online community focused on sharing and reminiscing about video, audio, and images that stir our memories of the past – old television, theme songs, commercials, print advertisements, the sights and sounds you remember
With four other brothers to keep busy, Mom and Dad scored big with all of us when they brought home the Carry-All Action Playsets by Marx. These kept us entertained, and probably more importantly, quiet for hours.
You had to be careful with the pivot joints and mounting points, but other than that, these playsets could take a lot of abuse. I had Fort Apache, and one of my younger brothers had the Fighting Knights set.
Surprisingly, my Marine sergeant dad did not get us the Army Men set, but it did not matter much. No matter which one you had, these Carry-All playsets brought hours and hours of fun.
Small Shots was one of those 1971 toy ideas that sounds strange now, but made sense once you see it. Mattel basically took the Hot Wheels idea and put little dolls on skates, wagons, carts, and other rolling stands that could run on Hot Wheels-style track.
The commercial is pure early ’70s toy advertising. Everything moves fast, the kids act amazed, and the announcer makes it sound like this was the next big thing. It was not just a doll, and it was not just a car. It was Mattel trying to mix both worlds together.
That was probably the real idea. Hot Wheels was huge with boys, while dolls were usually marketed to girls. Small Shots tried to pull both sides together — little fashion-style figures that could race, roll, and crash down a track. It was a clever idea, even if it also feels a little odd today.
Another interesting note: one of the early Small Shots commercials is listed among Jodie Foster’s early TV commercial work. She was still a child actor at the time, years before most people knew her name.
Small Shots did not last very long, but it is a great example of how toy companies in the 1970s were willing to try almost anything. Dolls on Hot Wheels track? Why not. In that era, if it rolled, launched, flipped, or crashed, somebody was going to put it in a commercial.
This is the Big Jim a lot of kids remember: not just the action figure, but Big Jim’s Rescue Rig from Mattel. The 1973 commercial had everything a kid needed for instant backyard drama — a rock slide, danger, a crane, a ladder, and Big Jim rushing in to save the day.
The Rescue Rig was basically a rolling rescue headquarters, with enough parts and gadgets to turn a pile of dirt or rocks into a full emergency scene. It was the kind of 1970s toy that did not need batteries, screens, or sound effects. You supplied all of that yourself.
For kids who had it, this was more than a truck. It was the whole adventure.
I remember my mom calling it the “Shoop Shoop Hula Hoop,” and for years I wondered where that came from. Now I know she wasn’t just making up a funny name — that was actually part of Wham-O’s marketing.
The original Hula Hoop craze took off in 1958, but like most fads, it cooled down. Wham-O later tried to bring it back by adding a new twist: sound. They put small ball bearings inside the hollow plastic hoop so that when you spun it around your waist, it made a swishing, “shoop shoop” kind of noise. TIME described the 1967 version as the New Shoop Shoop Hula Hoop, with bright colors and ball bearings inside to give it that “whirry” sound.
That explains why the name stuck with so many parents. It wasn’t just a hula hoop anymore — it was the one that made noise. Toy collectors and nostalgia sites still point to the Shoop Shoop version as Wham-O’s attempt to freshen up the craze, and later versions from the 1970s kept the name alive.
It’s funny how those advertising names became part of everyday family language. A kid might have just called it a hula hoop, but Mom remembered the commercial name: Shoop Shoop Hula Hoop. And once you hear that, you can almost hear the sound of it spinning again.
The Slinky was just a coil of metal, but once you put it at the top of the stairs, it became magic. It could walk, stretch, flop, twist, and occasionally tangle itself into something no child on earth could ever fully fix.
Invented by accident in the 1940s, the Slinky became one of those toys almost every kid knew. You did not need batteries, a screen, or instructions. You just needed stairs, patience, and maybe a little luck.
And who can forget the jingle? “It’s Slinky, it’s Slinky…” Once that got in your head, it stayed there.
Did you have a Slinky? And did yours actually make it all the way down the stairs?
I felt that changing the discs to make it do different maneuvers meant you might as well have pushed it by hand. Was I wrong?
Shark Pack was a 1970s toy boat line from Ideal, and the big feature was its interchangeable program discs. Instead of radio control, you put in a disc, set the boat loose, and it would follow a preset pattern, turning or circling depending on which disc you used.
For the time, that was a pretty clever idea. It gave kids a way to “program” the boat before home computers and remote-control toys became common. The commercial made it look exciting, with the boats cutting through the water and changing direction on command.
Like a lot of toys from that era, the real fun probably depended on where you used it and what you expected from it. If you had a pool, pond, or enough room to let it run, Shark Pack may have been a lot of fun. If you were expecting total control, the disc-changing part may have felt a little less magical.
That’s why I’m curious. Did Shark Pack really live up to the ad, or was it one of those toys that looked better on TV?
The idea was great: give Barbie a haircut, style her hair, curl it, and somehow keep the fun going without ruining the doll forever. Of course, commercials always made these toys look effortless. At home, I’m guessing it depended on patience, steady hands, and whether Barbie’s hair ended up looking salon-ready or like she had just lost a fight with a brush.
But here’s what I really want to know: Did you have Barbie Cut ’n Curl? Did it actually work the way the commercial showed?
And even better, did any of you start by cutting and styling Barbie’s hair and later end up becoming a hair stylist, barber, or working in cosmetology? Sometimes those childhood toys really did point us toward what we’d do later in life.
It was great the first day you got the track, but the fun didn’t stop there. A new car didn’t cost all that much, even for a kid, and suddenly the whole race changed. One new car meant new matchups, new winners, new arguments, and another reason to reset the track and try again.
Hot Wheels were introduced by Mattel in 1968, created to compete with Matchbox, but they had a completely different attitude. Matchbox cars looked more like regular cars you’d see on the road. Hot Wheels looked like something a kid dreamed up: wild colors, big wheels, racing stripes, spoilers, flames, and hot rod styling. The first line is remembered as the “Original 16” or “Sweet 16.”
And they were fast. That was the magic. Mattel built them with low-friction wheels and axles, wider hard-plastic tires, and a suspension design that helped them fly down those orange plastic tracks smoother than other little cars of the time. The Strong National Museum of Play notes that Mattel engineers wanted them to “zoom,” using thick plastic mag wheels, minimal-friction axles, and torsion-bar suspension.
Then came the tracks. If you got a new setup, like the one with the Super Charger, it worked with the track you already had. That was the genius of it. You didn’t have to start over. You just added on. A curve here, a loop there, a launcher, a jump, and suddenly your living room floor became Daytona, Indy, and a demolition derby all at once.
Looking back, Hot Wheels were a great value because every piece made the whole thing better. One car could change the race. One track set could change the whole afternoon. And for a kid, that little orange track and one fast car were enough to make the whole room feel like a speedway.
The Farrah doll was part of full-blown Farrah Fawcett mania in the late 1970s, when her feathered hair, red swimsuit poster, and Charlie’s Angels fame were everywhere.
Mego released a Farrah Fawcett doll in 1977, right when she was one of the biggest TV and poster stars in America. The doll was about 12 inches tall, fully poseable, and came with Farrah’s famous long blonde hair. Some versions had outfits like a red top, denim shorts, white boots, and even accessories like a skateboard. The Smithsonian has a Farrah Fawcett doll with skateboards in its collection, describing it as a blonde doll dressed in a red shirt, blue denim shorts, and knee-high white boots.
There was also a Farrah’s Glamour Center toy made in 1977, showing how much her look was being sold as part of the fantasy. It wasn’t just “here’s a celebrity doll.” It was “here’s the hair, the style, the smile, and the whole Farrah look.”
What’s funny now is that the doll didn’t always capture Farrah perfectly. Like a lot of celebrity dolls from that era, it was close enough for kids and collectors to know who it was supposed to be, but not exactly museum-quality likeness. Still, that almost makes it more charming. Back then, if you had the Farrah doll, the poster, and maybe the haircut, you were officially living in 1977.
Farrah’s actual red swimsuit and related items were later donated to the Smithsonian, along with a 1977 Farrah Fawcett doll, which tells you how much that image and merchandising became part of pop culture history
I remember wanting Mouse Trap so bad because it looked so cool in the commercial. What kid wouldn’t want their very own Rube Goldberg machine right there on the kitchen table?
Mouse Trap came out in 1963, and the whole attraction wasn’t just the board game itself. It was that crazy contraption you built while playing. The crank, the gears, the marble, the bathtub, the diving man, the cage, and all those little plastic pieces that had to line up just right. On TV, it looked like the greatest thing ever invented.
The neighbor kid had one, we played it, and I was excited to try it for real. It was fun, but I’ll be honest, it wasn’t quite as exciting as I had built it up to be in my head. Maybe it needed that wacky music from the commercial playing in the background! Without the TV magic, it was still a neat game, but the commercial may have sold it better than the actual game.
Still, you have to give Mouse Trap credit. Every kid who saw that commercial wanted to see that trap go off. Whether it worked perfectly or needed a little help, it was one of those games that made you say, “I want that!”
