This Steel Brigade giveaway appeared in a number of comic books in 1987. I scanned this one from an old issue of The ‘Nam.
The moment was intense. I broke the seal on the dossier with my decoder at my side, began to decipher the secret message in front of me. My mission was of utmost importance because if I wasn’t successful, I would jeopardize our national security. Sitting at my desk, I worked quickly. A dot and a dash was an “A”. Three dots was an “S”. A dot, two dashes, and another dot was a “P.” It was coming together easily and the further I got, the quicker the solution came. When I finished, I put the decoded message in the mail and waited for my reward.
Four to six weks later, I got it–a patch and a certificate.
While it wasn’t as crushing to my childhood innocence as Ralphie Parker decoding and Ovaltine commercial, the anticlimax of toy-related mai-ins and ocntests could be very real when i was a kid. Sure, many of my friends and I have glorious tales of saving up proofs of purchase for a special mail-away figure, but I also remember toy inserts or ads inc omic books that promised something really cool if you filled out an entry form.
Now, most of these were for contests or random merchandise, but Hasbro did the children of America a solid with their G.I. Joe toys back in the mid-1980s. I wasn’t there for the Sgt. Slaughter or William “The Refrigerator” Perry figures (although my friend had both), but in the summer of 1987, I did spot an ad in the back of a comic book for a G.I. Joe figure based on myself.
It’s episode 150 of the show, and for this episode, I revisit my series of episodes about America: its history, its people, and its culture. After talking about my interest in books about American “stories” (and the many books I’ve read over the years), I return to Peter Jenkins’ A Walk Across America by looking at its newly published “sequels”: Barbara Jenkins’ book So Long As It’s Wild and Jedediah Jenkins’ book Mother, Nature.
Though the individualistic teenagers I teach might be loathe to admit it, they all wear the same clothes. Oh sure, they all find ways to express themselves, but self-expression via nonconformity in clothing has been de rigueur for adolescents since they first gained a sense of purchasing power in the 1950s or 1960s. They may all say they aren’t one of the sheep-like masses, but look in their closets and you’ll find a hooded sweatshirt, a pair of stretch leggings, and a beat-up pair of jeans in the same way my generation had an array of flannel shirts, alternative band T-shirts, a beat-up pair of jeans, and the Lands’ End Squall Jacket.
First introduced by the Dodgeville, Wisconsin-based clothier in 1983, the Squall is a medium-weight nylon jacket with a fleeced lining that is suitable for the majority of autumn, winter, and early spring when the weather is cold but not the Ice Station Zebra conditions that make you bust out your Lands’ End parka. The company says that it “best exemplifies all of our know how. Popular for its classic style and versatility, it’s reliably warm, and made from durable windproof waterproof fabric.” That definitely appeals to the parent in me who wants to make any $50-100 jacket last as long as possible, and Lands’ End definitely knows I want dependability when it comes to my purchase at least according to their explanation of why the jacket is called “Squall”:
Reminiscent of our nautical past, the word ‘squall’ usually defines a sudden gust of wind bringing on storms of rain, snow, or sleet. Not the most comforting of images, is it? But at Lands’ End, Squall has come to define dependable warmth for generations … you might not be a captain sailing a ship through the choppy ocean but you certainly weather your fair share of storms throughout the day. Unlike a typical squall, our winter jacket may not be the cause of the storm will certainly be there to keep you cozy, dry, and protected from whatever is brewing on the horizon.
(source: Landsend.com)
I know that’s a lot to say about a jacket, or any article of clothing for that matter but the Squall jacket earned that pretense. My parents bought me my first Squall jacket sometime in the fourth or fifth grade; it was blue and I’m pretty sure that my sister got a red or pink colored one, and they were pretty much permanent fixtures during the transitional seasons all the way through high school, not just in my house but in my school and town as a whole. It was, in a sense, part of the suburban uniform of the 1980s and early 1990s. Those of a certain vintage and upbringing may remember going outside in the late winter and early spring, riding around on your bike in search of a friend to play with, and once you found them trying to figure out what to do because both of your moms kicked you off the Nintendo and out of the house. Sometimes, you got a bunch of other people together and played a rough game of touch football; other times, you just kept riding around while carrying on a conversation about whatever kid or teen topics came up. The specifics really didn’t matter, to be honest; you just remember that you were wearing the jacket.
Pop Culture Affidavit 