Mighty Morphy Power Attack – Part 1: Call to Arms
- Sign up to get a free auction catalog for the event of the decade. Email alenyenDX@gmail.com for details
- Read the official Press Release here
- Here’s the ToyboxDX Everything Morphy Page
- Discuss it in Cafe Chogokin
“Can you identify Japanese robots?” Er. “Yes!” And so it began…
The plan sounded simple: fly in to PA with a team of Experts to catalog 1700 Japanese vintage toys in 50 hours. Unit 1: Sanjeev for the vinyl, Fraser for the vintage, Gradwell for his muscle, and me for my berserker focus. SOUNDED simple because we’re stupid and apparently can’t count. Because even though we’re laughing now that it’s over, none of us were really ready for the tragic denouement, the brutal climax, the death-move, that WAS:
PART 1: Call to Arms / Alen’s Song
The sky above Philadelphia is a cardboard gradient, running from blue to black. It’s edged with silver borders, and high in my mind’s eye, a red oval floods the road with a vintage light.
We’re 15 miles north / north-west of Philadelphia, cruising through something called “King of Prussia,” packed to the edges with cameras, computers and reference books. I say “cruising” but tearing is more appropriate, though even that word connotes an element of control which is absent at the wheel.
Josh is a fucking madman in the curves, throwing our emasculated Hertz “Granny” Edition Mustang through blocks of stalled cars using any surface he can find. He’s taking an exit — no, he’s borrowing the exit RAMP — to slingshot between a merging semi and an oil truck doing 90. Horns blare and brakes squeal, and as Josh uses his RISD training to “create” a lane, impending death causes my spine to squirt out an image of the Millenium Falcon spiraling through tightening corridors on its way to a destructive and predictable climax. Damn you Lucas! Even in my final moments, your filthy god fingers are mushed all over our lives…
We pull between the trucks with inches to spare. The stink of toxic burning plastic floods the cabin, assaulting all orifices. Sanjeev, seemingly molded out of glowing polymers, serenely bobs in shotgun. He keeps that placid asian smile going even as Josh spins the wheel and slams his head into the passenger window, Chris Brown style.
Fraser drives like a freaking madman. And I've ridden in a Taiwanese cab at rush hour.
Before I can figure out if I’m the gay robot or the wookie in this terrible scene, Josh suddenly starts laughing maniacally. He’s thought of something so funny he’s snorting, and crossing lane lines with his eyes squeezed shut.
“Ohmygod, do you know what we are right now? It’s like I’m Doogie Howser and you guys are Harold and Kumar, and we’re in the third movie…!” Maybe you had to be there, but this cracks us all up. Tires screech wildly and we careen from edge to edge all over I-276.
Josh is right. This is a tawdry movie narrative, and at the end of our cheap, airbrushed rainbow lays a heap of what damaged freaks like us call gold: bits of powder-coated zinc, plastic projectiles, limbs of polyetheylene, silkscreened tin, and thick layers of musty funk.
* * *
We arrive in Denver PA, and sync up with Gradwell. His car doesn’t suck, and we hide our faces in shame to have to park our shitbox so close to the Lotus.
We’re greeted by the awesomely pleasant Morphy staff. They call us the “Diecast/Vinyl Guys.” We gawk around looking at the sick and pristine tin stuff, rack after rack of Kentucky Rifles, and the most beautiful Corgi collection I have ever seen. These people know how to revere things; the displays are meticulous, tasteful and immaculate.
Morphy Auctions is like a church for our cult. This place is seriously cool.
Then we’re escorted into the sorting room with the esteemed and legendary Dan Morphy as our guide. We had seen some of the preliminary photos — excavation-like, with dozens of mysterious trays — so some kind mental map had been formed in the brain pan. That map was immediately shredded as we confronted dozens of long tables, and aisle after aisle of pull out drawers filled with limbs, missiles, parts and boxes. And that was just the gokin. The vinyls were overflowing from boxes hundred at a time.
This entire hallway is filled with toys, especially SOC parts. Try reassembling and reboxing 3 different Daikyumaryu variants at the same time. Gradwell and I never need to touch another SOC again.
Imagine like a couple of hundred of these trays, some with just accessories in them. And you'll have some idea.
The vinyl poured forth uncontrollably. We're talking Exxon Valdez quantities. Sanjeev looked battered by the second hour.This situation was so ENTIRELY out of control. We were pulling 1000 dollar pieces out of the racks left and right. Sanjeev was bumping into things, and Gradwell got quiet and started popping beers. Josh looked gaunt, like a robot skull. We were in over our heads.
So I pushed the button. We needed crushing power. It was time to activate the big guns. It was time for…UNIT 2…!
(((To be continued. With a ton more exclusive photos. Like, maybe 300 of them…)))
- Sign up to get a free auction catalog for the event of the decade. Email alenyenDX@gmail.com for details
- Read the official Press Release here
- Here’s the ToyboxDX Everything Morphy Page
- Discuss it in Cafe Chogokin
