Photos by Glenn Triest
Marvin
Yagoda, at
left, and
inside the
Marvelous
Mechanical
Museum.
tell a story (like the haunted
drunk), were made in the
1930s in Great Britain.
One of his favorite recent
acquisitions is an Art Deco
machine from London. In-
vented by British hand
surgeons, it features four
carefully crafted metal
hands which one can move
about to capture toys in the
center.
"It's the finest arcade
machine ever made," Mr.
Yagoda says. "It took me
three years to restore it."
A man who insists he can't
even program his own VCR,
Marvin Yagoda admits he
relies heavily on skilled
repairmen to get and keep
his toys in shape. "You've
got to search, and call and
call and call" to find them,
he says.
What he will not discuss is
the cost of his treasures,
though it's clear they are
more valuable to him than a
winning lotto ticket.
"These things are sweet
and I love them," he says.
"Dear Mr. Marvin:
I had the most best day of
my life. It was so much fun I
couldn't believe it. Well,
thank you for everything!"
Mr. Yagoda proudly holds
up a letter from a third-
grader at an inner-city
school. He regularly invites
Detroit students for an
afternoon at Marvin's. He
gives them a Coke and chips
and some quarters and in
turn receives a batch of
thank-you notes, most
signed, "your friend."
"I love your place," an-
other letter reads. "I wish I
was your son so I can get in
free."
"One of the nicest com-
pliments I ever received was
when I overheard a little kid
say, 'Dad, can I live here?' "
Mr. Yagoda says.
For the uninitiated, a tour:
"Look at this," Mr.
Yagoda announces, pointing
to a banjo that plays itself
with feet. He sings along,
"Ain't she sweet, ain't she
sweet," as the toes move
back and forth.
Overhead, brightly colored
miniature airplanes creep
by, one by one.
"It took 800 hours to build
one of those things," Mr.
Yagoda says. • "How can you
not enjoy the craftsman-
ship?"
There's an electric foot
massager and a machine
"One of the nicest
compliments I ever
received was when
I overheard a little
kid say, `Dad, can I
live here?' "
— Marvin Yagoda
dispensing postcards of
Benny Goodman, and
Tyrone Power in his Marine
Corps uniform. Stand in
front of "The Green Ray"
and it will tell your fortune.
"Shake Hands with Uncle
Sam" and see if you're a cold
fish, uncontrollable or a tax
cheat.
Overhead are flags of
Israel and pink neon signs
advertising soda. A life-sized
skeleton in red pajamas and
a stocking cap appears to
play "Waltz Across Texas"
as stuffed bears sing along.
Near the front is
Marvelous Marvin's oldest
piece. Made in England in
1910, it's a series of pictures
purporting to show an ex-
ecution. "Jake Wood Goes to
the Electric Chair" it's
called. In fact, the show
stops as soon as Jake is
strapped in.
"A lot of these were used
during the 1930s at seaside
resorts, on a pier going out to
the ocean," Mr. Yagoda
says. "That's when they
didn't have any video games
or pinball machines. This
was their amusement."
Dr. Norton Miller re-
members those days.
"It reminds me of when I
was a kid," he says. "I used
to go to Fairyland Park in
Kansas City. I'd get there on
the streetcar. It was a nickel
a ride. Everything was a
nickel back then: a ride, a
hot dog."
Today he's at Marvin's
hoping to win a silver metal
bracelet for one of his grand-
daughters.
"My grandkids love to
come here," he says. "Of
course, if you come with
them, you've got to bring 20-
30 bucks."
Though he likes them best,
the old machines do not br-
ing in the money, Mr.
Yagoda says. It's the
modern-day devices, the
pinball machines and video
games, that pay the bills.
And bills are certainly not
in shortage here. Marvelous
Marvin's has more than 800
electrical outlets.
Though it looks pretty
crowded, the museum still
has plenty of room for future
finds, Mr. Yagoda says. He's
about to put on display a real
skeleton, now resting in the
back behind a sign reading
"Frigid Embalming Fluid."
" 'Frigid Embalming
Fluid'— do you like that?"
Mr. Yagoda laughs. He says
he's going to make the
skeleton's teeth chatter
when he brings it out to the
museum.
Though he works one day
each week at Sam's Drugs
downtown, owned for years
by his family, Mr. Yagoda's
real home is his museum.
"You can see my heart and
soul in here," he says.
The place shuts down at 10
p.m., when all the ghosts
crawl back into their
barrels, the musical bears
stop singing, the ersatz
Siamese twins are enclosed
in a dark curtain. All the
yeshiva students, the busi-
nessmen and the children
are gone, too. Just one soul
remains.
"Sometimes I come in late,
at night and play with the
stuff," Mr. Yagoda says.
"And then I lie on the floor
and I just look all
around." ❑
Sara Moss takes a ride.
THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS 51