Russell Shor’s final entry into our Defying Moments contest hits all the right bells and whistles.  It’s such a charming story, Rob Reiner may option the rights.  (My advice – string him along a bit.  Hold out for the big money.)  And now I will go a ways toward revealing my age when I say I remember when there were still a couple of pinball machines down at the local arcade, way in the back past Frogger and Ms. Pac Man.  I, too, succumbed to the seductive lure of silver balls.  But all I can say about Russell’s shiny, high-scoring bit of nostalgia is (to quote Pete Townshend of The Who):  How do you think he does it?  I don’t know.  What makes him so good?

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Topic:  The Second Time We Kissed

Veronica’s Silver Balls (and Circuits)

My earliest crush was on a blonde with a long pony tail and sumptuous red lips. She was ensconced in the far corner of a sleek stainless-steel diner called Marge & Bill’s. Every day after school I’d save some nickels for my lady-love whose face lit up when I deposited one into the coin slot below her face. Yes, my love was the visage on a pin-ball machine. Veronica, after the comic book character.

Veronica was not the digital wonderland of today where one can earn mega-thousands of points for dispatching alien creatures with electronic blips. No, this lady, whose innards were made of electrical relays, circuit breakers and that evil plumb-bob tilt mechanism, was real stingy with points. Ten minutes of working the flippers and finessing her carriage to avoid the dreaded “tilt” might earn you 60 points. 50 would get you a free game and light Veronica’s eyes. 75 got you three freebies. I was too young to speculate on what other parts of Veronica’s anatomy would go alight at the really high levels. But 100 points was the impossible dream. None of us, me, Steve, Louie, Jack or Elmer, had ever gone that high. Once, Louie made it to 87. You’d have thought he pitched a perfect World Series game.

Louie had the ring until the day I made it to 80 and still had one ball left in my arsenal. I passed Louie a snarky grin, pulled back the plunger and gauged the pressure – I wanted just enough to send that gleaming steel ball three-quarters of the way round to descend through a row of spindles that would get me 10 points. I halted. I kissed Veronica’s flashing red lips for luck and went back to the plunger. I pulled, the ball made a perfect arc and rolled straight through the 10-point gauntlet and headed for the left flipper. I timed the flip perfectly, driving the ball the opposite way through the right channel for another 10. Veronica was flashing crazily and the free game pops were sounding like a motorcycle as the ball approached the right hand flipper. I was a little late. Nerves. My shot caromed off the left flipper, grazed a five-point bumper then headed into the abyss. One-oh-five, baby.

My record stood through the summer but we all went on to start high school that September – a long hike in the opposite direction of Veronica’s lair.

I didn’t pay Veronica much mind after then, though once in awhile I’d catch her peeking
between newspapers, magazines and comics at the newsstand in Philly’s 30^th Street Station. She was not on my mind when I was recruited to lecture at a weekend journalism seminar up in North Jersey. All that day, we discussed and role-played interviewing techniques then repaired to the bar which was decked out in Chevy fins, over-sized 45-rpm records and silkscreens of Buddy Holly, Elvis and Fats Domino. There, in a small alcove behind the tables, I noticed her. Veronica. Not a day older. Around her was a thick, burgundy felt rope like the kind they had in movie theaters. She was a collectors item now and someday may repose beside Mona Lisa (too old for me) and Venus de Milo (I do like arms) so I kissed her again while I still had the chance.

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From Soho down to Brighton
I must have played them all
I ain’t seen nothing like Russ
In any amusement hall!

(with my respects to Pete T.)