Jerry Maren, former Munchkin, with Hulk Hogan, who was not in Scranton

Saturday, August 1, I had a trip to the city that they call the Electric City. One might think that would be like Philadelphia, or wherever Ben Franklin discovered electricity, but no, it's just a cop-out name for Scranton, PA, cultural hub of Northeastern America. Who needs New York when you have Scranton? In reality, Scranton is called the electric city because it was the home to the first electric trolley. This is a lame name to still have today, some hundred years later. In actuality, you could probably bet that Scranton hasn't produced any other good things since the electric trolley in 1887.

All that changed on Saturday and Sunday of this past weekend, when the Steamtown Mall (insert lengthy sidenote: That's right, the city of Scranton is also known as Steamtown, again because of transportation. Why? Well because the only thing that came before the electric trolley was a steamed locomotive. So if we could all use pods to move from one place to another, we wouldn't even have Scranton anymore. Such a fragile basis for existence, yet so eager to be named for it.)

All that changed on Saturday and Sunday of this past weekend, when the Steamtown Mall hosted a Munchkin Reunion. No no, not the little donut holes from Dunkin Donuts, munchkins like REAL MUNCHKINS from the Wizard of Oz. Yes indeed, I went to a mall signing of three of the surviving munchkins.

Now if you want some facts, there were 124 original munchkins in the Wizard of Oz. Of those, only ten are alive, and only five are healthy enough to travel, and three of them came to Scranton. Why? Well it was clearly to be exploited by two average sized people and a gold-digger.

It's crucial that you understand that all this wasn't my idea. I was put on the list to visit the munchkins by Karen, who is a big fan of the Wizard of Oz. Her desire to see midgets and love of Oz led us to the Mall at Steamtown to see a showing of the film for free and meet some little people.

The number one controversy that we encountered in meeting the munchkins was that they weren't midgets, they were, in fact, little people. There were no "Vienna sausage fingers," as John Ritter once put it, in maybe the only funny thing he said. The munchkins were people that had normal proportions (except HUGE ears) just hadn't grown past 4'4". After the disappointment in that, we stood in line for about forty minutes to get pictures and autographs.

The exploitation came when the munchkin management asked for the reasonable fee of $10 for an autograph... PER MUNCHKIN! What the hell is that?! It should be noted that one of the Lollipop kids was there and he was the munchkin who gave Dorothy the lollipop as a token of appreciation. In essence, we did get one of the big time munchkins, but how could we know the difference anyway? They could've put any old little person in front of us and we would've believed them.

The line consisted of Karl Slover, who was a Sleepy Head & First Trumpeter. This poor little guy was being actively managed by the wife of the manager while his hearing aid interpreted her barking. "That's S-H-A-R-O-N!" she would yell as he tried to keep up so not to anger the woman. Despite the barking, he still managed to spell Karen's name with an "S" at the end, to which she flipped him off and demanded a picture with him, "...or else."

Next in line was Jerry Maren, who brought his wife, another little person, but who was not in the Wizard of Oz (obviously inept in some way to miss getting a spot on the cast. She did sport a hat that said, "Original Munchkin," but we all knew it was BS. His wife obviously married him for his money too. He was pretty friendly and all, and the lil' lady just kept pushing stuff in front of him to make him sign it. There was no word on who she was exactly, but she was surely a pain.

After that, there was Mickey Carroll, who was the munchkin violinist. This guy was a class act, who signed a little message of joy along with his name. He did hold up the line a little with his notes and chatting, but he was surely the best munchkin of all.

Now I hear you asking, what the hell?! You paid $30 for all that? And I answer you, no. For some reason, the management sold some items that would cost less than $30, but would include them signing it. Karen opted for the $10 puzzle and three free signatures. Armed with the knowledge that they would sign the completed puzzle, we left the munchkins, went to the food court, put it together, and went back down for another hour in line. This time the people were loons, but we made it.

In the end, we left with some autographed merchandise and stories, pictures, and more for generations. We had quite the eventful day too. It was an experience to remember too, if not for the munchkins, than for the lady who stood in front of their table and said, "I'd better get a picture, this could be their last."