A NEW HOME FOR TEDDY

My Teddy Bear turned 84 this year.

That sentence alone surprises me a little. Eighty-four years is a respectable life for a human, let alone a small stuffed animal. Yet there he is, slightly threadbare, unmistakably himself, now living with my granddaughter Chloe. I am 87 in 2026. Chloe is 18. We are separated by nearly seven decades, and yet we meet comfortably in the same soft place. We both love Teddy bears. That shared affection is not accidental. It sits at the intersection of memory, story, and something deeper.

So where did this lovable bear get its name, and why do we still adore Teddy bears more than a century after they first appeared?

The name traces back to Theodore Roosevelt, and to a moment that revealed more character than politics. In 1902, Roosevelt was on a hunting trip in Mississippi. His guides cornered and tied a wounded black bear, offering Roosevelt an easy shot. Roosevelt refused. He said it would be unsporting and ordered the bear dispatched humanely. Newspapers picked up the story, and a political cartoon soon followed, showing a softened, almost pleading bear beside a resolute president. The image caught fire.

In Brooklyn, a shopkeeper named Morris Michtom and his wife Rose made a small stuffed bear inspired by the cartoon and called it “Teddy’s bear,” after Roosevelt’s nickname. They asked permission. Roosevelt agreed. The bear sold immediately. A name was fixed to an object, and a story attached itself to both.

That story mattered. It still does. The Teddy bear was not born from conquest or spectacle. It came from restraint. From the idea that strength includes mercy. That is a powerful origin for something meant to be held by a child. Stories, of course, live forever. But they often need some help.

In this case, the help came from Germany, from the Steiff company. Around the same time as the American Teddy was born, Margarete Steiff was producing jointed stuffed bears in Europe. Her bears were sturdier, more expressive, and built to last. When American buyers encountered Steiff bears at the Leipzig Toy Fair, the two streams merged. The American name met European craftsmanship, and the Teddy bear became a global citizen.

This mattered because durability invites attachment. A toy that falls apart cannot accumulate memory. A Teddy bear can. Mohair fur, jointed limbs, careful stitching. These were not luxuries. They were prerequisites for longevity. The bear became a companion precisely because it could survive childhood, war, moves, loss, and time. I do not have any stuff from that far back in my past. But I have Teddy.

He was saved by my mother while I was away in the naval service. That detail matters to me. It means Teddy was chosen. He was kept when other things were likely discarded. When I came back to Boulder to work, I rescued him in return. Since then, he has lived with me. Quietly. Faithfully. Asking nothing. Witnessing my full adult life without judgment.

TEDDY AND CHLOE

Now Teddy has a new home. A better one, perhaps. Chloe has a collection of Teddy bears. There will be company. Bears understand that. Teddy’s next chapter will be more exciting, not less. He will be among his own kind, with new stories accumulating around him.

When we think of Teddy bears and Theodore Roosevelt together, it triggers a question that is hard to resist. If we attach animals to people as symbols, what animals would we attach to today’s famous figures?

When I asked my wife Jane, she did not hesitate. She said Donald Trump would be a Tyrannosaurus Rex. It was a good thought. Large, loud, impossible to ignore, built for dominance rather than subtlety. Love him or loathe him, no one mistakes him for background scenery. Oprah Winfrey feels like a butterfly. Transformation embodied. From one form to another, emerging changed, and helping others imagine change as well. Influence through metamorphosis rather than force. Golda Meir evokes the image of an eagle: clear-sighted, making hard decisions, and comfortable with altitude. Eagles are not warm animals, but they are decisive and protective, especially when the nest is threatened.

As for me, I think of myself as a button-down bulldog. Slow, purposeful, not flashy, hard to move. Bulldogs are not built for speed. They are built for persistence. They keep going.

This way of thinking is not frivolous. Humans have always used animals to compress character into something memorable. Totems, crests, mascots, and children’s stories. We remember animals instinctively. They give shape to otherwise abstract traits.

That may be another reason Teddy bears endure. They are animals without threat. Bears, in nature, are dangerous. Teddy bears are bears transformed. Power softened. Strength made safe. A child can rehearse courage by holding something that once symbolized fear.

Which brings me back to age: Who will make it to 100, my Teddy or me?

A betting man would bet on Teddy. He has already crossed most of the distance. But I am still in the hunt. We are both still here, in our own ways.

That may be the deepest lesson of all. We keep what matters. We pass it on. And sometimes, if we are lucky, what we pass along carries a story strong enough to last another hundred years.