News
Playing Doctor. Penny Arcade Gives Free Games to Children's Hospitals.
When talking numbers in the games world, the conversation either runs in dry sales numbers or, worse, high scores. But I saw a number from Penny Arcade this week, the Seattle gaming-obsessed company with its hands in conventions, webcomics, and a merch empire, with a little more weight. As of today, they're touting a cash tally of $1.3 million, raised for their annual charity drive, Child's Play.
Running since 2003, the annual charity drive converts cash and gift donations into boxes upon boxes of video games and toys for children's hospitals across the globe. At its annual dinner and auction in Seattle on Tuesday, $190,000 of bids created quite a scene--as did the who's who of local game makers who showed up to offer unique auction items (and high bids of their own). But that was a black-tie affair. The way co-founder Jerry Holkins described one of the first Child's Play bounties of 2003 still wins me over as a basic story:
What prompted Holkins, along with Penny Arcade cohort Mike Krahulik, to wheel that kind of nerd bounty into hospitals? For starters, used toys and games can't enter children's hospitals for health reasons; new-in-shrinkwrap only. Child's Play, beyond being a really, really kind gesture, hits a nerve for gamers. A little kid, stuck for weeks or months in intensive care, with no Mario? Geez.
The charity's debut year of 2003 played a part, too. Penny Arcade built its reputation as a word-of-mouth enterprise—much like most game culture has, really—while the mainstream chose instead to cherry-pick sensational stories for their rare coverage of the hobby. It was the beginning of the Grand Theft Auto era, after all. You played games? Far as most people were concerned, you had been trained as a sociopath or a hooker-raper. "Let’s give these kids the Christmas that they deserve," Krahulik retorted when he announced the first Child's Play drive , "and let’s give the newspapers a different kind of story to write about gamers."
Six years down the road, has the charity leapfrogged over that latter purpose? Do game fans really need the leg up? Like I said in September, Penny Arcade itself is officially a known quantity in Seattle —how can you not notice a company with an annual showcase that draws thousands of gamers? Also, if a game's on a news program lately, it's probably because Kathy Lee Gifford is whipping a Wii remote around the Today show studio. Hell, this year's Modern Warfare 2 forces you to kill dozens of innocent people in a terrorism portrayal, and I've yet to hear a U.S. Senator complain.
Seems like people are starting to get it: Gamers can be well-adjusted, Wii-owning members of society. And look at all those budget and recession freak-outs... maybe it's time to move on and pump some money elsewhere, dudes. Game's over.
Or, well, maybe it's still on. Penny Arcade, more than any other gaming-centric outlet, has made its mush as a niche powerhouse, ignoring pretenses of catering to any sort of mainstream crowd. Why would their charity drive be any different? The call-to-arms from their Seattle home base was a sneaky tactic from the get-go, a means of cajoling the stigmatized gaming community to dump their empathy into a new kind of game—one with a high score that has surpassed $5 million since 2003.
This Saturday, local game store Pink Gorilla hosts Pinkapalooza 3 at Fremont's Nectar lounge, where attendees can participate in on-stage sessions of Rock Band between live-music performances by gamer-minded bands Kids Get Hit By Buses, Beefy, and Robotronica. All proceeds benefit Child's Play.
Running since 2003, the annual charity drive converts cash and gift donations into boxes upon boxes of video games and toys for children's hospitals across the globe. At its annual dinner and auction in Seattle on Tuesday, $190,000 of bids created quite a scene--as did the who's who of local game makers who showed up to offer unique auction items (and high bids of their own). But that was a black-tie affair. The way co-founder Jerry Holkins described one of the first Child's Play bounties of 2003 still wins me over as a basic story:
A single bin of [Game Boy Advance systems] was worth $4,000, and we had four such bins. That's above and beyond the seventy GameCubes the other twenty carts of toys, which at our best estimates come to around $175,000. Then there was a check for $27,000.
What prompted Holkins, along with Penny Arcade cohort Mike Krahulik, to wheel that kind of nerd bounty into hospitals? For starters, used toys and games can't enter children's hospitals for health reasons; new-in-shrinkwrap only. Child's Play, beyond being a really, really kind gesture, hits a nerve for gamers. A little kid, stuck for weeks or months in intensive care, with no Mario? Geez.
The charity's debut year of 2003 played a part, too. Penny Arcade built its reputation as a word-of-mouth enterprise—much like most game culture has, really—while the mainstream chose instead to cherry-pick sensational stories for their rare coverage of the hobby. It was the beginning of the Grand Theft Auto era, after all. You played games? Far as most people were concerned, you had been trained as a sociopath or a hooker-raper. "Let’s give these kids the Christmas that they deserve," Krahulik retorted when he announced the first Child's Play drive , "and let’s give the newspapers a different kind of story to write about gamers."
Six years down the road, has the charity leapfrogged over that latter purpose? Do game fans really need the leg up? Like I said in September, Penny Arcade itself is officially a known quantity in Seattle —how can you not notice a company with an annual showcase that draws thousands of gamers? Also, if a game's on a news program lately, it's probably because Kathy Lee Gifford is whipping a Wii remote around the Today show studio. Hell, this year's Modern Warfare 2 forces you to kill dozens of innocent people in a terrorism portrayal, and I've yet to hear a U.S. Senator complain.
Seems like people are starting to get it: Gamers can be well-adjusted, Wii-owning members of society. And look at all those budget and recession freak-outs... maybe it's time to move on and pump some money elsewhere, dudes. Game's over.
Or, well, maybe it's still on. Penny Arcade, more than any other gaming-centric outlet, has made its mush as a niche powerhouse, ignoring pretenses of catering to any sort of mainstream crowd. Why would their charity drive be any different? The call-to-arms from their Seattle home base was a sneaky tactic from the get-go, a means of cajoling the stigmatized gaming community to dump their empathy into a new kind of game—one with a high score that has surpassed $5 million since 2003.
This Saturday, local game store Pink Gorilla hosts Pinkapalooza 3 at Fremont's Nectar lounge, where attendees can participate in on-stage sessions of Rock Band between live-music performances by gamer-minded bands Kids Get Hit By Buses, Beefy, and Robotronica. All proceeds benefit Child's Play.
