THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, September 20, 1994 TAG: 9409200032
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY ELIZABETH SIMPSON, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 197 lines
BARBIE STARES blankly into the aisle at Toys 'R' Us, but no one looks back. G.I. Joe stands at lonely attention. And the Cabbage Patch kid, once the puffy-faced darling of the store, sits forlornly on an abandoned shelf.
But over on aisle 8C, the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers are witnessing a frightful frenzy.
Arms flying. Shopping carts bumping. Parents jockeying for position as they quickly shuffle through Power Ranger merchandise still warm from the truck.
``You can only buy two,'' one mother warns another, shooting a glance at a shopper cradling four Power Rangers in her arms.
Within minutes, the skirmish is over, the hot items gone, the not-so-hot saved for the less aggressive parents.
This is Mighty Morphin mania in action. You can witness it in toy stores across Hampton Roads, across the country and maybe across the universe. If you want in, you must be fast, assertive and well-trained. The meek need not apply.
Yes, it's just a toy, but for some youngsters, it is The Only Toy.
If you don't have a kid between the ages of 3 and 7, it's hard to understand the appeal of the Power Ranger. The most popular model has arms and legs with bendable joints, a helmeted head that turns, a shiny two-toned uniform.
But the plastic action figure is based on a hugely popular television show that kids follow as closely as a hawk watches prey. The daily show features teenagers who ``morph,'' or transform, into Power Rangers to fight evil space aliens with the help of lumbering robots known as Power Zords.
The campy plots have predictable lines, but the kids love it.
Though the toy and the show are more than a year old, the novelty has never waned, and supply still chases demand.
Virginia Beach mother Carrie Roberts stopped trying to buy them for her sons during the Christmas 1993 season and aimed for Easter. No luck. Then birthdays. Impossible. And here it is four months until next Christmas, and Roberts still hasn't been able to track one down. ``I've never actually seen one,'' she says with exasperation.
Still, her children pine for Rangers. ``They are obsessed with them. You say Power Ranger and they say, `Where?' It's torture for these kids.''
The problem? Supply and demand. Kids want 'em, factories can't make 'em fast enough.
Bandai, the Japanese-based company that makes the toys, has 16 factories across the globe churning out Power Rangers around the clock, and still there are not enough. The early models cost $9.95. The latest package of White Ranger and White Tigerzord sells for $49.95.
As new versions come out, old ones are discontinued, making the early models all the more valuable. They've become as collectible as Coke bottles, creating a phenomenon that surpasses the Cabbage Patch doll craze of the mid-'80s.
The most impassioned seekers are mothers, perhaps because of their training in yard sale scavenging and bargain basement deals. But fathers, grandparents, doting aunts and uncles also have joined the ranks. They network with relatives in other states, get overseas spouses to scout out stores. They watch trucks unload in parking lots and get on waiting lists.
They are committed, addicted even, to the hunt.
They are people like Stephanie Widel.
She knows she has a problem, knew even before her husband pointed it out. The Virginia Beach mother of a 5-year-old boy and 2-year-old girl has spent hundreds of dollars, waited for what amounts to weeks in lines or tooling around stores waiting for shipments to be unpacked.
``I have every single item there is,'' she says. ``I'm a fanatic. At first I did it for my son. I do it for myself now. My son could care less. You know how some people have to have a drink? I have to have Power Rangers. It's my calling.''
She has been in the thick of the hunt. Seen mothers crying in toy stores. Parents pushing and shoving. Children begging to go home.
``The other day I heard a boy say, `Mom, let's just leave,' and his mother said, `No, we're not leaving.''
Widel studies the prey like an international spy analyzes her target. She knows the store policies by heart. Toys 'R' Us keeps a waiting list, Kay-Bees won't. One store stocks the new Power Rangers in a bin at the front, another in the back aisles. One gets an itemized list of toys the day before the trucks arrive, another doesn't.
``I have connections in all the toy stores,'' says Widel, a cosmetics representative. ``You have to know someone. Don't call and ask for Power Rangers. They're turned off by that. Ask for the truck schedule.''
Most stores have a two-item limit. Widel has her 2-year-old daughter stand in line to double her purchase. ``Technically she is a person and a separate customer,'' Widel says.
And as if parents weren't tough enough to compete against, there are ``the collectors,'' people who buy the dolls and sell them for double, even triple the price. Widel's seen them circulate through a store several times in a morning until they get what they need.
``The stores clerks don't notice, but I do,'' she says.
What keeps the frenzy going? You can't get one Power Ranger and be done. You need to have all the different colors. All the different models. All the different accessories.
Some are harder to get than others. For instance, forget the 8-inch Green Ranger. Can't be found. The newest model, the White Ranger, only comes in stocks of three or four, or so we're told. They disappear in seconds.
But if you're really serious about getting a missing color or model, don't despair. There are ways. Check the classified ads. Watch for signs in yards. Check computer bulletin boards. But expect to pay Megazord-size bucks. ``I had a collector offer me $150 for a Titanus,'' Widel says.
She knows it's crazy; she also knows she's not alone. She sees others like her in line. She exchanges notes and stories with them. She makes friends with them.
Friends like Debbie Comer, a Norfolk mother of 4- and 7-year-old boys. Comer once waited an hour in a line of 100 people at a store. She rushed the bin, saw a Pink Ranger, knew that color was hard to get, knew she already had one but grabbed it anyway.
``It really made the parents behind me mad,'' she says.
What did she do with it?
``I still have it,'' she says. ``Don't ask me why.''
Maybe her kids can explain the toy's popularity.
Ryan Comer, 7, dressed in a purple Power Ranger T-shirt, holding a Power Ranger dagger, in a room decorated with Power Ranger sheets, thinks hard when asked why he likes Power Rangers.
``Cuz I like them,'' he answers with a look like ``What a crazy question.''
And his 4-year-old brother Matthew?
``Cuz I like them too.''
Then they embark on a discussion about what it is Power Rangers do. ``They have power points to morphin into Power Rangers,'' says one.
``The White Ranger is coming in, the green one is going back,'' the next continues.
``The green one needs recharging,'' adds Adam Delucenay, Ryan's friend.
``You push this button,'' says Ryan, pushing a button on his Power Ranger dagger, ``and that makes the dragons come. This makes him fall down, and that one makes him come back up again.''
Then they play Power Rangers. Heee-IIII. Ka-paaa, ka-paaa. Pshhh, pshhh, pshhh. Heee-yaaaaaaa.
They jump from top bunk bed to floor, slam a closet door, fling it open. They twist and flash their daggers in the air, assume karate poses, thrust one leg in the air and let go a brain-rattling scream.
``Kaaaaa-YIIIIIII.''
Not everyone sees the fun in the craze though. Janice Hart, for one, thinks it a pitiful commentary on parenthood.
``It's absurd, it really is,'' she says. ``It's a shame that parents do not know how to say `No' to their children and how to explain that you can't have everything just because it's advertised.''
She did consent once to watch the show with her 6-year-old daughter, Brittany. She didn't like what she saw. ``One minute they're talking, the next minute they're splitting personalities into someone who uses violence to correct a situation,'' Hart says.
The TV series tries to be politically correct. One of the Rangers is African-American. Two of the Rangers are girls, who likely boost the female viewership to 40 percent, unusual in children's action shows.
But the opening theme is barely finished before the violence begins. The Rangers kick, punch and karate chop. They ``neutralize'' opponents and solve problems with force instead of words. All the things that commissions on TV violence warn parents about.
And loyal viewers mimic the techniques when playing pretend Power Rangers.
``It's terrible,'' says Chris Spute, a child-care provider at a La Petite day care in Chesapeake. The most common reason for a child to get a ``time out'' at the center is for playing Power Rangers. ``They get so caught up in it, they can't separate the reality from the fantasy,'' Spute says. ``They kick and they punch and they hit people and don't realize they're hurting them.''
As hard as Power Rangers have made her job, Spute reluctantly shares a secret.
She saw an advertisement for the new Power Rangers last week, hustled down to the store before it opened, stood in line and bought one for her 4-year-old son.
She didn't stop there.
She bought a second one for a fund-raiser raffle.
``Isn't that crazy?'' she says. ``I know I'm feeding the frenzy, but I knew I could make money off it.''
She did. Parents raised their eyebrows at the prize, she says, but they bought the tickets. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo by Lawrence Jackson
Jason, the Red Ranger
Graphic
THE MIGHTY SIX
The show follows six teenagers who ``morph,'' or transform into
Power Rangers to fight evil space aliens. The Rangers use robots
called Zords to help them save the world.
Jason, the Red Ranger: A black belt in karate and the team
leader. He commands the Red Dragon Thunderzord.
Kimberly, the Pink Ranger: A gymnast who commands the Firebird
Thunderzord. Zack, the Black Ranger: His passion is music and
dance. He's also a gymnast and martial arts expert. He commands the
Black Lion Thunderzord.
Trini, the Yellow Ranger: She has ``lightning hands and a
peaceful soul'' and the ability to ``neutralize'' any opponent with
a minimum of effort. She commands the Griffin Thunderzord.
Billy, the Blue Ranger: An ultra-intelligent teen who is
fascinated by the world around him and wants to know how everything
works. He commands the Unicorn Thunderzord.
Tommy, the Green Ranger: He is a karate expert and wears a gold
shield with special powers. Viewers are expecting this Ranger to
change into the White Ranger, a mysterious Ranger yet to appear on
the show but already selling like crazy in toy stores.
by CNB