By Chris Rennirt
I remember, as if it was yesterday, that November evening back in 1979, months after seeing the movie ALIEN on the big screen. I was at Consolidated Sales Company–the long-since out-of-business retail chain, on Dixie Highway, in Louisville, Kentucky. The 14 year-old monster kid I was (and still am) was checking the toy aisle for anything new and interesting, while my parents shopped for whatever else. Among the usual toys, there it was, suddenly, towering over everything else! On the shelf, in the giant, illustrated box, stood, in all of its menacing, movie-monster glory, Kenner’s newest sensation–the 18-inch Alien xenomorph! Complete with a glow-in-the-dark head (with removable dome), protruding dorsal spines, and retractable inner jaws, this was the holy grail of monsterkid collectibles. Yes! This was a “toy” only by default, and one unlike any before it! More like a work of surrealistic art it was, in all its biomechanical glory, offered up to children able to spend the small fortune (at the time) of $19.99–or, during the holiday season, tempting children to ask (if not beg) for it for Christmas.
With an allowance of only 50 cents per week (and having spent most of that earlier on candy), I was a kid of the latter type: forced to take my chances getting it as a timely Christmas gift. So, out of the toy department at CSC, with the alien in hand (in both arms actually), I looked for mom. (Mom, being the one actually in charge, was always the one best to ask.) Scouring the aisles one by one to find her, I nervously rehearsed my request–how exactly I could word it to improve my chances. Suddenly, there she was, in the her usual hangout, in “Women’s Fashions.”
“Mom,” I’ve found what I want for Christmas!” I said, confidently. Her raised eyebrows told me, before she spoke, what she would say. “NO! You’re not getting that thing. Put it back now!” she said, without hesitation, continuing to look at the dresses on sale. “But, mom, this is the Alien from the movie–the movie I really like–and I really, really want it!” I insisted, giving it one more try. (Yes! Kids usually have at least one more try, before going too far.) “Absolutely not! You don’t need that. It’ll just turn into more junk in your room. Put it back!” Like a valiant soldier, fighting for the cause but defeated, I slumped in disappointment, surrendered, and returned my would-be prize to the shelf. “How many more kids had suffered the same defeat?” I wondered.
But, alas! My ever-resilient mind thought of another possibility for victory. What if mom had (as she had done before, in Christmases past), put on a ruse to trick me? What if she had actually, in that moment without hesitation, discovered (thanks to me) not only what I wanted, but exactly what to get me? After all, up to this point, I had not known what I wanted. Maybe my mom was actually, at that very moment, planning a preemptive purchase, now knowing what I want! Hopefully so!
Shortly afterward, news came that shook my yuletide hopes. Kenner had been swamped with letters from angry parents. The Alien figure, they said, was “too violent for children, too terrifying for kids to play with.” What would such a toy do to the minds of innocent children everywhere, once exposed to a creature like Alien? “As a monster from an R-rated film–one that slaughters humans–how could it be appropriate for children?” parents asked, and Kenner relented. (Of course! This is 1979.) Removed from the shelves, the Alien was suddenly no more. Could I have enough luck to escape the odds growing against me? My mother’s initial “No” and an angry mob of parents. Or, could my mother have, perhaps, already gotten one in time?
The remaining three weeks until Christmas crawled at a turtle’s pace (as they always do for kids), but I put my worries aside. Marking each day off of the calendar took forever (so it seemed); but eventually, of course, the big night came. Christmas Eve was here!
Oh, yes! I remember that night, as well as I remember my first time seeing ALIEN. I went to bed on time, but did I go to sleep? Of course not. I lay awake, feigning sleep to make sure I would fool my parents, turning them into Santa as soon as possible. As they peeked in my room, eventually, to make sure I was asleep, I even faked snoring. (Yes! That always helps.) With the sound of closets opening and gift paper rustling, I knew the elves were at work. But, were they gifting me with what I wanted?
With every light off and my parents in bed, I waited until I heard my father snoring. I knew his snoring would mask the noise I might make on my journey to the Christmas tree. Out of the bed, down the hallway, and into the TV room I was, careful not to make a sound. Under the tree, in the darkness, I felt the packages, one by one, looking for the one that matched the size needed to be the Alien. Finally, there it was, in all it’s 18-inch magnificence–the ALIEN box. I was sure of it! The plastic window in the front made identification a sure thing; and what a joyous happiness it was! The banned Kenner ALIEN was mine! Even other children’s angry parents couldn’t take it away from me now. With uncommon luck, I had escaped a life of deprivation no monster kid could endure.
And now for the big question: Do I still have my original 1979 Kenner Alien? Have I kept the same one, through all these 41 years since that wonderful Christmas night? Of course! It stands today, in all of it’s original glory, on a pedestal in my man cave/monster kid room downstairs. Of all of the things I own, it is one I cherish today as much as I did back then. Yes! It has the typical loose arms, from the elastic wearing over the years; there is a small crack in the front of the dome resulting from a fall from my bed as a kid. But, it’s the same Alien–the same one I found, feeling in the dark, very early in the morning, on Christmas, in 1979. And I wouldn’t trade it for any other.
As for selling it (even with the value hundreds of times greater now), I can’t imagine doing so–now or ever. Although I have friends who have sold their Kenner Alien since, I cannot, for the monsterkid life of me, imagine how they did it. I’d have to be starving and defaulting on everything just to consider it. Why? It’s because I’m a real monster kid; I love reliving the memories as much as l love making new ones today. For me, it would be like selling my childhood (and one of the best parts of it). That big, plastic 18-inch toy from my childhood keeps me connected.
Since 1979, every kind of Alien imaginable has been produced and reproduced, and I have bought many of them. The list includes warrior aliens from ALIENS, dog Aliens from ALIEN 3, scorpion Aliens, gorilla Aliens, snake Aliens, Aliens from video games, battle-damaged Aliens, Aliens that explode, and countless more. NECA has since produced beautifully-detailed and articulated Aliens from the original movie (called Big Chaps) as well another warrior Aliens from ALIENS. NECA has even issued the last two in the 18-inch size, with the “Big Chap” recently reissued in a tribute box–a copy of the box for Kenner’s original. But, with all of these issues and reissues (with many of them being more detailed, undeniably), none of them holds a candle to my original 1979 Kenner. If someone said, “Chris, you can keep only one Alien figure you have in your whole collection. Which one will it be?” You know the answer. Just as my mother did not hesitate to say “No” back in ’79 (only to surprise me all the more later), I say, without hesitation today, “My original 1979 Kenner Alien, of course!”
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