The Sock Monkey

A homely, huggable handmade American classic 

There’s an old proverb which suggests that a person hasn’t lived a full life unless he has built a house, grown a garden and raised a family. I’d add “made a Sock Monkey” to that list.

Boneless, harmless, comforting and benign, the Sock Monkey’s presence in crib or playroom is always a cheerful sight. The complete Sock Monkey experience is tactile as well as visual. With his soft, squishy body and long limbs begging to be tied into knots; his jaunty little red butt and poignant, happy-sad face, the venerable Sock Monkey is the go-to toy for the young, and as in my own case, the old.

The identity of the needlesmith who created the world’s first Sock Monkey has long since been forgotten, but we know that North America’s taste for stuffed animals swept across the ocean from Victorian England with the invention of the Teddy Bear by the German toy manufacturer, Steiff. Other exotic animals soon followed suit in popularity. During the Great Depression, the fancy Steiff animals were unaffordable for most Americans. Handmade toys became de rigueur, and worn-out socks and cast-off buttons were easily available materials for sewing stuffed toys.

The familiar, lovable red-hiney Sock Monkey sprang from just such humble beginnings. In 1890, the Nelson Knitting Mills of Rockford, Illinois patented an innovative work sock with a seamless heel, popular with farmers and factory workers. This sturdy and comfortable garment became known as the “Rockford” sock. By 1932, in order to distinguish their original work sock from its many imitators, Nelson Mills had added the bright red “De-Tec-Tip” heel. Later that same year a customer mailed a handmade crimson-tushed Sock Monkey to the Nelson facility. The company executives were so enamored with this clever little toy and its sock-marketing possibilities that they soon began to include Sock Monkey instructions with every pair of red-heeled Rockfords sold. Fox River Mills purchased the Nelson company in 1992, and still continues the inclusion to this day.

Nowadays, online Sock Monkey tutorials abound, though I happen to prefer my rather cheesy 1958 Pack-O-Fun publication titled “How to Make Sock Toys” which, as the first comprehensive Sock Creature instruction manual, is chock full of recipes for making monkeys, puppies, elephants, bunnies, giraffes, ducks and penguins, as well as an array of hand puppets.

As a blank canvas, the Sock Monkey personality is limited only by the boundaries of the human imagination. Unique buttons, clothing, collars, hats, glasses, tutus, embroidered embellishments and other accessories all serve to cement an individual S.M.’s character. Well-known Sock Monkey collector Ron Warren calls the toys “icons of American thrift and inventiveness.”

Warren, whose collection tops 2,000 monkeys, teamed with New York photographer Arne Svenson to create two books of thoughtful and expressive Sock Monkey portraits which earnestly capture the endearing spirit of each goofy little model.

Most Sock Monkey-themed products of today leave me cold. Sock Monkey mugs, nightlights or other hard plastic or glazed pottery objects cannot approach the true Monkey. I’ve never found a trustworthy two-dimensional depiction of a Sock Monkey, as the squashy fuzziness of the Sock is nearly impossible to replicate on paper.

To a purist like myself, the only other mildly acceptable Sock Monkey spinoffs include cozy wearable products: knitted hats and scarves, flannel pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and miniature stuffed monkeys as key chains and Christmas ornaments. Someone once gifted me with a machine-knitted and stuffed Easter basket in the form of a huge, grinning Sock Monkey head. I found it amusing, but the idea of a decapitated Sock Monkey is rather gruesome over the long haul. I prefer mine whole.

Ages ago during some college holiday, I purchased a traditional, fully constructed Sock Monkey in a little gift shop in the Appalachians, and I named him Sweetpea. The kitschy little guy graced my bedroom until some years later when he became the constant sidekick of my firstborn child. Soon after, during a family trip to my husband’s native country of Peru, somehow Sweetpea got lost in the flurry of relatives, gifts and events celebrating the new grandson and never made it into the home-bound suitcases. Postal services in South American countries at that time were quite unreliable, so we resigned ourselves to the fact that Sweetpea would remain in Arequipa until we returned for another visit. Many weeks went by, and one night we received a phone call from a man in New York City who introduced himself as Father Callahan, a priest who had been recruited by my in-laws to smuggle our little treasure safely out of Peru and onto American soil. We gave the kind Padre our mailing address and soon welcomed Sweetpea back into the fold, none the worse for wear. Years later, when my second son made his earthly debut, the hand-me-down Sweetpea headed the welcoming committee and became his mascot. Over time the Sock Monkey lost his youthful figure, one button eye, and a good amount of his stuffing, and eventually retired into a trunk filled with baby clothes.

Many years after, I staged a Sock Monkey revival by giving each of my sons a brand-new Sweetpea at Christmastime. The fact that both were well into their twenties did not lessen their joy in the unwrapping. Both sons still say it was the best present ever. This holiday I’m taking needle in hand to fashion a customized Rockford Sock Monkey especially for my little granddaughter. I wonder what she’ll name him.

At the Fox River Mills web site you can purchase Rockford socks, an Original Sock Monkey Kit, pre-made Monkeys, and Monkey accessories: foxsox.com.