Mr. Peanut is a Creeper

Let me be completely up front: Mr. Peanut freaks me out, and has done so for about four decades. There’s something just not quite right about a food mascot that is only partially clothed.

As with all convoluted and convolved tales of Jersey Shore lore, there’s the real backstory and the personal demons that must be chased deep into the heart of Jersey Devil country. The personal story isn’t all that exciting: In the pre-casino days, a singular highlight of Atlantic City was the annual dental convention, where my father (a dentist) would tote the two of us along for a day of walking on the boardwalk while he checked out the exhibits. I distinctly remember running into Mr. Peanut on the boardwalk, at that time probably the body puppet version of the Planter’s mascot, and being totally freaked out. Some kids are afraid of clowns, some are afraid of Disney villains, but I was given the chills by a peanut with a monocle.

Now let’s look at the facts: Mr. Peanut was designed in 1916 in a logo contest, although the kid who drew an anthropromorphic peanut with arms and legs didn’t add foppish British fashions; those came from a Planter’s employee. Planter’s itself was started in north-central Pennsylvania, a heritage shared with my mother’s family (perhaps that explains our familial need to visit the un-suited nut on the boards?) Mr. Peanut was situated on the boardwalk outside of one of the Planters retail stores, joining a host of “only in Atlantic City” attractions like Lucy the Elephant, the diving horse on the Steel Pier, and the invention of salt water taffy. In 2008, long after Planters closed their retail outlets, Mr. Peanut re-appeared on the boardwalk in sculpted life-like form. His bench was on the Garden Pier, which has been closed as the semi-random construction on the Pinnacle hotel proceeds, forcing Mr. Peanut to seek refuge in the Atlantic City Visitor’s Center just north of Bally’s.

Seeing Mr. Peanut again with 40 years of mascot viewing experience, you’d think he wouldn’t bother me as much. You’d think. But Mr. Peanut sports a monocle, is crowned by a top hat, has spats on his shoes, carries a cane and wears gloves. Neither pants nor shirt are anywhere to be found, but gloves and a top hat?

Mr. Peanut is the British Michael Jackson of mascots. He still gives me that strange feeling that something’s not quite right.