Junk mail and the world's smartest chimp.

I might have mentioned that my mom was in the Parent-Teacher Association throughout my K-12 career. She even served as PTA president at two of the schools I attended.

As a result, she amassed a lot of junk mail originally addressed to the principal. Much of it advertised lecturers, theatrical acts and other performers whose value to a child's education could be considered marginal at best.

Officially this stuff probably went to her because the principal thought the PTA might be open to sponsoring said "artist." Unofficially, I'll bet that the principal's secretary passed it off unopened because she was sick of hearing the boss complain about junk mail.

I recently found a treasure trove of the stuff, stored away in a box labeled "PTA." It's a 40-year old time capsule loaded with what might once have been deemed acceptable reasons to pull kids out of spelling lessons.

The most famous of those was Mr. Jiggs. I remember that he came to my grammar school when I was a kid, and to be perfectly blunt, he creeped me out. He may have only been a chimp with some TV credits to his name, but there was something really wrong with the whole act. To me, he was a dirty old man in a hairy suit.

I've never been all that fond of chimps, but even when you take Jiggs' species out of the equation, I couldn't abide the lifestyle he modeled. I was never a big fan of chimps shooting guns, smoking, drinking and then getting on mopeds. Sure, it was the '70s and there were plenty of adults doing that kind of stuff all the time, but a hirsute primate with a toothy grin exhibiting all of those on my grade school stage was too much for me. It might have even delayed my understanding of, and appreciation for, chimps by years.

One can only imagine the horror that would result today if an elementary school kid came home and reported that she'd seen a drunken, cigarette-smoking, sidearm-wearing chimp riding a motorbike through the school auditorium. However, this 1970s-era brochure is filled with endorsements and praise from school principals and PTA presidents. That was the era when school staff felt no guilt for letting kids blow off steam with no learning opportunities whatsoever. Sometimes I miss that.

Finding this brochure got me curious about Mr. Jiggs and whatever became of him, and a quick Google search brought me a wealth of information.

First of all, Mr. Jiggs was actually female. For the record, I will refer to Jiggs as "she" for the rest of this piece, despite the fact that Jiggs never expressed a gender orientation. Yes, I'm going with what's on her birth certificate because I have no idea which bathroom she used.

I can understand why her person, Ronald Winters, would have hidden her identity with male clothes and the "Mister" designation: had the truth gone out, she would have been paid 30 percent less.

Ron and Jiggs lived together in Bergen County, New Jersey from the 1960s into the 80s. It seems to have been a peaceful coexistence, though Jiggs wore a shock collar so Ron could subdue her if she got out of hand. It was an easy trip into the city for appearances on New York-based TV shows like the Ed Sullivan Show, and if the reminiscences of some of my Facebook friends are any indication, she made Ron a pretty decent living doing shows at local venues, too. (Unfortunately, Jiggs' IMDB page is incomplete, meaning that we may never know the breadth of her performance history.)

Jiggs even opened for the Grateful Dead at a show on Roosevelt Island in 1976. Despite the sea of tie-dye, she wore her classic ruffled shirt and bowtie.

Sadly, after many years together, Ron brought Mr. Jiggs to a home for retired performing animals. Whether it because she had gotten too old to perform, or he wanted an unhindered life, we don't know, but I'll put money on the latter. Apparently she became a bit jealous when Ron brought ladies to the house. In any case, Jiggs she died in the late 90s at the age of 33, perhaps of a broken heart.

I do wonder if Jiggs was a seemingly respectable way for Ron to flout convention when he wanted to. Stories abound of Jiggs flipping off police officers, scaring staid women and, in general, doing things we'd like to do but societal convention prevents us from doing. If we're honest with ourselves, we'd all like an "uncontrollable" id to do our dirty work for us while allowing us deniability.