Pipsqueak Read Free Page A

centers where Buster and cast would be making appearances.
    Now, I don’t mean to upset all the General Buster fans out there. Buster put a lot of heart into the show, I’ll grant him that, though he was clearly a middling clown/ventriloquist who didn’t know when to quit. Valiant, too, were the writers, designers, and crew, despite lousy equipment that constantly tripped up their best efforts. There were collapsing sets, klieg fires, and miscued cameras that accidentally showed the puppeteers, or Buster adjusting his gargantuan white muttonchops.
    The premise was a mélange (some might say rip-off) of many contemporary cartoon and kiddie shows. General Buster commanded Blast-Off Air Force Base in some remote location called the North Woods. He wore a red uniform, a cascade of medals, a white gun belt complete with a gold-plated .45, and a white pith helmet with a red parrot named Gussie on top. His retinue was comprised of three puppet pilots: Howlie the Wolf, sidekick Possum, and Pipsqueak the Nutty Nut. The set looked like the inside of a Quonset hut, a painted canvas airfield outside the window. Inside were the Magic File Drawers, the Milkshake Saloon, and Sergeant Desk, who spoke in squeaks that only Buster could understand.
    Each show would open with a bugle sounding retreat over the roar of a jet landing. Buster made his entrance as though he’d just come back from a flight. He’d take off his parachute and greet the live kiddie audience. Gussie the red parrot would then say hello to the kids and hit the General with a lame knock-knock joke. The rest of the cast then popped up in the window and matched wits with General Buster. Without fail, each episode’s suspense centered on Howlie and Possum’s scheme to eat or annihilate Pipsqueak—if only they could: a) get Buster to fall asleep; b) send Buster off to fly a wild-goose-chase mission; or c) prove Pipsqueak was a traitor so that Buster would have to shoot him. The result was usually that: a) Buster woke up in the nick of time (kid audience screaming, “Wake Up!”); b) Buster returned in the nick of time (kid audience screaming, “Come Back!”); or c) Sergeant Desk or the Magic File Drawers would produce evidence clearing Pipsqueak of treason. Howlie and Possum would be sent to the Brig without a milkshake. The End.
    And how’s this for a little Cold War nostalgia? Buster’s troop had a greater nemesis, simply referred to as “the Enemy.” This thinly guised Slavic empire inspired air-raid drills on the show during which kids at home were supposed to duck and cover.
    And of course, there were low-rent cartoons on the show.
Roger Ramjet
was the main ingredient, plus a portion of
King Leonardo
, a dash of
Ruff and Reddy
, and a pinch of
Crusader Rabbit
.
Clutch Cargo
cliff-hangers were the garnish to the show’s end.
    Barring nuclear winter, the show went off every weekday with the not-so-subtle mission of promoting Gutterman’s Taffy Cremes, confections so gooey they peeled from their wrappers like slugs from hot macadam. Every kid I knew found the cremes themselves utterly horrible, as well as the company name, which made us all think of sauerkraut or pickles. But against all odds, the entire cast of
General Buster
worshipped Gutterman’s Taffy Cremes. Pipsqueak naturally favored Gutterman’s Peanut Butter and Jelly Taffy Cremes, and his dopey likeness even appeared on the package. Predictably, we kids caved in to the pressure of advertising and bought the chews regularly, despite the fact that we made “yechh” faces as we scraped the taffy from our teeth.
    Perhaps the most novel aspect of
The General Buster Show
was that a taxidermist had made the puppets from real animals, though I think Howlie must have been fashioned from a coyote rather than a wolf. Possum was a stuffed opossum, looking fiendishly like a rat. Terribly un-PC by today’s standards, granted, but this was the dark ages, when a bacon-and-egg breakfast was de rigueur and TV