RIP William Morrison

William F. Morrison died yesterday. He invented the Frisbee, surely the cultural totem of our generation. Morrison had to sue to retain the rights to his invention, which I believe he copied from pie tins tossed around by college freshmen. The work Frisbee was imprinted on the bottom of the tin. If the toy had been invented in Cedar Rapids, it might have been named Kathy's Pies.

My friend Roger comes from a family rife with entrepreneurial spirit. They are successful car dealers and investors, always looking for the next thing. Roger's dream in college was to be the inventor of something like those little spring-loaded hands that everyone in the 80's suction cupped to their car window and imprinted with various slogans. "Honk if you love Jesus." "Baby on board." Roger's sense of irony attracted him to particularly worthless inventions that nonetheless catch on. He now owns a successful Honda franchise in Wichita. The irony, I suppose, is that although he is a success, Honda's are useful, and so his youthful ambition is ultimately foiled.

Morrison, and Wham-O!, working "together," if invention and subsequent theft can be described as cooperation, produced a toy that is wonderfully simple, even tacky. It has spawned any number of wonderful games (ultimate frisbee, disc golf. . .) and given many a boomer an excuse to run and throw and catch without being a "jock" about it. Some of us may have engaged in simultaneous recreational activities that were less than healthy, but we got our hearts moving and we found joy. My old pal and erstwhile musical partner Swinton and I used to spend hours throwing a big frisbee long distances over the lawns of the Oakdale campus, between tall oak trees, working up a sweat and taking intermittent smoke breaks of one kind or another. I cannot help but associate the frisbee with enthusiasm and youthful joy.

My friend Kevin's dog Truly is a champion frisbee catching dog, with several trophies. His teeth are worn down from grabbing and clenching hard plastic in mid air. Truly is a dog obsessed and although he weighs well over 100 pounds, he is so filled with motivation that he can fly. My dog, alas, is more obsessed with tennis balls and crotches than with frisbees, and so athough he has some neat moves in a closed course, he does not compete. At least, not until there is a competition involving tennis balls and crotches.

When I was a freshman living in Burge Hall in Iowa City, my friends Brad and Nick threw the frisbee down the long narrow hall of our dormitory floor. This required a strong, straight side-arm flick that I never mastered. It was very impressive, and we all got used to peeking out of our doors cautiously in order to avoid being incidentally decapitated. Our RA tolerated it amicably until the second time an errant throw shattered a light fixture, something even Brand and Nick could not manage on purpose. Compared to many of our other Burge Hall activities, this was good clean fun. (256 false fire alarms during our first semester . . . the "mercy day massacre" culminating in the frat house across the street with all its window broken out by frozen rock cornish game hens, courtesy the cafeteria work study folks).

My good friend Chris, leader of our pack in age at least, turned 52 yesterday, which means as surely as snow melts that I'll do it, too. I had a conversation last night with a young man who was worrying about where his life was going. He's 24 and I didn't laugh as I told him I still wonder the same thing sometimes. My accomplishments in life have been both tangible and evanescent. Our kids are certainly top notch people. I have been a good therapist and social worker. My friends and I have made some good music together, both literally and figuratively.

I wonder if Mr. Morrison appreciated that his invention was actually pretty profound. It wasn't just a toy that "took off," like the yo-yo and silly string. (There is a case to be made for the profundity of the yo-yo, actually.) The frisbee is an important part of three or four generations worth of lives. My son's favorite part of cross country practice is playing ulitmate frisbee on the fully lit football field after games. Generation after generation, the cheesy plastic disc marches on!

A man could do worse with his life. I'm just sayin'.