A & E

Linus had his security blanket. Garfield had Pooky. Big Bird had Radar. Radar from "M.A.S.H." had an unnamed teddy bear.

Sometimes it came into your life as a Christmas present. Other times, the Easter Bunny was involved. Years later, these fuzzy friends look a little worse for the wear. But, no matter what, they're never forgotten.

A few have even become a little famous. "Dirty Wow Wow and Other Love Stories: A Tribute to the Threadbare Companions of Childhood" (Ten Speed Press, $12.95) is a collection of their stories.

Husband-and-wife authors Cheryl and Jeffrey Katz -- he's originally from Squirrel Hill -- run an architecture design firm in Boston and have written several books on design.

By chance, they recently rediscovered a photo album they had assembled for their son Oliver -- and his ragged, frayed stuffed pup Doggie -- when he was little.

"We went on a trip to Paris, and it was that moment where he wouldn't be caught dead carrying it around in public," Cheryl Katz says. "But every so often, he'd need a little moment with his dog. So my husband put it in his backpack.

"So when it looked like Oliver's energy was flagging -- when it looked like he was getting hungry and didn't want to go through another museum or church -- we'd pull him out and ask Oliver to pose him at the Louvre, in the bistro, wherever. And we took pictures. When we got back, we made a little book for Oliver. We called it 'Doggie Goes to Paris.'"

Something about Doggie struck them -- and it wasn't just the flood of good memories associated with him.

"This little inanimate object always looked so real," Katz says. "He looked serious in front of the Louvre. Then he looked like he was having a great time. And we started to look at this picture of Dog and decided to do a book of these things. They're so beautiful, so meaningful. In our work, we're always looking for the perfect object. In a funny way, these are the perfect object for somebody."

Katz sent out some e-mails to friends about the project, and the response was immediate and overwhelming. They knew they were on the right track when they discovered Dirty Wow Wow.

"We were sitting at dinner at a friend's -- our most macho friend, a venture-capitalist type. We told him the idea, and he got up from the table. I thought he was getting another bottle of wine or something, and he came back with his stuffed dog."

Dirty Wow Wow is a stuffed pup with a sweet, yet weirdly blank expression. Blankie is a blanket hugged to shreds, that now lives a cloistered existence in its family's liquor cabinet. Eee-Eee, a monkey from California, isn't shy about wearing other dolls' clothes. Night Night is a pair of worn-out pants that comforted a little girl through the stress of adoption.

There is a technical term for these childhood lovies: Offically, they are "transitional objects" or "comfort objects."

"Historically, they've been seen negatively," says Dr. Amanda Pelphrey, a pediatric psychologist in the Child Development Unit at Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh. "Parents worry if it's the right thing. 'Should we take it away? Does it get in the way of attachment with people?'"

The answer is no. There's really no need.

"We usually recommend no intervention," Pelphrey says. "There's no reason to bring children away from their blankets. Kids, most of the time, work through it on their own."

Sixty percent of children ages 3 and 4 have these objects, she says.

"From a developmental behavioral perspective, objects like blankets and teddy bears serve a role in terms of self-soothing and comforting -- the beginning level of coping skills," Pelphrey says. "And frustration tolerance. Whenever your attachment figure isn't around -- and we historically think of Mom or Dad -- then that's very frustrating, isolating and insecure. The child can use the object as an attachment bond, to comfort themselves."

On some level, that attachment never goes away.

"If you ask adults, at some level, they still have feelings toward (them)," Pelphrey says. "Some of the new research is interesting in terms of how children assign essence to the object, some quality that can't ever be replaced. And we usually maintain that emotional feeling whenever we're reminded of the object, even later."

Trib readers shared their personal relationships with fuzzie comforts.

Monk Monk

"Our 42-year-old son received a stuffed chimpanzee when he was 4 or 5 years old from a relative," says Walter Davic, of Pine. "It has red and white fur outside, with a rubber chimp face and ears. He calls it Monk Monk."

His son would nibble Monk Monk's ears. After years of such treatment, Monk Monk's ears are in pretty bad shape.

"He still has it and keeps it in his bedroom closet," Divic says. "None of his children has ever been allowed to play with it."

Laverne

Marilyn Marnell, of Greensburg, has a 17-year-old son named Jim, who, at a young age, fell in love with a white llama named Laverne.

"Laverne was about 12 inches high, maybe bigger," Marilyn Marnell says. "She used to stand up on four legs by herself. My son was so little that he was dragging this thing around when it was almost big enough for him to ride."

Laverne has lived a hard, dangerous life.

"His younger brother once stole her, hung her over the banister, and threatened to kill her if he didn't get his way on something," Marnell says. "My youngest even sent a note to him saying, 'I have Laverne. If you wish to see her again, give me whatever from your piggy bank.'"

Laverne's suede hooves have long since worn smooth, and she's not white anymore -- more of a murky gray.

"Her eyelashes are matted down on one side -- they just don't look healthy. She's got chocolate and God knows what other stains. ... I never tried the washing machine, because I was afraid something would happen."

College is next for Laverne -- and Jim.

"I don't know how he will explain it to his roommate. My son's a big strapping guy into sports," Marnell says. "The girlfriend is the only one allowed to see Laverne."

Mimi

Alina Boehme, 28, of Latrobe, has a blanket named Mimi. Actually, now it's several blankets. But put them together, and you get Mimi.

"When I was little, my parents took me to Sea World in Ohio," Boehme says. "I left my blanket at a restaurant there. They called, and it had been thrown away. A cousin of mine had the same one, so my mom got it and swapped it. I never knew what happened."

The cult of Mimi lives on.

"I had my first daughter when I was 19, and I shared it with her," Boehme says. "Both of my kids have blankies that they can't be separated from."

Binky

Linden Linsenbigler, of North Braddock, has a daughter named Gretchen, who has an attachment to a "Sesame Street" blanket named Binky. At the age of 11 months, Gretchen was diagnosed with diabetes and fell into a coma. Binky went with her to the hospital.

"He even got sterilized and was taken into the operating room with her," Linsenbigler says.

Gretchen recovered, and Binky continued to follow close behind -- eventually even to college. Now she's 25, and a pastor in an Assemblies of God church in Texas.

Night Night

"When I was born on April 29th, 1989, I was given a stuffed blue bear from Montgomery Ward," says Nikki Howard, of Jeannette. "His eyes are closed, and he is wearing a little nightcap snoozing on a polka-dot pillow. If I could not find my bear, I would walk around the house calling 'Night Night, where are you?'"

When visiting, Howard occasionally would leave Night Night behind, which inevitably meant that Dad had to turn the car around. Once, that happened halfway from an uncle's house, two hours away.

"My cat seemed to also be a fan of the blue bear," Howard says, "because he would occasionally steal Night Night from my bed and bring him downstairs."

Bobby

Chris Crytzer, 42, of Robinson, had a stuffed bunny named "Bobby." The name came from her apparent inability to say the word "Bunny."

"My Mom tells me I carried it everywhere, even though it looked horrible," Crytzer says. "The fur was long gone, but I still loved it. I remember that it had buttons for eyes. One of my Dad's friends thought it was a rag and proceeded to wipe a table with it. That's how bad of shape it was in."

Now Crytzer is married to a Bobby. Coincidence?

The knitted yellow blanket

Marissa Liberto, 12, of Morningside, has had the same yellow blanket since she was an infant, according to her grandmother, Bonnie Brubach.

"We tried to replace it with the same thing over and over and over," Brubach says. "But she absolutely refuses to have it replaced because it doesn't smell like Marissa. She also doesn't let anybody else know she has it."

Harry

Marian Mancuso, 56, of Greensburg, received Harry when she was 3 years old. Harry is a stuffed tiger -- now covered with patches and stitches, his tail worn to a nub. He looks like he was the family dog's plaything, too.

"It came from my sister," Mancuso says. "Back when we were growing up, moms always stayed home, but my mom was a nurse. So my sister was kind of like my mom."

Once Mancuso was a mom herself, her son would hide Harry from her. But she remains loyal to her worn-out tiger.

"If I got to the hospital now, or take a trip to Philadelphia to see my son," she says, "Harry's with me in my suitcase."

Teddy

Corey Cassidy, 33, of Greensburg, has a bear who simply goes by the name Teddy.

"I was none too kind to any toy, really, but Teddy has always stuck by my side," Cassidy says. "It once had a pull-string for Teddy to say phrases, but that met its maker once I got hold of him. First, the pull string, then his nose, which drips stuffing. Yeah, Teddy had a rough life as the friend of a ruthless 3-year-old. But he stuck with me through thick and thin, and eventually met up with his friend for life, 'Blankie.'"

Teddy and Blankie had to be taken seriously by everyone in the family. When Cassidy's mom tucked him in at night, she also had to say good night to both Teddy and Blankie. Cassidy would answer in different voices for each.

Even at that young age, he says, "I knew Teddy and Blankie were two different personalities on their own."

• Most Read
• Most E-mailed
• Latest News