The films the King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters and Chasing Ghosts: Beyond the Arcade might have made known names of many classic arcade gamers, but did not necessarily explore the full backstory on one of them. Just days before the birthplace of competitive gaming celebrates it's Big Bang gaming event, the Denton Arcade Game Examiner sits down with the "other" Steve that once battled with Billy Mitchell on Donkey Kong, Steve Sanders.
Sanders can be seen in both the films mentioned above as the author of the first-ever strategy guide on Donkey Kong as well as the infamous score lie on the same game title. Here, we explore the rest of his story.
Q: How did you first get into video gaming?
A: I was born in 1964 and therefore I was a child when Pong became available. It was the very first console for home TVs. My father was a small-town lawyer and fairly successful. He and Mom spoiled me. I had a pong machine hooked up to the family's 25" TV back in about 1976 or so. I was hooked.
Just a few years later, our local pizza joint got a Space Invaders machine. I played for hours -quarter after quarter. I don't remember who told me, but I remember that I local fellow had learned the count-your-bullets trick to maximize the score on the spaceships. I thought that was so cool. From then on, I just assumed that video games always had a "trick" or "pattern" in them, and it was up to me to figure it out.
In early 1981 our town of 8,000 people - Clinton, MO - got its very own arcade. I went there nearly every day to play Galaxian, Missile Command, and Carnival. I got fairly good, but not great, at all of those games. Then, in the Spring, the arcade got a Pac-Man machine. To a much greater degree than any video game I had ever played, this game had patterns. I *loved* it. I put in roll after roll of quarters. In the summer of 1981, the summer before my senior year of high school, I played several games of Pac-Man every day. By the time school was starting, I had patterns for every single one of the first 20 screens. Only the 21st screen (the famous "9th key" was constantly killing me. Occasionally, I'd get through 9th, 10th, or even 11th key, but I was not having much luck developing a pattern.
School started and a friend of mine who had already started college came home the first weekend of school. He told me about a high-score contest at a bar in Lawrence, KS near Kansas University. My friend said that whoever posted the highest Pac-Man score on or before October 31st, 1981 at that bar/arcade ("The New Yorker") would take home a brand-new Pac-Man arcade machine.
I slapped my hand down on the table. "I can do it!" I said. "All I need is a 9th key pattern, and I can win that contest." (I was correctly assuming that Pac-Man wouldn't get any harder after the 9th key. After all, the Pac-Man slows down, the power pills don't turn the men blue, and you're constantly running for your life.) Anyway, my mother - who was listening to the conversation, said "Oh Stephen, you can't win. The contest is at KU. Kids come there from all over the country. There will be young people from California and New York. How can a high school kid from Clinton hope to win??"
That was it. The gauntlet had been thrown down. Now I *had* to win.
I went from playing 2 hours per day or so, to about 4-5. Every night after school, I headed straight to the local bowling alley, where my favorite machine was. I played and played and played. I played so much that I was dreaming about Pac-Man. I was day-dreaming about patterns. I'd be in Calculus class, not listening to my teacher, but instead trying out "new moves, new patterns" in my head. After school, it was off to the bowling alley to see whether my new ideas would work. By the end of September, I had a 9th key pattern. (By later standards, it was a poor one. But, it worked, and for the contest - that was all that mattered.) On September 28th or 29th I broke my first million. On October 31, at The New Yorker, I scored 2,886,030 and won. Nobody in Clinton, MO expected me to win - but when I did, I had their attention.
I had always been a "nerd" - not accepted by, and mostly ignored by, the "cool" kids at school. Suddenly, they were all talking to me and asking me about Pac-Man. "You should write a book..." several of them told me. "Nah," I replied, "Pac-Man is now an old game. It's on the way out. A book wouldn't sell." In early December, a paperback came out entitled "Mastering Pac-Man." It was a million copy bestseller. Ouch.
Q: You wrote a book on how to score high on Donkey Kong. How did that deal come about?
A: At The New Yorker arcade in Lawrence, they had a brand-new game I had never seen in Clinton. Donkey Kong. I played it several times in October, in between Pac-Man games. I instantly fell in love. Nothing could beat Pac-Man, but Kong was awfully close.
Unfortunately, Clinton didn't get a Kong machine for months and months. However, I found at that a Taco Via fast-food restaurant - in nearby Warrensburg, MO (only a half hour's drive) had one. In those days, every restaurant, convenience store, gas station, etc. had at least one arcade machine. I had found my new hang-out: Taco Via.
About every 3rd day, I'd take a roll of quarters and drive to the 'Burg. It would take me about two or three hours, and I'd play the whole roll. By mid-February, I was up to about 175,000 or so and couldn't find anyone who could beat me.
Then, around Valentine's day or so in 1982, I was eating breakfast with my family. We had The Today Show on in the background. By this time, video games in general, and Pac-Man in particular were an American cultural phenomenon. EVERYONE was play games. Time magazine even did a cover story on how Wall Street bankers were stopping off at the arcade for a game or two before heading on home. On the Today Show that morning, Bryant Gumble and Jane Pauley announced a brand-new video game with great fanfare. "Ms. Pac-Man will soon be in an arcade near you." Like the summer before, I slapped my hand down on that same table. "That's it!" I exclaimed. "I'm writing a book." Mom and Dad just looked at each other. I don't think they said a word.
At school, during the lunch hour, I headed to the pay phone. I dialed the operator and asked for information. "Bantam Books in New York City please." She gave me the number. Please dial it and forward the charges to my home phone. (Back then, you could do that kind of thing.)
I chose Bantam Books out of thin air. I have always been a voracious reader, and in those days, I bought many, many novels at the dime store. Most of them were published by Bantam. So, not knowing any better, I just called them. Ring. Ring. "Bantam Books," said the receptionsist. "Yes, please put me through to the person in charge of your video game books." I simply assumed, without knowing, that there would be such a person. Well, in 1982, I was correct. "Jack Looney's office. How may I help you?" "Yes, I'd like to speak to the person in charge of your video game books." "Please hold for Mr. Looney." Pause. "Jack Looney speaking."
I explained to Mr. Looney who I was, and why I was calling. I told him about my success at the Pac-Man tournament and that I wanted to write a book on Pac-Man. "We've already got a Pac-Man book under contract. What other games are you good at?" Instantly, I said "Donkey Kong." "How good are you at Kong?" he asked. Well, at this point, I was a bit stumped. He wasn't asking me my high score, he was asking me to compare myself to others. All I could tell him was that I could walk in to any arcade in Kansas City and beat whatever the high score was. (I was doing this now nearly every weekend. I'd make the 90 minute Saturday drive just to show off at the arcade.) But, I sensed that Looney wanted more and better information about my prowess on Kong than that.
Sure enough, Looney told me to contact Walter Day in Ottumwa, Iowa. He told me that the Twin Galaxies arcade was tracking video game world records. He gave me Walter's number, and told me to call him back after talking to Twin Galaxies.
Incidentally, this is one proof - of many - that Walter has always been a marketing genius. He knows how to draw attention to video games and to his projects. It had only been 10 days earlier that Walter had sent out a press release announcing that Twin Galaxies was the place to call if you wanted to find out the world record on a game. Already, a book executive in New York city was taking notice.
While still on the payphone, I called Ottumwa, Iowa. Walter answered. I explained the reason for my call and told him that my high on Donkey Kong was 175K. "Well," said Walter "that's the highest score we've heard of. Unofficially, you've got the world record." "Thank you very much! That's exactly what I needed to know." I called Looney back.
Within about two weeks and one writing sample later, I was at home waiting for the phone to ring. Jack Looney had promised to call me with a decision. My English teacher, an unpublished poet, was giddy. She told me "Steve, people work their whole lives to get published. Whatever he says, DON'T ARGUE. Just be thrilled that you're getting the chance of a lifetime. He'll want to give you an 'advance' as they do with all authors. It will probably be small, because you're only a high school student. Maybe $500. Just take it."
Of course, at the time I was working, part-time, for $3.15 per hour after school at Godfather's Pizza. $500 might not have sounded like much to my English teacher, but two month's earnings sounded awfully good to me.
Ring. "Hello," I said, excited. "Steve, this is Jack Looney. We want to put you under contract to write a book on Donkey Kong. We're doing a set of four books, and we're naming them 'The Video Master's Guide to..." and yours will be one of the four. The other 3 are Pac-Man, Defender, and Centipede. Can you finish the book by the end of March?" Four weeks, I thought. "Sure!" I said. "Great. We'll pay you $5,000.00 in advance for the first 40,000 copies. If you sell more than that, we'll pay you 15% of the $1.95 cover price for each copy." I nearly fainted.
The book sold 38,000 copies. Of course, I was disappointed that I wouldn't be making more money. After all, I had quit my job at the pizza place. Years later, during law school, I found out that the book publishing industry has a particular numerical benchmark that it uses to determine whether a book is a "bestseller." 25,000 copies. From then on, I've threatened to insist on being introduced as "best-selling author, Steve Sanders." I resist the temptation in fear that one of my colleagues might actually ask me the title of the book.
Q: It has been documented that upon losing your listed Donkey Kong records that you began to fabricate new scores. Looking back, what was going through your mind on that at the time and how do you feel about it today?
A: I will never live down the shame and embarrassment I brought upon myself when I began to lie about my high scores. Oh my. Walter had gotten back in touch with me. He was creating an official Twin Galaxies poster to be sent to arcades all across the country. He was going to publish world records, the players names, and make us all famous. However, he told me, someone had beaten my Donkey Kong score. By a lot. It was now early May and my Kong score were up around 400K or so. But someone from North Carolina had reported a score well over 900K. (Footnote: 900K is chump change by 21st century standards. But in 1983, six months after the Life magazine photo, nobody, but nobody believed the 900K score was real. We still don't. He never came to any contest to play live. Ever.)
The poster was published, and my name wasn't on it. Later that month, I got my first kill screen. 846,000. I still have a photo of the screen with the score. Of course, not only was the score unofficial, because I got it on my home machine (I bought a Kong machine with my check from Bantam), but it was also not performed on what would later come to be known at TGTS - "Twin Galaxies Tournament Settings." I had achieved a kill screen on my 7th man (the settings on Kong can be changed to as many as 6 men, plus 1 bonus). Worse, my machine was an "original" chip machine. Shortly after Kong became uber-popular, Nintendo released an upgrade chip to arcade owners. It was designed to make the game harder so that punks like me couldn't play as long on one quarter. On the original chip, you could ensure that a barrel would never come down a ladder onto your head. That made those pesky barrel boards, of which half the game is comprised, quite a bit easier.
I didn't know what to think of that Kill Screen. At the time, players were just starting to call one another, just starting to "meet" through our common connection at Twin Galaxies. I had not yet been introduced to Billy Mitchell. All I knew was that my Pac-Man machine had a similar kill screen. (I had used the machine's "rack test" to advance the game. Once you rack-advance past the now-famous split-screen, the game continues.) I theorized that someday I find a way to beat Pac-Man's split screen. I presumed I could do the same on Donkey Kong. Someday.
I wanted to get on that next poster so bad I could taste it. I was the author of one of the only two books you could buy on Donkey Kong. I "deserve" to be on the next poster, I said to myself. So, I decided to lie. I called Walter shortly after that kill screen achievement and told Walter told him I had scored 1.5M. As I recall, somebody else had already claimed 1.2M. I had to beat that.
Meanwhile, I had just graduated high school. Another kid, this one had just completed his junior year, called Walter. He inquired about the Kong scores. When Walter told him over, 900K, 1.2M and 1.5M, he requested the names and phone numbers. Then he called the other two players first. He saved the last phone call for me.
This kid had also gotten to a kill screen. Unlike me, he assumed (correctly, as it turns out) that there was absolutely now way past it. Also unlike me, this kid had absolute integrity. He would not - COULD NOT - lie about a video game score. Billy Mitchell was determined to expose us as liars.
Billy and I talked over the summer on several occasions. Always he'd ask me about my scores, and more particularly, about Level 22, 25 meters. The kill screen. Of course, I could speak with accuracy about it, because I had actually been to it. (Later, Billy and I figured out that I was probably the first person ever to play to a kill screen. Billy did it just a few weeks after I did. But, much more significantly, Billy did achieved the kill screen on TGTS. I was nowhere near that good.) When Billy would ask how I was getting past 22-1, I'd just say "Simple. Sometimes the game just randomly doesn't kill me on that screen. Sometimes, 22-1 just behaves like every other round." Hah! What utter ridiculousness. I thought I'd get by with the lie because: A) Walter wasn't demanding much in the way of proof - mostly he just took our word for it, and B) many games were filled with seemingly random events, none moreso that Donkey Kong. I figured that Billy, and others, would believe that DK might randomly NOT throw a kill screen at you every few games. Anyway, I *had* to be on that next poster. I *had* to have the notoriety.
Later, in the Fall of 1982, I told my parents I wanted to drop out of college to pursue a "career" as a professional video game player. Walter had called and told me that the dozen or so players with records on the top games would get our picture in Life Magazine. He told me I'd have to improved on my Kong score - 1.5M was no longer enough. Some other player was now recognized at the top scorer at over 2M.
"No problem," I thought to myself. I'll just wait until a very few days before the event, and I'll call Walter with a new score. That's how the 3M score - my "infamous" score, was born. (To make matters worse, I was claiming 4M on Pac-Man, a beyond-split-screen score, and 300K+ on Ms. Pac-Man, unthinkable in 1982 before the development of the clumping technique.)
Of course, as The King of Kong recounts, at Life magazine, Billy and I played head-to-head. I scored over 200K. Not bad. At the time, no one else in the Life magazine picture could score over 175K. Except Billy. He scored over 800K on his first man, and got to a kill screen with his 2nd. Needless to say, a true world record was established and a real champion was born.
But, no one except me, realized that Billy was better than all of us. Billy and I stayed in touch. We spoke on the phone nearly every day. (Which was expensive back then. Like I said, my parents spoiled me.) Eventually, my conscience got the better of me. I couldn't take it. I had to tell the truth.
The DuPont family had contacted Walter about forming a national video game team. They were investing between 2 and 3 million dollars into a venture called The Electronic Circus. By this time, I had established myself as a legitimate player (more on this later), and was going to be on the team (even though I had not yet confessed my lies). In fact, I was named "team captain" of that very first "national video game team." (Sometimes, Walter refers to the team that formed after the Electronic Circus closed as the "first" team. I'm not sure why. At the EC, Walter and the DuPont promoter - a man named Jim Riley - always referred to our team as "The National Video Game Team.")
I had to come clean. I couldn’t face Billy, Walter, and the other folks whom I now called “friend” and continue to lie. So, I confessed. In writing. I wrote a letter to the ten or twelve top players and to TG. I confessed that I had lied about DK, Pac-Man, and Ms. Pac-Man, and, I asked for their forgiveness. To the great credit of Billy and Walter, both of them did. I stayed one the team, and by God’s grace, regained my integrity.
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Thanks to Steve Sanders for taking time out of his busy schedule. Tomorrow will see Part 2 of this sit down with Mr. Sanders where Denton Arcade Game Examiner asks him his thoughts on The King of Kong and what he knows about the long-standing plans of a major gaming goal of his friend Billy Mitchell.
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