When I was a kid, toys and comics were equally important. One informed the other, with pop-culture mythology, consumerism, and a big empty field to play in establishing a self-sustaining feedback loop. The dynamic between what were already two or more clearly defined universes each with their own archetypal personalities was enough to fuel a hundred summer’s worth of conflicts. Having a Mego Hulk in one hand and a Mego Batman in the other gave me a power even comics at the time didn’t seem to wield, to literally smash two universes together and see who came out standing. While the comics laid the all-important groundwork for their individual superhero universes, the toys let you have all the characters AND break all the rules.

By the mid-1970s, Marvel licensing was going full-bore and the variety of toys was astounding. It seemed every few weeks something new came out — even if it was just a plastic Web-Shooter on the rack toys board at the supermarket. If a Marvel character was printed on the side of a flashlight, it was a coveted object in my neighborhood, but if it was something truly unique, you held an object of almost-talismanic power over the other kids. Sounds a little insane, right? Well, that was my reaction when I first laid eyes on the subject of this article.
I was in third grade. It was lunchtime. It would be funny if I could tell you what the cafeteria was serving that day, but this oddly-specific memory isn’t . . . that specific. What I can tell you is that, between classes, a friend showed me the new toy. Eight slender red legs seemed to cling to the flesh of his palm. Blue metal flake flashed in the afternoon sunlight, a repeating diamond pattern between the scalloped edges of the web-shaped rotor. If all that wasn’t enough, a small yellow sticker bearing a black spider adorned the windshield.

“A Spider-Copter?”

I was floored. Now, the jaded among you are already asking “Why does Spider-Man need a helicopter?” To which I reply, “Have you ever been to New York?” I have, and it’s pretty damn extensive, even if you can swing around on web-lines. I’m sure Spidey would rather just fly the 15 miles to fight Doc Ock rather than tire himself out getting there under his own steam. But what do I know? I also liked the Spider-Car.

I pressed my friend for information: Where did he get it? And was there another? Now, I don’t remember this lad’s name; he was just someone I saw in school, not one of the neighborhood kids I ran with. This meant that I could be the first one on the block to have a Spider-Copter. If there was any chance I could beat my friends to the punch on this one, I was going to take it. It turned out the Spider-Copter came from the hardware store down the street, and, yes, there was another one there. Well, yesterday, anyway. My heart sank but I held out hope. I spent the day obsessing over my chances of beating everyone else to it, and when the end-of-school bell rang I flew out the door like a shot. I didn’t go hungry at lunch not to end up triumphant.

I did my best not to run the three blocks to the hardware store. No sense in rousing suspicion. That said, I was so preoccupied that I walked directly into oncoming traffic. Fortunately the car that stuck me was starting from a dead stop and moving fairly slowly, but, still, it was enough to give me a good bump. The guy in the car yelled at me and drove off, which is really wild to think about now — the 1970s were a different time. Surprised but unhurt, I hurried across the street to secure my prize. It waited in the glass case by the cash register, soundlessly gleaming under the bare 40 watt bulb. I quickly handed over my lunch money and scurried out with my purchase, amazed it had all gone according to plan.

I flew all the way home, in my mind’s eye taking the controls of the tiny red and blue craft. It remained a favorite for years, loss of the sticker, paint or a stray leg never impacting my enjoyment of the simple toy. Where it ended up, I couldn’t tell you, but when I found another one a few weeks ago at the flea market, that feeling of joy came flooding back. I know I’m not going to start collecting die-cast vehicles or anything, but it was nice to remember the joy those simple purchases would bring. My new Spider-Copter sits proudly alongside all of my other assorted odds and ends, a reminder that ultimately, toys should always be fun.