Celebrity rip off

It seems these days that the only things kids will play with need some kind of power source or they are not interested. Not so when I was a lad (I can hear the groans) the only power source we needed was imagination, ah well, things change, or as the Lone Ranger used to say “All things change but truth, and that truth alone lives on forever” handsome words from a handsome hero.

About the time I was seven years old I loved the Lone Ranger, I had a Lone Ranger hat, a Lone Ranger gun and a Lone Ranger mask, you guessed it, I was the Lone Ranger at least in my imagination. So you will understand how thrilled I was to learn that he was coming to Manchester and for a short time would be appearing at Woolworth's store in the city centre.

My Father promised to take me on the proviso that I behaved myself for the run up to this monumental event. I of course swore my dying oath that I would and apparently was as good as my word. The week before the occasion dragged for me, it was all I could think of, I practised the speech I was going to make, I polished my gun and I learned word for word the Lone Rangers creed, well you never know, he might have asked me questions.

The night before was absolute torture, I couldn't sleep, it was worse than Christmas eve and that's bad enough for any kid. But the morning came eventually and I started to get ready to meet my hero. I couldn't eat breakfast and everybody bar myself seemed to be moving very slowly, didn't they understand how important this was? We need to get going. Eventually my Dad was ready, we left the house and boarded the tram to Manchester.

As it rattled along Hyde road I looked out of the window at people going about their business and wondered how they could possibly carry on as normal when you know who was in town, nobody seemed excited at all. As we approached Ardwick round-about the tram jerked to a halt outside the Hippodrome, the trailing arm that connected it to the power line had come off, a common occurrence in those days. “Oh no, we will be late” I looked at my Dad beseeching him to do something. He told me not to worry, it wouldn't take long to put the arm back on the line (They had a long pole with a hook on for this) and we would be in plenty of time to get a good place.

I wasn't quite sure what he meant by a good place, why would we need a good place, the way I saw it was, we went, we met him along with Silver his horse and Tonto his trusty friend, we would chat for a while, he might even invite me back to America to meet all the other cowboys when he found out how big a fan I was. Disappointment was inevitable, and it wasn't long coming, as the tram made its noisy way into Piccadilly I could see there was a huge crowd waiting outside Woolworths, hundreds of little boys like myself all Lone Rangered up with hat, and gun, and mask, and all dying to meet the man himself.

I couldn't see how I was going to meet him with all these people here, I could feel a big sob welling up in my chest and threatening to kill my excitement stone dead when suddenly I felt by Dads big hands grab me from behind and hoist me high into the air as he sat me on his shoulders. Then with me out of the way of any danger he pushed his way through the crowd ignoring any complaints, until we reached the front. There in front of us was a cordoned off area in front of the main doors where the Lone Ranger would emerge no doubt riding Silver and reigning him back on two legs and shouting Hi Ho Silver, Awaaaaaayyy.

Wrong again, and this the biggest disappointment of all. Some of you may know that in the TV series the Lone Ranger was played by Clayton Moor, and despite the mask, his face was unmistakeable, as was his voice. The rotund bloke that emerged horseless from Wollworths doors was by no stretch of even a kids imagination Clayton Moor and the little short, fat guy dressed as an Indian who stood next to him was most definitely not Tonto.

I couldn't understand why everyone was clapping and shouting, couldn't they see we had been duped, they were imposters. I was too angry to cry, I even wished that I had had real bullets in my gun, which by the way was a far superior replica than the one the bogus Lone Ranger was carrying.
Its perhaps as well that they wasn't real because at that moment I would have shown just how bad a little bleeder I could be.

The journey home was for the most part spent in silence, my Dad asked me if I enjoyed myself. Of course I told him that I had, I didn't want to burst his bubble, he had seemed as excited as all the kids when Fat man and Plonko had emerged from Woolworths, so I kept my mouth shut.
And shut it stayed until one night many years later as my Dad, and my Brother and I enjoyed a pint at our local, the subject of the Lone Ranger came up, during a pub quiz. “Remember the time I took you to see him in town when you was a kid?” my Father asked. I spilled the beans, all the pent up emotion and mental scaring from that twisted day of celebrity theft came flooding back to me, Oh yes, I made the most of it, it was Oscar winning acting.

My Father looked at me and said “What a bugger, I didn't think you had noticed, Ah well, it got us out of the house for a few hours” I told him of my murderous thoughts, of how as I sat on his shoulders I could gladly have let off a few rounds at the lump in the blue suit wearing a mask and pretending to be the best cowboy there ever was.

Later he told me that he was glad I hadn't said anything at the time, “It would have made me sad to know that you were” he patted me on the back and together we staggered and sang as we made our way home.