In spite of its invaluable service to a generation of gamers, the American arcade is breathing what seems to be its final breath. One may assign the blame to any number of reasons; the overwhelming dominance of the home console, the increased resistance by outraged parents, the unbearable expense facing arcade operators, and even the current economic crunch faced by would-be gamers -- all of these have contributed to the decline of the arcade industry. Where, once, the neighborhood arcade could provide limitless entertainment, social interaction and development, and even a second home to hardcore and casual players alike, these beacons of digital entertainment have now all but disappeared.

Is this, then, the end of the story? Must these treasured institutions simply fade into the night, leaving the next generation to forge their memories with only a handful of ticket-redemption games at their local mini-golf course? Not quite, I'm proud to say. Though the American arcade has been hunted to near-extinction, there are still a few stalwart hold-outs, clinging to life against all odds. The future of one of gaming's oldest traditions lies in these remaining arcades, stubbornly continuing their quest to provide social gaming opportunities to the world, one quarter at a time.

If you've been following our retrospective series, then you will know that each of our stories has concluded with a bittersweet epilogue, detailing the final resting place of each featured arcade. Today's story, I'm pleased to say, has no ending: Of the many excellent arcades of my youth, one still stands, and I stopped by for another visit after a ten-year hiatus.

The Arcade: Starbase #1 (AKA Video Bob's Starbase), 1545 4th Street, San Rafael, CA

The Starbase is an arcade in the purest sense. It's not attached to a bowling alley, or a restaurant, or tucked away behind a convenience store; it is a business that relies entirely on the operation of a few dozen game cabinets. The awning out front simply says "Video Game Arcade," and when you step inside, that's all you'll see -- games, games, games, a change booth, and games. It doesn't sell snacks or drinks for patrons, it doesn't dabble in redemption machines or prizes (save for a single candy-crane by the door), and even today, when modern arcades have started using magnetic swipe cards to buy credits, Starbase #1 still runs on plain, ordinary quarters.

When reminiscing about the Starbase with my fellow arcade enthusiasts, I always offered the same reflection: "It might not have been the biggest arcade in the world, but it had personality." Today, those same personal touches can still be found in every inch of the arcade: the window bears a hand-painted spaceship motif and a placard of hand-written rules. The neon "Arcade" sign flickers away in its old age, and has not been repaired or replaced because neon signs are simply cooler when they flicker. Signs line the walls around the cabinets, proudly announcing special prices on games, upcoming tournaments and community events, and offering free quarters to students who bring in report cards bearing good grades. In the back, the men's room and ladies' room have pictures of Pac-Man and Ms. Pac-Man, respectively.

The game selection at the Starbase is a living display of gaming history, presenting choice selections from the last 30 years of interactive entertainment. Pac-Man and Dig Dug still chirp away happily, mingling with arcade versions of 21st century titles like Soul Calibur III and Need for Speed Underground. Directly in the middle of the gallery, a massive two-player Dance Dance Revolution platform stands directly opposite an aging cocktail cabinet, modified to run a selection of Sega's classic hits. In the greatest old-meets-new twist of all, a massive Tekken 4 cabinet with a thirty-plus inch screen has been rigged up to play iconic Atari/Midway titles, like Joust and Robotron. A small collection of pinball machines rounds out the library, including the same Star Trek: TNG table which I played over a decade ago.

With an excellent selection, engaging atmosphere, and great prices, there was never any question that I'd come to like Starbase. It was the location, however, that allowed me to love it, and turn it into my new all-time favorite arcade. Starbase #1, you see, is located only two blocks away from the high school I attended, which happens to allow its students the privilege of an open campus. Depending on who you ask, that's either the worst or best possible location for an arcade; for me, it was utterly perfect. The Starbase would become my second home during my high school career, and would claim nearly every free period I had -- in my senior year, when I might have 3 or 4 free periods in a day, it wasn't uncommon for me to spend hours at a time within the Starbase's confines.

Between games of Roadblasters, Mortal Kombat II, Super Baseball 2020, Cruisin' USA, Samurai Shodown, and Metal Slug, I could always find a good time at the Starbase. Still, even when the arcade went a while without seeing any new games, there was something that kept me coming back. I didn't fully appreciate it at the time, but upon reflection, I've come to realize just what it was about the Starbase that made it my favorite arcade: In all of my hundreds of visits, I never once had a bad time at the Starbase. As deep as my fondness is for the other arcades of my youth, the same could not be said for their records: every once in a while, I'd be challenged by someone who was a real jerk to play against, or my game would malfunction and I wouldn't get a refund, or something else would happen that made me head home in a foul mood.

Starbase never sent me away unhappy; not once. Maybe it was the fact that I was playing the games with a group of friends whose company I already enjoyed. Maybe it was the friendly employees, who would always issue a refund upon a game's malfunction, and have it fixed the next day. Maybe it was the fact that the Blood Bros. machine had a secret that only I knew, that allowed you to get 2-for-1 credits if you used the right-hand coin slot. In the end, though, the Starbase always seemed to care just a little bit more... and, as I discovered several years later, the Starbase actually cared a lot more than I gave it credit for.

The Owner: "Video Bob" Albritton

When I graduated from high school in 1997, I left the Bay Area for nearly a decade, and the fate of Starbase #1 passed from my mind. It was only after my return that I began to investigate my old stomping grounds, finding them mostly dead and gone, much to my dismay. It was with equivalent delight, however, that I discovered that the Starbase, my all-time favorite, was still up and running, right where I'd left it. I gathered up my quarters and headed out to central San Rafael, to meet the man who had kept the lights on all these years.

"Video Bob," as he prefers to be called, is in his mid-50s, and has owned Starbase #1 since 1996, having purchased it halfway through my own regular attendance period. He was not the founder of the Starbase, which opened as the city's first arcade back in 1982. Bob first came to the Starbase to offer his services as a repairman, having learned the art of pinball and video game maintenance through his natural love of mechanics.

The Starbase was not Bob's first arcade, either for employment or ownership: He owned and operated an arcade called Fun Junction, in Mill Valley, which he opened simply because nobody else had been willing to put an arcade in central Marin County. Bob told me the story of how he came to work on -- and appreciate -- games:

"I've always been mechanical, and loved any kind of electronic device or otherwise. I had a motorcycle which I'd rebuilt, and had it sitting in my garage for a whole month before I was 15 ½, old enough to use it," Bob explained with a smile. "So, when I saw the inside of a pinball machine, I was hooked. I started tinkering with them, and I learned to do repairs.

"There was actually a strike; a big company at the time had all the games in the 7-Elevens, and all of their repairmen went on strike. I got hired as a scab repairman for the summer, and by the time I'd finished doing that, I thought, 'Oh, I could start a business as a sideline, doing repairs.'

"I started that repair business, and ended up, a couple of years later, [meeting others] that had been making lots of money for doing nothing. As the industry started to slow down, they said, 'Oh, gee! I gotta work at this? I don't wanna do that! Hey, Bob, you wanna buy my route?' They would offer me their ten or twenty machines, in four or five locations, and I would buy existing routes and take them over.

"I did that several times, and ended up having one good game room location that was changing hands, and they were going to kick me out. I wound up renting the building next door, and I started Fun Junction."

Along the way, Bob parlayed his repair skills into managerial duties at a number of pinball houses and arcades, starting at San Francisco's Musée Mécanique, and its sister arcade on Fisherman's Wharf (where the Musée itself is now located). With unfettered access to the myriad games, he was able to discover his own love of gaming, and the seeds of his future enterprises were planted. "Once I was in an arcade and actually had keys to the games, where I had the special privilege of being able to play without putting money in... I can certainly remember several key games that I was hooked on. Tempest was one of them; Missile Command was another. Defender," Bob said knowingly. "I had callouses on my hand from going up and down with that little handle on the left."

Over the years, Bob would find himself stuck on several new titles from each era of gaming, several of which now have a home at the Starbase. Bob pointed out the Terminator 2 light-gun game, which had particularly enthralled him upon its initial release, and Bob's particular enthusiasm for driving games is reflected in his arcade's possession of several linked sit-down cabinets of San Francisco Rush 2049, Need for Speed Underground, and more. Somewhere along the lines, Bob confessed to me, the games became more than a business to him; he had become just as hardcore as his players.

"1942 comes to mind," Bob laughed. "I used to do conversions for Starbase in the back of my arcade, down at Fun Junction. They bought a 1942 kit, and I didn't tell them it was finished for three days, until I got to Tokyo and beat the game! 'Is it finished yet?' 'Yeah, yeah, I'm almost done! I'm on level 27 -- I mean, I'm almost done fixing it!' I literally stalled giving it back to them for three days until I could beat it."

Bob even explained to me what his affection for gaming had done for his professional skills, and what it had allowed him to bring to the many arcades he managed. "Games like Street Fighter, I was never that good at, but I would get good enough so that I understood how the game worked, and I could be a good repairman. I could tell when the joystick wasn't right, and I could replace it. That was something that it seemed like my competition wasn't doing. A button would go out, and it would stay broken for months."

It seems so obvious now, such a basic, common sense tactic, but I realized just how effective it had been when I was a Starbase regular. The games were always working -- nothing stayed broken for very long, unlike so many other arcades I had visited. Nothing spoils a gaming excursion like the sensation of being cheated, which is precisely how I'd felt after dropping a quarter into a game with unresponsive controls -- without so much as an "Out of Order" sign to warn me. "I think being a part-time player, at least, made me more interested in doing a good job at keeping this stuff up," Bob said, and it dawned on me why the Starbase had always been so appealing.

This arcade felt right for a gamer because it had been run by a gamer. Had the 7-Eleven manager ever played one of his own games? Had the UC Berkeley liaisons ever spent an afternoon in The Underground? In the same way one might not want to buy a hamburger from a vegan, it suddenly made perfect sense why I had always enjoyed my time in the Starbase. It had been operated, and subsequently owned, by one of us.

The Fight: Consoles, Concerns, and Costs

Looking around the Starbase, I was greeted by a number of familiar faces. The Neo-Geo cabinets were right where I had left them, most still containing the games I had once played, including Puzzle Bobble, Samurai Shodown, and Metal Slug. The Star Trek: TNG pinball game still held its place of honor next to the manager's booth, and I still knew the trick to make Picard tell Data to shut up. Then, in the back, next to a new pay-to-play PC area, stood my ultimate nemesis: Total Carnage.

Total Carnage, for those who have never had their patience tested, is among the most merciless, unfair, and downright cruel quarter-eaters ever inflicted upon unsuspecting gamers. It's the spiritual successor to Smash TV, and plays using the same dual-joystick controls, overpowered weapons, and general aesthetic. However, the enemies are quicker, the levels are larger, the hazards are more plentiful, the overwhelming numbers of your enemies are unbelievable, the violence is beyond compare, and most importantly of all, the game is a jerk. Should you manage to survive the first level, the game advises Smash TV players to flee from the machine. A few levels later, the game forces you into a mini-game, requiring the button-mashing skills of a Track 'n' Field player on speed -- and when you fail, it says "Nice Try." Assuming you managed to get all the way through the game -- which I finally did one day through sheer determination and $10 in quarters -- if you didn't manage to pass the extremely difficult final mini-game, or you hadn't collected enough bonuses over the grueling ordeal, the game still told you that you'd missed out on the good ending, and concluded with a cold "You suck."

The trouble, of course, is that Total Carnage is also incredibly fun to play. I could rarely resist dropping at least a few coins on the game on any given visit, just to let the game crush my hopes in its own overblown, hilarious way. When I approached my bitter rival this time, however, I found the machine turned off. Bob informed me that the aging machine had a faulty monitor -- thanks to varying levels of brightness which rendered it unplayable, the machine couldn't really be active for more than half an hour at a time.

Nearby, a few other machines had also clearly not stood the test of time. Bob might have been an excellent and conscientious mechanic, but the Starbase was starting to look a little frayed around the edges -- a symptom, I learned, of the considerable difficulties it was facing. My favorite arcade might still be open, but it was fighting a costly battle against the home consoles and changing marketplace that had claimed its brethren. It didn't have to be this way, though, Bob informed me.

"For me, it was about online," explained Bob. "There's been a big debate, in my industry, for ten years now -- Atari tried [putting arcade games online] ten years ago, with the 'Rush the Rock' system: Live online racing. It was very popular in this area... But, for some reason, the industry has shied away from any serious commitment to online. Sure, there's been Golden Tee Golf, with their tournaments, and several other companies have done online tournaments, but it's a big loss for the arcades, and it's really sad, that the companies didn't go ahead with this, and have more live, interactive games in the arcades."

Bob addressed the obvious question next -- what's left for arcade operators to do, in today's market? "What I've had to do is seriously think about what would still get somebody off the couch, and down to the arcade to play. What I've found, over the last couple of years, is, 'A,' you have to have pretty reasonable or cheap prices; 'B,' have classic arcade games with the classic arcade interface... in other words, you've got a steering wheel and a gas pedal; you're not driving with your thumbs," he said, demonstrating the tactile feel of his many racing cabinets.

"Finally, you need to have multiplayer stuff. Stuff you can do with more than one person. Because, even if you're at home, on the couch, online with your friend, it's not the same thing as standing elbow-to-elbow and battling it out on Street Fighter, or on my three linked Rush games, where you're bumping into each other and they each have their own steering wheel, and own screen -- not some little split-screen thing where you're steering with your thumb." Recalling an arcade-based birthday party, where three friends and I had spent nearly an entire hour playing consecutive 4-player matches of Daytona, I nodded in hearty agreement.

"For me," continued Bob, "the trick has been to make it reasonably priced, to make it attractive to a group audience, so we have a lot of multiplayer things to do here." Glancing around, apart from the odd Robotron or Roadblasters cabinet, that certainly seemed to be true; group visitors to Starbase could still team up to blast their foes to shreds in the latest Metal Slug, or tear each other's limbs off in Mortal Kombat. The absence of Total Carnage notwithstanding, Bob's arcade was still catering to the many gaming genres I had enjoyed as a teenager -- both wholesome and otherwise.

Of course, the ESRB had only just been established when I was a Starbase regular, and I had never heard of Jack Thompson, Hot Coffee, or Pixelantes. The political landscape had shifted heavily against games over the last decade, and while I was intimately familiar with its effect on home game developers, I was curious how the modern arcade might have been affected. In that regard, at least, it seemed Bob was in no danger.

"I have a mother that brings her three-year-old daughter in to play Area 51 with her, once a month," grinned Bob, "so I really see all types. And I definitely have parents... where I hear them saying, 'No, you can't play the gun games,' so I'm sure that I've got [NFL Blitz], and driving games, to counteract that, and give them an option that's not violent." In addition, Bob tells me, he tries to keep even his more violent titles skewed towards the more "acceptable" side -- his gun games, for example, allow you to blast aliens rather than humans.

I'm of the belief that NFL Blitz is easily twice as violent as Area 51, in terms of the sheer visceral thrill, but Bob's point is well taken. Some of the oldest beliefs die the hardest, and just as anything gun-related is an automatic no-no for some parents, for some, the arcade will always be a sick place bent on corrupting our youth. "Certainly, I hear people say that we're surviving on exploiting children, by taking all the quarters out of their pockets," Bob assured me. "I think, in this area, in Marin County, where we have pretty enlightened clientele and parents, I think they realize that they're renting some cheap computer time." According to Bob, just as my own parents had done with Starky's Deli, he's glad to offer his arcade as a safe haven where kids can stay out of trouble, enjoying their quarter-fed hobby under a degree of adult supervision.

A sign of Starbase #1 rules hangs in the front window, including a declaration that "We are closed to students during class hours." I don't know if I was just very lucky, or the rule wasn't very well enforced in my day, but I certainly spent plenty of time in the arcade during "class hours" -- just not my own class hours. (I was a very good student and only cut classes once, during Senior Ditch Day, and even then, I felt totally guilty, I promise.) Still, as one might expect for an arcade only two blocks from a high school, Bob has experienced his share of saber-rattling from defenders of "The Children."

"We had a couple of years where one or two teachers at [the school] were actually trying to keep the kids from coming here, because they didn't approve of it, and the smart student government kids actually went and exercised their free speech rights. They said, 'You know, if you're going to let us have an open campus at all, you have to let us go where we want to go.' As long as it's not, like, a bar, or somewhere they're obviously not allowed.

"One of my theories has always been, if you give kids -- especially teenagers -- a place to hang out where there's mild adult supervision, then they stay out of trouble, and they're good kids, and they just have fun. If you force the kids to go hide out -- when I was a teenager in Marin, we used to drive out to Stinson Beach, or Alpine Dam, and have a big kegger party. I don't see, really, how the parents think that's a better solution."

Bob certainly struck me as a man who knew his business, and after a lifetime spent in the arcade industry, that was to be expected. Sadly, however, Bob related to me the major difficulty facing the neighborhood arcade; a sad result of the general gaming landscape: A lack of affordable new products. "There was a time when there were lots of conversion kits coming out, lots of titles for the Neo-Geo system, some inexpensive upgrades just to keep it fresh," he told me. "Additionally, when they had a decent [new] game like Cruisin' Exotica, or something like that, it was $7,000 a seat -- a lot of money, but not so much that you can't make a profit on it.

"As this last generation of home games have come out -- the PlayStation 3, the Xbox 360 -- and the graphics have basically become better at home than they are at the arcade, the arcade manufacturers' answer seems to be to make something even more expensive and more high-end. So Sega's answer is to make some $20,000 two-player simulator, and Namco does the same thing -- Time Crisis 4 has these two huge 50" screens, and it's in the $16,000 range.

"Arcades became popular, originally, in the depression; the penny arcade. It was supposed to be cheap entertainment. Certainly, there was an era where it was pricier, high-end entertainment, but ultimately, in the back of people's minds, they still would like to just go out and spend a quarter for their favorite game." It puts street operators like Bob in something of a circular argument with their patrons, he tells me; picky gamers will complain about a lack of hot new products, but will then balk at paying higher gameplay costs in order to support those machines.

The Future

It's been rough on Bob and the Starbase, which today is struggling to make ends meet. Bob confesses to me that he was forced to burn through his savings in order to maintain his business during a recent neighborhood renovation project by the city, which shut down the sidewalks in front of the arcade for nearly two years. In a moment of candor, Bob told me just what the Starbase was now facing. "I'm really hanging on by my fingernails. I'll be very happy to see this place make it through the end of 2009. I'm really questioning, for the first time in a long time, whether I'm going to be able to keep it going."

It nearly brought tears to my eyes to think that even the mighty Starbase might be breathing its last. To see one of the brightest beacons that guided my path as a young gamer, and imagine its light extinguished like so many before it -- its loss would be a personal tragedy, and a great loss for the next generation, who would only know social gaming as an impersonal, online phenomenon.

Still, Bob was quick to reassure me that things might not be all that bleak. Bob has a number of sidelines he continues to pursue, both in and out of the Starbase. He's still working as a game repairman, offering his services to collectors to keep their pinball machines and cabinets in working order. Over his years in the business, he's amassed a fair amount of rare games and memorabilia, which he sells to dedicated enthusiasts. The Starbase also remains a popular spot for birthday parties and other private functions -- for a reasonable per-child fee, parents can allow their partygoing youngsters to enjoy the Starbase's entire selection on free play. Bob is working hard to keep the Starbase a valuable member of the community, and he tells me the response from his clientele has been promising.

More than anything, though, no matter how things turn out for the Starbase, Bob is enjoying the ride. The best part of it all, he told me, was the fact that he got to be a member of the "fun" business. "What I really like about coming to work every day, is that when people come in to my store, they're coming in to relax and have fun. I get to see people at their best and happiest... I see people coming in to have a good time, people who just have a few minutes to spend, a weekend father that's just got his son for two hours -- you know, where does he go? You can't even take him to a movie if you only have two hours. So I feel like it serves this public function.

"I'm always open on Thanksgiving Day. This year we were really busy, and I joke about it being the 'Take five dollars and get out of the kitchen, and come back at five o'clock' crowd! And I end up seeing a bunch of fathers in here with all their kids. This year, I had a father who spent $50 here on Thanksgiving. I think that's a public service, on a holiday when everybody else is closed -- we're in the entertainment business, sort of like movie theaters; we should be open and letting the people recreate when they have a day off.

"It's certainly not for all the money anymore, because a lot of the money has dried up, but the big plus for me is to see families having a good time; to see the kids' eyes light up when they come in for a private birthday party, and see all the games on free play. That kind of thing just makes my day."

It had made my day, too, and as our conversation concluded, Video Bob took out the keys to the kingdom, and treated me to several free credits at Robotron, Joust, Marvel vs Capcom, and Star Trek: TNG Pinball. I hammered away at the buttons eagerly, blasting bots and kicking Venom's ass as if I'd never left. Bob cheered me on from the sidelines, shouting out tips and applauding the occasional epic maneuver, and I knew in my heart that I'd come home again. There, at Starbase #1, the two of us were gamers, and we were in an arcade -- the perfect celebration and expression of our mutual hobby.

Thank you, to all arcades, great and small.

Got an arcade story to share with us? GameCyte wants to hear about your glory days! Leave a comment or drop us an email.

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