Phil Hudgins
CNI
Does anybody remember The Yo-Yo Man?
That’s what I asked several of my friends from elementary and high school—mostly retired now except for doctor appointments.
I attended one elementary school and two high schools, and I didn’t remember to which school The Yo-Yo Man came and did his tricks. But, finally, one student of that era remembered. She attended my elementary school.
For those who don’t know, The Yo-Yo Man played the Duncan Yo-Yo, which is a round toy that goes up and down on a single string. He is not to be confused with Yo-Yo Ma, who plays the Davidov Stradivari cello on four strings.
Best I remember, The Yo-Yo Man did not perform in a program at school, although he did at several other schools across the nation, according to the internet, which is never wrong. At our school, he had kids gather around on the school grounds where he demonstrated his yo-yo prowess. But, unlike the internet, I could be wrong.
The one former student who remembered The Yo-Yo Man said she actually bought a yo-yo after watching his demonstration, but she gave up trying to master the toy after hitting herself in the mouth with it and busting her lip. I don’t blame her for quitting.
For those who persevered, playing the yo-yo had a number of benefits. It could build social skills, develop presentation skills, enhance creativity, build confidence, improve fine motor skills and improve hand-eye coordination.
Then again, it could hit you in the mouth and bust your lip.
In writing letters and news stories, the word “yo-yo” is useful in describing things that go up and down, such as your weight, your temperature, your 401(k).
I owned a yo-yo or two when I was a kid, but I never advanced beyond the beginning phase, which included such tricks as walking the dog and around the corner (or world, if you were trying to build your confidence).
People who advanced to the intermediate phase could demonstrate such tricks as the man on the flying trapeze, the Eiffel Tower, and the dog bite, which is what the dog does when he’s tired of walking.
I perused the inerrant internet for more yo-yo information and discovered that the National Yo-Yo Museum—yes, there is one—is located in Chico, California, which claims to be the cultural and economic center of the northern Sacramento Valley. So, culturally, the National Yo-Yo Museum fits right in.
I also came across a man named Mark Hayward, who bills himself as the World Yo-Yo Champion. Owning that title would’ve made my mother proud, but I’m not sure about my daddy. “You need a job, son,” he would say.
Instead of yo-yo’ing, I became a Newspaper Guy, which I considered to be a notch above The Yo-Yo Man. Some people might disagree.
Still, I’m happy to have met The Yo-Yo Man and tried a few tricks myself. My mother hoped yo-yo’ing, or something, kept me out of the pool room.
It didn’t.