I have a soft spot for pinball machines.

It started in grade school with basic training at the Rexall Drug Store on Main Street. Advanced training took place at the Newsstand. My skills grew each hour I stood, fully engaged, in front of a machine like Chinatown or Dreamy. Five balls cost a nickel. That was cheap entertainment for us experts who could play for an hour or so on one coin.

In those days, the Newsstand was on Oakford Avenue between my house on West Main Street and the A&P grocery store.  My mother would send me to the A&P to buy groceries. On the way home, I stopped to invest a nickel or two from the grocery money change in a bit of leisure. The milk was often warm by the time I got home.

I got to be pretty good at winning free games. Given a few days with a new machine, I could rack up 20 or 30 free games easily. The number of freebies appeared in black letters stamped on a white wheel in a tiny window in the painted glass on the upright part of the machine.

My life changed one day as my friend Danny Boone watched me dominate a four-legged marvel. Eyes fixed intently on the descending ball, I asked Danny how many free games were showing. Without speaking, he pointed to the number on the counter.

"How many are there," I asked?

"23," he said. "Can't you see the number?"

Well, no, I couldn't. The counter looked like its normal fuzzy self to me.

But the incident got my attention. Not being one to depend on someone else to tell me how many games I had won, I decided I'd better find out if something was wrong. I made an appointment to have my eyes checked by Dr. Ed Prendergast at his office next door to the Newsstand. I could see the eye chart but couldn't get too far down from the big E before things got blurry.

I was in the eighth grade when Doc pronounced me nearsighted with astigmatism and fitted me with my first pair of glasses. I left his office, went over to the Newsstand and hopped on one of the soda fountain's revolving stools with red plastic covers.

In the near-empty room, I twirled around, marveling at each degree the crisp new look of syrup pumps, soda glasses and water dispensers. Then, on the other side of the narrow room, the magazine rack stopped me cold.

Wow! Just as sure as everyone who's old enough can remember where they were when President Kennedy was shot, I can remember the day I looked at that magazine rack to see sharp pictures and headlines on the covers instead of the blur I was used to seeing.

I decided to put the new glasses to the acid test with a game of pinball. As clear as today's sunshine, there they were on the counter, the first of the free games. I checked the counter every few seconds to be sure it remained sharp. What a great feeling it was to see the number through those thick, plastic rimmed glasses.

My affection for the pinball machine runs deep. Winning not only felt good, it gave me a shot of confidence at that tender age.

Pinball machines are still around despite the dominance of video games. Today's pinball machines are electronic, high-tech models that may include features such as voices of the theme characters. The last machine I saw took quarters and gave you only three balls. I guess inflation affects pinball machines, too.

Oh, yes. As fate would have it, I ran into Doc Prendergast 45 years later at the Dairy Queen in Richwood. I sat in a booth scarfing down a hot dog I wished had come from Jack's drive-in a half-century earlier. I started over to greet Doc who was in another booth. Before I got to him, he looked at me and blurted out: "Astigmatism, right?"

I think Doc says that to everyone. Doesn't matter. He made my day. I felt like I was back home.