In this issue of Discover Vintage America, you’ll read about the storied history of the pinball machine, from the controversy it faced in the game’s early days to its current iteration as a mainstay of dive bars and arcades everywhere.

But did you know that pinball isn’t only a Western game? Its Eastern version has an equally fascinating history.

Chinese pinball, or Pachinko, has its origins in Japan, but unlike Western pinball, it is still widely used for gambling in that country. Like Western pinball, there exist both manual and electronic versions of the game. The machines are vertical instead of horizontal, using smaller balls instead of the larger ones in our own machines.

With pachinko machines, a spring-loaded handle launches the small balls into a metal track, which guides the ball over the top of the playing field until it falls into the playing field. In that field are brass pins throughout, and several small cups at the bottom.

If, after bouncing around on the pins, the ball falls into one of the cups, the player wins, and multiple balls will be dispensed into a tray at the bottom as the player’s reward. If the ball doesn’t find its way into one of the small cups, it falls into a slot at the bottom of the machine, triggering a loss. Like modern-day slot machines, pachinko machines employ colorful graphics and LED lights.

In Japan, pachinko parlors used to be found in just about every large city, similar to our casinos. Those who play the machines and win take their metal balls to a parlor employee in exchange for small prizes, such as pens or cigarette lighters. And though playing pachinko for cash is illegal, many small stores nearby these parlors will allow patrons to exchange for money.

The pachinko machine first made its appearance in Japan in the 1920s, with public parlors opening after the end of World War II.

If you’ve ever taken a leisurely stroll throughout the picturesque, quaint downtown Overland Park, KS, you likely have a small list of shops you always make sure to visit.

There’s Penzey’s Spices, where I stock up on spices from across the globe. Oh, and there’s The Tasteful Olive, a merchant specializing in olive oils and balsamic vinegars.

Who can forget Ten Thousand Villages, that small merchant selling fair-trade crafts from nearly every continent on the globe? Though not an independent business, Ten Thousand Villages does have locations throughout the Midwest. Run nearly entirely by volunteers, these stores focus on the actual stories behind the crafts they sell – the people and organizations who made them, and the countries from which they hail. Its website states, “As a pioneer of fair trade, we do business differently, putting people and planet first. That means you can trust that every purchase and donation you make directly impacts the life and community of its maker in an under-resourced community. Together we break the cycle of generational poverty and ignite social change.”

When you shop locally, you put a face on the artists who make items like crafts and edible goodies by hand. This merchant does the same, but by putting a face on the people who create them, stores like Ten Thousand Villages makes this large world of ours just a bit smaller.

In this issue, we shine a spotlight on nativity scenes, both ones we might remember from childhood and ones that tell the story of Christ’s birth with an interpretation we may have never seen before. Ten Thousand Villages is just one of many merchants that sells such items this time of year.

Shopping at such a unique vendor can not only expose us to different cultures, viewpoints, and holiday celebrations – it can make us feel good about giving a bit to a larger cause. Unlike smaller, independent merchants, you might not meet the artisan face to face, but you’re aware that your financial support of them means that someone, somewhere, wants them to thrive and wishes for them a better community, a better life. The item you buy just feels like an ancillary benefit.

Far too often, we don’t truly appreciate traditions when we’re living them in the moment. This is especially true for those traditions observed during the holiday months.

When I was little, we would spend every Christmas Eve at the home of my maternal grandparents. Often, my parents, younger brother and I would be the first to arrive (and thus the first to get to the candy dish and munch on some chocolate peanut clusters, which Grandma made every Christmas). My aunts, uncles and cousins would trickle in right before the meal was served. We didn’t carve up a ham for the entrée – no, no, we were yuletide rebels who enjoyed tender, smoked brisket on little cocktail buns instead.

But the highlight of the entire evening – well, at least for the adults – was the completion of the small nativity scene that sat under the equally small Christmas tree in the living room.

Every Christmas Eve, my grandparents would put the baby Jesus figurine in an adjacent room, and it was the job of the youngest grandchild to carry the figurine into the living room and gingerly place it under the Christmas tree while everyone else watched. Eventually, this tradition evolved, and every year, the grandchildren took turns being the bearer of the savior. We grandchildren joked about how embarrassing the entire show felt as we shuffled our way toward the base of the tree, a chorus of “ooohs” and “aaahs” meeting our ears.

As an adult, however, I’ve come to appreciate the presence of such traditions. I know plenty of people who never had the opportunity to enjoy those with their family, and even those who didn’t have much of a family to begin with. Now, I feel fortunate that we youngsters were able to make our elders smile and feel surrounded by God’s presence. It’s still a memory my brother and I share every Christmas.

Last weekend I enjoyed my first visit to Merchant Square in Independence, MO, where I had the pleasure of interviewing Jace Sanders, the antique mall’s owner.

Before approaching the front counter to meet him, I browsed the aisles (each one named after a street, attraction or famous person associated with the area). In a booth within the ‘Harry Truman’ aisle, I came across a small item, which I have found myself researching ever since.

It was a brown leather wallet, stamped with an art deco pattern on its exterior. The inside of one of the wallet’s folds was simply stamped ‘B.F. McLean’ in gold letters. And inside one of the pockets, I found the following note, written in neat, capital letters:

Benjamin Franklin McLean, grandson of Wichita founding father Benjamin Franklin McLean. Ben was killed in the Battle of the Bulge in World War II.

For the past year, I had been telling myself that I needed a new wallet – mine was looking pretty ratty and in poor condition. Maybe this newfound treasure would prove to be a conversation piece.

Maybe this newfound treasure would prove to be a conversation piece. Only my friend Google would make that determination. At just $20, I snatched up the wallet and took it to the front counter, anxious to begin learning its story – or at least the story of the person who owned it.

When I got home, I Googled the name in the wallet and found that Benjamin Franklin McLean was born in 1858 (in Canada, no less), worked as a banker, and served twice as the mayor of Wichita (once in 1901-04 and again for a year, from 1923-24. McLean’s son, Benjamin Drew McLean, himself a Harvard graduate, bank officer and World War I veteran, married Elizabeth Anna Mabry, a fellow Canadian, in 1919; he took the helm of his father’s bank in 1930, when McLean Sr. died. The younger McLean and his wife would eventually have five children, one of whom, Ben (their only son and the owner of the wallet), was born in 1921. Not much else is documented about Ben other than he enlisted in the service toward the end of World War II and died during the Battle of the Bulge in early 1945. He was survived by his wife and a young daughter.