The Ewok Village: A Childhood Memory
Feature by Matt Caracappa, Contributing Editor
Being a fairly public purveyor of old kid stuff, I'm often asked the
toughest of all
questions: "What's your favorite toy of all time?" I've had more toys
than I could ever
remember, and still collect things meant for six-year-olds like
a...well, like a
six-year-old. If you're a regular reader of mine, chances are good that
you fall into the
general vicinity of the same geeky category.
The Ewok Village playset consisted of three tall plastic trees and a
nearly flat platform that both
connected the forest and gave your action figures plenty of room to
party. It was one of
the featured new items after Return of the Jedi hit theaters,
and I'll never forget
the day I got it. While shopping with my eldest sister at a department
store, she let me
pick out my own birthday present (every child's dream). It looked neat,
but the Ewok
Village was mostly purchased on the merits of having a bigger box than
any of the other toys
on sale. Little did I know how engrossed I'd soon become with those
lousy plastic trees.
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Every young boy with a bag full of action figures christens some special place as the "base of operations" for their made-up adventures. It could be their bedroom desk, it could be Castle Grayskull, it could be a cardboard box. For me, it was the Ewok Village. This was the place where toys from all walks of entertainment came to life, my hands supplying the movement and my low whispers providing some of the most screwy, therapy-needing dialogue ever spoken between Luke Skywalker and Jabba the Hutt. Everyone can think of a few toys that really take them back to childhood, but this was different: I can connect practically every major event of my youth to the Ewok Village. It was my Obi-Wan and Yoda all rolled into one.
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Still regularly sold and traded on the collector's market, a complete Ewok Village playset goes for around 75 bucks. Sounds pricey, but keep in mind, the thing came with a gazillion tiny parts that were lost almost as quick as the wrapping paper. Not the ideal conversational piece to have in the middle of my coffee table these days, but you know what? It's there, and I'm not moving it.
