Robert Brink - Writer

Free Pinball, Security, and Missing Balls

July 10, 2005 | Skip To The Comments (0)

Free Pinball, Security, and Missing Balls:
The 7th annual Classic Pinball show
By Rob Brink
GameRoom March 2003

Saturday, September 14 was beautiful. Birds were singing, the sun was shining, children were frolicking and giggling, and all was right with the world. One couldn't ask for a more pleasant day to host or attend a pinball show in the lovely town of Wayne, NJ. This was Kevin McHugh and Classic Pinball's 7th annual show. Aside from being the roving reporter, I was an attendee, and fairly excited to go play free pinball and video games all day. Of course, walking around and taking notes of the ridiculousness at an event like this is also something I enjoy. On a side note, Kevin had been holding my Williams Fire machine hostage for a few months trying to sell it for me—and dammit it was time for me to collect my hot, stinky, dirty cash.

Upon approaching the entry area, I was asked to pay a cover charge to be allowed in. Being far too important to pay a cover, I quickly stated that I was here to cover the event for the prestigious Game Room magazine. With that, a warm welcome was extended to me and I was told to have a good time as I walked through the parking lot.

The event was held at the Elks Lodge. I think that's the type of place where old war veterans go and hang out. I would bet the town hosts pancake breakfasts there, or families rent it occasionally to have sweet 16 parties for their daughters. The first thing I saw, even before entering the building, was a man holding a beer. Forget the truckloads of video games, rarities, collectibles, and pinball machines to play that were set up in and outside the building—at that point, it became my mission to obtain a refreshing, frosty, alcoholic beverage.

I entered the lodge with caution, knowing that I needed to prepare myself for a day full of screaming hyper children whose Ritalin had worn off since they took it with their Saturday morning french toast breakfast, and the mass gathering of Trekkie-type pinball geeks and weirdos with shirts custom made shirts that say”I buy jukeboxes and pinball machines.”

The place was packed to say the least. Every game was taken by a wide-eyed pinball maniac, and most had people waiting on deck. As I perused the aisles of games in a desperate search to find a game to play (thank God I didn't pay at the door because the amount of free play I got could have never matched the cover charge) I finally saw an empty machine—Hook. With a swift glance to the left and right to make sure the coast was clear, and a brief moment of disbelief that I now had a machine to myself to hog all day, I leapt towards the machine. With already-sweaty palms, assuming the pinball stance, I pressed the start button. No ball. I pressed it again—still no new credit. With a quick scan of the display, I realized that there was a ball missing, rendering the game impotent as it clicked and clanked searching for its lost balls. An utter disappointment—I was defeated, crushed, and felt like a sucker. A true pinball geek would have never even pushed the start button, he/she would have had “missing ball radar” and simply never given the game the time of day. I felt dumb. Of course, this same scenario happened to me about 58 more times the same day. Evidently, a good way to try to sell machines is to have them just not working properly with a $1,000-$2,000 price tag on them. I know for me personally, when I go car shopping, I look for the cars that don't come with tires or a steering wheel. Or when I go to the supermarket, I like to pick up the dented cans of soup or the rotten tomatoes.

Then I remembered I still had no beer. So I found Kevin. As usual he was sweating profusely and doing that stressed out “running his hands through his thinning hair “ thing that so many people do when filled with anxiety. He told me to go upstairs and get a brew. I thanked him and went on my merry way.

Nature was calling so I took a bathroom detour, accidentally entering the ladies room. Upon realization of this, I turned around to exit and locked eyes with a woman who was entering. She looked scared and disgusted to say the least. Next to the men's room, sitting on the floor against the wall, were a few scrawny teens. What struck me about these young lads were their black t-shirts with the word “SECURITY” across the back. This made me ponder a few things. First, is a pinball convention so wild of an event that it warrants security to be present? Secondly, if there was a problem of some sort, say a battle between two rabid pinball fans over who's turn it was to play the new Roller Coaster Tycoon game, or lude acts being performed by the many pervs waiting on line to play the new Playboy machine, for example, would all these young bucks, fresh from the chess club be able to control the situation? Thirdly, why was security sitting on the floor in the corner of the lodge by the men's room, and why did they not stop me from entering the ladies room?

Then I went to find the free beer. But it didn't exist. I wandered the abandoned second floor of the lodge in search for the liquid happiness—but no luck. So I headed back down for more pinball and journalism action. By now, Kevin was raffling off a pinball game, some backglasses, and other miscellaneous crap. People crowded around him and his megaphone (as if he doesn't talk loud enough) like hungry wolves around a steak. He was God. Some people won and were happy, others walked away disappointed, angrily discarding their raffle tickets on the ground, as if littering is somehow justified due to the loss of a raffle. Sure man, get back at this horrible cruel world by dropping your orange raffle tickets on the ground—you rebels!

By now, it was getting late. I still couldn't get a go at Playboy or Roller Coaster Tycoon. Many of the games had sold and were being wheeled out to their new homes so I settled for Donkey Kong Jr. and played it repeatedly—sucking hard the whole while. I used to be good at it when I was a tyke, I swear. But now I couldn't even conquer level too. Indeed I am getting old. Maybe I would have done better if I had gotten some free beer in me.

Feeling a tad drained, and knowing the bulk of the fun was over, I headed out to say goodbye to Kevin, who had the surprising news that my Fire machine had finally been sold to a fireman who wanted it for the firehouse in his town. I was excited knowing that the machine went to a group of people (who the media now considers “heroes”) could really appreciate it—but not nearly as excited as when Kevin handed me my $700 wad of smelly, sweaty, filthy cash. I put it in my pocket and savored the bulge it made in my pants as I merrily drove home. Yes, it was a lovely day.
With the show behind us, I tracked some vendors down to see how their day was and hear their take on the event. Most were excited to see people from their industry that they don't get to meet with very often. All praised Kevin for his efforts. Steve Engel of Mayfair Amusements in Ridgewood, NY said the show was productive for him, despite the two days of loading and unloading the trucks. “I'd like to see the show go two days,” he said. Little did Steve know this was to be Kevin's Last show.

Jack Guarnieri, CEO of Pinballsales.com was attending this show for the first time and found it to be very productive—selling 10 of the 13 games he brought with him, he would have liked some barbecued food outside, but there's always time for that if he throws his own show.

And what about some words from the man himself? It took Kevin a few weeks and much prompting to answer my interview via email. I think he was busy recovering, so I'll excuse his tardiness. The show, after all, is a big production, starting in February with booking the venue and marketing the event. About two months before the actual date is when the game buying and real planning takes place. Lists are made, people are called, advertising secured, volunteers and favors called in, truck rental arrangements made and the list goes on.

“This show was our biggest turnout ever,” said Kevin. “We had over 800 paid admissions. We also sold 14 videos and seven pinball machines. This year unlike years past, we set up fencing and made the show a sort of pay one price all access in and out and it worked well. All the dealers outside were thrilled and it made for a nice spacious atmosphere. The weather also was great.”

Kevin regrets not having enough time to talk to everyone. And always wished for a bigger hall, more room, more games. But that's not going to happen. The decision that this is the last show for him has already been made. Why? “It's simple—too much work. In the early years when the game supply was plentiful, it was easy to entice other dealers and distributors to come and offer their machines for sale making it easy to fill the room with a good supply of games to play and offer for sale. The Internet has changed all that, along with the demise of Bally/Williams/Gottlieb. Now demand is high, supply is low, all it takes to sell a game is a few keystrokes, there is no incentive to lug our games out for public viewing, playing, and unfortunately abusing at a show. Let alone go through the rigorous haggling process of selling a game in person, few people are comfortable doing that, when low and behold you hear ‘I can get $500 more on eBay!' That will be the epitaph on the tombstone of the shows once they are all gone. We had a great run—seven years and seven great shows.

McHugh doesn't feel the cancellation of the annual show will negatively affect other amusement businesses. He also offers a big thanks to everyone who attended and worked the show—making it the success it was. “I'm taking the Seinfeld route and going out on top. Next summer come see me in my store on Saturday morning, bring coffee and I'll show you some pictures of my past shows, and be prepared to talk pinball, cause that is what I do!”