Roger Sharpe reflects on his longtime friendship with Steve Epstein, the owner of the Broadway Arcade in New York City, who passed away recently.
June 24, 2020 by Roger Sharpe
Editor's note: The following memorial is in honor of Steve Epstein, the owner of the Broadway Arcade in New York City, who passed away recently.
I do believe that the majority of folks in the pinball industry know the friendship and bond I so dearly share with Steve Epstein. He is my kindred spirit, my brother from another mother and our more than four decades together speaks volumes about us.
Together we are, were and always will be an unshakeable force where all that we have accomplished couldn't have happened without being the best of each other and for each other.
The Broadway Arcade — that preeminent cathedral in the heart of the New York City theater district, is where the magic happened. It was a melding pot of actors, musicians and business people from all walks of life, and when one passed through that door, there was a sense of being home. That's where our paths first crossed, not knowing until later, that we were separated at birth. It was Steve's willingness to be open to my suggestions and the endless conversations we shared about pinball and life in general.
Our families would drive from New York City down to New Jersey for an afternoon of being together. We were an extended family and life's seminal moments were shared. Even Steve closing down the arcade on the evening of Nov. 14 1978 and greeting me in his brown tuxedo with champagne glasses filled and lined up because where else should someone celebrate their wedding? Playing pinball was part of our DNA.
The original corner location at 52nd and Broadway was a two-floor marvel — pool tables downstairs and the fresh smell of roasted nuts upstairs along with the display cases holding all kinds of wonders. And then, that array of machines — soon to also become the beacon of pinball paradise when the laws changed.
The ritual was simple in the beginning. Getting change from this young fellow wearing an apron holding those dear and essential quarters and, of course, the necessary bills if you were going to truly invest in that escape from the real world. After a time, as a regular visitor, we exchanged names and then the miraculous happened. Steve invited me into the back room where I could stow my shoulder bag and coat or jacket (depending on the season and weather) before venturing out to play pinball.
I was living in the city, and in the morning on my way to work, there was the stop at the arcade to bid Steve a "hello" before heading to the office. Lunch time? The trek from 6th Avenue and 55th and then 52nd and Madison, for some pinball and, of course, after work — where else could I go before heading home? More pinball.
This soon expanded as I would travel back uptown when Steve was closing the arcade for our marathon pinball playing as he was making collections from the machines and there was a "wall" to play. Maybe two walls of games to play. Each of us believing and wanting to know — "who is the better player?" Suffice it to say, we each had our days (and nights). And from that the seeds were planted for what ultimately became PAPA, which morphed into the IFPA and our mutual contribution to the world of competitive pinball.
I could go on and on with endless stories of Steve helping with Sharpshooter. Both of us bringing Barracora to life and so much more. Our paths, unfortunately, don't cross as much as they used to. There have been the infrequent golf outings in Florida and the random times of playing in Chicago. Those trips from long ago traveling to Chicago for the industry trade shows and sharing a hotel room with descriptions of that better left for another time. We are yin and yang. Connected at the hip and the flipper fingers and can't wait to play together again and again and again.
Photo courtesy of Roger Sharpe.