WASHBURN - Most women of a certain age desperately wanted what Kate Sutter has.

If the woman was born between 1950 and 1965, she recalls a burning desire that only one thing could truly satisfy - a Chatty Cathy doll.

Cathy was pretty, a real doll, you might say.

But it wasn't for her looks that girls growing up at a time when mothers stayed home and wore housedresses and pedal pushers wanted her. Plenty of dolls were real dolls.

She was coveted for that 6-inch string on the back of her neck.

The string pulled out like on a lawnmower, and as it retracted, Cathy chatted.

She said the sweetest things, too, like "I love you," and "Please brush my hair," "Will you play with me," or "Night night."

And she said them over and over and over, until her record wore out, or the string broke, or dare we suggest, someone "accidentally" dropped her real hard.

She really did have a small vinyl record inside her body, played with a needle like a phonograph. The sound came out of her chest, which had a pattern of holes, covered by speaker cloth.

Her darling clothes covered all that business, but it wasn't the clothes that made her special. It was all about the string.

Sutter - a woman of a certain age - didn't even adore her Chatty Cathy all that much when she got her as a present one year when she was about 8. She had two big brothers and the three of them ruled the great outdoors, doing things their mother would still rather not hear about.

But it was to her mom Sutter went one day about 10 years ago, asking where that old Chatty Cathy doll had ever gone.

Well, you pretty much destroyed her, was the response.

For a surprise, though, her mother found her one.

And thus a passion was born, with less fanfare than when Chatty Cathy was born at the Mattel toy factory in 1960.

Sutter now has more than 70 Chatty Cathy dolls, which stand guard with their unblinking blue, brown and green eyes all around their house overlooking the Missouri River just south of Washburn. Sutter said her kids, except for her youngest daughter, think she's a little loopy, and clamor for conversation that's not all about the dolls.

It is harmless for the most part, except financially. She has paid $500 for the most collectible, the Chatty Cathy version made in Canada. No, Chatty Canada doesn't say "Eh," either.

Sutter's also paid up to $200 for an original outfit.

Mattel manufactured Chatty Cathy dolls and variations like Chatty Baby and Little Chatty Baby, a twin boy and girl set, until 1965.

There was some genius in the marketing department in those days, because Chatty Cathy cutout dolls, little reading books and coloring books, tea sets and strollers were also available.

Then along came Barbie and the doll world changed forever. Barbie's glamour, long legs, excruciating instep and silicone-inspired chest stole the doll show.

Chatty Cathy belongs to a more innocent time of blue-checked gingham with white apron fronts.

If only she could talk. Strike that. If only Chatty Cathy could really talk. It'd be amazing to hear what those dolls have been doing for the past 40 odd years.

Sutter says she's only ever found one in North Dakota, at a Mandan flea market. She gets most of them off the Internet and through a Chatty Cathy Club connection. The club meets annually in conjunction with a toy show in a major city.

She also has Chatty Cathy dolls that were reintroduced by Mattel in the late '60s and in 1970 and some replicas produced by major retailers and collectible companies over the years that basically flopped, except among diehards.

But it's the real McCoys she really loves, the dolls made from 1960 to 1965. They were each loved by a real girl, who shrieked in happiness to get her Chatty Cathy one long-ago Christmas Eve or at a birthday party surrounded by envious friends.

Every woman of a certain age has a Chatty Cathy story and her collection never fails to set off a wave of nostalgia.

Sutter, who's fit and tan because she still likes to play outside, has trunks and tubs of clothes and she redresses the dolls for holidays.

"It's fun," she said. "They have overrun my life. We're working on making a bigger area downstairs just for the dolls."

Her children are grown and gone and her husband, Ron, works all day.

When she's home, the house is quiet. But if Sutter ever longs to hear she's loved, or wanted for playtime, all she has to do is pull a string.

(Reach reporter Lauren Donovan at 888-303-5511, or lauren@;westriv.com.)