This information provided via the courtesy of Vintage Slots of Colorado, Inc.

If you have an antique coin machine and want to sell it, please send me an email. If I am not interested in it, I will forward your email to a collector who probably is.


The following information is the web version of Coin Op on CD which was a book all about antique coin machines and it was distributed on a CD-ROM. This book was written in 1995 and sold in 1996. Please take this into consideration when reading the articles. There are no plans to come out with version 2. However, we do plan on periodically updating the information on the web version.
The CD version of the book has pricing information as well as a dealer directory. Since the prices are out of date and many of the dealers/collectors may no longer be collecting the machine we have purposely left this information out of the web version. However, we do keep in contact with many dealers and collectors who are actively buying and selling machines and would be happy to put you in touch with one if you have a machine you are looking to sell.

If you are looking to purchase an antique coin machine you may also send me an email and I will put you in touch with a reputable dealer. Odds are, I will not be selling the machine you are looking for (since I rarely sell any machines).

Finding The Right Things In All The Wrong Places
By Dick Bueschel

"Where do you find stuff?" That's as typical a question as "How do you find stuff?" They go together, one or the other before the other one. Sometimes it's how, and where. Othertimes it's where, and how. Depends on the situation.
The Occidental Hotel, for instance. That was a where, and how. I had an industrial advertising client in Muskegon, Michigan, that made heat treated cast cam shafts, back in, maybe about twenty or so years ago, the early 70s. We spent the morning at the foundry, had a great lunch in downtown Muskegon, and headed back to the mill for final discussions. On the ride back we passed the old Occidental Hotel. It was one of those big 8- to 10-story monolithic hotels built in the center of most cities just before World War I that had all the new features; running water, bathtubs, telephones in every room and an enormous lobby with wicker chairs, overstuffed couches and ceiling fans. There was also a large sign out front that ran over a bunch of windows that identified some sort of wrecking company with a Swedish name. I knew I had to get back there.
The meetings ended at three o'clock, and my flight back to Chicago was at six. Time enough. So I hopped in my rental "compact" car (that's what they called down-sized cars them) and headed for town. Signs there were. "Keep Out," "No Admittance, And That Means You," and something to the effect that the building was being demolished, and that anyone that crossed the rope line was in mortal danger.
So I parked the car and went in.
The first impression was one of darkness. There were no lights, and I was in a corridor. At the end of which was Three Dog Night, or at least a radio blasting one of their latest recordings. So when I broke out of the corridor I was in the main lobby. One big room, with tumbled over chairs, a few ceiling fans still hanging, lose, by wires, and an enormous check in desk, all looking as if they were a set for a movie about the last days on earth after World War III and the end of Western civilization as we knew it. Except for the blaring radio and a nice old guy behind the counter, sitting in a torn lounge chair. "Can I help you?" he says, and I mumble something about looking for old vending machines and whatever else is still around. "Sure," he says, "we've got something like that," and gets up, walks over to the end of the counter and points to a small chrome Ford gumball machine. It's not that great, and certainly not even worth twenty five bucks, but what the hey, I'm in here, there's a machine, and we're off to a good start. So I come back with, "What else you got around here?"
Good question! He says, "Follow me," and we are walking up to the second floor on stairs filled with rubble, all right smack in the middle of the city of Muskegon. It's an adventure. And we can't take the elevator, he tells me, because the power was shut off weeks ago, and he's here to see to it no one comes in and steals stuff, and he's glad to have the company. So we go into a room. Deja vous. It was like every hotel room in the thirties, and early forties. A small writing desk, middle twenties styling, with awful thin turned legs, with a monongahide (really oilcloth, the upholstery material used before the coming of vinyl after WWII) seated folding chair and other sundry things. So I say, "I'll take that, and that, and that, and that and what else is there?" By the time he has helped me out to the car, with the small trunk remaining open to get the stuff in to it, I've got the gumball machine, desk, chair, a cradle telephone, plastic embossed cover phonebook and a medicine cabinet from the john. "What do you want for this stuff?," I ask, and he says nothing, so I push a ten dollar bill in his hand and he thanks me profusely. And I'm on to the airport.
I was a nice summer day, July, and the line had already formed at the check in desk for the sole United Airlines flight out that evening. Just about everybody was in shorts, guys checking in their golf bags and women in plaid preppy outfits with covered tennis rackets decorated with baggage tags. And in I come in a business suit, sweaty, tie untightened and unloading all of this junk from the back of a small car, setting it up in the line, and leaving it to turn the car in. When I get back everything is where I left it, the line has moved along, and it's suddenly my turn. "I can't take that stuff," says the clerk. "It's not packaged." Big moans from the long line that has formed behind me. "Step aside," says the clerk. Whoa! I didn't come this far to get bounced for my treasures. So I say, "Waddayamean not packaged? Those golf bags and tennis rackets you just took aren't packaged."
He has an answer; "Yeah, but that's sporting goods, see the sign?", pointing to a lettered sign that allows as how sporting goods can be conveniently checked in for baggage for quick pickup in Chicago. I snap back with, "Antiquing is my sport," pointing to each and every piece, saying, "That's my tennis racket, that's my golf bag, that's my hockey stick, that's my badminton net, that's" By now the line behind me has caught my plight, and start to give the clerk a hard time. "C'mon, give the guy a break," and "The sign doesn't say what kind of sporting goods," and comments like that. I turn around and smile, and people smile back, and the clerk folds. "I can't be responsible for any of this, it's your responsibility, we can't take any responsibility for the condition at the other end," all the time wrapping big rolls of yellow plastic tape around the desk and its drawer, the telephone, folding chair and everything else. And I get on the plane feeling mighty good about the Friendly Skies.
I don't know how many of you have ever been to the baggage pickup at Chicago's O'Hare Field, but it's weird. A travelling track circles out from behind a hidden baggage area and snakes its way around the room like some sort of wide gauge model railroad layout, and on it are the bags and packages and other items that were checked in. I watch as bag after bag and golf clubs and everything else burst into view through hanging black rubberized strips at the baggage area door. Suddenly the desk, standing on all fours, pops through the doorway and wiggles its way around the track, followed by the rest of my junk. Spontaneously people cheer, clap their hands, whistle and slap me on the back. It was a Golden Moment.
I still have all the pieces. The desk and chair are in my living room, the telephone is in the basement and the beat up Ford machine sits on top of a bookcase in my computer room. It's not particularly valuable, but the story is priceless to me.

Q. - These are pictures of two peep shows that I took at Meramec Caverns. They are supposed to be from the 1904 World's Fair in St. Louis. One still has its hand crank, and the other has been electrified and shows stereo cards of the fair. L. D., St. Louis, MO.
A. - If Meramec Caverns claims that these machines were at the 1904 World's Fair they just might have a valid case for one of the machines. Both machines were available at the time, and versions of both were at the THE SPECTATORIUM at the Fair. So it isn't much of a leap of faith to believe that these were actually at the Mills Edisonia in 1904. The fact that they're there now, in St. Louis, and are both old says it's possible. In fact, in the case of one of them, it's highly probable.
The only questionable machine is the one with the handle on the front. It is the American Mutoscope & Biograph Company MUTOSCOPE MODEL E "Eagle," nicknamed after the soaring eagle on the sides of the top castings. The earlier MODEL DL "Iron Horse" (so named because it was made out of cast iron, and had the illustration of a horse on its base) was at the Fair, but the "Eagle" didn't come out until January 1906, two years later. So it is not a Fair memento.
The other machine, the electrified one, is the Mills Novelty Company AUTO STEREOSCOPE, first produced in 1904, and probably for the Fair. The amazing thing about this machine is that it was electric when it came out, and wasn't modified later. Electricity was one of the great wonders of the early 1900s, and the St. Louis World's Fair was noted for its vast illumination and its marvelous starry look at night. Same for the AUTO STEREOSCOPE. It came in both plug-in and battery versions, with a plug-in most likely for the fair. And finally, it was the Mills Novelty company that ran THE SPECTATORIUM, and you can still see the Mills "Owl" logotypes on the upper corners of the machine at Meramec Caverns. So I'd say this was a World's Fair keeper, and the real thing.

Q. - I am interested in Mutoscope and Exhibit card dispensing machines, related advertising, and the cards themselves. What can you tell me about them? B. S., Vienna, VA.
A. - You are the third collector I have heard from in recent months interested in Mutoscope and Exhibit arcade cards and venders, making this the first I've heard of the card collecting specialty. It's almost as if a new hobby has been born. I don't know if you have seen my book Arcade 1 or not, but it has card venders in it. I am now working on Arcade 2 covering the years 1905-1930 which goes into great depth about arcade card venders and their cards, and it will reproduce a number of the cards. So will a book I am also working on for Schiffer Publishing called A Collector's Guide To Vintage Arcade Machines, which will reproduce many of these cards. But that is almost two years away from now.
As for finding these cards on the open market, postcard dealers usually have some, and some dealers even list them in the card files as "Arcade Cards." Barr's Postcard News will often include them in their auction listings. Prices were $1 to $2 a few years ago, but have climbed to the $3 to $10 level depending on age and content. This promises to be an interesting sideline to coin machines, and I can certainly see the interest (and prices!) growing. In fact, these letters got me off my duff to make me seriously look for them. Thanks.

Q. - I obtained information about my slot machine serial 502,203 on page 109 in a 1978 book called "The Illustrated Price Guide For Slot Machines" which I obtained through the Interlibrary Loan System in California. I am assuming the market value has changed a lot since then. We do have a problem. It doesn't pay off in the proper amounts. Can you advise? A. M. Sierra Vista, AZ.
A. - You have an exceptionally fine condition Buckley EXTRA AWARD CRISS CROSS in 10› play, serial 502,203, probably made around 1949.
You are right about the market changing since 1978. The book you got from the California library was written by me and was the first published price guide for slot machine collectibles. At that time the machine was valued at $425 to $475 in fair condition, and at $500 to $600 in excellent condition, which is what yours is. Since that time the machine has just about doubled in value, rated today at between $1,200 and $1,400 retail, which would be about $600 to $700 at wholesale if you wanted to sell it to a dealer.
As for the payouts, that's strange. With an all mechanical machine payoffs are based on a spring loaded arm that snaps its way through punched discs once the reels have stopped. I'd say that some of the holes in the discs are plugged and the arm can't follow through, or the discs are not aligned correctly. While machines like this aren't simple to repair, they are logical if you have the proper guide or manual. Most Buckley CRISS CROSS machines are rebuilt Mills BLACK CHERRY models from 1948, and these manuals are available.

(c) Richard M. Bueschel, 1995