Prototype Television Robot (Yonezawa/1960s/Japan/9.5 inches)

Toys aren't born, they're made. And before they can be made, they go through stages of development that begin with sketches and model-making and culminate in the creation of a prototype. If the stars align properly -- i.e., the prototype works correctly, people like the design, and production isn't too costly -- the prototype is transformed into a toy.

But sometimes a toy never gets that far. Sometimes, something about the robot prevents it from making it out of the pre-production stage and on to the toy shelf. The toy industry is full of "what ifs" and "also rans," robots that started as really good ideas but, for whatever reason, never quite made the cut.

And while most of these prototypes were dismantled and turned into scrap, some survived. They remained in dark factory corners, or sitting on shelves in forgotten closets. They dodged the ravages of time and neglect until finally, finally, intrepid collectors dragged them into the light. And now, decades later, they survive as giant curiosities that hint at all the wonderful toys that, had fate not dipped and dived in the wrong direction, might be sitting on our shelves today.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of one such toy.

Presenting the prototype for a never-produced Television Robot by the company Yonezawa. Please bask in its glory for as much time as you'd like. I'm happy to wait.



I know, I know. It doesn't look like much. Just two legs, feet, a gear box, a pair of arms, and that big, round space scene on the front of its chest. But that's part of its charm. It's a prototype. For a toy that was never produced. Of course it's not going to look like a super model. But I would argue that a prototype is even cooler when you can tell that it's a prototype.

Prototypes demonstrate the toy-making process, providing a glimpse into the often hidden world of toy development. They're stages in the act of creation, and, in my opinion, are most interesting when they illustrate these stages. This means they're often rough around the edges compared to a finished toy, but that's the point.

And it gets even cooler. These prototypes are one-of-a-kind, hand-made toys. To use an art analogy, these are the original paintings and pencil sketches, while the toys themselves are just machine-made prints. As such, I consider them wonderful works of mechanical art.

So... What exactly are we looking at? Allow me to break it all down.

This is a concept for a walking Television robot. As far as we can tell, the toy walks forward with swinging arms and a spinning antenna in what would have been its head. At the same time, the disk on its chest rotates about 30% before stopping. Then a bulb lights up, illuminating the scene, which would be visible through a TV window on the robot's chest. After a few seconds, the whole process starts all over again.

It sounds fairly basic, but the toy included one feature that was positively revolutionary -- at least, it would have been if the robot had ever made it into production: Bump-And-Go action.




Bump-and-go action allows a toy to slam into a wall, spin around, and go in another direction. It's common on skirted robots and many space cars, tractors, tanks -- pretty much anything that rolls. However, no one in the hobby had ever seen it on a walking robot until this prototype surfaced.

So how's it work? The robot walks forward until it bumps into a wall. This pushes in a tab on the toy's left foot, which engages a mechanism that causes the wheels in its feet to only roll backwards for a set period of time. As the robot continues to try to walk forward -- the right leg still works properly -- it ends up spinning itself in a circle. By the time it's facing away from the wall, the mechanism in the left foot has disengaged, allowing the wheels in the foot to roll forward again. This, in turn, permits the robot to start walking -- until it hits another wall, of course.




It's an elegant solution that would have given the toy so much additional play value. But looking at the inside of the foot, you can see that it's a fairly complicated mechanism that probably added to the toy's production cost. It's sad, but not surprising, that Yonezawa never implemented it in any of their toys.

Now, remember I mentioned that these toys are hand-made? This brings us to one of the prototype's coolest features: The hand-painted space art on the chest disk. As a fan of both toy robots and original science fiction art, I can barely express how cool I think this is. I'm amazed my head hasn't exploded already.

My friend and fellow collector, Donald Conner, pointed out that whoever painted the wonderful scenes of rockets, space stations, and robots on this disk most likely also painted the original artwork for at least some of the litho on other robots. Not only that, there's a great chance he created some box art as well.

That noise you just heard was my head finally going boom.

The scene is painted on a clear piece of round plastic using what look like water colors. It's backed with a piece of thin, translucent paper that helps to diffuse the light from the bulb that illuminates the art. The disk has warped a bit with age, and you can see spots where the paper has pulled away, taking some of the artwork with it. So the whole thing is extremely delicate. Still, it displays wonderfully, delivering a tiny, funky science fiction universe.

I don't really know too much about the Television Robot Prototype's history. It was discovered in Japan, and at some point it made its way onto the Yahoo Japan auction site. A well-known dealer won it for a collector here in the States, and he owned it for a couple years. Recently, he decided to get out of the hobby -- his collection was amazing! -- and he's been selling off his toys over the last couple months. When I saw the prototype on the block, I jumped at it.

When the toy was originally discovered, it was missing its right leg and foot. The funky bump-and-go mechanism was attached to the left foot plate, but the foot plate itself didn't fit perfectly to the foot housing. The toy had no battery box -- there was no way to see what it could really do.

(Photo: John Rigg)

So it was sent to toy collector, and robot-builder extraordinaire John Rigg. The prototype's owner knew that John could find a way to replace the missing parts and provide the toy with power -- but without doing anything that would damage the prototype itself. It was important to preserve this piece of history, so like all conservation and restoration work, anything done to the robot needed to be completely reversible.

John is a legend in the hobby. He's got an amazing collection, which he houses in the Robot Hut, a giant building that he constructed himself on his farm out west. John's also a genius when it comes to electronics, fabrication, and all-around mad science. In his spare time, he likes to customize toy robots for himself and other collectors; he also builds life-size recreations of famous Hollywood robots, like Robby from Forbidden Planet and Gort from The Day the Earth Stood Still. He's opened and repaired more vintage robots that most of us will ever own, and there's probably no one left alive who knows more about how these toys work. So of course he was the perfect choice to take on the job.

Never let it be said that John doesn't commit 100% to a job! Using the left leg and foot, he created templates for the missing parts, which he then painstakingly fabricated out of tin. He even made molds of the medallions on the side of the legs in order to create copies. The new foot was given a simple walking mechanism, and then attached to the leg. The leg was then put in the body, and careful attention was paid to how it would hook up to the gear box. After all, John wasn't satisfied with having the toy merely stand up -- he wanted it to work, too!

(Photo: John Rigg)

(Photo: John Rigg)

To give it power, he attached a battery box to a piece of metal, which was then screwed into existing holes on the robot's back -- most likely where the actual battery box would have attached. Everything was attached to the toy's motor. Of course it all worked perfectly. (John didn't bother to re-attach the bump-and-go mechanism. It didn't fit right, as I mentioned, so it was decided to leave it off so that it could be displayed next to the robot. It's a choice I wholeheartedly support and agree with.)

(Photo: John Rigg)

Unfortunately, not much else is known about this robot. There's a picture of another prototype piece that might be the toy's body and head, and I'll discuss this in a future post when more information becomes available. But the robot's name, the exact year it was created, where it was found -- it's all still a mystery. Obviously, one that I'd love to solve.

A lot of collectors just aren't into prototypes. Their attitude: "It's just a step in the process, who cares? And an unproduced prototype? A step in the process that didn't even lead anywhere? Pshaw! What's the point, man? You got rooked!"

Of course, a lot of collectors also feel just like I do. They understand that this is an important, rare, and -- yes -- beautiful piece of history, and as such, is valuable to the hobby in ways that can't be understated. It's also an inspiring reminder that for every toy we've seen, there are probably hundreds that never made it out the factory doors. These unproduced toys are flights of fancy for some enthusiastic toy designers, efforts that demonstrate talent, imagination, and technical expertise. They're a direct link to the people who made all these wonderful toys that we collect, and something that very few people have the opportunity to see, much less own.

So I'm kind of freaking out. As a collector, I consider this a grail piece, something I've tried to find for a long time without ever really knowing what I was looking for. And now that I've got it? I couldn't be happier.

Special thanks to John Rigg, whose work with the Television Robot uncovered all of its cool features and ultimately brought it back to life. John's the one who figured out the walking mechanism, and he's graciously allowed me to paraphrase his description, and use his photos, in this post. 


For more information on the prototype, and to see more of John's repair photos, check out this thread on Alphadrome: Yonezawa Prototype.

Mechanical Moon Robot (Yonezawa / Early 1960s / Japan / 9 inches)

Forbidden Planet's Robby the Robot was quickly adopted by toy makers, and subsequently released in a dizzying array of copyright-dodging redesigns. The Mechanical Moon Robot is one of my all time favorites.



Mechanical Moon Robot is better known to many collectors as Ribbon Robby, thanks to the three twists of metal inside his dome. Wind the key, throw the switch on his chest, and then watch as he walks forward while sparks light up his two head gels, and the metal ribbons change color as they rotate. It's a simple, subdued effect -- especially compared to the bells and whistles of his battery powered cousins -- but that's what what I love. The robot's kind of primitive, charmingly whimsical, and altogether fun.

The ribbons come in a couple color variations; the most common of them replaces the red -- I think -- with green. Something like that. None of these is more common than any other, and I can't imagine most collectors care too much about which they own. That said, I'm glad I've got the ribbons in red, yellow, and blue. Classic colors in the vintage toy world!



Yonezawa made some interesting decisions when designing the Ribbon Robby. First, there's that bright pink dome. Many examples of the toy appear to have clear domes; in reality, the color faded over time, and when looked at from the proper angle, you can usually pick up a slight tint. Interesting detail: Two screws lock the dome into place, one in the back and one on its right side. Why only the right side? I've got no idea.

Next, Yonezawa chose to paint the toy a strange, blueish-greenish-blackish color that changes ever so slightly depending on the quality and color temperature of the light. It's really quite lovely, especially when combined with the toy's light hammer-tone finish. Yonezawa apparently used slightly different batches of paint when doing the various runs of this toy. The color doesn't change, but one batch cures oddly over time, leading to a covering of fine lines known as "spidering." It doesn't really detract from the toy -- in fact, it adds a little character to what would have otherwise been a simple paint scheme -- and rarely effects the price. It's just the way some of the toys are. The other batches are more like mine, and have a slightly different paint composition that for whatever reason remains shiny and relatively smooth. There's a bit of spidering, but nothing like what you find on some of the Ribbons. Frankly, I think they both look nice, and I suppose it'd be valid for a hardcore collector to own one of each. I'm not that hardcore a collector, though, so I'll remain satisfied with my one, mint robot.




Finally, Yonezawa made the interesting decision to use a hard, blue rubber to form the toy's hands and "ears." It looks great, but time isn't always too nice to these rubber parts. Cracking and splitting is common, and even under the best of circumstances, the rubber hardens. Reproductions are available, though they never feel or look quite right.



The Ribbon Robby is definitely an uncommon toy, and downright rare in this condition, and I've wanted one since first entering the hobby. Soon after I'd joined Alphadrome, the online forum for robot and space toy collectors, Steve Jaspen invited me to his house to see his collection. He didn't know me from a hole in the wall, but we lived near each other and Steve's always been the type of guy to reach out to new collectors. I was just thrilled to have a chance to see some robots I'd only read about up until that point.

Steve's collection was -- and still is -- pretty darn amazing, with some toys that are so rare, even if you had a fortune in your wallet you still probably wouldn't be able to get your hands on them. But the piece that really jumped out at me was a strange looking Robby, a fairly simple robot with odd little ribbons behind a pink dome.

"Oh, you like that one?" asked Steve.

I sputtered some sort of affirmative. Maybe I drooled.

"You should see it in action," he replied. He wound it up, placed it on a table, and within seconds I was hooked. I knew that one day I'd get to own one.

Well, that day took longer than I thought it would, I'll admit. I almost snagged a Ribbon Robby at the Morphy auction last November, but instead I decided to bid on a rare Cragstan Ranger Robot. I didn't regret my decision -- the Ranger Robot was so clean that I knew I'd never find another as nice. But still, there was a little Robby-shaped hole in my heart that I really wanted to fill...

Finally, a few days ago, I made contact with a long-time dealer/collector named Jay Brotter at Robot Island. (I've known Jay for a few years.) It turns out he had this 'bot for sale, and at a price I couldn't possibly pass up. I immediately decided to buy it, and two days later -- a record for the Post Office, I'm sure -- it was sitting on my shelf. Given the condition, I'd say it was definitely worth the wait.

It's always nice when a toy that had taken up residence on my Want List finally ends up in my collection. There's a feeling of satisfaction that I don't always get when I pick up robots that I only just learn about. Of all the robots on my Want List, this one was sitting right up at the top. It makes getting it that much sweeter.

Smoking Robot (Yonezawa / 1963 / Japan / 12.5 inches)

Here we are, the first post. Might as well hit the ground running.

Tremble before the mighty Smoking Robot. Twelve imposing inches of tin, this toy robot walks forward with light-up eyes and an illuminated color wheel that rotates under his dome. But what really sets him apart, what prevents this toy from ever being manufactured today, is the smoke that puffs from his mouth whenever he pauses in his stride. The mechanism that causes the whispy little clouds consists of a small, heated wire that makes contact with a bit of cotton doused in oil. Take that, pesky Safety Commission!

This rare, blue version of the Smoking Robot was released by a Japanese company called Yonezawa in 1961. It also came in an even rarer mint green. A much more common metallic grey version of the toy, which features a metal on/off switch and other small design tweaks, appeared in 1960 under both the Yonezawa and Linemar brands. The Linemar version was named Smoking Spaceman.

Note the "Y" logo for Yonezawa. The Linemar version has the Linemar logo. Duh.

This particular robot is one of my favorites, and I waited a long time before even having a chance to add him to my collection. I love the colors, I love the wonderful, iconic, mid-century design that screams "classic science fiction." This is the kind of robot that any city would be honored to get stomped on by. Thankfully, it's only a foot high and doesn't have much chance of wrecking my toy room.

I consider myself lucky to own a Smoking Robot -- especially a blue one. Especially this blue one. I won it at the Robert Lesser auction last year, and to own a toy with that sort of provenance is just a thrill. I'll talk about Bob Lesser some other time; for now, trust me when I say that he's one of this hobby's original gangsters. Bob was collecting back in the day when people considered these toys nothing more than shiny pieces of junk. He recognized the toys' inherent artistry; more importantly, he thought they were fun. He built up an amazing collection full of all the best toys, including the blue Smoking Robot.

I've admired Bob's taste and vision for a long time, and when he finally put his toys up for auction, I decided that I wouldn't settle for just any ol' piece. I wanted to take home something that was not only at the top of my wish list, but also one that really represented the spirit of Bob's collection. One that positively screamed "vintage tin toy robot." The Smoking Robot was it.

The white plastic on/off switch. Linemar's version has a larger, chrome, tin switch.

But therein sat the problem. The Smoking Robot is, at the best of times, a popular robot -- I'm not the only collector with a good eye! Even the more common grey one, which appears on eBay every couple months, can snag a pretty penny when it's in good condition. If it's boxed, prepare to dig even deeper into your wallet. The blue and green versions... Well, let's just say that they attract the big-time collectors like a spinster aunt attracts cats. If you want one, you might as well figure out which body part you can sell in order to raise the cash.

Now, I'm not a big-time collector, and I sure as heck don't have any extra body parts lying around. So I started saving my money months before the auction. But I knew I needed an edge, and I hoped that some inside information might sharpen my chances. See, the auction listing in the catalog said that this Smoking Spaceman had some paint touch-up inside the battery compartments, which are located in the legs. It also mentioned some touch ups to the outside of the legs and on the robot's shoulders. This is exactly the kind of thing that turns those high-end collectors off of a toy. See, they've got money to spare, and their feeling is that, if they're going to spend piles of cash on a toy, they want that toy to be mint. If not, they'd rather just wait.

But here's the good bit. The good bit is that I'd already taken a close look at this particular toy. It's one of my all-time favorites, so when I visited Bob's house, I gave it a thorough once over. When I went to a display of Bob's toys at the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, I gave it a thorough once over. And when I went to the auction preview, I gave it yet another, even more thorough once-over. And sure, okay, I had to listen to Bob scream at me to stop drooling on his toys, but it was worth it -- I knew for a fact that despite what the catalog might say, any touch up on this robot wasn't that big a deal. In fact, if no one had told me, it's a good chance I'd have assumed any such touch ups came from the factory.

(This happened often; the manufacturing process required painting or lithographing the tin before sending it through the punches and presses. Scratches were common and the factories would use dabs of paint to clean up the toys before packaging them and sending them off to distributors. Collectors, generally speaking, don't care about factory touch ups.)

The battery box shows some mild corrosion. However, what looks like rust is in fact brown cardboard and old-school age-grime.

So armed with my super, secret information, I was cautiously optimistic that the catalog description might turn off potential buyers, leaving me to swoop in and grab a toy that I knew was pretty darn close to perfect.

And guess what? That's exactly what happened. On the night of the auction -- actually, the next morning, but that's a story for a different blog post -- I emerged from a fierce battle against... one other bidder. Who only threw in one half-hearted bid, leaving me as the last man standing and the owner of my very own blue Smoking Robot.

The tag from the Robert Lesser auction.

The moral of this story? Never assume that a toy is beyond your reach. Too rare, too expensive, too popular -- dookie! Keep your eyes peeled, do your research, save up some emergency cash, and be patient. The right toy will come along and you'll add that dream robot to your shelf. It's happened to me twice... but that's another story about another robot for another time.