A Picture's Worth A Thousand... Toys?

Last night, I had the distinct pleasure of playing host to artist Steven Skollar, who was over at the Attic to take some photographs of my robots and ray guns. Skollar's a painter -- and a very good one, at that -- and needed the pictures to use as references for an upcoming series of portraits.

Painter Steven Skollar taking a reference photo of Irwin's Shooting Man From Mars.

Of course, when he contacted me a few days ago, I'll admit I'd never heard of Steven Skollar. But after digging through his web site (www.stevenskollar.com) and seeing his art, I knew I wanted to help him out. He works in oils and his style evokes art by the past masters. We're talking classic portraiture -- weighty, heavy, realistic stuff that both scrutinizes and celebrates its subjects in a way you just don't often see anymore.

However, he applies this technique to the most whimsical of subjects: Toys! (How freakin' cool!)

This is great pop art, no doubt about it. And what I really love about Skollar's painting is that he avoids the overwhelming irony that's infected so much of today's pop-, low-brow, and underground art scenes. (Irony's fine, don't get me wrong, but too much of it gets annoying. I'll leave that rant for another time, though.) The pop-ness of it all stems from, among other things, the juxtaposition of technique and subject, of the serious and the playful, of the meticulous and the goofy. He embraces it all with equal amounts of passion, and it comes through in his work.

So yeah, you can understand why I was so happy to help him out.

But there were other reasons to have him over -- besides my being a big ol' (if newly minted) fanboy.

For one thing, I was curious about the toys he'd choose to paint. He was interested in their aesthetics, he told me. Which robots and ray guns did interesting things with light? Which ones had funky shapes? Which ones looked fun? He wanted to strip away discussions of rarity, age, manufacturer, variations, and especially monetary value and get to those things that make toys toys.

I love that. We collectors put up walls between ourselves and these things by placing them on pedestals. We treat them like museum pieces. But if we're really going to appreciate them, I think it's important to remember that they're playthings designed for kids. They were meant to inspire imagination, and then to be consumed and destroyed so that parents would run out and buy more of them. With this in mind, the fact that they can function today as objects of art and historical artifacts just makes it all so much cooler.

(Look, I'm not a complete maniac. I know these toys are often delicate and -- sigh -- expensive, and I know they need to be treated with care and respect. I'm just sayin' that they're still toys, and let's try to not lose sight of that.)

On top of all this, I was looking forward to watching Skollar take his photos. I know the picture above makes it look like he's set up a little display with a couple small lights. But believe me, there's much more to his technique. However, it's top secret, so I can't get into it. Suffice it to say, I learned a lot of tricks that I'll be trying out on some upcoming photos for the blog.

So what's it all for? Why's Skollar doing all this work? Well, that's also top secret for now. But as soon as he's released all the information, you can be sure I'll post it here. Let's just say that as a fan of both toy robots and Skollar's painting, I'm very excited about what's in store for the next year.

Mechanized Robot (Nomura / 1957 / Japan / 13 inches)

Some robots are born classic. It's in their gears or something, an unmistakable aura of greatness that overwhelms every spaceship they fly, every mad scientist they rebel against, and every maiden they carry off for morally questionable -- not to mention biologically unfathomable -- activities. They're walking, clicking, blinking superstars of steel, and next to them, all other bits of technology look like wooden clubs.

Well, guess what? Next to Robby the Robot, star of Forbidden Planet and The Invisible Boy, those other robots look like punks.

Which sort of explains why Mechanized Robot is such a popular piece of tin. He's the closest vintage toy manufacturers could come to appropriating the Hollywood icon's likeness without incurring the wrath of MGM's lawyers. Nonetheless, there's no mistaking the toy's inspiration.

Mechanized Robot features a nice walking mechanism that causes the toy to move in a long, sweeping circle. At the same time, the pistons under his dome bounce and light up, while the translucent plastic in his neck glows a rich green. 

This is one of the first vintage robots I ever wanted, but it was also one I never thought I'd have a chance to own. It's not that expensive, relatively speaking, and, because so many were manufactured, they make regular appearances on eBay. But when I started out in the hobby, I imposed strict limits on my spending -- and man-oh-man does that sound so naive! -- and this toy fell decidedly outside those limits. But then a girl I was seeing suddenly dumped me, and my life got a little chaotic. Like many people in similar situations, I turned to therapy. 

Okay, okay... Retail therapy. 

Within a week, I had my Mechanized Robot, and it was an epiphany. I'd crossed some invisible financial line and a whole new world of toys opened up to me. Toys I couldn't afford, sure, but when you're nursing a broken heart, rent and food and clothing become surprisingly inconsequential. My shelves began filling up at an alarming rate, but with a much higher caliber of toy. (Actually, this was literally the case; at about this time, I began collecting space guns in earnest.)  

Mechanized Robot is one of those toys that underwent a few tweaks and changes over its long production run. The very first retail version of the robot was available in silver or black and featured small, knurled knobs on its battery doors. For some unknown reason, the silver color was abandoned, making this variation extremely rare and valuable today. (Rumors abound as to why Nomura chose to stop producing the toy in silver; the most popular says that the company thought Robby the Robot was silver because they'd only seen black and white photos of the character when they began designing the toy. This seems doubtful for reasons that will be made clear in a moment.) About a year later, the final version of the toy, available only in black, replaced the knurled battery door knobs with "butterfly" knobs, which were much easier for children to turn. 

However, the toy's most significant evolutionary step happened before it was made available to the public. Nomura first created a salesman's sample of the toy, a kind of prototype, that had significantly shorter legs and used C-cell batteries. This toy had more accurate proportions and did a better job of capturing Robby's unique look. However, the C-cell battery was woefully underpowered, and the toy would run down too quickly. Nomura was forced to retool the robot's legs for the final production run, expanding them to accept D-cells. Needless to say, the earlier, shorter variations are some of the rarest toys in the hobby. 

The so-called C-cell Robby was available in both silver and black. This helps dispel the rumor that Nomura thought Robby was supposed to be silver; if this was the case, why produce a black version for salesmen? The most likely reason for producing both colors is that Nomura thought they'd both sell. However, when Forbidden Planet reached theaters, kids probably decided that if they were going to own a slightly abstracted version of their new favorite robot, they were damned sure it would be the right color. Sales on the silver might have struggled, resulting in the company discontinuing it. (This is all speculation, though, and I'm open to other possible reasons for Nomura's dropping the extremely cool silver paint job.) 

You know, I actually owned a black C-cell salesman sample Mechanized Robot for a very brief time. It's an extremely long story that due to intergalactic treaties, a top-secret rating, and at least a dozen pinky-swears must remain mostly undisclosed. I do have clearance to say that snagging the toy involved more than a week of stressful back-and-forth phone calls; two double crosses; a suitcase of unmarked bills; one idiot who shall remain nameless; a master tactician known to the world only as "Robot Hunter"; and a hero who will forever be remembered in legend and song as Donald "The Bag Man" Conner.

This was one of those epic deals that inevitably go awry. Like the plot to every Guy Ritchie movie, it ends badly, but not so badly that everyone doesn't walk away with a small piece of the action and most of their body parts intact. So even though I got the toy, I couldn't afford to actually keep it. But everyone came away with a little bit more money than they started with, and, frankly, we've all got a great story to tell. 

Not to you, of course. We can only talk about it amongst ourselves, and even then, we have to drink enough alcohol to make sure we forget the conversation ever happened. But trust me, it's a killer story.

Man, I love this robot. 

Golden Robot (Linemar / 1956 / Japan / 6 inches)

Most of the robots in my collection have faces with fairly blank expressions -- if they have faces at all. Not Golden Robot. He's grinning exactly the way a robot grins when he's either best friends a little boy from the future, or he's about to throw off the shackles of human domination and run free through the woods like a hulking, clanking, grinding, lumbering tree sprite. Regardless, he's one happy robot.

Golden Robot stands out on a crowded shelf. Besides the crazy grin and the golden color for which he's named, the toy has some wonderful, vintage-looking lithographed thing-a-ma-bobs on his chest, back, and head. He's also got the classic, boxy design that makes the lady robots swoon. 

Golden Robot uses a two-button remote control to walk forward or back with light up eyes and swinging arms. He uses yet another modified pin-walking system, this time with wheels that have been shaved down on one side to give him a bobbling motion when he moves. 

There are two versions of the Golden Robot. One, like mine, has indented feet and a slightly wider shoulder width. The other version has a single rectangular slab for feet. I dunno, I like mine more. 

This is a pretty rare toy, and I never honestly expected to own one. This Golden Robot didn't seem any more likely to end up in my collection, especially since it popped up on eBay right after I'd spent an extra-large freelance check on my Alps Door Robot (see earlier post). But the seller listed him as non-working, so I added him to my overloaded watching page just in case. 

See, some robots are non-working because they're broken, but in some cases, the toy is only "broken." Non-working robots often sell for much less money than mint examples, and if it turns out to only be "broken," it's usually not that tough to repair. Then, voila, you've got a nice example of a rare, and otherwise expensive, toy. 

So what's going on with these not-really-broken broken toys? Often, there's a layer of gunk on their gears or motors that causes the parts to stiffen up. Sometimes it's a loose wire in a battery box. Maybe a connection isn't being made between a battery and a terminal. All of these require very little effort to repair, but you'd be surprised how many sellers don't even bother. Granted, it's sometimes something much worse -- a broken gear, a snapped shaft, a loose internal wire, bad rust in the battery compartment. But even these aren't impossible to repair, and a savvy collector can score some amazing deals by taking on a fixer-upper. 

A nice trick: If you put batteries in the toy and the lights work but the legs don't, you know the circuit's complete and it's probably just some stuck gears. A light tap is sometimes all you need to get things working. Or, perhaps, move the legs manually to help free things up. Poking a chopstick up into the body can sometimes nudge gears forward. Whenever you see a listing like, "Eyes light up, but the legs don't move," you know you might be able to bring that toy back to life without too much trouble. 

Anyway, I noticed after a few days that the price on the Golden Robot was still sitting just south of reasonable. At the same time, yet another freelance check arrived in the mail. I can't say I believe in fate, but I'll certainly pretend to when looking for an excuse to buy a robot. So with fate on my side, I decided to place a bid. And wouldn't ya know it, I won.

When I got the toy, I immediately discovered that the battery box had, at some point, been wired incorrectly. An easy fix, since the connections are exposed inside the remote control. No need to open the toy, clip the wires, or do anything that might end in the tragic death of a vintage toy. So I made the repairs and the toy ran perfectly.

Just goes to show, you don't need a bottomless wallet to build an impressive collection. Stay smart, know your toys, keep an eye out for deals, and you'll definitely score some major robots. 

Gear Robot (Horikawa / Early 1960s / Japan / 8 inches)

With his jaunty, red cap, the Gear Robot wins the prize for best-dressed robot in my collection. Admittedly, it's not much of a contest -- robots, as a rule, go through life naked. Or maybe with a coat of paint, which, let's be honest, doesn't leave a hell of a lot to the imagination. Toy porn, indeed.

With its boxy shape and industrial grey finish, the Gear Robot is a classic example of a mid-century robot. His techno-tastic chest panel and brightly colored gears give him a playful pop, and the round, red eyes lend him some pleasing personality. Wind him up, and he walks forward while his gears spin and sparks shoot from his chest and burst against the clear front panel. This is a toy any kid (and, ahem, certain adults) would be proud to own.

The Gear Robot is an early release by perhaps the longest-running toy company, Horikawa. For something like 50 years, their robots have appeared in many shapes, sizes, and materials, with all sorts of different actions. Most collectors have at least a few of the toys, and because there are so many different ones, many people actually create mini Horikawa collections within their main collections.

I'm particularly fond of what are known as the "small scale" Horikawas, like the Gear Robot. These toys generally top out at about nine and a half inches tall, though they maintain the dizzying variety of features found throughout the Horikawa line. Some are extremely rare, but most are common and inexpensive enough that they provide an easy entry into the hobby for new collectors. 

I'll be honest, it was a while before I began to appreciate Horikawa robots. Many of them, especially the later toys (which featured a larger proportion of plastic parts), left me kind of cold. See, a big reason I love vintage toy robots is that they provide a window into an era I never got to experience. But I grew up with some of the Horikawas, and that familiarity made them boring. 

Now, ask any collector who's been around for a while, and they'll talk to you about how their tastes have changed and developed over time. Toys they loved in the beginning sometimes lose their allure; toys they hated eventually become obsessions. In my case, I never lost interest in the toys that initially attracted me to the hobby, but I began to pay more attention to some of the toys I'd previously ignored -- particularly the Horikawas. Their lines, their actions, the little details that made them unique.  

The Gear Robot was the first one I added to my collection. It's as old-school as you're likely to find and easy for me to wrap my head around. Frankly, it was only my strange resistance to Horikawas in general that kept me from noticing it in the first place. Since then, the Gear Robot has become one of my favorites.

Which just goes to show that every robot deserves a second chance. Even if they've just gotten out of prison.

Wait, what?

Shooting Man From Mars (Irwin / 1952 / U.S. / 11 inches)

No vision of the future would be complete without a few space heroes to help keep those planetary colonies safe. With his ray guns, bubble-helmet, and spiffy uniform, the Shooting Man from Mars was the right guy for the job. Never mind his bright, freshly-scrubbed, child-like face -- this was a man of action!

I've always liked this toy; he captures the wide-eyed wonder of Fifties TV space-adventure shows like Tom Corbett: Space Cadet and Space Patrol. The Shooting Man from Mars, despite his violent title, has a naive, gee-wiz quality that often defined children's science fiction during that period. It inspired optimistic dreams about the future, dreams that included rockets to the moon, robot friends, and flying cars. (I'm still waiting for that last one, by the way.)

The Shooting Man from Mars was made of an early, brittle, cellulose plastic. It features a wind-up walking mechanism similar to the pin-walking mechanism found on many early robots. Instead of pins though, it uses two off-center wheels that move in and out of the toy's feet as they rotate. This moves the toy forward while also giving it a slight side-to-side wobble. At the same time, the arms move up and down.

The toy was available in two colors, a reddish orange body with a clear dome, and a much rarer yellow version with a green-tinted dome. Mine, which has a green dome, is a rare variation that probably resulted from someone in the factory not paying attention to which dome they were grabbing. 

The domes themselves were made from a cheap form of acrylic and often "spidered" with age, a process by which thin surface cracks appear vertically across the surface. Finding clean domes isn't difficult, and I'd normally have waited for one without any marks. However, the green dome is so striking, I just had to have it. In this case, aesthetics definitely trumped condition.

A final thought: The Shooting Man from Mars embodies some of the weird ideas that people in the Fifties had about the future. For all the optimism, there was an expectation -- among regular Joes and Jills -- that outer space would be a lot like the Wild West, and that astronauts, like the cowboys before them, would need a nice pair of pistols to defend the orbital homestead from marauding aliens, interstellar bandits, and rocket rustlers. Reality proved very different, though I'd argue no less exciting. We're not getting into fights with aliens, but the exploration and discoveries made by astronauts in space and scientists down on Earth have helped expand our view of the universe, and our place in it. 

Throw in a green bubble helmet and I'd call that just about perfect.

Sparkling Mike (S.N.K. / 1956 / Japan / 7.5 inches)

I'd never even heard of Sparkling Mike when I first stumbled upon him during one of my regular, gonzo, all-night eBay search-fests. It was early in my career as a collector and the holes in my knowledge were big enough to fire a rocket though. So I didn't know anything about Sparkling Mike when his auction page popped up in front of me. Except that he hit me like a ton of bricks, and I had to own him.

Sparkling Mike's got that classic robot look, all boxy and silver with smooth lines and just a little bit of rivet-like detailing and clean, stylized lithography. Then there's that facial expression, those soulful eyes that seem to see the world through a haze of wonder. Asimov's robots might have looked like Sparkling Mike. Also the character "Adam Link," who appeared in an earlier story by two brothers writing under the pseudonym Eando Binder. One friend of mine described Sparkling Mike's eyes as looking haunted; a woman I know fell in love with him because he seemed so sweet and innocent. That's the thing about Mike: he's like a blank screen just waiting for us to supply the image. Such a simple toy, but maybe that's why he's so compelling. 

On the surface, Sparkling Mike seems like a pretty simple toy. He uses a key-wind mechanism coupled with an on/off switch to walk while sparks spit from a hole in his chest. 

But look a little deeper and you'll see that he's more sophisticated than you might think. He uses a unique walking mechanism that combines the up/down motions of pins extending from the soles of his feet (similar to pin walkers like the previously discussed Atomic Robot Man) with legs that move forward and back. This gives the toy an appearance of heel-toe movement that's astonishingly life like and a whole lot of fun. Sparkling Mike definitely has my favorite walking mechanism among all the toy robots. 

Sparkling Mike is part of a series of three, similar looking "brother" robots that includes Flashy Jim (which uses a battery-operated remote control to walk, and has light-up eyes) and Robbie the Roving Robot (which features stiff legs and a traditional pin-walking mechanism). Of the three, Mike is the most common, followed closely by Jim. Robbie is definitely the rarest. To be honest, though, Mike is my favorite. 

I actually owned Flashy Jim for a while. I won him at an auction for a fraction of what he's worth. I enjoyed the toy, but after a while I realized that he didn't affect me quite like his Sparkling brother. There were toys I wanted more, so I ended up selling him. While I made money on the sale, I was also able to give the buyer a great deal, so I feel like it worked out really well for everyone. Even Flashy Jim, who's now in a collection where he's properly appreciated. 

(Me? Anthropomorphize these toys? Never! Ahem... moving on.)

Sparkling Mike also has a distant cousin called Robot 5. It shared the basic S.N.K. body and head, but had much more complex lithography, and was available in three colors: grey, pink, and blue. These toys are extremely rare. Extremely, rare. I mean, "Buy this robot or pay your rent for a year" rare. And that's New York rents, buddy. All of which is very unfortunate, since aesthetically, the blue and grey versions are two of my favorite toy robots. Did I mention that, of the three, the blue one is absolutely the rarest, with only three known to exist? 

I find it amazing how I can constantly redesign my own personal vision of hell. A minor circle of hell, to be sure, but still, sometimes I wish I fell in love with Go Bots or something. 

Sparkling Mike is actually responsible for my becoming friendly with a long-time collector and dealer named Jay Brotter. He currently owns an online store called Robot Island (www.robotisland.com) and has one of the foremost collections of plastic robots. Jay was the person selling Sparkling Mike on eBay way back when, and after I won it, we discovered that we both lived in NYC. Jay suggested I pick it up from his place, and we ended up having a nice, face-to-face chat. Since then, Jay's left NYC for greener pastures (quite literally). However, thanks to various toy-robot related events and activities, I've still sometimes have the opportunity to say hi -- and buy some more toys!

Sparkling Mike: Bringing people together. So they can spend more money.

Space Toy Books and Web Sites

"Doc, Doc! I want to learn more about vintage toy robots! What resources are available to me? Besides your wonderful blog, of course." Robot collectors are a lucky bunch, with access to many, many different books and web sites detailing vintage space toys. I'm not going to list them all -- that's what Google's for -- but here are some of my favorite sources of information.

Alphadrome (www.danefield.com/alpha) 

The best online discussion forum for all things space-toy related. Dozens of active members -- out of the hundreds of lurkers -- create a sort of hive-mind that has, over the years, amassed so much information that it would take months to sift through it all. Dates, manufacturers, variations -- you name it, there's someone talking about it. It's also a great place to meet other collectors; the people on Alphadrome are a friendly lot and new members are always welcome -- especially if they post a picture or two of their collections!

Alphadrome also spawned what has to be the only vintage space toy convention in the world: Botstock. Six years old and with not end in sight, this weekend-long Spring get together has moves around a lot, and has convenved at the Toy Robot Museum, the might Robot Hut, and the Kane County Toy Show outside of Chicago. It's always a lot of fun, and often an opportunity to see -- and oftentimes buy -- all sorts of great toys. I'll post more extensively about Botstock somewhere down the road. 

  

Future Toys, by Antoni Emchowicz (New Cavendish Books, 2000) 

One of the best books for photos of old robots, space vehicles, and toy astronauts. The variety is nearly overwhelming, the images are clear, and the editorial details, like the information on company logos, is vital to any collector. Most of the data accompanying the photos is spot-on accurate, though some of the date information is incorrect (though it was all anyone knew when the book came out). It's worth noting that Emchowicz is a long-time collector and dealer, and some wonderful toys can be found at his web site, Zoomer Toys (www.zoomertoys.com). 

Toy Ray Gun (www.toyraygun.com) 

One of the deepest fonts of ray gun information in the world. Dozens of guns are pictured, along with descriptions, names, manufacturers, dates, and countries of origin. There are also sections for boxes, and associated toys like space helmets and holsters. If the site has any flaws at all, it's the small photos that accompany each entry, and the somewhat dated information (again, the site's creator, Gene Metcalf, was working with the best knowledge of the day, so he can hardly be blamed). The site is currently owned by a good friend of mine named Justin Pinchot, who is himself responsible for my owning many of the toys in my collection. 

  

Ray Gun, by Eugene Metcalf and Frank Maresca (Fotofolio Books, 1999) 

Besides starting raygun.com, Metcalf also released the second book on toy ray guns. This excellent resource features large, clear photographs of some amazing space-age artillery. Rare toys, common toys, steel, tin, plastic -- a wide variety of toy ray guns are represented. Each photo is accompanied by minimal text, including name, manufacturer, dimensions, date, and country of origin. Metcalf's opening essay is a must-read. 

This is the book that got me started collecting vintage ray guns, back before I even owned any vintage robots. Eventually, these toys will make an appearance in this blog, though for now I'm happy to focus on the robots. 

 

Zap!, by Leslie Singer (Chronicle Books, 1991) 

The very first book on toy ray guns, Zap! literally broke new ground in the hobby. Before anyone knew much about anything, Leslie Singer was exploring toy shows, attending auctions, and going to swap meets in an effort to amass a collection of these fantastic toys. This was in the days before eBay and internet chat forums; when nothing was known about these toys, Leslie was putting it all together. The book is full of incredible pictures, and if the information is a little dated, it nonetheless provides a snapshot of what people knew about these toys in the early Nineties.

 

Blast Off, by S. Mark Young, Steve Duin, and Mike Richardson (Dark Horse Books, 2001) 

An excellent overview of the whole range of space toys, from pieces based on characters like Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, to premiums attached to TV such TV shows as Space Patrol and Tom Corbett: Space Cadet, to foreign toys, to tin robots. Very little is left behind, and Young's accompanying text is full of interesting factoids and amusing anecdotes. Flipping through Blast Off helps give these toys some context. Robots didn't exist in a vacuum; the kids who owned them in the middle of the century were playing with a variety of toys, each of which helped to create a vision of the future that, sadly, transformed into fiction long ago.

 

Robot and Space Toys Collection, by Takashi and Kinya Morita (World Mook 242) 

It's hard to beat this Japanese "mook" -- the weird union of a book and a magazine -- if you're looking for photos. Covering all manner of space toys, and with different angle and close ups of details, there's enough eye-candy between these covers to put your brain into shock. There's also extensive editorial content... which is, unfortunately, written in Japanese. I have no idea what any of it says... 

  

Robots, Tin Toy Dreams, by T. Kitahara (Chronicle Books, 1985)

For many collectors, this is the book that kick-started their addictions. Kitahara was collecting these robots before anyone else thought to even bother, and built up the kind of collection that few people can even dream of. Lots of holes in the information, of course -- so very little was known at the time -- but nonetheless a worthwhile resource for the historical value alone.

Important Robots and Antique Toys From the Estate of F.H. Griffith (Sotheby's Auction Catalog, December 9, 2000)

Wonderful photos from the former collection of master collector F.H. Griffith. Loads of boxes, too. The descriptions of the toys give a good idea of what they all do, though the dates are a bit off. 

The Tin Toy Robot Collection of Matt Wyse (Sotheby's Auction Catalog, November 7, 1996)

Another great catalog featuring toys owned by an early collector. Lots of group shots, which is great for figuring out the relative sizes of each toy. 

The Robert Lesser Robot and Space Toy Collection (Smith House Toy & Auction Company Catalog, #72, May 9, 2008)

Another fantastic collection by a legend in the hobby. This catalog features large photos of many toys, including some extremely rare one. The descriptions are listed in the back, and are a bit perfunctory, but they still get the job done. More photos are available at the Smith House web site: www.smithhousetoys.com.

The Alan Rosen Robot and Space Toy Collection - Part 1 (Smith House Toy & Auction Company Catalog, #74, May 15, 2009)

This catalog features mostly space toys, and covers everything from the most common to the absolute rarest. Almost all the toys are boxed, and in some cases, these photos represent the only ones known to exist. This is an absolute must-own if you're into space toys such as rockets, tanks, saucers, and tractors. 

And now, my least favorite book on space toys. I'd argue that there's no reason to own it, unless you need a way to prop up a wobbly table.

Vintage Toys, by Jim Bunte, Heinz Mueller, and Dave Hallman (Paperback Kraus)

Factual errors abound in this book. It also quotes prices that, frankly, make no sense at all half the time. Unfortunately, it seems that many sellers on eBay use this as the basis of their descriptions... Beware. 

The Toy Robot Museum

I just made plans to visit the Toy Robot Museum in Adamstown, PA, later in July. It's run by a long-time collector named Joe Knedlhans, and has more than 3000 toy robots on display. It's a pretty amazing place, and Joe's a great guy. I've had the opportunity to visit the museum numerous times over the years, and it's always an adventure. If you're ever in that neck of the woods, I suggest stopping by. Tell Joe that Doc sent you. Actually, on second thought... he's got a long memory, so it's probably best if you leave me out of it. Boy, he sure loved that squid.

For the curious, here's a profile on Joe and the museum I produced for the New York Post not too long ago.



For more information on the Toy Robot Museum, check out www.stoudtburgvillage.com/store.php?s=54. If you do head down thataways, be sure to give yourself time to explore all the antique toy stores in Adamstown. I've found numerous additions to my own collection, including some extremely rare ray guns (which will be discussed in another post).

Door Robot (Alps / 1958 / Japan / 9 inches)

In 1956, science fiction fans were given the ultimate present: Forbidden Planet, a multi-million-dollar cinematic extravaganza starring a young and vigorous Leslie Nielson, an even younger and -- ahem -- more vigorous Anne Francis, and an older-but-no-less-vigorous-thank-you-very-much Walter Pigeon. However above all these luminaries loomed the one and only Robby the Robot. In reality nothing more than a costume -- a cunningly designed, brilliantly conceived costume, no doubt! -- audiences nonetheless embraced the robotic character and turned him into one of Hollywood's biggest stars.

MGM, who released Forbidden Planet, had a lot riding on the film, which cost roughly $2 million to make. With the movie's flying saucers, space guns, memorable characters, and, of course, Robby the Robot, you'd think that some sort of licensing deal would have been a no-brainer money-making strategy. Nothing mints quick and easy cash like a line of toys.

But alas, this was decades before Star Wars, and George Lucas hadn't yet arrived on the scene to show the world how copyrighted characters could be turned into cold, hard lucre with only a few deft signatures. MGM missed the boat, and kids across the globe were forced to do without officially licensed toys.

"Officially licensed" being the two key words. Lack of permission did't stop Japanese toy manufacturers from creating their own versions of Robby the Robot. Most were only thinly disguised and immediately recognizable as the iconic robot. However, one toy company called Alps decided to re-imagine the character from practically the ground up: Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, let me introduce to you the simply named "Robot."



(Of course, "Robot" is a bit vague, so collectors quickly nicknamed Alps' creation "Door Robot" due to the small hatch located on the toy's chest.)

And in case you're looking at the toy and saying, "Um, Doc, that looks nothing like Robby the Robot," I'd like to point out the "sausage link" legs, the dome, the "gyro rings" inside the dome, the three-fingered hands, the neck window, and the cylindrical body. If this isn't Robby's cousin, then I'm his dad.

One of the more imaginative robots to come out of the toys' Golden Age, the Door Robot was controlled by a two-buttoned, wired remote control. One button caused the toy to walk forwards with lights and swinging arms. The second button made the dome rotate while a light up color-wheel spun in the window at its neck. At the same time, it made a wonderfully raucous clacking noise that probably made parents question just why they bought junior the toy in the first place.



The door itself opens to provide access to the toy's light bulb, a nice concession to budget-minded moms and dads who might not like the idea of tossing the robot once it lost its illumination.



Door Robot moves via a pin-walking mechanism wherein two thin metal rods move in and out of slots in the toy's feet. It's a system commonly found on older toys -- this is one of the later appearances of the mechanism, which was pretty much pased out by the Sixties as toy designers began to favor moving legs.



This particular Door Robot is an extremely rare "accidental" variation: the green, inner, rectangular dome is usually completely clear. Mine is the first one I've seen with a tinted dome, and I've since seen only one other. Personally, I like how it picks up the colors in the "Gumby green" remote control and wire.



I call it an "accidental" variation because it's probably the result of poor quality control at the factory; oftentimes, workers would grab whatever materials were on hand and didn't bother to pay attention to consistency. In this case, they grabbed some translucent green plastic instead of completely clear. Or, it's possible that whoever used the injection molding machine failed to clean it properly, leaving a hint of green behind that went on to contaminate the plastic used to make the domes. Either way, a green-domed version of the toy was never officially released. This is one of the reasons they're so incredibly rare today.

The Door Robot was available with at least two different color remotes, and two different styles of wire: Green remote with green wire, and a dark blue remote with a braided dark-blue/dark-red wire. Both appear often enough to be conisdered legitimate; sometimes other combinations pop up, and whether they're factory releases or after-market repairs is anyone's guess. No documentation has surfaced that indicates one way or the other.



When I bought mine, it had the green wire but a blue remote. I could tell that the remote was a repair job (the solder was still shiny) but decided it didn't matter, the toy looked fine the way it was. But then, one day, a friend called me up and asked if I wanted to purchase a loose, green remote. The price was right, so I jumped at the opportunity. Of course, I was curious as to how he ended up with just a remote.

"Some guy sold it to me after a piece of furniture tipped over and crushed his Door Robot," my friend told me.

Ouch.

I told my friend that I felt kind of bad profiting off some guy's pain, but he said not to worry. "This guy had his toys insured -- he got his money back and ended up buying a new Door Robot in nicer condition."

Which just goes to show, don't forget to insure your toy collection! More on this in a later post.

The Door Robot is an extremely popular toy, both for its play value and wonderful, weird looks; of course, prices reflect the desirability. The Door Robot shipped with a particularly wonderful box, and you can expect to pay more than twice as much for a mint, boxed example of the toy. Which is precisely why mine's loose...