Read time: 11 min.

I’ve been selling a ton of stuff on Facebook Marketplace (where I’m highly rated, I must add) over the past few months. One of the first things to go was a vintage General Foam Santa Choo-Choo and Tender Car from the seventies, but I got ripped off after failing to do enough research about it. I made a solemn oath that I wouldn’t get caught flat-footed if the opportunity ever appeared again! When I inherited thirteen more vintage blow molds, I came prepared.

You’re probably familiar with molded plastic holiday decorations. Most are designed to sit outside, many are illuminated from within, and today we lazily call the whole category “blow molds” after the process used to make them. The ornaments start with molten plastic enclosed inside a mold and inflated until it takes shape. Once the plastic cools, the decoration is removed and painted. 

I knew those kitschy old holiday blow molds were making a strong comeback, even in the face of today’s ubiquitous inflatables¹, back when I discovered the Santa train in my parents’ shed. People fondly recall the decorations their family hauled out every Christmas from companies like Union Products, Empire Industries, and General Foam, and many are willing to pay to relive those memories². That was the vein I was trying to tap when I listed the Santa Choo-Choo for $250.

Long story short, the buyer insisted that, despite all anatomical propriety, Santa was supposed to rotate his torso a full circle from atop the train. I took him at his word, knocked off half the price so he could source a motor, and only later found Santa’s installation manual. He was never designed to pull a Linda Blair. I’d been hosed.

The Santa Choo-Choo came from my stepdad’s mom, Pauline, along with an alarming forty-inch Union “Large Snowman with Red Scarf” that had long since gone the way of the dodo. After she died in 2015, her daughter inherited many of her things. Years later, with the full understanding that I’d be selling them, some of Pauline’s forgotten blow molds came down from the attic to me.

I knew there were a few up there, but I wasn’t prepared for thirteen! I photographed the lot, brought the plastic menagerie home, and built a quick spreadsheet to keep track of it. I wasn’t leaving anything to guesswork this time, so I searched the online archives at Blow-Molded, to identify each piece. I learned which company made what and when, then combed through eBay’s sold listings to see what people were actually paying. I knocked a little off those prices in the interest of moving everything quickly and listed the collection on Facebook.

Almost immediately, an older woman contacted me from ninety miles away. She was interested in three molds: the Santa Face, the Turkey, and the Pumpkin Stack. We agreed on a price for the bundle, and she made the drive to Muncie to retrieve them. Just like that, twenty-three percent of my collection was gone! Actually, it turned out closer to thirty percent: her adult daughter met her at my house and bought a tiny, flat pumpkin I hadn’t learned much about and hadn’t listed.

The creepiest of that first batch was the Santa Face, produced by Empire Industries between 1990 and 1998. At twenty-six inches tall and eighteen inches wide, the disembodied head of Santa Claus was designed to hang from a wall. The face was originally illuminated by an E12 candelabra-base light kit, but mine was missing. Apparently that didn’t matter much: I still got ninety percent of my asking price.

The Union Products Turkey was more of a surprise. The 19½-inch bird was molded between 1996 and 2005. Unlike Santa, its original light kit was still present! More interestingly and desirably, it was designed by Don Featherstone- the artist responsible for the iconic plastic pink yard flamingo³. I was already familiar with Featherstone’s most famous creation after discovering a flock at my family’s Michigan property a few years ago, but I hadn’t realized his handiwork extended to illuminated Thanksgiving poultry. Given that provenance, I probably could have held out for a little more money. Oh well.

Rounding out that first sale was a 33-inch Union Products Pumpkin Stack, a totem pole of five jack-o’-lanterns produced between 1995 and 2006. It was another Featherstone design, and its remarkable condition made me wonder if it had ever spent much time outside. Between that, its designer, and the general appeal of five glowing pumpkins stacked atop one another, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised that it went away so fast.

As I researched the collection, I was surprised to learn that most of Pauline’s blow molds dated from the early nineties. That raised a question I hadn’t really considered: who was she putting all these things out for? My brother, sister, and I didn’t join the family until later, but my older stepbrothers and cousins had probably aged out by then. Knowing Pauline, I suspect she kept hauling at least some of the things out every year simply because the neighborhood kids enjoyed them. I don’t know if that’s true, but I like to think it is.

One genuinely older piece would never have gone outside, though- the Empire Industries Santa Cookie Jar, with “COOKIES” inscribed around the band of Santa’s hat. Manufactured from 1974 into the eighties, the twelve-inch jars came in illuminated and non-illuminated versions. Mine lit up, but someone had dumped a double scoop of marbles inside to weigh it down. Over the years, all that weight cracked the opening in the back where the bulb and light kit were inserted. By the time it came to me, the damage was significant. Still, for the deal of a lifetime, I let him go to a woman who intended to sit it on the top of her fridge. 

Meanwhile, the annoyingly-named “Spooky Season” has started to creep closer, and its proximity generated interest in the plastic pumpkin patch I’d inherited. The next blow mold to go was a Union Products Pumpkin with Cover, a squat fourteen-inch-tall jack-o’-lantern whose mold dated to 1991. Union produced versions of it during the nineties and again in the early 2000s. Thankfully, mine still had its E12 candelabra-base light kit, and unlike poor Santa, needed no repairs. Someone drove about two-thirds of the way across Indiana and paid my full asking price for it.

That’s all I’ve sold so far, but on deck is a Union Products Heart, produced for about a decade starting in 1996. It’s nineteen inches square but otherwise pretty flat, with a keyhole slot for hanging it on a wall. Someone from Fort Wayne is supposed to head down later this week to pick it up. If she does, Valentine’s Day will no longer be represented in Pauline’s collection. 

I initially had some interest in another flat Union Products mold, a thirty-nine-inch star marketed from 1994 to 2006 before the mold wound up with Cado. I worried the thing was too nondescript to attract much attention, but made a deal with a guy two hours south. He eventually couldn’t make it, so the star went right back up for sale. Researching and pricing these blow molds has been easy, but -like everything on Facebook Marketplace- working with people is where things have gotten interesting.

As of this writing, Pauline’s once-formidable collection has dwindled to a handful of stragglers. Some are probably waiting for the right season or buyer. Others are so bizarre that I’m not entirely sure who the right buyer actually is. The coolest holdouts are also the biggest: a pair of enormous jack-o’-lanterns that look more like stage props for a horror-punk band I’m about to found than suburban Halloween decorations!

The first of the two giants is a twenty-two-inch Empire “Pumpkin (Green Stem),” produced between 1991 and 1994. It’s a simple design: a bright orange body, a stubby green stem, and a face made from sharp black triangles and a jagged grin that looks more mischievous than menacing. In person, its size gives it real presence- it’s nearly two feet tall. 

The second jack-o-lantern is the real showstopper: Empire’s appropriately named “Giant Pumpkin,” produced from 1989 to 2000. The previous twenty-two-inch pumpkin was already pretty big, but this makes it look downright modest! Tall and slightly pear-shaped, the spooky squash has been inflated to cartoon scale. Mine came in the original box, which barely fit under the tonneau cover of a Ford Maverick. 

Pumpkins aside, it seems as though Don Featherstone wasn’t finished with me, either. Along with pink flamingos, Thanksgiving turkeys, towers of jack-o’-lanterns, and whatever else he designed, he somehow found time to turn Uncle Sam into molded plastic. Made between 1999 and 2005, Sam stands thirty-six inches tall, nine inches wide, and only five inches thick- his proportions are truly bizarre. Mine is a non-illuminated version, but it’s another Featherstone design I never would have recognized before researching the collection. The more of his work I encounter, the more prolific the guy seems to have been. I’ll have to take a deep dive into his portfolio. 

Then there’s the goose. Pauline had blow molds for nearly every occasion: the Fourth of July, Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Valentine’s Day. Union Products made a 24-inch opaque Goose Planter from the eighties into the early 2000s before Cado took over the mold. It doesn’t really celebrate anything, but Union apparently believed the world needed an extensive assortment of plastic birds. Along with geese, its offerings included chickens, roosters, ducks, anthropomorphic crows, pelicans, penguins, egrets, herons, and owls. Unfortunately, nobody has expressed the slightest interest in my goose. I continue to hold out hope that its person is out there somewhere.

I’ve had a little more interest in an Empire Caroler Set, produced for only two years beginning in 1990 from a mold stamped a decade earlier. The eighteen-inch decoration originally used the same E12 candelabra-base light kit as several others in the collection, but mine is missing. What may be more is that the carolers are just a strange size compared with most Christmas blow molds I’ve encountered. They’re too small to command the yard but too large to disappear into the background. Maybe someone with an appropriately scaled plastic Christmas choir will eventually come along.

Finally, there’s the Empire Drummer Soldier, another short-lived mold produced for only two years beginning in 1993. At thirty-three inches tall, he’s substantial! Aside from the disembodied Santa head, he also may be the creepiest thing Pauline owned. The expression “Don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes” occurs to me whenever I look at him since he doesn’t seem to have any! Rather than discounting this unsettling little drummer, I may keep him and put him out every year- on Halloween.

These blow molds are neat and interesting, but I can’t pretend I’ve been heartbroken every time another one leaves the house. I’m fortunate for the opportunity to sell them as I get back on my feet from seven months of unemployment, though, and it’s cool that they’re slowly scattering across Indiana after spending years tucked away! The turkey, the giant Santa head, the stack of jack-o’-lanterns, and all the rest are becoming somebody else’s decorations and, eventually, somebody else’s memories. That seems like a much better fate than more time in storage.

Along the way, I’ve learned more about blow molding than I expected. I discovered the breadth of Don Featherstone’s plastic oeuvre and encountered collectors willing to cross half the state for the right pumpkin. More importantly, I learned my lesson from getting hosed on that Santa Choo-Choo: this time, I knew exactly what I had before anybody showed up at my door. Now I just need to find a horror punk band for those pumpkins, a patriotic Featherstone enthusiast, someone with an undersized choir, and a person who really likes geese.

Sources Cited
1 Robertson, E. (2024, December 3). Molding Christmas memories: The rise, fall and rise again of the blow mold. The Franklin News. Web. Retrieved August 9, 2026.
2 (See footnote 1).
3 Beaudoin, D. (2007). Prety in Pink?: Flamingos give color to Leominster. The Leominster Champion. Web. Retrieved August 9, 2026. 
* All other information courtesy Blow-Molded.