Some kid performers played with Scrappy products as part of their professional obligations to Columbia. Jane Withers, one of the most popular child stars of the 1930s (and, much later, TV’s beloved Josephine the Plumber), actually liked the little guy.

Well, I don’t know that for sure. But I did recently stumble across the fact that Withers, who worked for 20th Century Fox rather than Columbia in the 30s and is a serious collector of dolls, owned two of Scrappy. Here they are, as photographed for an auction some years ago.

(OK, if she really liked Scrappy, she might not have auctioned him off, twice. At least she did well: The one on the left went for $700 and his fraternal twin brother went for $900.)

I’m not too jealous of Jane for having owned the one on the left: The Scrappyland archive includes another example in nearly as nice condition. But the right-hand doll is a Holy Grail of Scrappyana: I’ve never seen one in person, and may not have even encountered one for sale. I know it mostly from a photo of the great Cora Sue Collins posing with one. (Cora’s seems to be slightly different from Jane’s–I’m guessing the Scrappy products in Columbia’s promotional stills were sometimes prototypes.)

None of the Scrappy dolls I know about–I also have a small celluloid one and one sewn from a pattern–were exactly dead ringers for the cartoon character, but the striped-shirt one from Jane’s collection comes closest to capturing his likeness and spirit. I hope this doll isn’t so hopelessly rare that I’ll never have the chance to own it. Perhaps the person who bought Jane Withers’ one would be willing to sell it to me at a substantial loss.

No particular reason for this post other than that I own small figures of two cartoon characters who worked for Charles Mintz–and they seem to enjoy hanging out together.

Why am I showing this old magic light-up lighbulb box — which I’m guessing dates from the 1940s, or possibly the 1950s — on Scrappyland? Simple: Among the wondrous things it can apparently do is to illuminate itself when touched to Scrappy’s forelock:

It probably goes without saying that the odds that this was a product licensed by Columbia’s Scrappy Franchise Department are zero. Maybe less than that, even.

I bought this a week ago at an antique fair in Alameda, California — yet more proof that lost Scrappy treasures are still everywhere for the finding, if we just work hard enough to track them down.

Behold a 1935 doll, apparently made by E.D. & T.M. Co., Inc. for the Great Lakes Novelty Co. of Chicago. He’s unmistakably Scrappy, even he doesn’t look all that much like Scrappy. Even in later years, when Scrappy looked a bit less like a bobblehead doll than he did at first, his proportions weren’t this realistic. And the expression is just a tad too blandly cherubic.

Then there are those eyes. That doll has the tallest pupils I’ve ever seen on anybody or anything. Period.

Oh, and he seems to be wearing flesh-colored gloves — although I suppose it’s possible they were once white and got painted over at some point in the past seventy-seven years.

The badge which Scrappy is wearing — which, full disclosure, I actually acquired on another example of this doll which was in less pleasing condition — is worth zooming in on:

It suggests that there may have been a serious problem with fake Scrappy dolls in the mid-1930s. Or at least that Columbia wanted to plant that possibility in the minds of American consumers.

If this plaything looks familiar, it may be because you’ve seen this photo:

That’s the same doll, all right, except for one odd difference: The one I have has hard hands made out of the sort of composition material widely used for Depression-era playthings. The Stooges’ version has what seem to be soft fabric hands. Perhaps someone wanted to make extra-sure that there would be no mishaps involving anyone accidentally getting poked in the eye by Scrappy.