“The Confession of Nagoya
Fats” by Robert W. Bone is
one of several articles included in
“In Search of Adventure:
A Wild Travel
Anthology,” published in
March, 1999. A total of 100 well-known writers contributed to the volume.
It is available from booksellers
nationwide.
Some men spend much of their lives trying to come out ahead at pachinko, the traditional slot machine of Japan. These noisy devices with a sort of vertical pinball face have been installed in colorfully lit pachinko parlors throughout the country. Winnings are supposed to be paid in prizes rather than in cold cash.
Rick Carroll, a reporter friend of mine, and an old hand in Japan, taught me pachinko in Nagoya, sitting down at a machine and deftly shooting some little steelies around the board for a few minutes, paying about three 100-yen coins (about $1 each) for the privilege.
“Here, let me try that,” I said as Rick gave up his seat to me and moved on to potentially more fertile mechanisms. For the first time in my life, then, I played pachinko, inserting just one 100-yen coin in the slot and then twisting some kind of a doorknob-like handle.
Suddenly all kinds of whistles and bells seemed to break loose. Lights began to flash. An attendant ran over with a colored flag to place on my machine, gushing something I couldn't understand. With a steady roar, steel balls began to spit and pour from the mouth of the mechanical monster in front of me, and the man had to hooked on a special plastic tray to catch them all.
It seemed like it took five minutes for the tray to fill up with everything the machine had to disgorge. With sign language, the attendant motioned that I should carry it -- a heavy task -- over to a counting machine. In a few seconds, it toted up, I believe, some 3000 pachinko balls.
For these, I was given a group of mysterious small boxes gathered together in a larger cigar box, together with a chocolate bar. Instinctively the attendant knew I was not going to be satisfied with a new toaster.
“Come,” he said. “Get money.”
Now he was speaking my language.
He led me outdoors and on a long walk down the street and through an alley to what appeared to be some kind of a small shop. I might have been a worried, except that I was followed by Rick and a few friends who were witnessing these awesome events.
At the store, the woman behind the counter ignored the candy but counted and stashed the boxes, and then handed over 5000 yen in cash (about $40). I calculated later that she might have taken around 1000 yen in commission. Later, back at the hotel, I used my new wealth to buy us all a round of drinks. (We should have gone to a neighborhood bar. It didn't go quite far enough at the Hilton.)
A good journalist, my friend Rick interviewed me as to when I was going to try my luck at pachinko again.
“Never,” I told him. “I have retired as a totally undefeated champion.” And I still am.
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