Puppet Pandemonium Read online

  My appreciation to the ladies of the Junior Woman's Club of Fort Worth, Texas, who helped launch Ricky Raccoon into such an engaging career these past thirty years. My special thanks to Pat Boswell McCall, Nancy Wilson, and Marilyn Roach, who encouraged a Ricky Raccoon pandemonium!

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to Wendy Loggia, my editor, who thought a puppet and a grandmother made a good mix for a story; Pam Bobowicz, who gave me so much insight; Angela Carlino, for her terrific design; and everyone else at Delacorte Press.

  To Jane Yolen, who gave Made You Look wings.

  To Mr. Gerald Berry, of the former Texas Electric Service Company, who turned Ricky Raccoon into an energy conservation icon.

  To David Roberts, Gregory Roberts, and Diane Roberts Balogh, who allowed me to rear them with a puppet on my hand.

  To Jim Roberts, my secretary (LOL), who makes it all possible.

  To Golly Popo, with love.

  And to the three generations of children, parents, and grandparents who have laughed along the journey.

  Every time Ella Pearl crawled over the top of Ricky Raccoon's puppet house, I held my breath. That unruly crocodile gnashed her teeth faster than a pair of snapping turtles looking for worms. Clickly clack, clickly clack. And even though I had seen my grandmother's puppet shows a zillion times, I was sure that someday Ella Pearl was going to eat Ricky Raccoon for supper.

  “Not to worry,” Gram said. “Ricky is much too clever to be eaten by a cross old crocodile.” But with Ella Pearl's fiery temper, I never knew from one show to the next what might happen.

  My gram was magic. She could make any puppet come alive and make kids laugh so hard they wet their pants.

  When I was in the fourth grade, Gram asked me if I'd help with her Ricky Raccoon puppet shows. “I need a good director,” she said. “Someone I can depend on to run the sound system and work my spotlights.” My problem? I didn't like being in front of people. I was afraid they'd laugh at me if I made a mistake.

  “But I don't know how to direct,” I told Gram.

  “Nothing to it,” Gram promised. “And the pay's not bad either.”

  “You know I can't make puppets act,” I reminded her. Staying behind the scenes was what I did best.

  Gram understood. She had this way of making me believe I could do anything, though, so that was why after a little more coaxing on her part, I found myself saying, “Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with Little League, I guess I'll give it a try.”

  Working for Gram turned out to be a blast. She showed me everything I needed to know and made me a cool T-shirt with the word DIRECTOR on the back. After a couple of goof-ups, I caught on to working the sound system and the spots. Sometimes my best friend, Sam, helped if Gram needed extra-special lighting.

  Have stage, will travel was Gram's motto. It said that on a magnet she kept on her fridge. And it was true, too. She and her stage traveled all over Seattle, entertaining kids and adults. Everyone knew her. We had been working together all summer when we both learned my job was about to fizzle out.

  “You'll never believe it,” I'd said to Sam during recess the day before. “My dad took a new job. Looks like I'll be starting fifth grade in Texas. Is that the pits or what?”

  He groaned. “No way. Who's gonna play first base if you leave?”

  “You know I wouldn't let the Seattle Seagulls down on purpose,” I said glumly. “Moving isn't my idea.”

  “Awwww, man, I can't believe it.”

  “Me either,” I said, feeling even worse now that I'd told Sam. “But there's not much I can do about it. There's already a For Sale sign stuck in our yard.” And my director's job? It would disappear like a puff of smoke.

  Dad had this weird idea that living in a small town would be great for our family. When he found out his computer company had an opening near Franklin, Texas, his hometown, he applied for it. Moving would mean no more Seagulls, no more Sam, no more puppet shows, and the worst part, no more Gram. But she was her usual cheery self about it.

  “Baker, we'll just have to adjust, that's all. I'll come and visit you often. Who knows?” she said, shrugging. “I might even bring Ricky to meet some Texas kids.”

  “Promise?”

  “You've got my word on it.” She gave me an extra-high five. We were now on our way to the Londonderry Mall puppet theater to give our last show together, and I wanted it to be the best one ever. Sam planned on meeting us there. I was nervous. Seems like when you want everything to work out perfectly something always goes wrong. Gram called it Murphy's Law: if something is going to go wrong, it will. But so far, so good.

  “Wow, the mall's packed today,” I said, looking out the car window.

  “Labor Day sales bring out lots of people,” Gram said. “Last-minute school shopping.”

  My mom had told me we'd go shopping in Texas. Not only did last year's cords and shirts not fit, they were too heavy for the Texas heat. As long as I didn't have to wear a cowboy hat and boots, I'd be happy.

  Gram pulled her car around to the side of the building and two men jumped off the loading dock to help us. Gram's portable stage didn't weigh much, but it was too bulky for me to carry. I unloaded the rest of the puppet equipment and we raced inside.

  “We're running late, Baker. Speed it up.”

  “What's new?” I said, trying to keep pace with Gram. “We're always late.”

  I shouldered through a maze of people on my way to the escalator. Gram pulled a suitcase on wheels. She stored the sound system, the spotlight, the tape recorder, and the CDs in it, plus a million other things. There was a sign at the escalator. I read it aloud every Saturday.

  “No strollers. No walkers. No wheels.”

  Gram always tried to convince me to ride the elevator with her, but I liked the escalators better. Sometimes people asked me about Ricky Raccoon Productions as I rode to the second floor. My T-shirt was a good advertisement.

  Gram gave Ricky Raccoon an extra shove down into my tote bag. “Be careful with the puppets, Baker,” she said. “Watch—”

  “Gram.” I cut her off. “I'm going into fifth grade. Remember? I haven't lost a puppet yet.” She winked at me and headed for the elevator. I'd heard her instructions all year long. I was sure everyone in the mall had heard them too. Her voice boomed out like a cannon. Dad always said the army had missed a good recruit when Gram became a puppeteer instead of joining up with them.

  I held the oversized wicker tote bag close. It was overflowing with puppets. Besides Ricky Raccoon, there were Sandy Skunk, Greta Gorilla, Rita Rooster, Carole Cow, Mr. Fox, Wendell-the-Wizard, Peter Rabbit, Chicken Licken, Ella Pearl, and a million others. The kids loved them all. But they especially liked it when Chicken Licken was in the show with Ricky. There was a horn built inside her head and when Gram squeezed it, a paper tongue flew out of her beak and she made a loud squawking noise. The kids cracked up when she appeared.

  They also loved Ella Pearl, the meanest crocodile in Seattle. Although she caused big trouble in every show, the kids screamed with delight when she came on the scene. Ella Pearl was always looking for a crocodile husband, but because of her bad temper she could never find one. There wasn't any doubt, however, who was the star. The kids dug Ricky Raccoon big-time. He threw out surprises from his puppet house and no one could resist him.

  I glided up the escalator. Just as I was ready to step off onto the second-floor landing, someone tapped my shoulder.

  “You in the red shirt,” a lady said. “Do you have a raccoon in that bag?”

  I ignored her and pulled the tote bag closer. That was when I felt Ricky's tail dangling down the side of my leg. I saw his masked face peeking out. The lady must have seen it too. I grabbed for his tail, but I was
too late. Ricky's tail disappeared between the escalator steps.

  At my feet was a limp body with two raccoon eyes pleading for help. How was I ever going to explain to Gram that Murphy's Law had found me in the Londonderry Mall?

  When the escalator suddenly stopped, I grabbed the railing to keep from falling forward.

  “Whoa!” someone yelled. I turned around and saw lots of surprised faces. The woman behind me was glaring through oversized pink glittery glasses. I thought she might be part of a clown act or something. I knew immediately she didn't want to be best friends. It didn't take her two seconds to yell at me again.

  “You!” she bellowed. “What did you do?” Her voice was as gruff as a TV wrestler's. The emergency alarm kicked in, and the siren sounded like a fire drill at my school, except there was no Mr. Parsons, my teacher, yelling at the students to line up. Most of Ricky's tail had disappeared.

  Pretending I didn't know what had happened, I reached down to grab Ricky.

  “The trouble's over here!” the woman called out, pointing to me. A security guard appeared out of nowhere. He wasn't smiling.

  “Move it!” he hollered.

  “I would be glad to move it,” I whispered, trying not to draw even more attention to myself. “But I need to get my raccoon.” I pointed between the steps.

  “Ha! Like that's gonna happen,” the woman said. The guard stared at Ricky. He took a step backward. Then he squatted down like golfers do before making an important putt. He studied the situation for about three seconds and then gave Ricky a jerk. The puppet didn't budge.

  “See, I told ya,” the woman said, laughing in a mean way. She slapped the rubber railing beside her. “Wouldn't you know it? That kid's broken the escalator.” The guard gave Ricky another tug.

  “Wait!” I cried. “Don't rip him! I need him for a show.”

  I heard people grumbling behind us. They were pushing and yelling and trying to get past us. An elbow jabbed me in the ribs.

  “Hey” a man called out. “Get going. We don't have all day here.”

  “Yeah,” someone else said. “The early-bird sales expire at noon!”

  “Listen carefully” the security guard said, holding his hand up like a grade-school patrol boy. “We gotta fix a problem up here. Keep your shorts on. We'll be rolling soon.”

  The woman took the tote bag from me. “Just so we don't get any more big surprises,” she said.

  I grabbed it back. In the commotion, Chicken Licken fell on the steps. The guard accidentally stepped on the puppet's head. Chicken Licken's paper tongue flew out of her beak and she squawked for dear life.

  “Squawk! Squawk! Squawk!”

  I picked up Chicken Licken and stuffed her back in the tote. The puppet theater might close down forever because of me. I felt sweat running down my neck. My hands grew clammy. My head throbbed. Our summer puppet shows flashed before my eyes.

  Gram's show was a serial. The kids returned every Saturday to find out if Ricky Raccoon was going to be saved from the scrape he had gotten himself into the week before. Now the escalator had turned out to be the biggest scrape of all. I didn't see how Ricky was going to get out of this mess in one piece.

  “Please,” I begged the security guard, tugging on his sleeve. “Let me help you.”

  “Outta the way, I told you. You've caused enough trouble already.” He gave one last jerk. Ricky's tail came out of the steps. “Here, Mr. Director. Is this what you're looking for?”

  Ricky's shredded tail dangled from his limp body. I was horrified. The escalator started again and the alarm stopped screaming.

  Everyone began to move at once, pushing, shoving, and elbowing their way up the steps. My stomach did double flips. What was I going to tell Gram? I saw her coming toward me, smiling as usual.

  “Did you hear the siren go off?” she said. “There must have been a fire somewhere.”

  “It was the escalator,” I said, looking down at the floor. “Ricky's tail got stuck in it.” I held Ricky up. His tail looked like shredded lasagna noodles.

  For a moment Gram was silent. Then she started laughing. She fingered the tail's remaining strands of hair.

  “He looks like he's been run through a meat grinder, all right. I'll just doctor him up when we get to the theater. I have my trusty glue gun in here,” she said, giving her suitcase a pat. “It works miracles.”

  I looked down the mall corridor, but I didn't see Sam anywhere. I couldn't imagine why he was late. He knew it was my last show with Gram. Maybe he got stuck on an escalator too. I checked my watch.

  We needed a miracle.

  It was showtime.

  When we reached the Wonderful World of Puppets, I rubbed my hands across one of the theater's red velvet seats. “Just think, Gram, soon all these seats will be filled with screaming kids.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “More kids, more fun.” We walked down the center aisle toward the large stage. I liked seeing the pictures of the famous puppet characters on the wall. The most famous ones were Punch and Judy. Gram said those puppet characters had been around for over four hundred years. Their shows were still going strong in Europe. Unbelievable.

  “He's a colorful old rascal, isn't he?” Gram said. “Mr. Punch doesn't put up with any nonsense, that's for sure.”

  “I could have used Punch today on the escalator,” I said, pointing to the picture of beaky-nosed Punch as we walked by. “He would have smacked that security guard in the nose with his bat.” I was still mad about the escalator incident. The guard hadn't needed to pull so hard on Ricky's tail. And that glitter-glassed woman hadn't helped matters either.

  Gram climbed the stairs to go backstage. I lifted her suitcase onto the stage and unzipped it. Then I handed her Ricky.

  “Let it go, Baker. We've got more important things to worry about now.” She slipped between the red velvet curtains, carrying poor wounded Ricky. I opened the puppet house and hung Gram's puppets on their hooks behind the side panels.

  Fifteen puppeteers entertained in the theater every week with hand puppets, marionettes, shadow puppets, rod puppets, box puppets, small stick puppets, and giant puppets. Then there were Mr. Brady and Leo. After Ricky Raccoon, I liked watching them best. Mr. Brady was a ventriloquist and Leo was his dummy pal. Leo kept us all on our toes.

  All the puppeteers had become friends of mine. They were super-fun to watch. I had learned tons of stuff about directing a puppet show from them, but Mr. Brady and Leo had helped me the most. At first, I couldn't keep the spotlight on Gram's puppets because they moved so fast. But it didn't take long to catch on to their actions, and by the end of the summer, I had become really good with the spot. That was what Mr. Brady and Leo told me.

  I took a deep breath and smelled the freshly waxed wooden arms of the theater seats. The smell reminded me of Gram's dining room table. Someone had flipped the house lights on, and I glanced at the ceiling. It was decorated with golden lights, and in the center was a crystal chandelier that sent rainbow colors around the auditorium when a special spotlight shined on it. It was awesome.

  “Hey, Baker, what's with breaking the escalator?” I looked up. Sam came down the center aisle wearing glasses with eyeballs bouncing around inside the frames. They were attached to a spring, and when he walked the eyeballs danced.

  “You should be more careful,” he said. “I heard there was a puppet problem and knew it had to be you. Lots of people are really mad at you. You may need a police escort to get out of this place.”

  “Where were you when I needed help?” I asked. “Some friend you turned out to be.”

  “Standing in line for these,” he said, twirling his glasses over his head. “They're giving them away today.” He handed me a pair. “You never know when you might need an extra set of eyes.” He put them back on and the eyeballs started springing again.

  “Will you stop goofing around and help me? This is my last show and I want it to be perfect.”

  “That's why I'm here,” he said. He pulle
d himself up onto the stage. “What can I do?”

  “Check this over,” I said, giving him the schedule. After a few minutes, Gram came out and handed me Ricky and a new tail. It was black with a white stripe down its center.

  “I borrowed it from Sandy Skunk,” Gram said. She clicked a pair of sewing scissors under my nose. “Snip. Snip. Snip.”

  “Ouch!” I cried. “That doesn't sound like borrowing to me.” I made a sour face. “Gram,” I said, “you remind me of a Boy Scout. You're always prepared!”

  “In this business you have to be,” she said. “Sometimes it can be a surprise a minute.”

  I hadn't really thought about it much, but it was true. Gram could patch up any disaster. She carried supplies in her suitcase for any emergency. Once, Wendell-the-Wizard's eyes fell off before it was his time to tell a story. So Gram hot-glued two buttons from her sweater onto Wendell. The show went on as scheduled and no one was the wiser. Wendell-the-Wizard charmed the audience, button eyes and all.

  “Baker, fasten the skunk's tail to Ricky and it will be fine.” She gave me a handful of safety pins and I performed the necessary surgery. I didn't think anyone in the audience would ever believe a raccoon with a skunk's tail, but there wasn't time to question it. We were off to a bad start and I didn't want to make it worse. Sam and I went to work setting up the puppets in the order of their appearance. Ricky Raccoon came first.

  “Who's next?” I asked Sam.

  He checked Gram's notes. “Carole Cow.”

  “Then who?”

  “Rita Rooster.” I reached for Rita and shook out her feathers so she'd look fresh and fluffy.

  “Next?” I said.

  “Wendell-the-Wizard. And Greta Gorilla brings up the rear today” Sam said. “Grrrr,” he growled, pretending to eat a banana. He pitched the gorilla at me.

  Ricky always appeared again at the end of the show and told one final funny story. The other puppet characters stayed on the floor by Gram's feet so she could reach them if she decided to use them at the last minute. There was also a monster puppet, Miss Mona. Gram used her occasionally. I put her on the floor beside the rest of the puppets, just in case Gram found a part for Mona unexpectedly.