Chicago, Illinois

October 19, 1946

The Atomic Ring

It came!

Finally, after two months of running up and down the stairs checking to see if the mail came—and if it did, did “it” come—on this day it did. The box was smaller than he’d thought, no more than three inches square. There was a miniature Ovaltine logo on the left corner, and on the right, in self-depreciating type, the caption read, THIRD CLASS MAIL.

Putting the box to his ear, he shook it, then sitting on the top step, using his key, he cut through the brown paper tape that held the two halves of the box together. Inside, the treasure he’d so anxiously awaited was held bondage by a crumpled piece of paper. Carefully, so it didn’t slip out of the paper and fall and break on the marble step, the boy lifted the crinkled package out of the box, put it on his lap and unwrapped it.

There it was!

Sunlight streaming through the plate glass door reflected on its multifaceted, diamond-like, clear plastic dome. Embossed in the self-adjusting, “one size fits all” gold plated tin ring, around the dome, was a clock face with both hands straight up, at twelve o’clock.

Running up two flights of stairs he tripped on the second floor landing and almost fell. Regaining his balance, he rushed up the last flight and through the door into the apartment, and yelled at his mother, “It came!” as he…

“Mitchell, stop running!”

…ran into his bedroom slamming the door behind him.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he laid the paper on the blanket and smoothed the wrinkles with the flat of his hand.

CAPTAIN MIDNIGHT’S SECRET SQUADRON ATOMIC RING.
HOLD RING TEN INCHES FROM ARTIFICIAL LIGHT FOR THIRTY SECONDS.
GO INTO DARK ROOM. HOLD RING TWELVE INCHES FROM EYES.

“That’s it?” he said aloud, turning the paper over. “That’s all it says?” Thinking, It don’t say nothin’ ’bout millions of flashin’, colored lights, like the guy on the radio said. Or as “if you’re standing in the middle of a shower of shooting stars”! Turning the paper over again, seeing nothing other than what he’d already seen, he then looked in both halves of the box to see if there was something that he’d missed. There wasn’t.

Disappointed, but, Oh, well, tilting the shade back, turning the light on, holding the ring approximately ten inches from the lamp on his dresser, he counted to 30, then went into his closet and closed the door.

As the door closed he did see “millions of flashing, colored lights,” but the lights were from the rapid dilation of his pupils caused by staring at the naked light bulb then going into the total darkness of the closet… but nary a twinkle from Captain Midnight’s Atomic Ring.

“Mom, what’s a second?”

“Huh?” Myra looked at her son as though he were an idiot.

“I mean, exactly how long? Like counting one, two, three?”

“Well, no, it’s more like, one-and-two-and-three-.”

Thinking, I’ll do it longer this time, holding the ring to the bulb he counted, one-and-two-and-three… to sixty, then went back in the closet… to the sunburst of phantom lights from his pin-point pupils.

“Mom, read these instructions an’ tell me if I’m doin’ somethin’ wrong.”

Myra looked at the crinkled paper. “Mitchie, are you looking directly at the light when you hold the ring there?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well don’t. Close your eyes and turn your face away.”

Back in his bedroom, he again held the ring to the light and counted slowly to sixty, but this time, averting his face, Mitchell closed his eyes…

With his eyes still closed he groped his way into the closet, closed the door, held the ring in front of his face and opened his eyes.

At first he saw only black, then, as his eyes became fully adjusted to the darkness, he saw a small green dot. If he moved the ring closer the dot got bigger. If he moved the ring away the dot got smaller. If he moved the ring in orbit around his face, the dot trailed in a small circle…

No “Flashing, colored lights.”

No “Shower of shooting stars.”

For the cost of three Ovaltine labels and a quarter—one full week’s allowance—Mitchell Lipensky had received a rapidly fading green dot and, sadly, one of life’s lessons: The knowledge that you do not always get what you pay for.