love and I were never acquainted, we both, at some point, realized the exact same thing. People are inexplicably drawn to giant animal and/or mascot costumes.

That creeping realization came to me nearly a dozen years ago when my daughter sat on the floor in nothing but a stained bib and a disposable diaper, worshipping at the altar of the purple dinosaur. Barney sang his songs and dispensed dime-store morality lessons, and she ate it up like strained peas, bouncing around, clapping and grinning like a Little Rascal.

“It’s just a dude in a costume,” I said, envious that I seldom got that kind of reaction.

Once, when we had exhausted both the videotapes and my patience, I cranked the old C-band satellite dish over to the classic dinosaurs-vs.-cowboys movie “The Valley of Gwangi,” featuring special effects artist Ray Harryhausen’s wonderful stop-action-animation creations battling prehistoric Old West-style.

“See,” I told the youngster, “there’s the real Barney. He eats cowboys.”

Didn’t faze her a bit.

I blamed her obsession on a subliminal signal being broadcast by PBS and vowed never to contribute to a pledge drive again, not that I actually had in the past.

Then a couple of years later, I saw her fall for a third-rate, big-headed minor league baseball mascot that made Barney seem like the Laurence Olivier of giant animal and/or mascot-costumed creatures.

“This is your first baseball game, sweetie. We’ll have nachos and you can eat ice cream out of a miniature replica Atlanta Braves batting helmet and we’ll scream out inquiries about the umpire’s eyesight and I’ll teach you to yell, ‘Hey, get a real job, buddy,’ and I’ll have one of those big beers because your mom
said she’ll drive back. This is going to be great!”

And before the National Anthem, she was wilting in the sun, whining to go home. The foam on my big beer had not yet settled.

Suddenly, the third-rate, big-headed minor league baseball mascot emerged from the hot dog area and waded into the bleachers. It could have been a parolee inside. It could have been a serial killer who left the real mascot guy lying dead on the locker room floor. It did not matter. Children and adults flocked to give this felt-noggined, chili-stained creature loving hugs. Without the third-rate, big-headed minor league baseball mascot, we wouldn’t have lasted the four innings before the screaming started.

But I had my true epiphany some years later. As a young reporter covering a local election, I waited at the County Administration Building, along with candidates, their families, election workers and the usual crowd of property-rights-obsessed malcontents for returns to come in.

And returns were coming in s-l-o-w-l-y. I roamed the halls, trying to find something to do other than listen to wild-eyed constitutional scholars ramble on. In an open 4-H office, I found a giant, green clover mascot costume, something that made appearances at various 4-H events. And, when a man is as bored as I was, he is constitutionally required to put on a giant, green clover mascot costume. Which is what I did, if only briefly. But during that short time inside, I felt the power of the giant animal and/or mascot costume. Those who saw me brightened considerably. I embraced women who would not otherwise embrace me.

Then, I knew, as the late Big Bird creator Kermit Love knew, people are inexplicably drawn to giant animal and/or mascot costumes.

Don’t worry, Kermit. St. Peter knows it’s you in there.

Scott Hollifield is editor/general manager of The McDowell News in Marion, N.C.