heard of it.
“A four-flipper ‘Underground Explorers’ won’t do? Brand-new machine, just in,” one game center owner said.
“Afraid not, sorry.”
He seemed a little disappointed.
“How about a three-flipper ‘Southpaw,’ then? Gives you the bonus light on cycle hits.”
“I’m really very sorry, but I’m only interested in the ‘Spaceship’.”
So he did what he could. He gave me the name and phone number of a pinball fanatic
acquaintance of his.
“This guy might know something about the machine you’re looking for. He’s a regular encyclopedia, probably the most up on any machine in the catalogue. Kinda strange character,
though.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Nah, don’t mention it. Hope you find it.”
I went into a quiet little coffee shop, dialed the number. Five rings and a man answered the phone.
In the background I could hear the NHK seven o’clock news and a baby crying. “I’d like to ask you about a special pinball machine, if I may,” I declared after giving my
name.
For a while, there was total silence on the other end of the line.
“What kind of machine might that be,” said the man, turning down the sound of the
television.
“A three-flipper ‘Spaceship’.”
The man gave it a thoughtful hmm.
“With planets and a rocketship painted on the board – ”
“I know it,” he interrupted, then coughed. He spoke like a teacher straight out of graduate school.
“Nineteen sixty-eight model by Gilbert & Sands, Chicago, Illinois. Of some fame as an ill-fated machine.”
“Ill-fated machine?”
“Well, how about it?” he said. “Worth your while to get together and talk?”
We decided to meet the following evening.
* * *
After exchanging name cards, we gave the waitress our order. Two coffees. I was taken aback to find out he was a university lecturer. Somewhere in his thirties, his hair was beginning to thin, but his body looked strong and tanned.
“I teach Spanish at the university,” he said “It’s like sprinkling water over the desert.”
I nodded eagerly.
“Get any Spanish work at your translation service?”
“I handle English, another guy does French. And that’s almost more than we can
manage.”
“Unfortunate,” he said, with his arms crossed.
Although it didn’t seem so unfortunate to him at all. He fiddled around with the knot in
his tie a while.
“Ever been to Spain?” he asked.
“No, unfortunately not,” I said.
The coffee came and that ended our discussion of Spain. We drank our coffee in silence.
“The Gilbert & Sands Company is what you might call a latecomer to pinball,” he began suddenly. “From World War II through the Korean War they were mostly involved with making bomb bay mechanisms. When the Korean operations ended, they took it as sign to diversify into other fields. Pinball machines, bingo machines, slot machines, jukeboxes, popcorn vendors – your so-called peace-time industries. They came out with their first pinball machine in 1952. Wasn’t bad. Real sturdy, cheap pricetag. But not a particularly interesting machine. Or rather, as the article in Billboard put it, ‘A pinball machine like a Soviet government issue woman’s army brassiere.’ Nonetheless it did quite well as a business venture. They exported it to Mexico, then to all of Latin America. Countries where there aren’t many special technicians so they’re happier with sturdy machines that don’t often break down than with ones with complicated mechanisms.”
He paused long enough to drink some water. It was a real pity he didn’t have a slide projection screen and a long pointer.
“However, as you know, the pinball industry in America – that is to say, the whole world over — is all sewed up by four companies Gottlieb, Bally, Chicago Coin, and Williams – the so-called Big Four. Gilbert tried to punch its way in. Put up a good fight for five years. Then in 1957, Gilbert pulled out of pinball.”
“Pulled out?”
He nodded and
“A four-flipper ‘Underground Explorers’ won’t do? Brand-new machine, just in,” one game center owner said.
“Afraid not, sorry.”
He seemed a little disappointed.
“How about a three-flipper ‘Southpaw,’ then? Gives you the bonus light on cycle hits.”
“I’m really very sorry, but I’m only interested in the ‘Spaceship’.”
So he did what he could. He gave me the name and phone number of a pinball fanatic
acquaintance of his.
“This guy might know something about the machine you’re looking for. He’s a regular encyclopedia, probably the most up on any machine in the catalogue. Kinda strange character,
though.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Nah, don’t mention it. Hope you find it.”
I went into a quiet little coffee shop, dialed the number. Five rings and a man answered the phone.
In the background I could hear the NHK seven o’clock news and a baby crying. “I’d like to ask you about a special pinball machine, if I may,” I declared after giving my
name.
For a while, there was total silence on the other end of the line.
“What kind of machine might that be,” said the man, turning down the sound of the
television.
“A three-flipper ‘Spaceship’.”
The man gave it a thoughtful hmm.
“With planets and a rocketship painted on the board – ”
“I know it,” he interrupted, then coughed. He spoke like a teacher straight out of graduate school.
“Nineteen sixty-eight model by Gilbert & Sands, Chicago, Illinois. Of some fame as an ill-fated machine.”
“Ill-fated machine?”
“Well, how about it?” he said. “Worth your while to get together and talk?”
We decided to meet the following evening.
* * *
After exchanging name cards, we gave the waitress our order. Two coffees. I was taken aback to find out he was a university lecturer. Somewhere in his thirties, his hair was beginning to thin, but his body looked strong and tanned.
“I teach Spanish at the university,” he said “It’s like sprinkling water over the desert.”
I nodded eagerly.
“Get any Spanish work at your translation service?”
“I handle English, another guy does French. And that’s almost more than we can
manage.”
“Unfortunate,” he said, with his arms crossed.
Although it didn’t seem so unfortunate to him at all. He fiddled around with the knot in
his tie a while.
“Ever been to Spain?” he asked.
“No, unfortunately not,” I said.
The coffee came and that ended our discussion of Spain. We drank our coffee in silence.
“The Gilbert & Sands Company is what you might call a latecomer to pinball,” he began suddenly. “From World War II through the Korean War they were mostly involved with making bomb bay mechanisms. When the Korean operations ended, they took it as sign to diversify into other fields. Pinball machines, bingo machines, slot machines, jukeboxes, popcorn vendors – your so-called peace-time industries. They came out with their first pinball machine in 1952. Wasn’t bad. Real sturdy, cheap pricetag. But not a particularly interesting machine. Or rather, as the article in Billboard put it, ‘A pinball machine like a Soviet government issue woman’s army brassiere.’ Nonetheless it did quite well as a business venture. They exported it to Mexico, then to all of Latin America. Countries where there aren’t many special technicians so they’re happier with sturdy machines that don’t often break down than with ones with complicated mechanisms.”
He paused long enough to drink some water. It was a real pity he didn’t have a slide projection screen and a long pointer.
“However, as you know, the pinball industry in America – that is to say, the whole world over — is all sewed up by four companies Gottlieb, Bally, Chicago Coin, and Williams – the so-called Big Four. Gilbert tried to punch its way in. Put up a good fight for five years. Then in 1957, Gilbert pulled out of pinball.”
“Pulled out?”
He nodded and
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