We walk past them without a second glance. They star in television shows, grace the cover of books, and stand vigil over one of the world’s greatest treasures. They are also the butt of jokes and sometimes accused of being stereotypes. They are cigar store Indians, and their serious, chiseled faces convey a sense of pride and grandeur as they humbly greet you at the entrance to that wonderland of wonderland’s, the cigar store.

I’ll admit that the first thought that springs to my mind when I think of my beloved friend the Cigar Store Indian, comes courtesy of an idol of mine, one Stephen King, and a little movie I like to call Creepshow 2. I know, I know. A sequel. A horror sequel. What can I say, I am a huge horror buff.

Maybe it was my age (I was an impressionable 10 years old at the time of its release), but I’ve always held a curious fascination with “Old Wooden Head”. The story is, of course, ridiculous: Ray and Martha Spruce own a store with a big wooden Indian out front. For some reason an Indian elder drops them a necklace with mystical powers that they drape over the Indians neck (pay attention, this is pivotal to our plot). Apparently back then you didn’t have to worry that someone would steal it when you locked up at night. Or did you? Enter the nephew of the Spruce’s. He and his ragamuffin friends rob the store and unload a barrage of bullets on the senior Spruce’s (note the play on the wood/tree name) that hasn’t been seen since the beginning of Robo Cop.

The Cigar Store Indian, being forever grateful and moved by the touching gift of a five dollar turquoise necklace, slowly (inch by inch) gets some hard wood revenge on the criminals – scalp-style.

Of course, there is also the classic Seinfeld episode starring a less malevolent version of Ole Wooden /Head. I learned two valuable lessons in that episode. 1) Don’t give an Indian woman a cigar store Indian statue, and 2) I learned what the deal was with peanuts.