The Wisdom of Soupy Sales

It was clear to me that Soupy Sales was a very important educational resource. Unfortunately, when I entered sixth grade, Breakfast with Soupy ended at 8:30, and classes started at St. Thomas at 8:30. I
could not possibly watch the entire program and get to school on time. | Wikimedia

Many people make seemingly small decisions when they’re young that have a profound effect on the rest of their lives. In fifth grade, our daughter fell in love with school plays. The passion continued through high school and through a theater degree at Northwestern. She still loves acting, and she is very good at it. In sixth grade our son signed up for Space Camp and it lit a fire for science that culminated in a PhD in archaeology. He is now a professor at the University of Central Florida, teaching his favorite subject. 

I too had a seminal experience in sixth grade. I rearranged my school schedule to maximize my exposure to the wisdom of Soupy Sales. 

Southeastern Michigan was blessed with daily performances of Soupy. He started as a host of a lunchtime cartoon show for kids. He was so popular and versatile that he simultaneously hosted an evening program, Soupy’s On, to compete with the 11 o’clock news. The nighttime program featured great jazz and adult-oriented Soupy Sales humor. Eventually, Lunch with Soupy Sales switched time slots and became Breakfast with Soupy Sales.

I quickly became a full member of Soupy’s exclusive “Birdbath Club.” All participants were known as “Birdbaths.” Eventually, the number of cartoons diminished and were replaced by great puppet personalities that would have a positive impact on children: Willie the Worm, “the sickest worm in all of Detroit,” would announce Birdbath members’ birthdays between sneezes. Pookie the Lion would come to the window and sing Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti” or Oscar Brown Jr.’s “But I Was Cool.” Two dog puppets, White Fang and Black Tooth, spoke dog to Soupy and he would translate. It seemed like every two minutes someone would hit Soupy in the face with a cream pie. 

Soupy was a font of valuable information. He would turn the radio dial searching for a weather report. The announcer said, “Uh-oh! We’re in for a bad spell of weather. W-e-t-h-o-r.” Soupy was a dance instructor, teaching us all to do the Soupy Shuffle. He gave health advice: “Be true to your teeth, and they won’t be false to you,” and “Don’t scratch those chicken pocks or you will grow up looking like a golf ball.” 

He was an investment advisor, pointing out that he once bought 7 Up when it was six. And he shared Words of Wisdom on a chalkboard. “George Washington may be the father of our country, but Faygo is the pop.” “Show me an explosion in a French bakery, and I’ll show you a Napoleon blown apart.”

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It was clear to me that Soupy Sales was a very important educational resource. Unfortunately, when I entered sixth grade, Breakfast with Soupy ended at 8:30, and classes started at St. Thomas at 8:30. I only lived a mile from school, but I could not possibly watch the entire program and get to school on time. 

As I sat in my first-period math class, I noticed that a couple of students arrived fifteen to forty-five minutes late every day. Sister Lucentia never reacted and never reported them as late. 

I asked the late arrivers why they were never on time and why they did not get suspended. They explained that they were on the “late bus.” It seems that one bus route was so long that it could not possibly arrive on time. If you rode the late bus, you were never considered tardy. 

It occurred to me that, if I stayed at home and finished breakfast with Soupy, I would get to school about the same time as the late bus. Perhaps Sister would assume that I also arrived on the late bus. I would miss three-quarters of my math class, but I would get all of the valuable lessons Soupy offered. 

It seemed worth a shot. The next day, I poured a bowl of cornflakes at 8 a.m., watched Soupy till 8:30, and rode my bike to school. I wandered into math class ten minutes before it ended, turned in my homework, and picked up the evening’s assignment. 

Not a peep from Sister Lucentia. If she had asked why I was late, I would have replied that I had no excuse. But she did not ask. On the other end, my mother never asked when I was supposed to start school. A perfect situation. I was prepared to ride this horse as long as he could trot. 

As it turns out, that horse galloped from September 8, 1958 to June 10, 1959. That’s right—I never got nailed. In my seventy-six years on the planet, that was the longest run of anti-institutional behavior that I ever achieved. No discussions with my parents. No discussions with the nuns. Olly olly all home free! 

As with my children, that formative experience made a big impact on my life. I muddled through math, but I also enjoyed episode after episode of the wisdom of Soupy Sales. I can handle the quantitative stuff. I have been a CPA and a systems design specialist. However, my first reaction to most things in life has always been comedic. 

As controller of a public company, I found that one of our subsidiaries was in dire straits. I analyzed the problem and set up an emergency meeting with the CFO and president. The president noted that the sub was losing $10,000 a day. He asked if there was anything positive about this situation.

My immediate response was, “Well, it isn’t Leap Year.” The president laughed heartily and didn’t fire me. 

I guess he was a “Birdbath,” too. 

Related: The Art of Tailgating