Battleship. The All-American game, fun for the whole family. Two at a time, at least. And, apparently, for the menfolk only. Those silly gals, they don't need to play War. They should stay in the kitchen where they belong.
Battleship was always such a simple game. Red vs. Blue (Commies vs. America?), back from the days when warfare consisted of blindly lobbing shells at each other, hoping they'd hit something by chance. This box, from 1967, is itself an instruction manual, showing you exactly how the game should be enjoyed. Put on your best vest, stick the women in the kitchen, and relax in your wood-paneled dining room for a night of fun. It's okay if your son beats the pants off of you; you both know who's really the boss.
Father seems to be the perfect representation of 60's patriarchal values. All that's missing is the pipe; I'm genuinely surprised he doesn't have one. After the game perhaps, when he's settled in with his brandy watching Ed Sullivan. He also seems to have raided Little Billy's model ship collection. That game piece he's holding sure didn't come out of this box.
Little Billy is his father's pride and joy. Not only is he the other man of the house, he's also a smashing good Battleship player. Those war skills will come in mighty handy one day, when little Billy signs up to fight the Reds.
On closer inspection, though, there's something about those too-pink lips and those slender fingers that suggests Billy might not be headed for the Service. He might have more of a future in ballet, or perhaps as a hairdresser.
Little Sally is somewhat nondescript. But at least she seems to have taken her day's supply of uppers; she's dancing right there in the kitchen!
Mother has that typical empty gaze of the 60's housewife. She knows her place, and she's perfectly happy to stay in the kitchen while the boys are out having fun. After all, she has her little secret. She knows that she puts a little paint thinner in his brandy every night. Not enough to kill him, oh no. Just enough to send him to bed a little early, and give him a rocking headache in the morning. And after he's out, that's when Fernando comes to take her to the Coco Bongo Club. Fernando would never make her wash dishes.
Oh yes, she knows her place all right.
Seriously, though, what was the point of putting the gals on this box at all? I mean, come on. Back then, everyone knew the womenfolk would be in the kitchen while the boys were playing their war games. It was a given. Did they really have to show us? And do the women have to be watching the boys with such glee? Is this the only joy they get out of life?
Milton Bradley, meet Norman Rockwell.