Trapper Faker

By Brendyn Schneider

In second grade, it was up there with Rubik’s Cube and the Atari 2600. The brainchild of Mead, it was the ultimate classroom accessory. In some circles, it was a downright necessity. There was always a theme on the outside cover: Pac-Man, Paul Orndorff, the Millennium Falcon.

Powerhouse tools could be found on the inside covers – a long ruler along the top, quick reference multiplication key and conversion tables: US Measurements to Metric, Celsius to Fahrenheit, Fahrenheit to Kelvin, back again to Celsius. Legend had it that one inside cover even had a guide to the planets in our solar system. The covers had pockets too, perfect for homework and book reports.

Three plastic rings – colorful, confident, certain – gave the binder its centerpiece, large enough for 1000 sheets of crisp college-ruled paper and an array of three-hole punch folders. Finally, Mead saw fit to anoint its creation with Velcro, right in the middle of the close-over cover. Rhinos couldn’t have broken through.

The first time I held one, I immediately revered its weight, imagining its potential as a sidewalk guardian, out where demon dogs and rabid classmates ruled. Its bounds truly saw no limit as Joey Gioraffa proved one snowy day when he used one to surf down Hawkins Boulevard.

A masterpiece.
Immortal.
The four star resort of loose-leaf binders: The Trapper Keeper.

“It’s crap.”

“Mom! How can you say that?”

“It’s a gimmick, Bren. Ever notice how there’s a new version every year?”

I looked at her, wary of answering. “…Yeah.”

“That’s ‘cause they wear out. The whole thing probably falls apart by June so you have to go out and buy a new one.”

I appealed to the other superpower at the table. “Dad, it’s got pockets and everything. Clifford’s has a pencil case where-”

“I just wanna know one thing,” he gestured with his coffee mug. “Can it go up to the deli and buy me a pack of cigarettes?”

“Hey!” my mother said. “Now, there’s a feature!”

I threw myself facedown on the couch and groaned. “You guys don’t understand! I’m tired of carrying around all these notebooks. I got eight subjects. I forget one notebook at home, I can’t give Miss Amols my homework for that subject. If I can’t give her the homework, I end up getting a zero. If you get zeros, you fail, then get left back, then you can’t graduate.”

“But if we get you a Trapper Keeper,” my mom said, “you’ll be as right as rain.”

“Yes!” I shouted back.

“Calm down,” my dad said. “Gonna give yourself an ulcer. Look, tomorrow night, I’ll bring you home something better.”

“Better?”

“Yeah, from the city.”

(When you’re seven years old, anything from Manhattan is made of gold)

“Is it a binder?” I asked.

“A binder and then some.”

“Does it have pockets and a ruler on the inside?”

He waved his hand. “Folders, rings and a real ruler that comes out.”

“Wow,” I said. “I’ve never seen one like that before.”

“No one has. We use them at work. There are a few different kinds. I’ll bring some home tomorrow night. You can pick which one you want. They’re all built to last. Any one of them is better than Clifford’s Flapper Beater.”

My mom laughed.

I tried not to smile. “Trapper Keeper.”

True to his word, my dad arrived home the following night with a shopping bag full of binders.

“Here you go,” he said, emptying the bag onto the dining room table.

Hey Kids! Be the first on your street to grab NY Telephone’s exclusive line of binders. Collect ‘em all!

The Two-Ring! It was as big as a phonebook. A schoolbag hasn’t been designed yet to house the thing. I envisioned it as the central component of a backyard catapult but little else.

The Three-Ring! Mysterious rings that didn’t line up with the standard three-hole punch paper.

The Four-Ring! Two rings really close together at the top of the spine, two really close at the bottom and a long space in the middle. Trying to get paper for it would be like going into a Stop and Shop and asking for Don Julio. The ladies at Cheap Johns would look at me like I was Renfield.

The TEN-Ring! It grossed me out. It was like a terminator-caterpillar. One overzealous-dismissal-bell snap of the rings and your whole arm would be on the floor.

All the covers were the same. Never mind those cool, pop culture designs of the competition. We’re going with black. Black-hole black. I used to draw on the covers of my notebooks. The only way you could see doodles on this thing was by holding it on an angle and catching the light escape off the side.

Oh, and who needs inside-cover conversion tables, anyway? What I want is the contact information to the main branch of NY Telephone. Yep, that box with two phone numbers and a mailing address is all I’ll need during that science quiz. Forget the inside pockets and Velcro too. When I want to keep my papers and homework tidy, I’m going to pick up a phone and get a couple trucks down here. Lay some cable, run a few relays.

In all fairness, there were four rulers. They were old and chewed on, each with a single hole punched just under the 10 inch mark. At rest, the top ring of each binder held its corresponding ruler inside. With a quick flick of the wrist though, the ruler flew out with all the vitality of a switchblade.

Dangerous.
Foul.
The No-tell Motel of loose-leaf binders: The Trapper Faker.

I picked the three-ring model. When I pointed out how the paper didn’t line up with the rings, my dad handed me a hole-puncher.

Over the next few weeks, I cursed my freak, Swiss cheese loose-leaf paper and secretly feared the hungry rings of the binder. Their snap was nearly as loud as the dismissal bell.

My dad had thrown in folders when he brought the Trapper Fakers home. They were just standard manila folders and I started carrying them around inside the binder. One night, I had a brainstorm. I opened the bloodthirsty rings and slammed them shut on each folder. After wrestling the folders free, I punched holes through the indentations. Now, they wouldn’t fall out.

Next, I took the binder to a nearby stationary store and found paper that lined up with the rings. Back home, I placed a folder after ever fifty pages of loose leaf. Now a multi-subject binder, the Trapper Faker wasn’t so ghetto anymore.

Of course, the Keepers broke down by the end of the school year. After a while, those colorful plastic rings weren’t closing all the way, resulting in scores of children stooping before piles of paper mayhem all across the Copiague school system.

The Faker went strong clear through college.

With my parents’ refusal to buy into the trend, they showed me a route that was far more DIY. If I ever have kids, I’ll be passing along the insight that lasting ideas are rarely found while running with the pack.

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