The Story of the Pong Machine

This story begins a month or two before the North West Pinball and Arcade Show. My faith was holding small sessions for members in the very small town of Sprague. One of the leaders for these sessions was my Dad, and he goes every other week.

To give you an idea of Sprague, you can stand at one part of the town, and see the other side down the road. It’s population is a few hundred, and many people are moving out. It would be easier to buy a house there, than pay rent anywhere closer to Spokane. I just heard about a man who sold his home for $29,000. This would make payments on his house are $200-$300 while rent for an apartment is $400 in nearby Cheney.

The town used to be the district seat, and held a thriving community. In fact, most of the buildings in the business area are hotels, or bars. These buildings are mostly closed now, but you can look in, and see the history standing right there. Needless to say, it is going through a really rough stretch right now.

Someone in the parks department did not place a pipe correctly near a building. After a few months, the part of the building closest to that pipe collapsed. It was being used as a storage area for online sales. Although the other store fronts continue to be open, it is expected that the entire building will collapse soon enough.

Ever since then, my Dad has spent a little time every day helping clear the rubble of the building. He finishes work, and then drives to Sprague to help out. As of this writing they are almost all the way done, however it took months to do this. There were only a few volunteers, and they were picking up most of the rubble by hand. They would rent out a truck, or device to move the rubble away, and that was about it. The owner did not have a lot of money, so it was being done by volunteers, and a few spare dollars.

Source

Underneath that rubble, was all sorts of items. This included one used, but still in good condition Pong machine. No, not an original console, the arcade game. We were told it was really early on, and one of the rare ten cent machines. I didn’t see it, my Dad told me about it one night. I mentioned I could get it priced at the NWPASS, if I had it.

The same week that I planned to leave for the show, my Dad told me I could pick up the machine, and show it off. I didn’t have a lot of time, or knowledge on how to transport one of the first arcade videogames ever. Still, I had a van, and if I took down the back seats, there would be a lot of room.

The evening before I left, I went with my Dad to go pick up the machine. This was actually my first time in the town of Sprague. There was an antique shop in the parts of the building still standing up. The rest was rubble, and items that were being kept in the store. It was weird to see these old books, trinkets, and items for sale in a town sort of doing the same.

The arcade machine was in a barn surrounded by old cars. We couldn’t find the key into the barn, so we crossed the street to talk with the owner. He wasn’t home, but his ducks, chickens, and other birds were more than happy to see me. The ducks thought my toes were some kind of food. I kept getting bit. It didn’t hurt, just felt sort of odd.

The son of the owner had the keys, and opened it up for us. We were able to find a dolley to move the machine to my minivan. One of the wheels on the dolley was flat, so I had to be careful how I moved. It was especially hard since there really wasn’t a path, so much as a bunch of spaces between the old cars. We didn’t get keys for the machine itself, but that was ok.

I was so proud of myself, I had a machine for the show. Others would be bringing moving trucks full of machines, but I would have one game. I contacted the volunteer coordinator, and asked if she knew someone who could appraise the machine I was bringing. She said yes, and that he would be at the loading docks some time.

After setting up various things at the kid zone, I met blind dog. He said that the machine in good condition would be somewhere around $700-$800. It was sort of a sad moment for me, because I was hoping it would pay for the cleanup of the destroyed building.

He quickly opened it up, and found out some stuff for me. The first was that it wasn’t as new as I thought. Second, there was water damage. Third, the dime slot we were all impressed by was from a bit of welding. The inside was fine, but the outside had all sorts of problems. There were cracks from the building falling onto it.

We wheeled it to the Kid Zone for further checking. He was able to get it working, but the screen was not getting the right signal. In other words, it was a wash. It was a working machine, but with the damage, and the signal problems it wasn’t worth it to anyone.

Some fans had us set it up at the Museum anyway. It was a piece of history, and people could enjoy that. We set it up so that it looked ready to go, and then faced it away from the other machines. It was unplayable, but at least it looked nice.

The next night, around closing time, I walked over to the Kid Zone to see what I could help with. There was someone talking with Oz about the machine. His name was John, and it turned out he was an arcade repairman, and had the skills to fix everything. I told him the problems, and admitted it wasn’t the greatest. I gave him the price at new, but then said with all the problems it wasn’t worth that much.

“Well it looks like a building fell onto it,” said John, “but can I see the inside?”

I opened it up, and let him see. There was a manual for setting it up, and various papers from the manufacturer. The inside was in very good condition. Even the original monitor was there.

“$500,” was Johns offer.

“I don’t know if I can offer it right now,” I said. “I was only told to show it off. I will contact him, and see.”

Honestly, I was ready to sell the machine. This was a good price, and John could fix it up. I was ready to move it that weekend so long as someone paid for the gas. I even had my passport ready.

My parents spoke with the owner at church, and he was ready to take the offer. Unfortunately, they did not send me the message. In fact, they tried sending a message that I shouldn’t sell it, until the owner said otherwise.

The show went, and I came home with a Pong machine. It had been wrapped before I could move the screen. There was no real way to take the machine out, especially since we didn’t have any dollys. So the game was in my van, for several weeks.

I took slower routes, and watched corners every day. John was more than willing to have it delivered to him, and I thought it would be a fun adventure. I told him that the next Seattle trip would be for the Seattle Retro Gaming Expo, and I would try to deliver it the day before set up. This meant, that I had to leave two days before the SRGE event started.

As said earlier, it was a great trip over from Spokane to Seattle. The sunset was amazing, and most drivers were courteous. Tuan took me to see the 8 Bit Arcade, and enjoy some dinner. Remind me to write about 8 Bit later.

The next day, I woke up, and went to McDonalds. Tuan’s internet was down so I had to use other means of communication. I uploaded some photos, and did some surfing, and then headed out.

I was nearing the edge of the Seattle area when I realized I forgot my passport. It took me a few miles to find an on ramp, that led to an off ramp the other way, but fast enough. Traffic that morning had been stop and go, which was really worrying me.

Seattle has a really cool set of signs. It says the best relative speed for the area. If it suddenly goes down, you should expect a traffic jam. The entire city has tons of designers for games, toys, computer programs, and jets. This has meant amazing designs everywhere to find where you are, and where to go. I get lost in Seattle, but its for short moments.

I got back to Renton, drove over to Tuan’s, grabbed my passport, and drove to McDonalds. With a quick bit of messaging, I was able to contact the buyer, and a buddy in Vancouver. I was not looking forward to traffic, but didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter.

Luckily, traffic wasn’t that bad. There was no stand still traffic at all. I was able to drive North, and then North some more until the city was gone. Northern Washington is a very green place. My Great Grandmother lived here, as did my Uncle Richard and his wife Esther. It is so green that it seems magical. While driving, I saw the exit to where they used to live. It was sort of hard to not take a turn.

As I drove, signs for the border began to show up. Eventually the speed limit began to drop quickly. By the time I was at the border, the limit was 35, and there was a long line. I sort of looked forward to the interview about going into Canada. My passport was ready, and jokes were being prepared. I was sort of hoping that we had to speak to each other in super hero voices.

“Citizen! Why are you entering the Canadian Border!”

Instead, the first thing said was Bonjour. I speak French, and that was not how I say it. He was an armored man who spoke a language differently from me. I was thrown a little off.

I explained why I was heading to Vancouver. Then was asked if I had any firearms. There has never been a firearm in my van since I had it, but my mind honestly wondered if there was one. Outloud. Needless to say my response got a few more questions.

My car had to be inspected. I will admit that I sort of got a crush on the woman who told me where to wait while my car was being checked out. She was capable, and in uniform.

I spent my time waiting by accidentally walking into the bathroom on little girl. Then I watched Canadian TV very quickly after apologizing to anyone who looked even slightly related to the little girl.

As it turned out I had to pay Tax on the machine, so I was charged $65. It was easily paid, and I got some Canadian money in change. A very quick and fairly painless process.

While driving out, I enjoyed seeing the view. It was basically just like the North West. Then I met the traffic jam. It was all stopped, and turned a 4 lane freeway into a one lane road. I grabbed some pictures on the way, even noted that the nearby town had a cool name. It took over an hour to get out of that mess. I thought about the woman at the Canadian border. This wait should have been some sense of foreboding, but I guess it didn’t kick in.

The freeway ended onto Vancouver, without warning, and without a lot of signs explaining what was going on. I thought something had gone wrong, but since it seemed I was heading in the right direction, didn’t mind. After several blocks of nice looking streets, I found a couple turns, and ended up in Central Vancouver. After a quick search, I discovered that the road I needed turned into another road.

After a turn around, I asked for directions at a shop. It was an architectural business, and they gave me easy enough directions to find John’s Jukes. It took a little bit to find a parking spot, but I quickly walked the few blocks away, and found the shop. It was being run by some guy I never met, but he was courteous.

John’s Jukes has been around since the 70’s. John had gotten a job at a company, and realized he was making more money fixing random machines, than the job he was hired for. So he quit, and started up an electrical fix it shop. The building he has his shop in is one of the first buildings in the city of Vancouver.

The back of his shop is a museum of amazing games on display. I didn’t have enough space in my iPod to take pictures of everything I wanted.

Since it was closing time, they had a high score challenge on a pinball machine. Whoever got the best score, did not have to do the chore. They did this for four different chores, and then headed out.

The one on the left, with the tinted glass

My machine was taken slowly, and I found out the screen was ok. Everything was intact, and John paid for the machine and the sales tax. It was a great visit, and I am glad I went.

The rest of this story is sad, and I really hope my friends in Canada can understand that it is not any bitterness toward them at all.

To celebrate, I went to a really cool looking McDonalds down the street. While trying to upload pictures, I watched the Belgium vs Korea footy match. There were people walking everywhere, and it was an impressive restaurant. Somehow, my texts, or pictures would not send.

The menu is a bunch of monitors put together. Its really cool.

I had planned to meet a friend in a nearby town, but it looked like it would take too long. I had been told the border crossing closed at 10:00 PM, and it was 7:30 already. Since none of my texts were sending, it was best to try to head out. This is when I noticed my passport was missing.

I checked my car, then my backpack. Someone must have seen my license plate, and opened my door right there. I sort of freaked out, and tried to follow the road out. It took me around in circles.

What I was really trying to find was a freeway that went South. As it turns out, no such thing exists. After driving a bit, I stopped at a gas station and asked for directions.

“You need to go to the American Embassy and tell them what happened,” said the clerk, “you will not be allowed to cross without proper identification.”

The clerk gave me directions. I planned out an exit, I had a license, and my receipt from paying for the tax for the Pong machine. Basically, I did not find the American Embassy.

I am looking at a map of Vancouver right now, and none of the weird turns I found are on it. Major freeways would just stop, and turn into residential areas. I ended up in Tsawassen, one of the ritziest places I have ever gotten lost into.

It was really impressive, usually I get lost in places where things are run down. Instead, there were doors the size of my car. Later on I found out my buddy lived somewhere in that area. Had my phone, ipod, or anything been working, I would have been in a nice place to spend the night.

Eventually I found another gas station, and asked for directions. Canada hides their gas stations, you have to search for them in out of reach areas. The guys there gave me directions, and told me to find the 99, and take it South.

The signs for following the 99 are not easy. Sometimes, you are following a road, and it stops being the 99 without warning. Sometimes, there are forks with multiple ways to go, and no signs that say which one is the 99. It was like I was on a quest with an advisor who didn’t particularly like me.

“To find the magical land to the south, you must slay the Jub Jub bird.”

“I just searched everywhere for it, do you know where it could be?”

“Someone else slew it.”

“Is there another?”

“No.”

“Then why did you tell me about the Jub Jub bird?”

“Because you asked the way, and I gave it to you.”

“Is there another way to this magical far off land just South of us?”

“Well yes, but why would you need to know those if you just slew the Jub Jub bird?”

It was a trial and error situation, where I would take turns, realize it was wrong and turn back. This took me hours, and eventually I passed by the same McDonalds I had lunch in. No idea how that happened.

Canada does not have Freeways that head North and South. In Seattle, there are signs that say, “North I-5” with an arrow. I get lost in Seattle, Vancouver was a nightmare. Seattle is proud of its Northern brother, whereas Vancouver doesn’t quite want to acknowledge Seattle.

The City of Vancouver is very pretty. I know, I saw most of it. At no point did I think, “I am lost in this ugly wasteland.”

It was more like, “Man this is a really pretty place, now how the crap do I get out of here? Is that the same geodesic dome? What the crap, it was pretty the first time, but now…”

By the time I found the road South, it was passed midnight. I was swearing that my next big purchase would be a GPS device. The border was not closed like I believed. There was a really long line though. I had to wait for half an hour in standstill traffic.

The border guard listened to me, and took my license. He asked when I last saw my passport. And told me to report it as soon as I could.

“Who in their right mind would steal Borgholthaus?” I said.

“They change the name,” said the guard, “Where were you born?”

I told him. Everything checked out right. I could go on.

I drove out a little bit, and bought gas. The station near the border was nearly $5 a gallon, but I was nearly empty. On the other hand, they had old school DR. Pepper with real sugar.

I drove back to the Canadian border, and would you believe it, the same guard was there. The one who spoke a French I didn’t speak.

“Bonjour. Did you sell the machine?”

“Yes it sold well. I think I might have left my passport in your office. Can I go check?”

I was half expecting him to mention the Jub Jub bird.

I checked at the office where they charged me money for the trip. Nothing was there. I found out there was a secret exit to the American border. I didn’t have to do a big turn around. The border patrols work for different governments. Going into Canada is the Canadian government, and going into the US is US. I thought they worked in the same office, but I was wrong.

The guard at the US border asked if I had found my passport, and I said no. He gave me a lot of good advice. A passport is technically government property. Once I report it gone, they declare it voide so no one else uses it.

The drive back was basically me slowly drinking the Dr. Pepper to stay awake. It lasted into Seattle. Then, from that point on, I used loud exciting music. It was not an easy trip, and honestly I feel sort of sad about it. Still, the machine was sold, I had the money, and was able to get to Tuan’s safely enough. If I were to be honest though, I was lucky. There were a lot of moments that could have ended badly.

Either way, I need a new passport. Next time I bring a GPS, and am hiding my passport.

After returning home, it was actually a readjustment driving without the machine. It added some weight in certain turns, and sort of demanded that I be careful at all times. With a looser, more capable car, I realized it was ok to try the back roads again.

And that was the story of the Pong Machine.