Keeping the Old Games Playing
Note: This was one of those "evergreen" stories that journalists often dread: finding a filler story for the paper during the slow holiday period. I loved finding random stories, including this one while I drove through Martinez one day.
By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 8, 2002
Bryan Mao is a true pinball wizard, a man whose trusty hands have pried open the antiquated bellies of thousands of feeble machines and made them hum again.
Mao, 45, operates the largest video game repair business in Contra Costa County.
His office is a 4,000-square-foot warehouse in a business park off Arnold Drive, a place where old arcade units such as Space Invaders go for extended play.
Every month, the boyish engineer revives hundreds of sputtering relics from 1950s-era pinball machines to pool tables and jukeboxes.
A humble fix-it business that started in his Pinole garage in the 1980s, Mao's shop has evolved into a full-service practice for nostalgic-minded East Bay customers.
One married couple wanted a Ms. Pac-Man repaired because they had met playing the game.
"Most people in the yellow pages under 'Amusement' fix some things, but they eventually end up here if they can't," said Mao, also an electronics engineer for Surgical Dynamics in Alameda.
The growing $7.4 billion video game market has turned a generation of youngsters and adults into at-home joystick enthusiasts.
Microsoft's Xbox and Sony's PlayStation 2 game consoles have created digital living rooms, leaving once-popular public arcades fighting for quarters.
It also has turned folks such as Mao into a dying breed who cater to a shrinking but loyal group of pinball arcade fans.
Despite calls for help, he doesn't touch the new-generation consoles.
"They use very simple technology. And any time they lower the prices, I think they're using cheaper materials," said Mao, sitting in his windowless office.
"I believe they only want the machines to run a year," he added, "so you'll have to buy new ones."
Mao, though, has plenty of faulty flippers or failing power driver boards to keep his mind and hands operating.
Inside his 7-year-old Martinez shop, dozens of pinball and arcade machines crowd the floors like dead dinosaurs -- Star Trek, Attack from Mars, Bionic Commando and Pool Sharks, to name a few.
Nearby, an entire wall is devoted to hundreds of pieces that he uses to reassemble these 300-pound behemoths: screws, washers, changers, coils, darts, bumper caps and pop bumpers.
"I have 3,000 parts just for a pinball machine," said Mao, who was born in Taiwan and moved to the United States with his family in 1978. "It's a matter of learning how many things can go wrong."
It was his close friend Stan Van, a retired video arcade operator, who encouraged him to start his own electronics repair business in 1984.
"He's a good, honest kid," said Van, 64, who ran a popular shop in Concord for two decades. "I like him. If I were younger, I would have been partners with him."
In the early days, Mao would load his tools into the back of his Chevy and drive to affluent houses in Danville or Lafayette to keep flippers flapping or Pac-Man munching.
He still does "house calls," charging $60 for a service call and $60 for the first hour, during which he usually finishes the job.
Asked about the appeal of these outdated machines, Mao said, "I guess some people want to keep a piece of memory in their minds."
By Corey Lyons
Contra Costa Newspapers
Dec. 8, 2002
Bryan Mao is a true pinball wizard, a man whose trusty hands have pried open the antiquated bellies of thousands of feeble machines and made them hum again.
Mao, 45, operates the largest video game repair business in Contra Costa County.
His office is a 4,000-square-foot warehouse in a business park off Arnold Drive, a place where old arcade units such as Space Invaders go for extended play.
Every month, the boyish engineer revives hundreds of sputtering relics from 1950s-era pinball machines to pool tables and jukeboxes.
A humble fix-it business that started in his Pinole garage in the 1980s, Mao's shop has evolved into a full-service practice for nostalgic-minded East Bay customers.
One married couple wanted a Ms. Pac-Man repaired because they had met playing the game.
"Most people in the yellow pages under 'Amusement' fix some things, but they eventually end up here if they can't," said Mao, also an electronics engineer for Surgical Dynamics in Alameda.
The growing $7.4 billion video game market has turned a generation of youngsters and adults into at-home joystick enthusiasts.
Microsoft's Xbox and Sony's PlayStation 2 game consoles have created digital living rooms, leaving once-popular public arcades fighting for quarters.
It also has turned folks such as Mao into a dying breed who cater to a shrinking but loyal group of pinball arcade fans.
Despite calls for help, he doesn't touch the new-generation consoles.
"They use very simple technology. And any time they lower the prices, I think they're using cheaper materials," said Mao, sitting in his windowless office.
"I believe they only want the machines to run a year," he added, "so you'll have to buy new ones."
Mao, though, has plenty of faulty flippers or failing power driver boards to keep his mind and hands operating.
Inside his 7-year-old Martinez shop, dozens of pinball and arcade machines crowd the floors like dead dinosaurs -- Star Trek, Attack from Mars, Bionic Commando and Pool Sharks, to name a few.
Nearby, an entire wall is devoted to hundreds of pieces that he uses to reassemble these 300-pound behemoths: screws, washers, changers, coils, darts, bumper caps and pop bumpers.
"I have 3,000 parts just for a pinball machine," said Mao, who was born in Taiwan and moved to the United States with his family in 1978. "It's a matter of learning how many things can go wrong."
It was his close friend Stan Van, a retired video arcade operator, who encouraged him to start his own electronics repair business in 1984.
"He's a good, honest kid," said Van, 64, who ran a popular shop in Concord for two decades. "I like him. If I were younger, I would have been partners with him."
In the early days, Mao would load his tools into the back of his Chevy and drive to affluent houses in Danville or Lafayette to keep flippers flapping or Pac-Man munching.
He still does "house calls," charging $60 for a service call and $60 for the first hour, during which he usually finishes the job.
Asked about the appeal of these outdated machines, Mao said, "I guess some people want to keep a piece of memory in their minds."
posted by Corey at 8:52 PM
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