My Name is Larry, and I’m a Mr. Peanut Collector.

It all started back in 1990 when my newlywed wife Robin asked if we could visit an advertising collectible show.  I didn’t have much interest in it but agreed.  We walked around and saw lots of Coca-Cola, Jolly Green Giant, Mr. Bubble, and a few Mr. Peanut items.  I considered it all to be old crap, but Robin thought it would be cool to collect one of the cute, branded characters.  I suggested Mr. Peanut since I worked for Nabisco and had started in the Planters + LifeSavers division. We bought a cast iron Mr. Peanut doorstop and when we got home, I scoured the house for other Mr. Peanut branded items I had received over my five years at Nabisco.  The next Monday I eagerly visited our company store and bought everything Mr. Peanut (a few mugs, a frisbee, a few tins, and a t-shirt).  I even talked to many of the Planters old-timers who would occasionally drop cool items on my desk like Mr. Peanut golf balls, or old letters written on Mr. Peanut letterhead.  This is when my obsession started, and Robin’s interest waned.

Over the next few years, I added more items to my collection and made myself known to just about everyone in the Planters Nuts division, especially the salespeople and brand managers who ensured I always got the latest promotional items.  All my family and friends were always on the lookout for interesting finds at antique shops and garage sales.  My old college friend would tease me jokingly, “How’s your Mr. Peanut fetish?”

I also dabbled in other branded items that were available by sending in proof-of-purchase codes.  I got some Scrubbing Bubble tub toys, a Green Giant Sprout figurine, and a Heinz ketchup phone that actually worked!  Robin first mentioned I may have a problem when I slammed on my brakes during a cold rain at the entrance to the interstate because I spotted a filthy Tropicana Orange juice carton on the side of the road.  I needed ten UPCs to get a free Tropicana Orange radio.

I also joined Peanut Pals, a club for Planters Nuts’ collectors.  They had annual conventions where people would gather to show, sell, and trade their Mr. Peanut items.  Robin and I drove down to Winchester, Virginia one year and stayed in the hotel closest to the convention.  Back then Travelodge was a budget motel chain; the kind where you parked right in front of the door to your motel room.  It was so disgusting (moldy, dingy, creepy) that we retrieved the blanket Robin brought with us from the car since she was always cold.  We placed it on top of the bed and slept fully dressed.  We left for the convention at the crack of dawn. We still refer to that place as the Travelsludge!

The convention was held in a church basement and lots of tables were set up displaying all sorts of cool Planters Nuts items.  I saw a fellow collector who also worked for Nabisco and had driven up from Memphis.  We were chatting as the auction was underway. I itched my nose and he explained to me that my itch was construed as a bid of $200 for a rare glass jar with Mr. Peanut on it.  I was terrified as this was way over my budget, but luckily I was outbid! I did purchase a few cool trinkets and we saw some vehicles in the lot that were obviously those of collectors.

A few years later, the annual convention was held at the picturesque all-glass Sheraton in Mahwah, New Jersey, which was only an hour from our house.  Robin didn’t want to relive the painful memories of the last convention, so I went solo.  Upon arriving and checking out the vibe in the lobby, the dichotomy of guests was apparent.  There were smartly dressed elegant wedding guests arriving and taking pictures in the magnificent lobby, and strolling past them were groups of uber-casually dressed people walking with coolers, cases of beer, a few pizza and KFC boxes, wearing flip-flops all carrying or wearing Mr. Peanut themed hats, t-shirts, and other gear.   The wedding guests stared at the Peanut Pals wondering what the hell was going on.  One of them whom I met in the check-in line yelled across the lobby, “Hey Lar – I’m having a swap meet in my room.  328 stop by!!!”  I wasn’t sure I wanted to be part of this club that would have me as a member and decided to drive back home a day early skipping the gala dinner and square-dancing event.

Things got out of hand a few years later when I received eBay packages multiple days a week.  They arrived in shoeboxes with lots of duct tape and multiple three and four-cent stamps from 40 years ago like they were addressed by an experienced ransom note calligrapher.  I remember one particular box that Robin asked me to open in the garage because it smelled.  She watched me open it from a distance so she wouldn’t get hit with the smoke and mothball fumes emitting from the package.  My excitement turned to slight embarrassment as I held up the Charlie the Tuna Lamp that was inside, and I promised her I’d only stick to Mr. Peanut items from then on, as well as limiting my purchases to monthly

One Nabisco manager allowed me to purchase a full-size costume for quite a reasonable price!  It had a hard plastic shell and came with a black sweatshirt, sweatpants, a cane, and spats.  I wore it for my kids’ birthday parties, was driven around our development waving to people out of our convertible, and even once appeared at a wedding and danced with the bride (a colleague who was marrying a fellow Mr. Peanut collector).  

One hot and humid day I wore the costume at my son’s birthday party. It was way too hot for the sweats, so I wore shorts with the costume.  I remember one of the little kids asking her mother why Mr. Peanut had hairy legs.

I still feel bad that I yelled at my kids when I found them in the basement riding in a Planters wooden car and rocking on a Mr. Peanut horse.  I screamed, “Those aren’t toys!!!”.  But they were.  

Through the years, I slowly lost interest in my collection and most of my Mr. Peanut items were packed away in boxes in the storage area of our basement.  We had our cousins over and I invited the two young boys down to the basement to have a seat on our couch.  I began to remove large boxes from the storage area and opened them up, proudly showing them the contents.  They seemed frozen in awe, as I showed them a rusty Mr. Peanut trash can, a Mr. Peanut stuffed doll, bendable Mr. Peanut characters, a can of Mr. Peanut tennis balls, etc.  This lasted about an hour.  The rest of my family who had stayed upstairs, wandered down to see what we were up to.  They looked horrified as I kept bringing out more items and rambled on providing all sorts of details about each one.  I had forgotten that both boys had severe peanut allergies and were in shock from me showing them all these evil Mr. Peanut trinkets.  I apologized profusely, and I’m very happy that they still talk to me.

My eldest son is in the music industry and one of his bands was playing down the shore in Asbury Park about 10 years ago.  Robin and I were seated in a restaurant when Eric limped in from the boardwalk.  He said I’m glad you’re having a drink, Mom.  It was then that we noticed a rather large bandage on his thigh.  I took a substantial sip of my martini before asking if he was okay, staring at what looked like a properly dressed stab wound.  He slowly removed the bandage, and proudly displayed a 10-inch multicolored tattoo of Mr. Peanut playing guitar that resembled a painted wooden panel we had hanging in our basement studio!

Robin glared at me with a look similar to when I had ordered that Charlie the Tuna lamp from eBay, but this one was worse.  I think she felt that I was responsible for his tattoo.   I did feel that this was a tribute from my son and validated my Mr. Peanut obsession.  Shortly thereafter, I took most of my collection out of storage and proudly displayed them in our basement. 

Just a few weeks ago our other son surprised us with his own Mr. Peanut thigh tattoo that was inspired by another Mr. Peanut poster hanging on our wall.

I hope that Mr. Peanut does not ever behave unacceptably and get himself canceled since both our boys are proudly displaying him on their legs!!!  I’m sure there are people today with Kevin Spacey, Louis C. K., or Harvey Weinstein thigh tattoos that even on a hot, hazy, and humid day, can no longer wear shorts.

I’m not sure what will become of my collection.  If someday we need to downsize to an assisted living facility, will we need a few more rooms for the collection?  Does insurance even cover that expense?  Maybe I could donate the collection to one of the many Mr. Peanut museums worldwide (Do any even exist?).  What about displaying the collection on the walls and shelves at a cool bar with a sign, “on loan from Larry’s collection”?  More likely, I think one day my kids will be fighting over my collection, arguing about which one should get stuck with all this crap!

Through the years I’ve amassed hundreds of Mr. Peanut collectibles. Heartfelt thanks go to all my friends and colleagues who think of me and my collection by giving me items, letting me know about new premiums, and letting me know whenever they spot the Planter’s Nutmobile, Hot Air Balloon, or Mr. Peanut items in an antique store).  Here are some of my favorite items:

A glass paperweight marking the 2^nd anniversary of the Planters+LifeSavers division at Nabisco

A metal Planters Hi-Hat oil can from the 1940s with Yiddish writing

A jointed wooden Mr. Peanut doll

A Mr. Peanut old-fashioned alarm clock

A souvenir Planters can from “The Terminal” starring Tom Hanks

A book of matches featuring Mr. Peanut on every match

Custom Mr. Peanut “Crunch Force” Sneakers

A plastic martini glass – I’d love to have a martini in this glass, but I’m afraid the high-proof gin may dissolve the cheap plastic

A Styrofoam surfboard – Kind of strange that Mr. Peanut, who needs a cane and wears a monocle, would even attempt surfing!

Mr. Peanut dominos from Puerto Rico