Anybody who knows me fairly well can probably attest to my love of video games, particularly retro games. In many ways, I grew up alongside the home video game industry. My first console was the venerable (and much-maligned) Atari VCS—later renamed the Atari 2600. A good friend’s family bought one, and as soon as I sat down to play, I was hooked. I pleaded with my parents to get one, and we eventually struck a compromise: if I saved up $100, they would cover the remainder of the cost. It took me well over six months to gather the funds, but I did it, and I’ve been a console owner of some kind ever since.
The 2600 is a special machine, in my opinion. Yes, its graphics are crude by almost any standard, and most of its games are quick simulations or basic shoot-’em-ups. But over time, those early programmers truly mastered how to squeeze lemonade out of those lemons. Games like Demon Attack (Imagic), Pitfall! (Activision), and Yar’s Revenge (Atari) pushed the limits of what even the original engineers thought possible. I’ve always believed that’s the beauty of the system—like most things in life, it’s the limitations that force us to think creatively and come up with novel solutions.
With that in mind, I was stoked to find a very early "Heavy Sixer" listed on eBay for $20 (shipping included). The catch, of course, was that the seller listed it with the caveat: "Dead. Parts Only. As Is." Okay, sounds like a challenge to me…
I was pleasantly surprised when the console arrived. Even though the seller was shipping a broken machine, they had taken the time to package it well, preventing any unnecessary damage in transit. The system didn’t come with a power supply, so I borrowed one from my trusty four-switch "Woody" and hooked it up. After connecting it to a CRT tuned to channel 3 and loading up a copy of E.T., I powered it on—only to find that it did absolutely nothing. No black screen, no glitchy garbage, just the everlasting static of channel 3 on an analog television. The seller was honest! So, I proceeded to open up this relic of my childhood and take a look inside.
The console had about 40 years' worth of "patina," both inside and out—a lot of settled dust, caked in place. I started by blowing it out as thoroughly as I could with some canned air. While I had it apart, I gave the case a good soak in hot water with dishwashing detergent to clean it up. One thing I noticed was the manufacturing date on the RF shielding—May of 1982. That meant this was actually a "Light Sixer," not a Heavy Sixer. The Heavy Sixer/Light Sixer distinction refers to the number and type of switches on the console. The earliest models had six switches, while later versions had four. Heavy Sixers, the earliest models, are highly collectible and command premium prices when in working order. No worries, though—I was still excited to have a cool project to work on.
Looking over the motherboard, everything initially seemed pretty good. There were no noticeable burn marks or swollen/leaky capacitors. However, I did notice that one of the contacts for the power input seemed to be missing some solder. It looked like a chunk had broken off. Two out of the three pads associated with that component had massive mounds of solder, but the first had almost nothing in comparison. I could even see the tab of the component peeking through the board. Could this be it? Could it really be that easy? Maybe.
I grabbed my soldering iron and carefully added solder to the open connection, making sure not to bridge any surrounding gaps. One surefire way to fry these old boards is to accidentally bridge the first and second power connections. The second and third can be bridged, but connecting the first and second? That makes smoke appear—not ideal.
Once I finished, I hooked it back up to the CRT and tested it with Space Invaders… and voilà! Well, sort of. The system powered on, loaded the game, and started the familiar color-flipping demo that Space Invaders does. But the sound was full of white noise, and the colors on the screen looked washed out. The game played fine, though, which was a huge success—it proved the machine wasn’t totally dead. It just wasn’t feeling great.
After a quick consultation with an electronics-savvy friend, they suggested I replace the electrolytic capacitors on the board. Over time, capacitors dry out and notoriously cause issues like the ones I was seeing. Fortunately, a diehard community of enthusiasts is dedicated to keeping these machines alive, offering repair and maintenance kits for the Atari 2600. A quick Google search led me to a company selling a "refresh and caps" kit for less than the cost of a couple of decent pizza slices.
I’ll post an update as soon as my kit arrives and I get a chance to swap out the old components!
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