When my nephews Andrew and Matthew were 10 and 8 years old, I took them down to the Jersey shore for a day of sun and fun. They were especially interested to visit the arcade on the Boardwalk, so that was our first stop. Miles and miles of games were laid out in rows -- pinball machines, simulated racing cars, one-armed bandits and hundreds of others -- enough to keep two boys entertained for several hours.
When they saw all of the prizes they could win by earning tickets on the games, they decided to pool their winnings so they could get something better than either could win alone. They were undecided about what prize to strive for. The shelves were full of everything two young boys could ever want -- from motorized model cars to rock star memorabilia. Their debate and negotiation process continued for about 10 minutes, until they spied a locked cabinet that contained porcelain figurines. Both of them pointed at once to a finely crafted glass elephant about 8 inches tall, and their eyes lit up. Their mother collected elephants and they thought this would be a great addition to her menagerie. The price tag said 20,000 tickets. Proud that they were such good-hearted boys, I handed them each a roll of quarters and off they went. Let the games begin.
I checked up on them every few minutes, gathering up the tickets they had won into a plastic bag. We were keeping a running total so we'd know when they had enough to buy the elephant. On one check-in, I found them at a game I had never seen before. It was not electronic like the others -- it was like a miniature skee-ball alley, except that it was up on legs. Matthew was putting the wooden ball into play, rolling it into the alley; Andrew was capturing it with a hooked stick and guiding it into the 100-point hole. The machine was shooting out volumes of tickets with clocklike regularity. I called a halt to the action and asked the boys what they were doing.
They explained that they had found this cool stick behind the machine and since they had begun to use it, they had only had to put one quarter into the machine. Every time they won the game, it gave them new balls to use without paying. I told them that I was pretty sure the stick wasn't part of the game -- that it was there for the attendant to use when balls got stuck in the alley way. I encouraged them to continue without it, saying I thought they were talented enough to win their tickets fair and square. They looked only a little sheepish as they put the stick back behind the machine. They hadn't thought of it as cheating -- just as being opportunistic. I felt a sense of satisfaction that in a very small way, I'd helped to shape the character of their young lives.
About an hour later, we were pretty sure we had enough tickets to turn in to get that elephant. But just to make sure, we divided our rolls of tickets into groups of 10 and counted them again. Sure enough, we were well over the 20,000 mark. I handed the plastic bag to the boys to take up to the counter.
They returned to me a few minutes later with downcast faces. "The lady said we were still short 4,000 tickets," Andrew told me. I approached the lady -- actually a teenaged girl trying to do a good job on her first summer job. I asked for an explanation, assuring her that we had double-checked our ticket total. "Oh," she said. "We don't actually count the tickets. We weigh them on a scale in the back." I told her to go weigh them again. When she returned, she said we were still short 2,000 tickets. I asked her to go get her manager. She said he wasn't expected back for several hours. Just to make sure, I asked her for a confirmation. "What you are telling me," I said "is that despite the fact that we know we have more than enough tickets, because of the way your scales are set, you will not give us the elephant until we produce 2,000 more tickets." I don't think she liked the way I had worded it, so she said, "I'm not allowed to give you the prize until the scales say so."
I motioned to the boys to follow me, trying not to look too conspicuous. As soon as we were out of the line of sight of the counter, I shifted directions and moved over to the skee-ball machine on legs. I handed Matthew a quarter. I retrieved the hooked stick from behind the machine and handed it to Andrew. "Gentlemen," I said (I always call them that when I want to get their attention.) "Let's see how quickly you can generate another 2,000 tickets. I'm going to stand guard here to make sure you aren't interrupted."
It took them only a few tries to get back into their rhythm. Tickets were shooting out so fast, I couldn't get them gathered up before they fell to the floor. When we had another 2,000, we went another couple of rounds to make up for any additional "correction" to the scales the attendant might have made in our absence. Fully satisfied that we had enough to tip the scales over the top this time, we made our way back to the counter and laid out that new bunch of tickets. A few minutes later, we exited the arcade with that glass elephant in the beach bag, carefully wrapped in tissue paper and packed in a little box.
Now I'm not sure what lesson those boys learned from their experience. You'd have to ask them. (They are now 30 and 28 years of age.) They may well tell you that they attained their excellent characters by doing exactly the opposite of what their Aunt Margaret has tried to tell them over the years.
I only know that I was bound and determined there was one lesson they were NOT going to learn that summer day -- that if some unprincipled person or corrupt system is trying to take advantage of you, you are powerless to do anything about it.
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