VID KID MEMORIES

Me, showing off a piece of artwork from my Q-Bert Period

The Land of Oz arcade was hidden in an obscure alcove of the Northwest Arkansas Mall. To a kid, finding it was a challenge in itself; on more than one outing I completely failed to locate the place and left the building wondering if I had actually dreamt earlier visits. (My folks were no help. They stayed intentionally aloof, preferring to avoid the blaring music and the scuzzy teens.) This lent a truly mythic quality to the venue, as though it were a portal which only presented itself under certain conditions.

Its futuristic entryway was reminiscent of A Clockwork Orange with its series of white archways of descending sizes, each layer concealing a row of glowing florescent lights. The dimly lit gaming floor was jammed with coin-operated machines, but these weren't of the video variety (yet). I had caught the tail end of the penny arcade era, therefore the amusements were purely mechanical in nature. The playing fields were three dimensional and games were played using items like miniature metal baseball players that pitched steel balls, or plastic wildlife you shot with dummy rifles. For a dime, a kid could operate the pushbutton console that made Peppy the marionette clown dance. The same price bought a song from a tiny animatronic marching band. But the main draw always seemed to be the wall of pinball machines.

I was in first grade (1979) when a routine trip to Oz revealed something very different. The whole place was rearranged to accommodate a new centerpiece for the room. It was a table with a large black and white television screen embedded under glass. A crowd overlooked two young men at either ends of the furniture who were both viciously running their hands over what would come to be known as "trackball controllers." The game was Atari's Football. The name didn't make a lot of sense to me because all I saw was a bunch of little white X's and O's. This was the first video game I ever encountered.


Coin-operated video games taught me a new kind of brutality. The moment I plunked in that first quarter (I think it was Asteroids), the game set out to do what it was programmed to— to mercilessly destroy me. The machine had complete disregard for my tender age, lack of experience, or the tasks I had to perform to earn those quarters. My first game ended swiftly. My nervous smile turned to anguished tears, and my adventuresome spirit was replaced by the pain of both financial loss and public humiliation. Upon my defeat the cabinet just stood there, tall as any human adversary, but with no capacity for remorse– only hunger for more money. Ironically, there was zero fun in those early lessons of video life. However, video games would eventually empower me like nothing else had. For the first time in my life there was something I could do better than my parents (and most of my friends). This was a very big deal.

My imaginary alter ego

For me, the outcrop of original characters was as appealing as the very act of playing the machines. There were a couple of years there before the games went the way of the toy industry and became saturated with subjects from existing movies and cartoons. Limited onscreen graphics allowed for personal interpretation of these new video worlds and the liberties taken on the cabinet artwork taught me how a dose of imagination could enhance the playing experience. The units themselves were a whole new art form. The relationship between the art on screen and the art on the sides tickled my brain. Naturally, these icons wedged their way into my own artistic vernacular. I soon found myself dwelling on the lives and worlds of these video game personalities even when space and money separated me from the arcade.


I cyclically revisit my classic gaming roots several times a year. During these seasons I binge on the likes of Robotron, Satan's Hollow, and Black Tiger (to name but a few) and my mind retreats into the glowing sanctuaries of Land of Oz, Baily's Pizza Emporium and numerous other family fun centers. Obviously, I'm currently on one of these kicks and I thank you for allowing me to publicly wallow in nostalgia as I escape a particularly ugly February. But let's not stop just yet. Here's a quick batch of visuals from my own video game heritage...

I drew this on site at Crystal's Pizza in Tulsa, Oklahoma the first time I saw Donkey Kong Junior. I wanted to capture every detail so that I could accurately tell my friends. Video game sequels were still rare at that point, and the site of it was so exhilarating I felt like I was dreaming. Ms. Pac-Man had the same effect on me.

Playing Zaxxon at the roller rink. Somewhere Journey was playing.

There's a whole mini-drama taking place in this picture.
Tron: "Hi, I'm Tron."
Warrior: "O, Tron" [thows deadly disc]
Yori: "Duck, Tron!"

The perfect marriage of film and video games

The Pac-Man Fever shirt was custom assembled by me at the local T-shirt emporium. It had my name on the back in fuzzy letters.

The Summer of Pac-Man

Self portrait

My love of Pac-Man meets my love of Frankenstein

Just when I thought all was lost on the video game front, the Nintendo Entertainment System came out. Mine came with a R.O.B. the robot. The drawing above is my Junior High take on the game Kung-Fu.

Previously on the Secret Fun Blog...