A Question for Collectors: How Important Is Rarity?

I'm curious as to how all of you collectors feel about an object's rarity, and how much weight you put on rarity when considering whether to add something to your own collections.


A rare example of the Atomic Robot Man, with a stamp from the 1950 New York Science Fiction Conference on the back. (Read more about it here.)

Do you particularly like rare items? Do you seek out rare items? Would you (or do you) pay a premium for rare items? Does a boring item become cooler if you know it's rare? Do you have any stories about rare pieces you have (or have not) added to your own collections?

Those questions are just to get the ball rolling -- feel free to approach the overall question in whatever manner makes the most sense in relation to your own collections and collecting habits. Post your answers in the comments section, and please feel free to respond to other people's responses -- let's get a conversation going. (But be polite!)

I'll post my own answer to the question once everyone else has had a chance to speak.

Common Toys, Rare Boxes: I'm Baffled

This isn't what you're thinking: I know that vintage boxes are rarer than the toys they held. Cheap cardboard can't stand up to the ravages of time like sturdy plastic, tin, and steel. On top of that, most kids just tossed the boxes with absolutely no thought whatsoever for the feelings of future collectors.

Little bast--! Ahem. That is to say, "Little dickens!"

No, what I'm really thinking about is how the ratio of relatively common ray guns to their boxes is much different than the ratio of relatively common robots to their boxes. That is to say, of the common robots that appear on eBay, many have their boxes. Whereas, of the common ray guns that appear on eBay, very few of them have their boxes.

Case in point: Chief Robot Man. Not too uncommon a robot, and with a box that I see more than a few times every year. Same goes for the W robot, the Battery Operated Planet Robot, the Battery Operated High-Wheel Robot, the wind up Easel Back Robot, and the little, red Yoshiya Jupiter Robot. If you decide to only buy these toys if they're mint in box, you won't have too much trouble, or spend too much extra money.

Conversely, the Buck Rogers XZ-31 Rocket Pistol, a toy that is always available -- always -- almost never has its box. Same goes for the Hubley Atomic Disintegrator, the Wyandotte ray gun, the Ideal 3 Color Gun... The list goes on and on.

I don't know -- is it my imagination? Am I just dreaming? I haven't conducted a proper investigation, and to tell you the truth, I don't plan on rolling up my sleeves and really digging into the problem. It's a mystery of the hobby, I guess.

Anyone have any thoughts on the matter?

It's Worth WHAT?

Let's talk a little about spending money.

A good rule of thumb when collecting: If you pay what a toy is worth to you, you'll never pay too much.

Now, of course, this isn't entirely true. You could pay more than a toy generally sells for and then say to yourself, "Dang it, I could have had the toy and some extra cash in my wallet." Or perhaps you could have bought two toys for your money.

But that's missing the spirit of the saying. The basic idea is that these toys have no intrinsic value beyond what you might get if you brought them to a recycling center. Instead, their value is based on our own desire for them. If you love a toy and see it offered for $600, you have to ask yourself, "What's more important? The toy, or the $600?"

And let's say you choose the toy, and then discover you could have bought it for $500. Did you screw up? I say "no," because that toy was worth $600 to you at that moment, and the value of $600 in your mind hasn't changed. So while it's always nice to buy a toy for less, in the end, if that toy is actually delivering $600 worth of good vibes, that's all that matters.

I'll admit it, I paid a little too much for the Ranger Robot I just won. I didn't realize it at the time -- I thought the market value was a bit higher -- but I'm okay with it. I was perfectly happy with the price once the hammer dropped, I was perfectly happy with the price when I counted out the money to pay for it, I was perfectly happy with the price when I was showing off the toy to my friends. When weighing the money versus the toy, the toy won out -- that didn't change when I discovered that it has, sometimes, sold for about 15% less.

(And let's face it, I was paying for the condition. This is one of the nicest examples of the Ranger Robot I've seen in years. As one prominent dealer pointed out, finding them loose in this kind of condition is next to impossible. "It's a toy of extremes," he said. "They're either mint in box or loose and crap." So yes, I'm quite happy!)

All that said, it pays to balance the concept against sound fiscal judgement and good research. If you're prepared to pay $600 for a toy, check to make sure it's not more often up for grabs for $300. Some gaps are too wide for even love to cross.

Also, I don't recommend ever spending more than you can reasonably afford. While it's one thing to charge a purchase and pay it off a month or two later, no collectible is really worth going into deep debt over. That kind of financial burden creates a lot of stress, and you'll soon think of nothing else whenever you look at your toys. Deep debt can suck the fun right out of the thing you went into debt for in the first place, which is wonderful for irony, but not so great for your peace of mind.

Just a few thoughts on buying old toys (or anything, I guess, that doesn't have a firmly established market value).

Interview: Author and Collector Leslie Singer

In the Seventies and Eighties, ray guns weren't the big-ticket items they are today. You could find them at toy shows and flea markets for a few dollars; some might cost $25 or so, and a few rare ones could fetch just about $100. But Leslie Singer loved them, and had been reliving his childhood for years by picking them up whenever he had the chance. "These were the toys I played with as a kid," he says. "Forget cowboys -- I wanted to play space. And that meant playing with ray guns!"

In 1991, while looking at his collection, Singer suddenly hit on a great idea: Why not publish a book on ray guns? With his background as an ad director and copywriter, and his obvious, head-over-heels infatuation with these toys, he was the perfect person to make the project a reality. So, grabbing some guns and a photographer to take a few demo pictures, he put together a package for Chronicle Books. Then he waited. And waited. And waited, until, three months later, they got back to him: Do it.

The result was Zap!, the world's first book on vintage toy ray guns. Slick, brightly colored, and full of amazing photos, it took the hobby by storm, opening up a whole new universe of collectibles for space-toy fans everywhere. Today, the book stands as a major milestone in the history of space-toy collecting, and its author is rightly hailed as an innovative, groundbreaking collector. 

During a recent visit to New York City, Leslie Singer stopped by the Attic of Astounding Artifacts to discuss ray guns, his days as a collector, and, of course, Zap!

Leslie Singer posing in front of some of the Attic's toy shelves.

DOC ATOMIC In the introduction to Zap!, you discuss playing with some of these ray guns as a kid. 

LESLIE SINGER I grew up in Long Beach, Long Island. My dad was a science fiction fan, and I was really taken with anything called, in the 1950s, "modern." So me and my friend Jeff were totally into space-play. Captain Video, Tom Corbett, Space Patrol. I just loved the futuristic look of that stuff. The guns, toy cars, consoles. And of course, guns and boys go together perfectly. I played space all day long, built rocket models, that kind of thing. I used to go to the Hayden Planetarium all the time; I was totally enamored of the future, space travel, the graphics -- everything! 

Did you own many guns from that time?

I only had a few from the 1950s, when I was growing up. I hadn't collected any guns from the Thirties or the Forties. I just got the ones you could get off the TV commercials, or from the five and dime store. I didn't have that many, we didn't have a lot of money. So when I did get one, I treasured it. My friend Jeffrey had more money, and he had a lot more of them.

One of my favorites at the time was the Space Patrol Cosmic Smoke Gun -- I loved that one. It's interesting that it seems to be a favorite of other people, too. I had a Three-Color Gun by Ideal -- my father had given that one to me when I was a kid. It always fascinated me -- others were sleek and art deco, but that one was bulbous and funky. Another of my favorites was this little, grey, swirled plastic gun with a whistle on the end. I don't even know if it had a name. It was a cheap little gun, but I love it. I also had the Buck Rogers Sonic Ray Gun -- the black one with the yellow cap. That was a real favorite because it had a lot going on. There were those mysterious plus and minus signs, the telescopic sight. A great toy.

Two early faves: The U.S. Plastics Space Patrol Cosmic Smoke Gun (top) and Ideal's Three-Color Gun.

What got you back into ray guns?

When I met my wife in 1976, we were both antique and pop-culture collectors -- we both loved stuff from the 1950s. I was at an antique show with her and I saw a Nu-Matic Paper Popper. I remember saying to her, "I'm going to collect ray guns." I bought that one for $10. 

The flame was lit under me. I had a happy childhood, and the whole nostalgic thing kicked in. So whenever I'd go to a toy show, I'd get a ray gun. There was no big market for them, and they only cost $10 or $15. The most I'd spent at that time was for a mint-in-box Hubley Atomic Disintegrator -- $90. Then things started picking up. I bought my Buck Rogers XZ-31 Rocket Pistol for $90, and had to drive 100 miles to get it. Another one that was a favorite of mine was the Spin Ray -- that was a fabulous find for me. I'd never seen it before. I was excited about that -- that's the most bizarre looking toy. I remember finding the Flash Gordon Radio Repeater. That was the first time I'd ever seen it -- remember, there weren't any toy books with these things in them that I knew about. So I'd go to toy shows and dream about my childhood for days. It was fabulous.

Nu-Matic Paper Popper (top) and Hubley's mighty Atomic Disintegrator.

How often were you adding to your collection?

I was lucky if I was getting a new gun every three months. I'd be lucky if I found two at a toy show that I could afford. I don't think I ever got more than one or two over a 90 day period. I don't think I ever paid more than $125 for a new gun, though. 

What was attracting you to them? Was it just nostalgia?

Oh no, it was aesthetics for me. I liked old toys. In fact, the newer toys in Zap! were included because the publisher asked me to put them in. [Zap! features guns from the Thirties through the Eighties -- Ed.] know, I didn't really care about the history, the variations, or the different stories behind the manufacturers -- I was strictly into them from a graphical, design point of of view. 

You were collecting before anyone knew much of anything about these ray guns. Often times, they were missing parts and no one even knew. So how important was condition to you? 

I didn't need it to be mint. I actually liked the idea that they were played with, and I liked when they showed that. And like you said, in some cases, we just didn't know. Like the Renwal on the cover -- it's missing the cap, but that wouldn't have made a difference to me because it still looks so great.

That shows you the kind of collector I am. I'm not an aficionado. I was reading a review after the book came out. Now, most people liked the book, but one reviewer was just furious. He called it a pathetic attempt at a collection because it didn't have the Quisp gun! They were just appalled! [laughs]

Are you still collecting? 

Yes and no. After I wrote the book, I happened to meet the artist Peter Max. He collects collections, and he asked me if I'd like to trade my ray gun collection for an original painting of his. I said yes, but I wanted to keep some that were particularly personal, like the Space Patrol Cosmic Smoke Gun, and the Ideal Three-Color Gun. I also kept the first gun in the book, a really wrecked example of the Buck Rogers XZ-38 Disintegrator Pistol that a friend had dug out of his yard. I gave him the rest, though -- like my Hiller Atom Jet water pistol, my early Buck Rogers guns, the Flash Gordon Radio Repeater, and the Flash Gordon Siren Gun --  and ended up with a big, original painting of the Planet Jet Gun from the cover of my book. 

How did you meet Peter Max?

My wife and I are from Little Rock, Arkansas, and we've known Bill and Hillary Clinton for many years. In 1992, we were at an event for the Presidential campaign, and Peter Max was there, too. A mutual friend introduced us -- Peter asked for a copy of my book, so I sent it to him. He came back to me asking about my collection.

Besides the allure of an original Peter Max painting, why did you decide to trade away your ray guns? 

I was just ready. I'd already had the collection for a number of years, and I'd published the book, and I felt like it was just a great opportunity. So except for keeping those personal favorites, I was ready to move on.

Do you still buy any ray guns today?

I collect some of the newer ones, and some of the limited-edition creations made by artists. I love the pieces Weta does, and I've got a couple of the beautiful hand-blown glass ray guns, too. I also collect other space toys, like walkie talkies -- really, anything that shows off the retro-future.

So what made you decide to write the book?

I was looking at my collection when I realized there wasn't a book out there. I'm in advertising, and I'm a writer. I work with photographers. I knew how to do it. I said, no one's done it, I'll do it. I literally wrote a two-paragraph letter to Chronicle Books. I included some photos a friend of mine took, just as a test, so they could see the toys. I sent it all to Chronicle with the letter saying, "Hey, how about a book on ray guns?" Three months later, I got a letter saying they decided to do it. Then they asked for the copy and the photos in time to get it out by Christmas -- 90 days! So I shot 4 x 5 film and I did a little research on when the guns were made. I wrote the story in the introduction about playing with the ray guns as a kid, and I sent it all to the publisher. I never saw it again until it came back as the book.

How much input did you have with the final product? 

I suggested the name, and they did the layout. They sent me back a cover with some gun on it from 1965, one of the Japanese tin guns. I thought I'd rather have something else, something more deco, so they replaced it with the Planet Jet. That was it, the rest was all them. 

What did you think when you finally saw the finished product?

I just loved it. I loved the way it looked: Just this big yellow gun on a black background. I loved the way they designed the book, too. It actually won an international design award the year after it came out. A pretty big one -- that was all the publisher's doing. Really, the book was exactly what I wanted it to be. I still have the very first copy I took out of the box. 

What about the price guide in the back of the book? Was that your idea, or the publishers?

They asked me to put it in. They said it would double the number of books they could sell by appealing to collectors who might not care about the look of the guns. The prices are all off today, of course, but they were what I was seeing at the time. It's interesting today to see how the prices have changed, actually. 

Did you ever think your book would have such an impact, or that it would even be remembered today?

It never crossed my mind. Even after it came out, I never even considered that I'd be talking about it nearly 20 years later. You know, I went to a film festival in Memphis that had Tom Corbett and the whole crew in attendance. I brought them each a book. I was sitting there with [Tom Corbett actor] Frankie Thomas and all the other actors, and he says, looking at the book, "This is my whole childhood." 

I said, "Guess what? You're my whole childhood." I think that's what I was trying to capture in the book. 

The Six Stages of Collecting

I've been thinking about this, and it seems to me that there are six distinct stages of collecting. Of course, every collector will have his or her own personal experiences, but the first three definitely apply to me, and every collector I've spoken to seems to agree that, in broad terms at least, these stages are accurate and applicable.

I'm not sure what you're supposed to take away from this post, except that it might be some tasty food for thought. Or... Maybe I'm too lazy to take photographs tonight and this provides some convenient text-only content. Ahem. Anyway, without further ado:

Doc Atomic's Six Stages of Collecting

STAGE 1: DISCOVERY

The collector stumbles upon something new and infatuation ensues. The collector begins to hunt down any and all information about this new object of desire. Photos, essays, buyer's guides, online forums -- the collector can't get enough of them. In the discovery stage, the collector might buy one or two of whatever it is that's caught his eye.

STAGE 2: ACQUISITION

The collector buys three or four more items. The purchasing is indiscriminate -- if it's one of these great new things, the collector has to own it. It's about building mass and developing density. Shelves quickly buckle under the weight of so much new stuff.

STAGE 3: FOCUS

The collector realizes that, while he might have many of these new things, none of them are particularly special. The collector has learned more about his new obsession and has begun to identify the examples that really get his blood pumping. He decides to go after those particular pieces. In doing so, he also discovers that some of the older stuff is just getting in the way of the better things, and he begins to sell off some of the overflow. The signal to noise ration begins to improve.

At stage three, collections take shape and begin to reflect the tastes of those who own them. Most collectors linger on this stage the longest. And if the collector's area of interest is large enough -- or expensive enough -- then it's possible to never get everything; the collector stays at stage three forever. Stage three is, for many people, the most enjoyable part of the collecting life cycle.

STAGE 4: COMPLETION

The collector owns every piece he wants to own. There aren't many new discoveries. His shelves have remained unchanged for a while. The hunt has ended, but the collector feels a sense of peace and contentment. He gets enjoyment from looking at the collection he's built, and he's proud of his accomplishments within the hobby.

For some collectors, during stage four, the individual pieces of their collection become less important than the collection as a whole -- it begins to feel like a singular object, and can even be admired as a giant work of art.

By the way, the collection doesn't need to be large or contain every piece ever made. For some collectors, it's enough to own the ones they love -- even if there are only three or four on their shelves.

STAGE 5: BOREDOM

For many collectors, this is the inevitable end of stage four. The collection is no longer interesting. The objects become part of the background, barely noticed and rarely engaged. Not every collector experiences stage five -- some people go to their graves with a deep appreciation and lingering infatuation for their stuff. But for the rest, they've returned to eBay, only this time they're not hunting for additions to their collections... they're researching prices to figure out what their collection might be worth.

STAGE 6: LIQUIDATION

The magic has left the collection and the collector has decided to sell. Maybe something new has caught his eye and moving the collection will raise the necessary funds to pursue this new interest. Maybe he just wants to clear space. Whatever the reason, the collection is dispersed back into the ether from which it sprung, perhaps fueling some other collector who is, at that very moment, entering the first stages of his newfound love affair.

Rinse. Shake. Repeat.

Some Thoughts On Becoming a Collector

Recently, another collector described growing up with an aversion to collecting. He had seen the rather compulsive attitudes of the adults around him and decided, at an early age, that he'd never go down that path. And then, of course, he grew up to collect robots.

Personally, I never had any such fears as a kid, but then again, I don't think I ever experienced that kind of hardcore collecting. My mom was a collector, definitely, but she wasn't too crazy about it so it never struck me as odd. We did have a lot of ceramic chickens and ducks in our house, but it felt more like a theme than anything else.

I was always a packrat, and I constantly accumulated piles of junk: toys, weird bits of metal that I'd pick up off the street, books, stones, foreign coins, and whatever my relatives might have brought back to me during their travels to exotic lands. (My grandparents were always globe hopping, and they'd often come back with some of the coolest souvenirs this 10 year old would ever see.) But I was never a collector. I lacked the discipline to really research a subject and figure out what existed and what I liked. I distinctly remember being younger and saying to myself, "I wish I could be a more motivated collector." For a long time, though, it just never clicked.

And then I discovered comic books in the fifth grade, and that changed everything. Comics are numbered, they're clearly documented, they have story lines that continue from book to book. With so many clearly outlined parameters, they're the perfect gateway into the world of formal collecting.

Interestingly enough, I didn't collect much else while collecting comics, and even after I stopped -- lack of room, lack of comics worth buying on a regular basis, many other reasons -- I took my time before finding something else to attract my attention. I eventually landed a real job with a real paycheck. Not long after, I discovered robots and ray guns. 

I think that, by this point, I was ready to collect. I had learned how to curate a collection. I developed an eye for what I liked, a knowledge of the subject, and the simple dedication to pursue the toys that were most important to me. I had help, of course, a whole roster of rogues and scallywags and other unrepentant toy nuts who happily indulged my endless questions. In the end, it all combined to allow me to become the collector I am today.

Coincidently, at just about the same time, I learned to live on a lot less money... Ah, the double-edged world of the toy collector!

Top-Shelf Titans: The Andrew Klein Interview

Every Sunday, I sit down with other addicts collectors to take a look at their toys and discuss the hobby of toy collecting. This week: Andrew Klein is our Top-Shelf Titan!

Mixing the excitement of youth with the eye of a seasoned pro, Andrew Klein has leapt enthusiastically into the world of vintage space toys to create a collection impressive in both size and scope. He's a man who knows what he wants, tending to focus on robots and the occasional tank or tractor -- if they're driven by robots! And don't bother looking for any astronauts. As Andy says, "A robot toy, in my mind, could be 'real,' while a toy with a litho face clearly could not be a little man inside a wind-up body. In fact," he adds, "for some reason I can't explain, robots with faces kind of give me the creeps!"

DOC ATOMIC So what attracts you to these toys?

ANDREW KLEIN I suppose, as is the case with many other collectors, toy robots appeal to the kid in me. I’m 39 years old and have been interested in robots and science fiction related toys since the mid-Seventies. Star Wars really ignited my passion with R2-D2. I was fortunate that my mother enjoyed science fiction as well and, for birthdays, would give me Japanese imported die-cast robots as gifts. I still have a couple of them today. One of my favorites is Brain-3 from the UFO Commander series. Another aspect that both attracts me and keeps me interested in the hobby is the quality of design that went into these toys. They were built to stand on their own rather than to be sold in conjunction with a movie release or television show. They are unique to this day.

Some of Klein's collection. How many can you name? (All photos by Andrew Klein)

 

When did you start collecting?

I had been collecting on and off since I was a kid. This meant I would pick up a robot at a novelty shop if I though it was neat and I’d throw it on my shelf. I really started collecting in earnest somewhere around 1995. I received a copy of the Sotheby's Matt Wyse auction catalog and fell in love with robots I never knew existed. I was amazed because, prior to seeing that catalog, I thought I was an expert on toy robots. How little I knew! The truth is I’m still learning today and hope that I’ll never stop!

What's your approach to collecting? 

While my general collection rule is “collect what you like and what appeals to you," I do have a couple of guidelines I stick to (so far). First, I only collect robots. My second rule is that, with rare exceptions, I only collect toys that were designed and sold as toys. This means no statues, no models, and no art. I even have somewhat of an issue with the new robots on the market as they are not sold as toys and even come with the warning that “this is a collector’s item and not a toy. For adults only." If it wasn’t meant to be played with by a kid than I’m probably not interested in it. With that said, I do have an “Andybot” designed and built by a fellow Alphadrome (www.danefield.com/alpha) member named Andy Hill. That would be my "rare exception."

(bottom) Robby Space Patrol, a very rare "sled" style space vehicle. Also, one of more accurate toys to capitalize on the film Forbidden Planet.

Do you have a favorite toy, and is it in your collection?

I have a number of favorite pieces and, fortunately, most of them are in my collection. They would include my vintage Mr. Atomic (Cragstan, 1962), Non-Stop (a.k.a. Lavender) Robot (Masudaya, 1960), Ranger Robot (Cragstan, 1965) and Mr. Flash (Cragstan, 1960s). I also hope to own a Target Robot (Masudaya, 1965) someday. 

The wonderful Mr.Atomic was also available in a blue version. [editor's note: This is one of Doc's all-time favorite robots!]

Masudaya's Non-Stop Robot is part of the so-called Gang of Five, a group of large, skirted robots heavily desired by most collectors.  

Cragstan's Ranger Robot not only walked and made noises, but it also blew smoke. A light inside its transparent body helped show off all gears.

The Mr. Atomic and the Lavender robot were always "Holy Grail" robots that I dreamt of before I could afford the higher end toys. I had a copy of 1000 Tin Toys (by Teruhisha Kitahara, 1996) and the Sotheby's Matt Wyse auction catalog (1996) and would stare at these robots on a daily basis and fantasize about someday owning them. To this day, Mr. Atomic still has an impact on me and I’m amazed I have one sitting in my display. 

Also, the Mr. Flash is one of my favorites simply because of the design. I have both the red version and the more scarce silver version. Both are fantastic looking toys and never lose their appeal to me. 

Two versions of Mr. Flash. The silver one is rarest.

Is there any piece in your collection with a good story behind it?

I was cruising eBay when I came across a Missile Robot (Alps, Late 1960s) being sold by a guy in Argentina. It had a Buy-It-Now of $650 and looked to be in fair shape. I noticed also that this guy had re-listed the toy because of a non-paying bidder (so he says). Also, it was a bit fishy that even though the bidding on that first auction had gotten up to over $1400, he decided for a buy it now of $650. Finally, he also indicated he would only take Western Union -- no PayPal. 

Despite all that, I took the chance, thinking I made a great score on a very rare robot. We exchanged a few emails and I learned quickly that he spoke almost no English. He assured me that he would send the robot and to “trust him.” “Don’t worry,” he said. Can you smell the dramatic foreshadowing? 

Missile Man! A scarce toy.

I wired him the money plus $50 for shipping (“Is very heavy robot!” he said). A day later I received confirmation that he had picked the money up. Not long after, I got an email from him that said, “Not worry! I have not send yet! Will send tomorrow!” No problem. People get busy right? Things started to go sour after this. I sent him emails day after day with no response. After about 15 emails over the course of a month with no reply I decided to look up his phone number in Argentina through eBay. The woman who answered (who turned out to be his mother) spoke absolutely no English. I then called my brother-in-law, who speaks Spanish, and told him the story and asked for his help. 

He made several attempts and finally got through to the seller, who said, “Don’t worry. It takes up to three months to get to the United States,” and promised to email me. He never did. It became very clear to me he ripped me off. 

Well, at this point I was out over $750 in fees and payment for the robot. After feeling a bit helpless I decided I was pissed enough to take action. I Googled for an attorney in Buenos Aires that spoke English and contacted her. She agreed to take my case for a flat fee of around $200. I thought that was a great deal. Well, her involvement got this guy’s attention right away. All of a sudden I got an email asking me to take $400 back and to forget the whole thing. I told him to stuff it.  After a few weeks of back and forth my attorney managed to get my money back! She had it wired directly to my account. Turns out this guy had spent the money already and his girlfriend came in and ponied up the cash. I was amazed that I was able to resolve this.

So now at this point in the story I’m thinking I lost the robot but at least I got my money back. 

A few months later I’m on eBay and I see another Alps Missile Robot for auction! Wow! Here’s another chance for me! So I think and sweat and debate: Should I spend the money again? Well, as I keep going back to the auction to look at the picture I notice the robot looks really familiar -- same scratch marks on the tin. I go back to the old auction pictures and…can it be? Yes! It is the same robot the guy in Argentina was selling! 

I called the person holding the legit auction, which happened to be none other than [a long-time dealer named] Robert Johnson at Comet Toys. So we’re chatting about the robot and I tell him about the guy in Argentina. He says “Yeah, that’s where I got this robot!” A year and a half ago! It is now clear the Argentina guy sold it to Robert a long time ago and was using old pictures to rip me off. 

So I decide to bid. And… I lost the auction! Well, I figure this really was not meant to be. I tried to forget my frustration and disappointment at losing this robot again. A week later… It’s back on eBay! I guess Robert had a non-paying bidder. Well, this time I decided I was going to have it. I bid, and won! Now the robot sits in my display along side the other Alps robots (Moon Explorer, TV Spaceman, and Rocket Man).

Giants among robots. (clockwise from top left) Alps' Rocket Man, Moon Explorer, Missile Robot, and Television Spaceman

That's just an incredible story! Given your experiences, what advice would you pass on to a new collector?

Buy what you like. If you love it than it is worth the price. Also, never be ashamed of what you paid for a robot.  Just because it was inexpensive doesn’t mean it isn’t a great robot. The wind-up Radar Hunter is among my favorite robots and they can be had for $20 or so at any given time. If my Mr. Atomic became worthless tomorrow I wouldn’t love it any less and it would still give the same happy feeling that it does now. If another collector criticized your collection then you probably shouldn’t be listening to them any way. Always encourage other collectors and always be encouraged by other collectors. And always, always try to have fun!

Top-Shelf Titans: The Steve Jaspen Interview

Every Sunday, I'll sit down with other addicts collectors to take a look at their toys and discuss the hobby of toy collecting. This week: Steve Jaspen is our Top-Shelf Titan!

Steve Jaspen has collected space toys for more than a decade, and there are very few people who know more about them than he does. His collection of vintage wind-up robots and small-scale saucers, rockets and space cars is a wonder; not because it's huge, but, rather, because every piece in it is a bona fide treasure. Steve also happens to be one of the nicest guys in the hobby, and I consider him not only a good friend, but an honest-to-goodness mentor. So now that I've abandoned even a pretense of journalistic objectivity, let's get to the toys!

DOC ATOMIC What attracts you to these toys?  

STEVE JASPEN I like the feelings they evoke in me. It's very close to how I felt when watching the early space launches in the Sixties. The same feelings I have reading sci-fi novels. They represent something so much grander than we see, for the most part, in our everyday existence. A representation of the potential we have that we haven't quite reached yet.

Do you have a favorite piece in your collection? 

That's difficult. Certainly, my Television Robot (Sankei, 1960s) is high on the list. It's got a perfect look: fantastic lithography, and a face reminiscent of a little boy -- a robot almost becoming human. I love my early, blue, wind-up Planet Robots (Yoshiya, late 1950s). They are rare and beautiful, and their "grilled" faceplates look to me how a robot should look. Also my Mechanical Moon Robot (Yonezawa, 1960s) -- the multicolored ribbons within its domed, mirrored head are fantastic.

The Television Robot. One of the rarest toy robots. (All photos by Steve Jaspen)

Some of Jaspen's collection. The Mechanical Moon Robot (a.k.a. "Ribbon Robby) is on the right, in back. The ribbons in its dome spin as it walks.

When did you start collecting? How did you become involved with space toys?

I was heavily involved in sports memorabilia, but it reached a point where I had collected or seen just about everything in the field -- it was time to move on. The famous Sotheby's robot and space toy auction of Matt Wyse in 1996 showed me that this was an actual hobby. I had known about the famous Japanese collector Teruhisa Kitahara (whom I later had the pleasure of meeting), but until then I thought collecting these toys was only one man's obsession. With my sci-fi backround and love of robots this was a perfect hobby to move to from sports collecting. From that moment on it was off to the races.

One of Steve's rare blue Planet Robots is on the left. The grey skirted robot second from right is called Tremendous Mike -- it's another extremely rare toy. The robot to the far right is a modern piece hand-crafted by the late collector Henk Gosses.

Some of Jaspen's impressive saucer and rocket collection.

After looking at your collection, Steve, I was struck by your focus. Could you describe your approach to collecting?  

I purchase the pieces that really move me. When I'm looking at a book of robots and space toys, which are the ones I keep coming back to or most enjoy seeing? Not only do I focus on particular toys, but I quite often focus on a specific example of that piece -- literally one specific toy that I've seen somewhere. One collector I know calls it a "wanted dead or alive" style of collecting. In the world of sports memorabilia, many items were one of a kind, so I learned how to follow a specific piece from collection to collection until it became available. I use this skill in this hobby, too. 

Can you give us an example?

Sure. The silver-mouthed Hook Robot (Waco, 1950s) was high on my list from the moment I first saw him. A perfect example was offered by [long-time toy dealer] Mark Bergin in his 1998 catalog. By the time I called him, he'd already sold it. By chance I was able to find out who the buyer was, but he was a very high-end collector and no amount of money or trades could be offered to get the Hook out of his collection. But eventually, as so often happens, he decided to sell off his collection. I was able to figure out who ended up with the Hook. I had a very high-end piece in my collection that the new owner wanted. Applying my trading philosophy of giving up something great to obtain something that would give me even more happiness, a trade was born. I now own the one and very same example of the Hook Robot that I first saw in  Mark Bergin's catalog. It only took me 10 years to get the one I wanted! 

Any other instances of this happening?

Of course! There's a wonderful book called Roboter by Botho Wagner. Pictured on the cover is an amazing Planet Robot -- a blue, wind-up, rubber-handed version. Just beautiful. Well, I found out the hard way that this toy was so rare that not even well-known dealers had ever seen one -- or even heard of it. It turned out that this toy was probably not exported to this side of the ocean. 

I would just stare at this picture every day and wonder, "How am I going to get one of these for myself?" Wouldn't you know it: By sheer coincidence I had become close friends with a European collector... the very same collector who owned the exact robot used on the cover of the book! He knew of my deep love for this robot and one day, out of the blue (no pun intended), he offered it to me. So not only did I get my dream robot, but I got the exact example of the one I had been looking at all these many years. A dream come true!

Ladies and Gentlemen: The famous blue Planet Robot and silver-mouthed Hook Robot.

The Hook Robot next to an uncommon pin-walking robot called Robbie The Roving Robot. The blue robot on the right is the extremely rare X-27 Explorer. Note the VX-1000 space ship, another highly desirable toy.

You mentioned before that you traded a high-end piece to get the Hook Robot. Can you talk a bit more about this technique?

There are pieces [that I want] that are very hard to come by and are in the hands of deep pocketed collectors; one can't simply offer money to this class of collector. However, if I can get the piece I want by offering something special that they want, then a trade is possible. It's really about putting these toys on a scale of happiness; if what I am getting gives me more satisfaction than what I am giving up, it's an exchange I can seriously consider. I may not be able to keep every toy I've owned, but at least I've had the opportunity to have a sweet taste of many different great toys. 

A strong word of caution: It's too easy to get so excited about being able to obtain a sought-after new item that you don't carefully consider what you're giving up. You might discover that you liked what you traded more than what you received: I learned this the very hard way in my sports collecting days! My advice is to carefully consider each trade or sale. Sometimes the best deals are the ones that aren't made.

 

Sound advice! So, do you have any other interesting collecting stories?

There is one piece [from my collection] that is the center of a very good story. The Robot 5 (S.N.K./Sankei, 1950s) is a very high-end piece I never really expected to own. A dealer offered me a Robot 5 in his original box for quite a bit more than I could afford. Without even looking at a picture, I had to turn him down. A friend of mine was offered the robot, and he called to ask me what I thought of it. I told him I hadn't seen a picture, so he sent me one. Oh, my God! First off, it was a version I didn't at the time know existed -- a black and grey version as opposed to the better known champagne-pink one. It was really a perfect robot, and my friend decided to buy it. I was quite sad about that. 

By sheer coincidence, just as my friend closed the deal on the boxed grey-black version, he was offered the pink version, which he preferred. But it was unboxed. He asked for my advice -- he wanted the pink version but he also wanted the box. I had the perfect solution: We would split the boxed black-grey version. I would get the robot and he would get the box. Then he could buy the pink version to pair with it. So I ended up with the robot, he ended up with a boxed robot. All's well that ends well. 

Three fantastic robots: The extremely rare Robot 5, flanked by the red-mouthed Hook Robot and the Television Robot.

I'll say! So, do you have any advice for new collectors? Any parting words of wisdom?  

Here is my advice to new collectors: First off, knowledge is power. Find out as much about the hobby as you can. There are any number of excellent websites, books and catalogs to review. See which pieces "sing" to you and save money for the ones that you can reasonably afford. No impulse or quick-fix buying; save for those pieces that are most important to you. In the long run they will give you the most satisfaction. And use your own judgement as to what you like and do not like. After all it is your own collection that you are building!

The Super Secret Origin of Doc Atomic

I lent my camera to a friend, so let's take a moment to tell a story. More pictures of cool toys tomorrow.

So how did it all start? How did I find myself chasing tin, lusting over lithography, and otherwise indulging my baser instincts with toys old enough to be my parents'? Blame it on science fiction, and a train trip from NYC to Harrison, New York. 

It was about 10 years ago, I hadn't yet moved into New York but was working full-time at a magazine here. I was on my way home when I decided to kill some time at a small toy shop in one of the station's retail areas. It was the kind of boutique that focused on educational and hand-made toys, and weird, pop-culture artifacts that probably interested parents more than kids. In one corner, wedged in among the stuffed animals, old fashioned board games, and puppets was a stack of tin robots. Their boxes said Atomic Robot Man. I didn't realize it at the time, but it was a reproduction of a toy from 1949. Not that I really cared; I was smitten.

At the time, I didn't know anything about vintage toys. I just couldn't get over the robot's primitive construction, the old-school vibe, the feeling that it had fallen through a time warp for me to find and take home.

I'd been reading classic science fiction stories for a while, books by authors like Arthur C. Clarke, Robert A. Heinlein, Alfred Bester, Theodore Sturgeon, and anyone else who's copyright page had a date prior to 1962. I'd also started collecting vintage, first edition science fiction paperbacks from the Forties and Fifties, and the cigar-shaped rockets, bubble-helmeted space men, and especially the mighty robots that adorned their covers became obsessions. The little robot I'd picked up at the train station felt like an extension of these interests, classic science fiction rendered in glorious 3-D. (And without the need for red-and-blue glasses!)

A couple months later, I ended up in Los Angeles on a magazine assignment. I had an extra day to myself, so I decided to check out Universal Studios. That's where I found the store dedicated to tin toys. I can't remember what it was called, but when I close my eyes, I clearly see the cases filled with metal animals, cars, and... whoa!... robots. One in particularly demanded my attention: It was maybe nine inches high, shaped like a bullet tipped up on it's end. It had a pointy dome, dangling arms, and small, flapping feet that stuck straight out from its base. The lithographed text, spelled out in lightning bolts (!) said "Mr. Atomic."

When I was in middle school, there was a girl. To my 12-year-old eyes, she was the most beautiful girl in the world. Mostly because she started wearing a bra before all the other girls. When I first saw her, I had a weird sensation in the pit of my stomach. A fluttery, jittery, gurgling feeling that coursed through my veins and lit up my heart and had me floating through the rest of the day. 

Compared to how I felt when I saw Mr. Atomic, that was nothing.

I ran over to the store's owner, yanking out my wallet and grabbing two twenties. "How much for the Mr. Atomic?"

"$400," he replied. I stared at him. "It's a reproduction of a Japanese toy," he said, seeing the confusion on my face. I carefully slid the bills back into my wallet, put the wallet back into my pocket, thanked the man for his time, and sulked my way out of the store. $400? I felt like the hot chick from middle school was laughing at me. While making out with the quarterback.

Clearly, I was missing something.

Mr. Atomic was cool, but he was made of tin. $400? And what did the guy mean by "reproduction of a Japanese robot?" I couldn't let it go. When I got back from L.A., I jumped online and began hunting for tin robots. I discovered a number of stores, all selling these so-called reproductions. But reproductions of what? I kept digging. I found some websites devoted to tin robots, and this time, they were originals. I began reading. I stared at the photos until my eyes crusted up. A small thought was taking shape in my churning brain, a thought that demanded more and more attention with every click of the mouse: These toys were freakin' awesome.

I began buying reproductions, along with whatever new robots were being produced. I was aimless, grabbing whatever crossed my path. I didn't know any better, I didn't have anyone to talk to for advice, all I wanted to do was fill my shelves with tin. And then, one day, I discovered a refuge for blundering addicts like myself. An online forum, a discussion group full of space toy collectors whose collective wisdom was greater than anything I could hope to find on a singular website.

Alphadrome. 

I felt like I'd come home. I began talking with collectors, bugging them with questions, begging them for advice. I found myself paying more attention to the toys I was seeing on eBay. I took note of prices. Scarcity. Condition. Suddenly, without realizing it, was looking at these toys in a whole new light. I was looking at them like a potential buyer...

These toys appealed to me on two levels. The first was purely aesthetic. Robots are cool, old robots are even cooler. Old, new, repro -- it didn't matter as long as they had that classic look. This is the attitude that dominated my early days as a collector.

But soon, the second level kicked in and age began to matter. The vintage toys were a direct, physical connection to previous science-fiction and robot fans. They were owned and played with by some kid who might have been me if I'd been born a few decades earlier. I began to see the reproductions as merely models of how people today thought of the past. The original toys, though, felt like the actual memories. 

That's what I wanted to collect: memories I never had for myself. The relics from the past, not the imitations. There was a problem, though: I couldn't afford them. Vintage tin robots generally start in the very low hundreds of dollars, and then climb -- fast -- into the depths of space. I was young, I was employed, I had minimal commitments, but I still didn't have that kind of money.

Here's the funny thing, though. As I sat one day looking at all my reproduction robots, I began thinking about how much they'd cost me. Each one was relatively inexpensive, but taken together, it added up to a whole pile of cash. More than enough for a decent vintage toy.

I also started to consider the idea of quantity versus quality. At the time, I owned a couple dozen reproduction and new toys. If I'd used that money on vintage robots, I'd own maybe one or two. But those vintage pieces, I realized, would mean much more to me than a whole shelf of reproductions. 

After a few weeks of thinking about it, I decided to take the plunge. The moons had aligned: Three toys appeared on eBay, any one of which I'd be happy to own. A freelance check was burning a hole in my pocket. A willful disregard for my own need to pay for food, rent, and utilities had successfully overtaken common sense. The time was right: Three toys, three bids. Bam, bam, bam! I was committed.

I know, it sounds crazy. But I didn't expect to spend all my money. After all, what were the chances that I'd win all three toys?

Apparently, better than I'd realized. I was a science fiction convention the day the auctions ended. I owned a first generation T-Mobile Sidekick at the time, and using its painfully slow internet connection to check the auctions was a pretty nerve-wracking experience. People kept asking me if needed to lie down. When I asked them why, they said that copious sweating, a deathly pallor, and nervous twitching were all signs of imminent expiration. I hissed at them and they left me alone. 

And then it was over. Shocked, I discovered that I'd won all three robots. Then my shock turned to elation. I'd won all three robots. I was the owner of three vintage robots! It was like a new, geek-tastic world opening up to me. Who cared if little miss Rocket Launcher in 7th grade was dating the quarterback? I had me some robots!

The best part? The first auction to end was for an original Atomic Robot Man -- the reproduction I'd picked up at Grand Central Terminal so many months earlier.

And that's how it all began. 

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. 

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...

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.