An Invention Through the Ages

One pleasant May evening in 1962, my mother and I were at the kitchen sink doing the supper dishes and watched as my dad screwed a hook about six feet off the ground into the trunk of the large elm tree.  Then he climbed a step ladder and tied a sturdy string in the middle of a branch.  At the end of the string was a metal ring about the size of the lid of a soup can.  We were puzzled as he stood back and handled the ring as though it was a horseshoe, taking careful aim toward the hook.  He let the ring go and it headed toward the hook, but it wasn’t close.  In fact, it was apparent it would never be close, so back up the ladder he went.  After a couple more tries and string adjustments, when he tossed the ring, it landed on the hook.  “Hey, Toots, come on out! Loey [his nickname of my mother’s name ‘Lois’], come look at this!”

Thus, the game of ‘Noose’ was born.  That simple game accounted for countless hours of outdoor fun for friends and family and made for a lively intergenerational activity.  I think that the name of the game was lost over the years and someone would simply say, “Let’s go toss the ring” and people would line up for their turn either as an individual or to help their team.  When we moved the folks into an apartment in 1982, the family couldn’t leave the elements of ‘noose’ behind, so out came the hook and down came the ring and string. 

What I didn’t appreciate at the time or realize until recently was that my father was marking, in his own creative way, a transition.  In my toddler and elementary school years, our pattern was that early evening time was for dad and me.  From teaching me to ride a bike to learning to catch and throw a ball, it was our time.  When I was old enough we graduated to badminton and then croquet.   

But, my folks were in their 40’s when I was born, and while I was aware they were older than my friends’ parents, I didn’t realize all that meant.  What ‘noose’ meant on that summer evening was that he no longer wanted to or maybe even could routinely run around with a racquet after a little plastic birdie or do a lot of bending over and swinging a mallet.

My dad was a simple, quiet and gifted man who loved to work with his hands.  He played drums in speakeasies during the 1920’s and played the guitar and piano by ear.  In the early 1950’s he took an adult education class in oil painting and everyone in the family has one of his lovely pictures.  He had a woodworking room in the basement where he made frames, tables, and a lectern for church.  I never saw him read a book because his hands were busy with other things.

So, whether he dreamed up ‘noose’ as he was driving his New York Telephone repair truck, saw something similar and modified it, or copied the idea exactly, I’ll never know.  I didn’t ask.  All I knew was that my dad had invented something fun, easy and that we could do together.  Sometimes my mother joined us, but usually on weekday evenings, it was just my dad and me.  We didn’t talk much – after all, we had just had a meal and caught up on what had happened during our days.  What mattered was simply sharing time.

George Bernard Shaw said, “We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” I think my nephew in Indiana has the original hook and ring and my niece in Ohio has the game set up in her yard.  Ralph’s legacy continues, not just in art, in love of music, but in his game of noose.  And, in showing me there are graceful ways to mark a transition and serving as a role model, even when long gone.

Marilyn