Pachinko parlours part of Japanese way of life

Press, Volume CX, Issue 32406, 19 September 1970, Page 11

Pachinko parlours part of Japanese way of life

(By

KEN COATES)

Communist countries are importing pachinko, or pinball, machines from Japan because they consider they are good for young people. Certainly youngsters playing pachinko will not be plotting revolution, because as in operating poker machines, no mental effort is required.

But in Japan, a dynamic nation which places much emphasis on production, personal effort, material success and international trade, the pachinko parlour’s continued success is a puzzle.

Pachinko is as much part of Japan as the noodle. Millions of yen are tied up in the game—even the smallest town has its parlour, sometimes several. The real estate alone must represent collectively one of the richest fortunes in Japan where land prices are among the highest in the world. “Pachinko is at its peak in popularity,” says Mr K. Ito, manager of a large parlour in Tokyo, owned by the Jinsei Gekijo Pachinko Company. It is one of about 1000 which the company has in this crowded city of close on 14 million.

Each parlour, brightly lit and with garisi neon lights outside, has rows of jingling machines, played simply by flicking a small lever. This sends small metal balls spinning to the top of the face of the machine.

As they descend, the balls clink from pin to pin, and may enter a hole. If one does, the machine disgorges more little metal balls, and these can either be played or exchanged for cigarettes or other articles.

No special skill is required, and hundreds of people—including many students and high school boys—stand like zombies in front of the machines, flicking the levers and staring as the shiny balls spin upwards, then trickle downwards—most disappearing into the innards. Fifty balls cost 100 yen, or around 25c at Mr Ito’s par-, lour. One obvious attraction therefore is that playing pachinko is cheap entertainment.

An outlay of SUS2.SO lasts for up to two hours, even if the player wins nothing, and then there is always the chance of good luck. While it might seem money for jam, being the manager of a pachinko parlour has its problems, according to Mr Ito. The machines can of

course be adjusted so that it is easier, or more difficult, to flick the metal balls into the holes. It’s all in the way the metal pins are placed. Like all other business enterprises in Japan, pachinko is highly competitive. If Mr Ito adjusts the 450 machines so that it becomes too easy for players to win metal balls they can exchange for orange juice, shirts, . candy, cigarettes, butter or other goods, then he will not chalk up enough profit.. But if he makes wins too infrequent, the number of customers will fall off as the word gets about, and players will seek out another parlour in the neighbourhood where the chances are better. “Sometimes I wish I did not have such a difficult and poor job,” sighed Mr Ito when I asked him if he thought pachinko a worth-while pasttime. “But my son is at university and I hope he will become an engineer.” Another problem in the pachinko business is the profes. onal player who haunts parlours and actually makes a living from the machines. By careful study of the small pins on each machine, he can seek out those which are easiest to win at. “A good professional pachinko player can make SUSIO a day, but I have to put them out of the place if I catch them,” Mr Ito said. “They give the place a bad name.

“By staying at one machine for a long time, they lessen the chances of other players winning, and this inteferes with business.” Why do the Japanese, an intensely hard-working and civilised people, bother playing such an infantile game? Several people I questioned said they played to “kill time.” Some were waiting for a bus; others said they had free time in the evening before going home. Others said they had nothing better to do. Mr Ito told me about 2000 people passed through bis parlour in a day. Multiply this several hundreds of times and you get some idea of the popularity of pachinko in Tokyo. More women are playing

than ever before, he says. Most people stay for an average of 45 minutes.

There are 35 people employed at bis parlour which stays open from 10 a.m. until 10.30 p.m. In a country of crowded cities in which space for sport is difficult to find, and to participate in any sport expensive, pachinko provides a little cheap escapism.

Then there is the gambling instinct which exists among all people—there is always the chance of a cheap packet of cigarettes. And in Japan, incidentally, more people smoke than do not. Mr Ito was quick to point out that his company has not put up the price of playing, as some companies have, and this helps in a society of rising prices. “After all,” he said, “two yen, or half a cent per ball is very cheap. Pachinko, at the top of its popularity, is

a good business, with cash profits.”

Other countries are apparently realising that pachinko is a money-spinner, and a killer of free time. According to Mr Ito, Indonesia has bought 600 machines from the Nishijin Machine Company, and a joint venture has been arranged with that country by Japan, after a visit of the Indonesian Prime Minister. The company has also sold pachinko machines to the Soviet Union, Bulgaria and Thailand.

While pachinko may seem a contradiction in Japan, like the good businessmen they are, the Japanese leave no opportunity unexplored for capitalising on being the world’s leading country for both playing and manufacturing the ever-jingling, money - making pachinko machine.