Even in its last hour of business, Playland, 350 E. College Ave., seemed to be living up to the lighthearted arcade nirvana that its name implied for 35 years.

The video screens flickered like vibrant portals into some other dimension. The pinball lights flashed like universal signifiers of a good time. The computerized sound effects blared like they were trying to leap out of the speakers and into reality.

If someone was still trying to get his last quarter in at the last minute, Playland's final 2 a.m. hour of business was still just as good a chance as any.

But an inevitable feeling of finality was hiding out nearby, like that unbeatable video game boss at the end of a really tough level. A moderate crowd of hardcore gamers dotted the block-wide facility with a detectable sadness. At least two patrons were filming the experience to immortalize that last night.

Employee Dan Hartman noticed that the last night's attendance was bigger than usual for late Sunday, comparing it to the average "slow football weekend" crowd.

"It hasn't hit me yet," Hartman, who has worked at Playland for about a year and a half, said of the arcade's closing. "It's probably not going to hit me until tomorrow when we have to start getting ready for the auction."

It was true that the games would all be sold and sent off in a few days, but the gamers present didn't seem to be ready to admit it. Mike Juhasz (sophomore-electrical engineering) used to frequent the arcade at least once a week, and made more of an effort to come in often once he heard its doors were shutting forever.

"It's depressing," he said. "My dad said he used to play pinball when he went here. It sucks that it's going out of business."

A fan of classic games such as Galaga, which Playland kept in tip-top shape after more than twenty years of existence, Juhasz said it will be hard to find some of the machines once the arcade is gone. He'll probably just play his old Nintendo and emulators on his computer to make up for the loss.

Some arcade-goers won't be so easily satisfied, though. Pat Kelly (senior-agroecosystems science) has been in the area since 1997 and was known in Playland as a pinball regular who came in to play the arcade's eight machines almost every day. It's not going to be easy to find a quick substitute for the 'Land, he said.

"Not with this variety," Kelly said. "Places have a machine or two, but they aren't anywhere near the shape [manager] Gene [Steele] keeps these machines... Even if we could find other places, the machines wouldn't be in this condition. I'd tell Gene, 'This light is out,' and the next day it would be fixed."

For some customers, however, finding another place to play games might not even be the biggest issue. Hartman said he believes Playland was a good outlet and a kind of safe haven for underage kids that might otherwise be causing problems somewhere else.

"A lot of kids who come in here seem to be bordering on getting into trouble," he said. "Hopefully, they'll be all right."

As he smoked a cigarette near the machines he mastered, Kelly reflected on the idea that he would never be there again.

"This is terrible," he said. "I can't believe it. I spend a lot of time here, pretty much on pinball. I think I have the top score on three of these machines."

"Your daughter's college education went through these machines," Hartman interjected. The two cracked up like old friends on the last day of camp.

Meanwhile, Juhasz and his friends set themselves up to play their historic last game at Playland -- an overhead airplane shooter called Raiden Fighters 2. As the glorious round went on for longer than some people might spend at an arcade in their entire lives, the players exhibited determination, as if their names would still be up on the high score display for every gawking gamer to see the next day.

They wouldn't. But that didn't stop Juhasz from putting in another quarter.

Three days later, the arcade is officially closed to the public, but the atmosphere inside hasn't changed very much. The games are on, but no one is playing them; the people are spread out here and there, but they're all employees; the lighting is as dim as ever, but that seems to be perpetual in this place.

Manager Gene Steele sits behind the arcade's main desk, directing the other employees with an ease that only someone who has been in the business for almost 30 years could project. He's never had to prepare the place for an auction before, but he has called Playland his job since the '70s, and he knows how to get things done.

In fact, Steele is all business as he describes the commercial details of the auction. It is to occur tomorrow morning, starting at 9 a.m., in the arcade's College Avenue location, with a two-hour preview beginning at 7 a.m.

Auctioneer Alan M. Hall will go from each machine to the next, starting at a high price but lowering it until a bidder speaks up, and then stopping when the price no longer rises. Bidders will need to provide identification and will be assigned a number. There are no set prices, and everything must go, no matter the price. Winners can pay by cash or check, and there are no charges other than the price. They will have until Monday, when the lease officially runs out, to get their items out.

Interest in the auction is clearly buzzing. Steele says he expects a packed crowd, consisting of a variety of arcade aficionados including other operators, game distributors, locals seeking holiday gifts and even alumni looking to get "a piece of Playland."

Steele's expectations are rational. In an hour and a half that day, Playland receives at least four calls inquiring about the auction. An operator on his way to Altoona even stops in to check out the games. He appears to be shocked that the arcade is closed, but he agrees with Steele's argument that it's not just Playland, but the coin-op business as a whole that is suffering, due to manufacturers increasing the prices of their games.

"I've had some interesting phone calls," Steele says. "One football weekend, some man called, he was probably alumni, and he asked, 'Has anyone started a campaign to save Playland?' I said it wouldn't have made a difference. The decision was made. Circumstances are beyond anyone's control."

Steele is modest about the interest in the arcade, humbly downplaying the newsworthiness of a 35-year-old landmark business. But there was -- and still is -- interest in Playland. Steele says he has noticed a greater amount of students peering into the closed arcade than before, perhaps in denial that it really has closed.

One call was particularly emotional for Steele, and as he describes it, for the first time he has difficulty discussing the closing. During that call, an operator out of Erie commented that Playland was always known in the arcade community as the "crown jewel of Pennsylvania."

"I told him, 'It's really good to hear from another operator like that,' " he says. "To hear from someone like yourself. And I said, '[Original owner] Ray [Mangino] would love to hear that.' You're tested by your customers, mostly Penn State students, and they've always been excellent ... But then to hear that from other operators, then you know you've passed a grade by people like yourself."

There's another call, and Steele manages to compose himself again to handle the formal side of things. When it's over, he comments on how he'll feel after the auction, on his way to retirement.

"I knew it had to be done. ... You sort of can shed all that, you're in a certain gear to get things done," he says. "During the auction, I'll probably be all right, because you get keyed up for it ... But when the auction's over, I'll probably disappear for a while."