The marketing company needed someone to get the vomit out of the Tony the Tiger mascot costume.
They'd hired the wrong guy — a modeling agency actor, but not someone accustomed to moving around in a big foam-and-fake-fur costume.
“It was an unpleasant job to clean it out, but we got it all cleaned," explained Mary Hickey, the founder and owner of Chicago Mascot Company on the Northwest Side.
That explains, in a roundabout way, how Hickey found herself in Orlando, Fla., this past December, watching the Iowa State Cyclones Vs. the Miami Hurricanes in the Pop-Tarts Bowl. More precisely, her eyes were trained on one of her company's creations: a gigantic Pop-Tart, complete with air-brushed faux pastry slathered in "hot fudge" and sprinkles.
It was a big moment for Hickey, head of the family business, which she founded in 1976 and which also houses Chicago Costume Company and Broadway Costumes in its 33,000-square-foot brick warehouse at 4727 W. Montrose.
"I was quite proud. Everything went pretty much to plan," said Hickey, 71, who first picked up a needle and thread when she was five, sitting down at her mother's Singer sewing machine two years later.
"Everything" included having the Pop-Tarts mascot rip itself out of a foil (actually Mylar) packet.
Benny the Bull, the Cubs, White Sox and Bears mascots, hot dogs, pretzels, pickles, — even milkshakes — have all come out of their factory, a second-floor space stuffed to the rafters with rolls of foam, glue, spools of garish-colored threads, assorted buttons and bolt after bolt of shaggy fabric.
The company makes about 100 mascots each year. They're all handmade, each one taking about six months to develop and two weeks to assemble. They aren't cheap: anywhere from $11,000 to $20,000 per mascot, Hickey said.
“It definitely is an investment, but if you’re a Major League team, this is a big part of your brand," she said. “People pay money for Benny the Bull to show up at their wedding or their bar mitzvah or the company party.”
Yes, you can pay a lot less, but, Hickey says, you get what you pay for. The factory is littered with other companies' substandard mascot heads and feet — some of which Hickey and her children — Courtland Hickey and Chrissy Gilley — have been hired to salvage, including mascot heads that don't turn in sync with the human head inside, shoes so big and clunky the performer inside can barely walk.
“Many times we get clients who have had their mascot made somewhere else that was cheaper and they bring it us and say, 'We can’t see out of this …, the hands are big mittens and they can’t grab anything with or hold a Sharpie and sign autographs,'" said Gilley, the company's account manager.
Or a client might need help cleaning a mascot head, which is how removing the vomit from a Kellogg's Tony the Tiger head eventually led to a deal to make six Kellogg's Pop-Tarts mascots.
Because they are, well, Pop-Tarts, the mascots don't have a separate head. They're what Hickey calls a "pod." The mascot is a bit like a soft-sided sandwich board, with openings at the side and bottom for arms and legs. It's all kept in place with zippers and magnets.
Hickey says she hates it when the vision screen allowing the wearer to see out is too obvious. So the Pop-Tarts' cartoon eyes and grin are in the middle of the body, while the perforated screen — for the human eyes — is cleverly hidden higher up.
"It's like in the 'Wizard of Oz' when they pull back the curtain — they've just destroyed that illusion," Hickey said.
Sometimes, a company doesn't need a brand new mascot, just a makeover for an old one — as was the case with the Rockford IceHogs, an American Hockey League team. Among other things, the mascot was a too-portly red pig that wasn't particularly mobile. A slimmed-down "Hammy" mascot debuted in 2022, although the change initially irked some fans, who drew up a petition (with about 3,700 signatures) seeking to dump the new mascot for the old one. The IceHogs had Hickey tweak the head to make it more appealing.
"My job is to make sure my customers are happy," Mary Hickey said.
Hickey and her kids say there's almost nothing that can't be made into a mascot.
"Do it. Stump us. I don't think you can," Gilley said.
How about an invisible man?
Courtland Hickey has an idea for that too, involving slender, almost transparent wires.
“I’ve often said there’s nothing I can’t do. Give me enough time and enough money, I can do it," Mary Hickey said.
