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Writer's pictureScott Robinson

Major Matt Mason



It was 1968, I think. I’d have been seven years old. Kennedy’s quest for the moon was well underway, and as young as I was, it somehow came to my awareness and grabbed my imagination.

Perhaps it came to me by way of other kids in my neighborhood. Neal, two years older than me, always seemed to be aware of the latest awesome toy or the cool new TV show; Mike, who lived in the house behind ours (we shared a chain link fence in our backyards), was a year younger but likewise kept up on all the latest fads. It could be that one of them suddenly presented the little rubber action figure in the cool spacesuit with the rubber joints and removable helmet and backpack with a real recoiling cable.

Major Matt Mason.

It might have been my parents, who seemed to sense my interest in space and bought me toys in that domain (including, believe it or not, a silver spacesuit and Mercury capsule for my GI Joe). Major Matt Mason was all the rage – TV commercials teasing his lunar exploits could be seen on Saturday mornings – and it could be that my folks saw me mesmerized by one of them.

In any case, I eventually had a Major Matt Mason of my own.

About the Major himself: he was Mattel’s attempt to cash in on the raging popularity of NASA, which was launching Gemini missions right and left at the time of his debut (1966); by the time he came to my awareness, the program had transitioned to Apollo, and to an anxious nation, the Moon actually seemed to be within reach.

Going out of its way to make this toy authentic, Mattel designed the Major’s space suit along very realistic lines, taking its cues from real-world astronaut photos in Life Magazine, Jane’s, and other military sources. It also bore a more-than-casual resemblance to the suits used in 2001: A Space Odyssey, which already existed in 1966 (though that movie didn’t go public until 1968).

The Major’s backstory placed him on the Moon in the near future, where his jetpack aided him in crater-hopping, when he wasn’t scooting around on his powered sled or Astrotrack crawler. His lunar base (purchased separately) was three stories high, and was roomy enough for his colleagues Sergeant Storm and civilian astronauts Doug Davis and Jeff Long.

Mason’s spacesuit was white; Storm’s was red, Davis’s yellow and Long’s blue, so you never mixed them up. In a for-the-time progressive move, Long had the additional distinction of being African-American.

There was also a Captain Lazer, an alien giant who seemed menacing but was actually a Mason ally. I never owned Lazer (or the civilians, for that matter), but I treasured the Major and the Sergeant, who came to me on some subsequent birthday.

If you listen to the commercial, you’ll pick up a certain Trekkish tone:

Meet Major Matt Mason, Mattel’s Man in Space,

And the bravest astronaut yet!

He lives on the Moon (we may all be there soon),

And he gets around with a jet


Until Sergeant Storm, in his red uniform,

Major Matt worked all alone;

Now together they face the dangers of space

And seek to learn the unknown...

...but my Major Matt Mason days preceded my Trek indoctrination.

I’d have to characterize Major Matt Mason as the very first nerd indulgence of my boyhood. My other toys were far more conventional: GI Joe, Johnny West, and so on. Lost in Space and Batman had impinged on my consciousness (read on), and my one exposure to Star Trek had damn near left me scarred (see page ***); but these did not yet represent any real investment on my part.

Major Matt Mason, on the other hand, was cherished – as LiS and Batman and Trek would one day be. He represents my first step on a lifelong nerd journey.

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