The Science of Santa

One kid stands about a foot taller

and a few inches wider than

the other kids. He takes a deep

breath and blows the super-secret blend

of blue sand. Not a malicious puff. Just an

alternative cleaning move. But cascading

blue sand nonetheless. And the kind of

cleanup creativity that raises parental

blood pressure. The other four kids (all

between 4 and 5 years old) keep their eyes

on their own sandy piles and attempt to

round up the stuff with chops of their

hands. The sand mates represent every

child on the personality continuum: the

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Martha-in-training who takes charge

and directs the hand-washing line, the

cheerful minion who enjoys following

her, the sensitive kid with the orange (the

color, not the fruit) obsession, and the kid

whose body sometimes gets in the way of

his intentions as he rumbles to the head

of the hand-washing line, accidentally

pushing a few of the lighter tykes in his

wake. Sand continues to trickle onto the

beige carpet, but no one minds. Not even

the one adult in the room, Carol Nagode.

In fact, it’s her job to coordinate messes-

in-the-making.

TOYS

HOW ONE SMALL TOWN AND ONE BIG COMPANY —

AND A BUNCH OF KIDS — DECIDE WHAT GIFTS YOU’RE

GIVING THIS YEAR. BY BRYAN GREENBERG

THE FISHER-PRICE PLAYLAB IN EAST AURORA, NEW YORK

Welcome to the Fisher-Price PlayLab,

a 007 kind of secret testing room where

the company’s product developers test-

drive what they hope will become the

next Tickle Me Elmo. Legal documents

prohibit me from describing the new

princess racing set sitting on the floor

that’s scheduled for toddler-testing after

beach art. But I can divulge that the sand

experiment failed: The colored granules

were meant to stick to artful cutouts of

dinosaurs and butterflies, but when the

kids finished, they resembled nothing

more than gritty blobs. That’s just the

kind of design flaw the PlayLab seeks to

uncover. It reviews thousands of concepts

a year, and it plays a key role in the toy

giant’s research and development.

Fisher-Price was founded in 1930

by Mr. Fisher, Mr. Price and Ms. Schelle

(yep, it was the old days; the female never

made it into the company name). While

the product line originally consisted of

16 wooden toys, the company now enjoys

revenues exceeding $1.3 billion. And

thanks to a 1993 merger, it’s part of an

even bigger toy empire, Mattel, the largest

toy company in the world (with nearly $5

billion in sales). The PlayLab itself began

in 1961, but toy-testing at the company

has a much longer, unofficial history; in

the early days Mr. Fisher sent prototypes

home with employees. Despite its size,

Fisher-Price resides in tiny East Aurora,

New York (population 6,673), a fiercely

independent oasis 20 miles southeast of

Buffalo that’s one of the country’s last

company towns, home to the Toy Town

Museum; the annual, world-famous Toy

Parade; and Vidler’s, one of the country’s

largest and last-remaining traditional

five-and-dimes. East Aurora, it could be

said, knows playthings, and it’s a place

with a lot of opinions. About sandy

dinosaurs, gender conditioning and kids,

and giants of commerce (they fought

hard to keep out Wal-Mart and even

squawked at the prospect of too many

Fisher-Price banners lining Main Street

in celebration of the company’s 75th

anniversary next year).

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For a kid growing up in the area, a

visit to the PlayLab is like a snow day

— partly unexpected and plenty exciting.

(And unlike real snow days, which they

know plenty about in these parts, it’s

also a relief to parents because someone

else takes the kids for a few hours.) The

lucky ones who enter the lab live out

every child’s dream. Piles of toys — doll-

houses, cars and trucks of all shapes and

sizes and a large assortment of dress-up

clothes, including fluffy boas and hats,

line the walls. Children ages 3 to 4 chosen

to be part of the PlayLab spend two

hours a day twice a week for eight weeks

(the length depends on their age group)

living as real life guinea pigs, testing the

playability of all types of toys.

While it’s the kids who have all the

fun, it’s the moms who fight to get them

there. (And yes, it’s mostly moms. I only

saw one dad during the time I visited, and

he worked for the company and stopped by

to visit his wife and child.) Like tickets to

a U2 show, scoring a pass to the PlayLab

takes some patience and preparation.

Parents put their kids on a list as soon as

they’re born, then eagerly wait for the call

telling them they’re in the game. “When I

was pregnant, I was already counting down

and planning on putting her name in,” says

one mother, herself an alum of the PlayLab.

She’s not the only repeat customer. “There’s

lots of second generation and even some

third generation families we’ve seen in

here,” says Kathleen Alfano, Director of

Child Research. When asked why they

want their kids to get involved with

the PlayLab, the moms invariably give

two answers. First, it’s an honor. “Sort

of like a family ritual,” one mom says.

Secondly, it’s the stuff, which includes

some sample toys, but mostly comes

in the form of Fisher-Price “fun bucks”

to spend as they wish at the com-

pany store.

It’s the honor bit that comes through

as I stand with the moms and the

researchers behind a wall of one-way

mirrors and watch the kids interact and

play. As for me, I feel a little awkward.

There’s something weird about watching

kids play innocently while they’re

blissfully ignorant of the group of

onlookers just beyond the mirror. My first

introduction to the PlayLab occurred

during dress-up time, when I sat next to

Kathleen and one of the toy developers

and watched six kids take turns modeling

the newest fashions. The three boys put

on miniature ball gowns, and the three

girls acted as mini-stylists, adding long,

feathery boas and hats to each ensemble.

I don’t know what I expected when I

finagled a hard-to-come-by backstage

pass to the famous PlayLab. Perhaps a

big white room and researchers donning

white lab coats with big glasses and

pencils stuck behind their ears as they

watched kids zoom a cart of race cars to

destruction. Or a less technicolor version

of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

But this wasn’t part of the vision.

Later, when I’m in the room with

another group of kids, this time a gaggle

of crawling babies whose main focus

seems to be my tape recorder and not the

toy at hand, I miss the objectivity and

distance of the hidden room. I also grow

to appreciate Carol’s job as Manager of the

PlayLab. She keeps the little tykes focused

(bless her heart). She’s part teacher, part

researcher, part superhero. I tell her I

admire her ability to work with screaming

kids while keeping an eye on the task at

hand (especially considering she has a full

day of work left after the rugrats exit). She

smiles and says it’s nothing compared to

looking after her husband. She’s married

to one of Fisher-Price’s toy developers,

whose most famous creation was the

ultra-cool bubble mower. When I ask Carol

what it’s like to be married to toy royalty,

she smiles, puts her hand in her pocket

and pulls out five Tylenol.

I understand. Toys, rooms of kids, and

creative-genius spouses can get to you.

I need a break from the diaper crowd.

Instead of Tylenol, I opt to strike out

and find that other adult pain reliever

— beer. As I walk along Main Street, I pass

fire hydrants painted and adorned to

resemble a variety of animals, including

a patriotic pig replete with Uncle Sam

outfit and ruby-red shoes. I head over

to Wallenweins, soon to be celebrating

(they think) their 125th birthday as a

bar, restaurant and sometimes hotel. A

few of the suited locals sit at the tables,

and a few of the regulars sidle up to the

bar, which dates back to the last century

and where they still eschew seats for the

Preferred Drinking Position — standing

(easier to catch them as they fell).

Wallenweins has faced some challenges

over the years as service and tourism

replaced manufacturing; Fisher-Price

closed its own East Aurora factory in 1990.

“We used to have this great afternoon

business around 4 after the plant let out

and everyone was looking for a drink and

to relax before heading home,” says Walter

“Stubby” Holmes, whose dad bought the

place in the early 1970s.

The next morning it’s more babies.

I sit in with the infants, ranging from

5 to 11 months. One item on the agenda

is a competitor toy, a floorless fort with

connectible arches that can be made into

walls. The toddlers crawl and scramble, and

then one thrusts himself onto the wall and

dangles, head first, over the side. Whew.

Safety issues, I think. In another corner of

the room stands a Fisher-Price product that

looks like the front of a house — complete

with squeaking door, mailbox and a shape

sorter. It looks gender-neutral, but a few

moms inside the observation room wonder

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if it seems too girly; they know it’s not, but

wonder just the same. The toy developers in

the observation room take notes on what

the kids go for, how they play with what’s

there and the melon-bashing potential

of the competitor toy. That’s why they do

this. To find out what works, what doesn’t,

what’s safe, what’s not.

I leave the observation room and

pass by the company store. All the moms

from the previous session push their

carts from aisle to aisle and load up as if

Christmas and a birthday loomed next

week. I watch as one mother picks up a

Cookie Monster Giggle Gaggle, which

resembles a flashlight but sports a Cookie

Monster head. When you shake it, the

head bounces and the monster says “Me

love cookie” and laughs. The quicker you

shake it, the more garbled his laughs and

words. The mom shakes it a bit, smiles

and puts it in her cart. I dawdle until she

checks out. Then I pick up a Giggle Gaggle

and give it a few good shakes. I examine

Cookie’s head and see how a little button

works to punctuate the laughs and words

when a shake presses it against the roof of

the mouth. Poor genius, I think. And great

desk-boredom relief material. I wait till

the moms clear out, purchase my giggle

device and test-drive it all the way home to

New York City.

BRYAN GREENBERG IS A JOURNALISM PROFESSOR AND FREE- LANCE WRITER WHO LIVES IN NEW YORK CITY. HE IS CURRENTLY WORKING ON A BOOK ABOUT HOLLYWOOD PRODUCERS.