Domed Easel Back Robot (Linemar / 1950s / Japan / 6 inches)

I remember the day well. I hadn't been collecting vintage robots and ray guns for too long when I got an email from my friend and fellow collector Justin Pinchot. All it said was, "Hey, what's this?" Attached were a couple photos: The first was a super-close up of some fancy lithography, the second was a partial shot of what looked like a dome of some sort. 

I knew exactly what it was, and my heart began beating a little bit faster. See, a few weeks earlier, I'd mentioned to Justin -- who's also a dealer -- that one of the robots at the top of my want list was the Domed Easel Back. I never thought I'd get one, though, because it's a high-end piece that generally costs oodles of dollars. I definitely don't have oodles of dollars today, and at the time, I didn't even have half an oodle to my name. The Domed Easel Back was clearly out of my league; I don't think I could even afford the fantasy of owning one.

And yet there I was, one bright morning, looking at pictures of what could only be the object of my desire. Coming from Justin, it meant one thing: He had one for me, a fact he soon confirmed when I called him up and pressed for details. Things got a little dizzy after that, details remain fuzzy, I don't think I passed out, but honestly, I wouldn't guarantee anything.

Amazingly, the price was more reasonable than I'd have imagined -- for a reason, which I'll get into later -- and I had no problem paying for the toy. A week or so after that first email, I was the proud owner of a dream piece, one of those robots that I'd drooled over since first seeing it in the Sotheby's Matt Wyse catalogue. 

So why all the love? For one thing, it's such a fantastic looking toy with some of the finest lithography ever reproduced on tin. And that helmet! What kind of robot needs a domed helmet? It's not like they breathe oxygen -- or anything else, for that matter. But it looks great, no doubt about it. 

The Domed Easel Back Robot also has a great action. When the button on its remote is pressed, the toy walks forward with a "step-over" motion. That is, it raises and lowers its feet like a real person. Amazing! Astounding! Astonishing! 

Also, for a small tin toy made during the 1950s, technologically impossible. And yet there it is, walking its way into toy collectors' hearts. Maybe it's magic? 

Nope. The robot performs its feat of physicality thanks to that weird contraption attached to its back. You know, the one that looks like a... wait for it... easel? Yep, it's a wire frame that's designed to keep the robot upright every time it raises one of its feet. Not the most elegant solution: I suspect that the designers came up with the general walking mechanism and only later realized how precarious the toy was. They jerry-rigged a solution by attaching the easel, it all seemed to work, and voila, a strange toy was born.

Strange and popular, I should add. The Easel Back went through four iterations over the next few years. One other was battery powered, while two versions of the toy use a wind up mechanism. Only one of the four has a dome, though, and it's by far the rarest of the bunch -- especially in good condition, and especially with it's dome intact.

Which is, of course, why mine was reasonably priced: The dome is fake. They were made out of very, very thin plastic, not unlike what you'd find holding action figures on to their cards. Consequently, they tore easily and often fell off the robot. Good reproductions are difficult to make (requiring a vacuum forming machine), so someone kind of faked it on mine. It's not terrible, but it's definitely not correct.

Not that I mind. The toy itself is in amazing condition, and the roughly repro'd dome is good enough to give a strong impression of what the toy is supposed to look like. Owning it is absolutely a dream come true. The Domed Easel Back remains today one of my all time favorite robots, and one of the true prizes of my collection. 

Battery Operated Jupiter Robot (Yoshiya / 1965 / Japan / 6.5 inches)

Toy manufacturers got a lot of mileage out of Robby the Robot, using the Forbidden Planet star as the basis for numerous designs. One of my favorites is the Jupiter Robot.

I came to this toy rather late in my collecting career; for some reason, I never really liked it when I first began exploring the world of robots. Maybe it was the plastic construction -- I remember being sort of snobby about tin in those days. Ah, youth. 

But the more familiar I became with these old toys, the more I came to appreciate the quirky, colorful qualities that define Jupiter Robot. My immersion in the world of ray guns certainly helped. Most of them are plastic, brightly hued, and whimsically designed. My horizons had expanded, and when I finally did fall for the Jupiter, I fell hard. 

And what's not to love about the little guy? Jupiter Robot is a great shade of blue -- I'm an absolute sucker for blue -- and it's got a fantastic action with spinning chest gears and a light-up face. 

This lithographed panel appears on Jupiter Robot's back, opposite the gears in his chest.

Jupiter also has a wonderful, uncommon walking mechanism. You'll notice that the feet are molded directly into the legs. Inside of each foot is a set of pivoting rollers. As the legs swing forward and back, the feet appear to move heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe, in a (somewhat) realistic manner. At the same time, the rollers rock to stay firmly planted on the ground and prevent the toy from toppling over. Genius!

Though actually... the walking mechanism was swiped from the company Nomura, who used it on an earlier toy (also based on Robby, coincidentally enough) called Piston Robot (and known colloquially as Pug Robby). In fact, Jupiter actually shares the traits of yet another Robby-style robot: the face grill, which is similar to one originally used on another Yoshiya toy, Planet Robot (1958). Despite these similarities, though, there's no way to mistake Jupiter for either the Piston or Planet robots, a testimony to the old toy designers' talents and skill. 

Jupiter is a fairly uncommon robot. It does has a much more common, wind-up cousin, which is available in red with black arms. (I'll be writing much more about the wind-up version, since mine has a very cool, personal story attached to it. However, it'll have to wait for another day and another post.)

Note the toy's single-button battery box.

Interesting final note: My example of the Jupiter Robot happens to have been purchased from author Alan Bunkum, who featured a photo of it in his book Techno Fantasies: Toy Robots From Japan (Schiffer Publishing, 2005). Thankfully, Jupiter hasn't let the fame go to his head. He's the same little blue robot that first stepped off the boat after a long trip to the States from Japan. 

Television Spaceman (Alps / 1961 / Japan / 13 inches)

When I first became interested in vintage robots, one toy kept catching my eye: The Television Spaceman. With its purple-tinted visor, those weird, golden, bulging eyes, a myriad of flashing lights, and that fantastic TV in its chest, I could never figure out whether it was created by a drug addict, or just a run-of-the-mill lunatic. Regardless, whoever came up with the robot should get a medal (and maybe a month or two of free treatment) for even conceiving of such a fun and engaging toy, much less getting the company to actually produce the damn thing. 

This is one of my earliest pick-ups -- one of the first three, actually -- and set the bar high for what a robot should be able to do when you pop in a couple batteries and power it up. Besides walking, the Television Spaceman has a light-up, scrolling TV, spinning eyes, space sounds, and a color-wheel just underneath its face. It also makes a lot of noise, in case all the flashing and motion isn't enough to drive children over the edge.

The Television Spaceman underwent a few small tweaks over the years, starting in 1966. The most noticeable is Alps' switch from tin to plastic legs, feet, and battery door. They also replaced the antenna, going from a metal one shaped something like a cross to the "fry basket" style found on this example. On the plus side, the company increased the size of the robot's TV screen, which, as far as I'm concerned, outweighs any of the changes in material that might otherwise turn off some collectors. 

The Television Spaceman isn't a tough robot to find; the toy was popular enough that Alps made thousands of them during its production run. With so many floating around today, prices remain reasonable, making the robot an easy one for new collectors to add to their shelves. 

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. 

Chief Robot Man (Yoshiya / 1962 / Japan / 12.5 inches)

Now this is the robot of tomorrow... as envisioned by mid-century dreamers, of course. Stylish, mid-century futurism meets high-tech bells and whistles; he's the must-have appliance for any space-age bachelor pad. It's no surprise that Chief Robot Man is considered a classic tin toy, one of the hobby's high points in terms of not only design, but also action and play value. If someone wants to know why people love these old space toys, just show them ol' Chief and they'll get the picture.



The Devil's in the details, which I guess makes Chief Robot Man a rolling, beeping vision of hell. Check out the eyes, with their internal, concentric rings. How about that translucent green chest plate, with its grid pattern and ridges? And check out the chromed facial features and scanner rings! Clean lines and uncluttered surfaces -- it's practically a work of art. That you're allowed to play with.




And playing with it is fun! Chief Robot Man rolls around with "mystery action" (a.k.a. bump-n-go), a fundamental piece of vintage technology that caused the toy to spin around and travel in a different direction every time it bumped into something. But that's only the beginning. Every so often, Chief Robot Man stops and moves his head from side to side while making a clanking "space noise" and flashing the light on his head. Then, his mind apparently made up, he'll venture off along a new path. It all gives the appearance that the robot's much more advanced than it is; that there's more going on inside that tin body than brass gears and rods. Maybe a microchip or two? Heck, at least a nice, fat, glowing tube! Right? No? Regardless, it's an impressive toy!






Yoshiya produced three variations on the Chief Robot Man. The first two are simple color variations: Radical Robot, which has a light, metallic blue body; and Mystery Moon Man, which is a striking white with translucent red details. (I tend to think of the latter one as a medical robot -- paint a red cross on it's sides and he's ready to rescue wounded Martian miners.) The third variation is called Mighty Robot, and features a clear plastic head with translucent gears. The head can't swivel from side to side, but the gears all turn and the whole thing lights up. The robot's also got plastic arms, while Chief Robot Man, Radical Robot, and Mystery Moon Man all have tin arms. Of the four robots, Chief Robot Man is by far the most common, while Mighty Robot is the rarest. However, Radical and Mystery Moon Man are tough to find as well.

Chief Robot Man and his cousins are what's known in the hobby as skirted robots (for obvious reasons). This was a popular design among toy companies, probably because it not only looked appropriately futuristic, but the toy makers could cram a lot of gears and lights and motors into the hollow bodies of the larger toys. More mechanics equals more bells and whistles (sometimes literally) and that makes for a more popular toy. The toys were also a bit easier to manufacture, with fewer pieces of tin to stamp and simpler construction requirements.

Chief Robot Man was always a dream robot of mine, one I'd sigh over every time he popped up in an auction catalogue or a collectibles book. He used to be fairly expensive, but as more have cropped up the price has dropped considerably. I remember congratulating a friend who bought one for what seemed like an excellent price. Two months later, I paid about 25% less. Today, only a few years after I picked up mine, they sometimes go for as little as 25% less than that! 

Some collectors would be bothered by this, but not me. I've never been into it for the investment. Sure, I like getting a deal on a toy as much as the next guy, and when I do happen to sell off a piece (it rarely happens), I'm thrilled when I get more for it than I spent. But in the end, I collect toys because I love them. Finding them makes me happy, getting them makes me happy, putting them up on my shelf makes me happy, and yes, taking them down to run them for a bit makes me happy. None of that will change even if they're only worth money for the tin they're made of.

Chief Robot Man is such a perfect example of everything great about this hobby, I'm still as happy to have him as I was the day he arrived.

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...