Some sounds ignite the past with barely a spark. Certain songs have that power of course, but so do snippets of old movie dialogue or earworm jingles from commercials. What about Pac-man eating ghosts or the soothing sound of Pong, or the creak on the third step when you’re coming in past curfew? Imagine a game of Name that Sound from childhood - - sounds unique to the homes we grew up in, to the cultural moments of our youth, to the entertainment we enjoyed. How many sounds from video games could you name? The digital firing of Space Invaders, the splat of Frogger, Mario jumping over barrels, the enticing otherworld organ of Galaga….
The sounds of the 70s and 80s would also have to include the pinball machine.
I could identify that sound with my eyes closed as soon as the quarter dropped, the flippers were tested, and the ball popped into place ready to launch into the jangling, thumping sounds of rattling bumpers, layered cymbals, and points racking up. Oh the power, when you trap the ball on the flipper, ease it down just right, and give it a smack into oblivion to the back of the machine where it starts hysterically hitting things making that wonderful pinball sound, cha-ching, cha-ching! But, you can’t lose concentration because the ball is coming back fast and it’s heading right down the middle between the flippers unless you can snag it, knock it off course, and keep the ball alive.
You lean into the machine, not too much or you’ll tilt it, with just enough of a push to force your flipper into aggression and get a bit of the ball to send it nowhere special; but it’s alive. Then you get a better hit and send it into a groove that captures it and sets off some kind of mayhem of multiple balls that are flung from everywhere and all you can do is keep hitting the flippers with deep concentration. There’s no level to beat, no puzzle to figure out, no weapon to find, just you and the simple pleasure of the pinball machine.
I’m old, right, lamenting the kids stuck in front of their tv screens playing across sound waves, airwaves, on their couches instead of at the arcade with a crowd forming behind you because the machine is exploding with a high score. Okay I might not have had a crowd form behind me, but I did get Chris’s attention the first time we played pinball at the arcade in Lynnhaven Mall. I was good. He was used to people watching him play, a crowd forming behind him. But I always wanted to beat him.
I grew up playing pinball. My dad and stepmom had a pinball machine, Bally’s Sea Ray, in the house and we played for hours. I perfected my timing and never shied away from opportunities to show off my skills learned on that machine to Chris.
Image from vfwpinball.com
We spent a lot of teenage nights at the arcade at the mall and playing pinball at the old Putt-Putt on Virginia Beach Boulevard. Sometimes when I see one today in Uncle Al’s Hot Dogs or at Dave and Buster’s, my fingers start to itch trying to get in position feeling for the side buttons, ready for the challenge. I’m rusty though, my reflexes shot. The ball is lightning fast. I’m like syrup, two flicks of the flipper behind, cursing the machine but really cursing lost youth and all those idle hours of play.
You know you're old when the things you played with start showing up in museums and in historical collections or becoming collector’s items worth thousands.
When we stumbled on the Pinball Hall of Fame in Las Vegas, we faced the reality that a good chunk of our lives is now categorized as vintage, a vibe we leaned into with delight as we went from machine to machine slotting quarters and squaring up to stay alive as long as possible. Vegas has its share of unique sites, but finding a collection of pinball machines open for play in the middle of the desert was one of those traveling surprises that the open road offers up sometimes.