How one Scottsdale arcade became the crossroads for a generation of 80s and 90s kids.

This piece was written from memories of growing up around Video Round-Up. With Rick’s passing, it feels even more important to share what that place meant to so many of us.

There’s a certain kind of childhood that doesn’t really exist anymore.

We didn’t have phones.

We didn’t have tracking.

We had a bike, maybe some rollerskates if you were lucky, and just enough common sense to (mostly) survive the day.

We were told to go outside after breakfast and not come back until the streetlights came on.

And somehow… we always ended up in the same places.

In South Scottsdale, there were a few hubs.

• If you were a skater, you went to Sidewalk Surfer.
• If you wanted to practice, you hit the Wedge.
• If you had energy left — or quarters in your pocket — you went to Video Round-Up.

And if you were like most of us…
You did all three in one day.

It didn’t matter who you were.

The “nerd” kids had the library.

The sports kids had the Boys & Girls Club.

The skaters had Sidewalk Surfer and the Wedge.

But eventually?

Everybody ended up at Video Round-Up.
That was the one place where all of it overlapped.

You could rollerskate from one spot to the next.
Bike it. Skate it. Walk it if you had to.

And if you knew the secret?

You took the wash.

That was the real highway.

It ran right through everything — with shade under the bridges, ways to cross under busy roads, and just enough freedom to make the whole city feel connected.

You could start your day miles away and still end up exactly where your friends were.

And Video Round-Up wasn’t just an arcade.
It was a checkpoint.
A cooling station.
A social hub.
A second home.

Rick and Mickey ran it.

And they weren’t just owners.

They were the kind of adults who actually paid attention.

• If you were acting like an idiot, they’d tell you.
• If you were doing okay, they’d encourage you.
• If you were struggling… they noticed that too.

A lot of us didn’t realize it at the time, but they were steady in a way that mattered.
You’d walk in half-dehydrated from being outside all day,

dig quarters out of your pocket,

maybe grab a soda if you could spare it…
…and just exist there for a while.

Across the street, there was a Wendy’s.
Getting there sometimes felt like a real-life game of Frogger.

People would run across Scottsdale Road, grab food, and come right back.

No hesitation. No fear. Just part of the routine.

And it didn’t stop when we got older.
That’s the part people don’t always talk about.
We came back.

Once we had cars… we still came back.

After work… we still came back.

When we had kids…
We brought them.

You’d see people walk in with babies, introduce them like:
“Hey — this is my kid.”
To Rick.
To Mickey.
To the place that helped raise us in the first place.

And then life did what life does.

College. Jobs. Families. Responsibility.

For some of us, the visits got less frequent.
But the place never really left.
Because it wasn’t just about games.
It was about proximity.
Everything was close enough to reach,
but just far enough that you had to earn it.
Every mile skated.
Every bridge crossed.
Every stop along the way.
It was movement.
It was independence.
It was community before we had a word for it.

And somehow, in the middle of all that…

an arcade became the center of it all.

There are fancier places now.
Bigger places.
More advanced places.
But there aren’t many places like that anymore.

Places where:
skaters
athletes
gamers
library kids
all ended up in the same room…
and got along.

Video Round-Up wasn’t just where we played.

It was where we found each other.
And if you were there…

You know exactly what that means.

If you were part of it, I’d love to hear your memories.