Nobo

Californian multi-millionaire, one Frederic Dillon, oil barren and owner of Dillon Electric Co. was the brains and the cash behind the NOBO robot project.

Frederic’s background was engineering. His company was on the cusp of emerging technologies, helping major car companies develop the latest features for new models. Dillon Electric also developed and built many automation machines for radio, furniture and dairy factories.

During those golden business years Mr. Dillon yet harbored a big idea – a dream – that he only shared with his closest family and most trusted business colleagues.

He wanted to build a service robot, a robot that could walk and act as a human, and could also learn from humans around him. A humanoid robot.

His heir and protégé, son John F. Dillon, was also diving deep in to this passion project.

Finally it was time. In the mid 1960s, Frederic and John felt that they are ready move ahead with the NOBO project. Together they put together a team of 50 engineers and visionaries, the best and brightest. NOBO Humanoid Robot project was no longer just a dream.

For obvious reasons, this project was top-secret. We have learned through intense research and no small amount of bribery, that it took almost 4 years to build NOBO as a working Robot. They were able to buy the loyalty and secrecy of their inner circle so that very little if any information was leaking out as to what they were doing. Location for the project was disguised as ordinary small metals plant.

The biggest question for the team, what kept them working through the night – for how could they sleep? – was how to provide energy for the robot. The breakthrough came when they found a solution that involved mixing electromagnetic pulse with oil (the simplest explanation we can provide, for the engineering of it all is too complex for translation) this revolutionary formula would keep NOBO “alive.” This life giving potion required batteries inside NOBO’s legs to be changed every week, and NOBO needed to be programmed to take pulls of oil a few times a day. Like we drink 8 glasses of water. Or a dry Manhattan once we’ve set down the briefcase.

The final touches, the last tests and it was time for Dillon and his team to let go of their creation and push NOBO out of secrecy and into the world. NOBO was no longer a project but a product, a prototype to be upheld and followed and lauded. With puffed chests, and no small amount of barely hidden trepidation, NOBO was delivered. 

To create a robot to be almost human, but better, is no small task. And programming took longer than expected. All the transistors, diodes, resistors, sensors, memristors, magnetic, and antennas needed to work together to get NOBO acting and learning as they wanted.

Very little information and few photographs have been discovered from those secret developmental years.

Nobo was shipped to the Van Ottenblach family – giants in the food preservative and stabilization compound business and millionaires dozens of times over. NOBO would be put to immediate use in the company labs, at the 5 Van Ottenblach residences, and at the whim of the 8 Van Ottenblach children. 

When the eldest Van Ottenblach daughter, home for summer holiday from her studies in Zurich, pulled him into the shot, NOBO experienced a series of unexplained shorts – pangs – in his motherboard, and a phantom tightness as though he required oil near his left shoulder hinge where a heart might be.

NOBO was programmed to carry out more than 38,707 useful tasks in the home, office or laboratory. None of these was standing still on the edges of a polo field for 211 minutes while the Van Ottenblach boys hosted an impromptu polo match with the Scardino boys and the Hughes twins. Standing beside Birgitta as they watched, he wondered if she too felt strange and unneeded.

NOBO was unable to establish common ground with the other machines around him. This one in particular was puzzling. NOBO could not compute why, but this particular machine seemed to be the subject of great affection by young Bertrand Van Ottenblach. There was nothing to learn from these simple mechanical machines, but NOBO did wonder why Bertrand and this wheeled machine disappeared happily for a few hours each day.

Fredric Dillon always wanted to test NOBO in new industries. On duty at the Dillon scrap yard, strewn metal parts loomed like mountains and he wondered whose wrecked bodies surrounded him. Could NOBO himself be mistaken for waste and melted down??

NOBO spent hours at the Rutherford corporate cleaners. Pressing dress shirt after dress shirt, starched to perfection in less than five minutes. Striving for accuracy and speed with a too-hot iron. . . Mistakes were made. Shirts were burned.

Job no 37701. Gardening. Nobo was no scissorhands. Yet he was set up as an unwitting apprentice. NOBO teamed up with Nikola six days a week, 10-15 yards a day – sometimes even on Sundays. Learning to garden alongside the professionals in Yorba Linda was hard work – even when you cannot sweat. 

Putting in shifts at the Donnelly sheet metal factory, NOBO’s productivity lags as he watches – and admires – himself reflected in the shiny sheets. His coworkers are less than impressed with his preening.

NOBO’s life was not just work. He ventured on weekend trips Pismo State Beach with his friends Alberto, Miranda and Jaoquin. NOBO froze when the motorhome first pulled up however, taken aback at the uncanny resemblance. By his expression, it seemed as though Winnebago may have been thinking the same.

Learning was a constant for NOBO. Each new experience adding to his programmed skill set. To learn about metal filing, Nobo learned to file the sharp edges of door hinges. In a class with several young men eager to learn the trade, NOBO is given lessons by master machinist and teacher, Brock Sidenstricker. Mutterings of “teacher’s pet” could be heard around the room.

The Von Ottenblachs often spent a week or two on holiday with other families. With the Cisneros family in Coral Gables, it was NOBO’s job to watch the 4 youngest kids. As he got his instructions his eyes glazed over – he was truly only interested in the motor. Imagine his surprise when he was suddenly in charge of fun and safety on the water.

Mrs.Von Ottenblach’s sister, Pernilla, became quite enamored of NOBO, insisting he calls her Auntie and inviting him to keep her company in Palm Springs. There was some hubbub involving hot sun, a metal robot, a surprise hug, a screaming jump into the pool and a ruined set and style. NOBO’s visit was cut short.

Not programmed to protest or complain, NOBO was often offered as a companion on all manner of excursion. Granny wanted company for her hiking trip to Tennessee. His expression remained steady and genial, but inside, NOBO felt a distinct urge to throw himself off the lift.

NOBO became bit of a family celebrity. The Von Ottenblachs fielded calls from distant family members to “borrow” him. Rick Kavinsky, cousin of a step-daughter of a cousin, and lead singer of the Sweat Drops, (famous for the song, “Baby, you’re my baby”) brought NOBO along as he tried to pick up women and listen to him rant about the term “one-hit wonder”

NOBO went with the Von Ottenblachs to the graduation party for their eldest niece. Hailing from unsung Loma Linda California, Jane, once an attendant for the speed slide at the largest waterpark in San Bernadino County, had studied her way to a job at NASA. Put to work transferring hostas before the party, NOBO couldn’t help but wonder where his own hard work might take him.

Could a robot be the future of customer service? NOBO was tested at the desk of Western Airlines…and the answer turned out to be a firm “no.” NOBO was let go after 352 passengers found themselves at the wrong destination in just 48 hours.

Commuting turned out to be a favorite part of NOBO’s airline work. He loved riding the Sky Rail so much that he received more than a dozen warnings for refusing to exit the train.

Eventually barred from riding the Sky Rail all together, and no longer employed by Western Airlines, NOBO would still sit and watch the trains rattle by on the tracks above for hours.

NOBO’s failed employment chronicles continued with a brief stint as a barber, which ended unceremoniously – but fortunately without litigation – after Dr. Julio Cortez lost part of his left ear during a trim.

The annual Winter Solstice party at the Beverly Wilshire was always a sea of Hollywood movie stars. These were not them. Sprung from tending to the ice sculpture by a tipsy stuntman, NOBO posed for pictures with everyone, and learned a lot about the “famous-adjacent” scene. Shown here with Cora and Ralph Walker – brother of movie star Clint Walker, Lou and Priscilla Rosenberg, second cousin of the second in command at one of the major film studios, and Jacqueline and Rodger Birmingham – whose story had holes.

Determined to find NOBO an employment niche, his handler – engineer, Richard St. Germaine – set him up at the Mr. Bubble Laundromat in Encino, owned by his cousin, Paolo. The problems were immediate. NOBO was very excitable, frightening customers frantically opening machine door after machine door becoming overheated. While he wasn’t supposed to have feelings, there was something in his behavior that pointed toward a crush. He was finding out that big machines were just his type. 

The Laundromat continued to rattle NOBO. While he initially felt at home with the shiny machines, his erratic behavior was driving customers away. The spinning, the suds, the Muzak – NOBO was beside himself. Paolo called his cousin Richard St. Germaine in a panic, demanding the engineer to find a new place for his robot, or risk a family feud.

Following a lengthy cooling down period and a comprehensive reprogramming, NOBO was sent to live with Gloria and Hugo Villareal in Modesto. In an effort to get back on track, he was to help with the simplest everyday tasks like changing the channel on the television – they watched a LOT of television. But NOBO again exhibited strange behaviors, becoming fascinated by the toaster, behaving almost as though it were his pet. 

NOBO took his chance, saw an opening while sweeping the front stoop during the Villareal’s favorite soap opera. They wouldn’t blink for an hour so he took his toaster and ran. There had to be a place for them. But the list of people looking for NOBO grew. He was a wanted robot, and if he’d needed to sleep he would have done it with one eye open.

Whether through some programmed loyalty, or lack of imagination, NOBO ended up taking his toaster to the pool house at his engineer Richard St. Germaine’s summer home. There they got some sun, and NOBO took his friend on a walk. He was stopped by a frantic house guest just before they took a swim. NOBO wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about, he’d watched the neighbor throw a tennis ball into the pool for their dog many times.

After a week cooped up at Richard St. Germain’s summer house, NOBO waited until 4 o’clock cocktail hour to make a run for it. Mr. St. Germaine still had 12 cockpit hours to go to earn his pilot’s license, but emboldened by his gin and tonic, he hopped into his single-engine plane and chased NOBO across the nearby farmlands.

Caught again, NOBO was brought to a paper goods packaging plant to reset. Richard St. Germain thought perhaps a return to the monotony of a conveyer belt would appeal to NOBO’s robot nature and squash his increasingly human tendencies. 

The conveyor belt experiment didn’t pan out. Soon NOBO was passing his days slack-jawed, poring through vintage copies of Robotica, unbothered by the shift supervisor’s shouts of “Hey, Tin Man! Get back to work!” as the boxes piled up.

NOBO was falling into a self-destructive spiral. Whispers of how much oil NOBO was drinking floated through the break room. A couple of engineers took their concerns to the boss, who took her concerns to NOBO. There was denial, screaming and several thrown oil cans. NOBO once again, took to running.

Unemployed and untethered, NOBO ran into the shadows. He stayed close to the warehouse district, wondering when he’d score his next can of oil. NOBO found kinship – alone together – with the abandoned factories and boarded up storefronts.

NOBO kept wandering and stumbled upon the Missile Bar. Over American beers and a can of oil, after the night shift, NOBO found what felt like friends. There was no judgment from Hank, Kyle, Jerry, Lou and Rhonda, even if they did ask him to “take off his costume” more than a few times.

NOBO calculated his options. He ran the numbers a dozen times. Each time the same realization, this was rock bottom. In the entry of the Bob Hope Airport, where NOBO went to think and watch planes, he knew he needed help. He couldn’t quit drinking oil alone, on the run. A call for help is difficult when you don’t know how to use a telephone. Esmerelda from the information desk had seen a lot of things in her 16 years, but helping a robot call an engineer was going to be a story for bridge club. 

Engineer Richard St Germain called Fredric Dillon, NOBO’s creator, for an emergency meeting. Neither man would consider failure, their reputations were tied to NOBO’s fate. NOBO soon found himself on the psychiatrist couch with the world-renowned Dr. Hoffenheim. NOBO felt freed, and his thoughts and feelings poured out. Dr. Hoffenheim felt…confused.

After his therapy session with Dr. Hoffenheim, NOBO thumbed a ride from Carl, a chatty character whose thirst for company allowed for lively dialogue. In fact, after cruising around Venice for several hours, NOBO felt more understood and supported than he had on the couch. 

NOBO finally felt free – he felt sunshine and salt air on the beaches of Malibu. If he had been programmed with more life experience he may have known this was the proverbial “calm before the storm” .

The freedom didn’t last. Afraid of being ridiculed for failure, Frederic Dillon was ready to pull the plug on the NOBO experiment. NOBO was lured to the parking lot of one of the Dillon Electric buildings by a promise of a quart of oil – old habits die hard – only to find himself surrounded by serious looking men with thick necks and big gold watches.

NOBO found himself inside the empty Dillon Electric building. And he found that he was not allowed to leave. Or ask questions. Under the stern and silent watch of Giancarlo, NOBO passed the time by singing 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. 

After a while the guards became lazy. And Giancarlo’s partner, Lee, was particularly prone to an afternoon nap. NOBO tried to escape a handful of times, but his squeaky joints always alerted the guards just in time (If only he’d had a little oil…) Eventually Dillon had had enough and NOBO was moved to a remote location. 

NOBO landed in a chicken farm. Dillon’s Happy Egg Farm. But NOBO was not happy. In fact NOBO had a great, and well-documented fear of chickens stemming from an oil bender that ended with him waking up in coop in the Santa Cruz foothills being henpecked by an ornery brood of chickens, and then chased from the property by a woman smelling strongly of patchouli and resins. This is the last known image of NOBO, the humanoid robot – though there is legend of sightings of his silver figure and fixed smile told in hushed tones around campfires to this day.