Michael A. Pollack, President and Founder of Pollack Investments, has built more than a real estate empire—he has safeguarded a one-of-a-kind collection. Inside his private museum sits the largest surviving group of Frank Polk’s carved slot-machine sculptures, a mid-century fusion of folk art and casino culture. For Pollack, the appeal is not simply their rarity but their artistry. “His attention to detail, especially in the faces, is second to none,” he says. “The way he blended art, Western themes, and gaming is just exceptional.”
Polk’s Vision in the Desert
In 1951, under contract with the Character Manufacturing Company in Reno, Nevada, Polk began producing his unique figures. Each was carved one at a time from solid wood, then fitted with a working slot machine cabinet—often Mills or Pace models, which Polk did not make but skillfully incorporated.
Miners, prospectors, cowboys, Native Americans, even a self-portrait—all carved with remarkable detail, each holding a slot machine at its core. They were part sculpture, part spectacle, and far more expressive than neon. Fewer than a hundred were ever made; today, about seventy-two are known to survive.
From Frontier Carver to Casino Innovator
Born in 1908, Polk was inspired by the cigar-store frontier figures that once lined Western storefronts. By the 1940s, his realistic yet theatrical carvings had caught the attention of casino owner Harry Skelly, who tapped him to help develop the hybrid figure-slot concept. By 1951–52, Polk’s creative vision fully came to life: six-foot-tall wooden sculptures hollowed to house slot machines. Cowboys drew pistols whose triggers doubled as slot handles; miners bore weary expressions; Native American figures carried elaborate headdresses. Polk even experimented with sit-down slots, wildly eccentric for the time.
Priceless Art, Fierce Competition
Today, the market treats them like fine art. A cowboy “One-Armed Bandit” sold for $43,000. A Native American carving brought more than $25,000. Each bears Polk’s signature, often hidden behind an ear or shoulder—a quiet mark on a very public object.
Owning them wasn’t simple. Pollack recalls losing an auction when casino mogul Bill Harrah outbid him by more than 50 percent. “It taught me you only need two determined bidders to make things really competitive,” Pollack says. Years later, after Harrah’s death, he finally acquired that very machine.
His favorite piece? A John Wayne figure with two hats: the broad cowboy brim and the raccoon cap Wayne wore in a few films. “It’s playful, cinematic, and pure Polk,” he says.
A Museum of Mid-Century Dreams
Today, Pollack houses the collection in his private museum while planning collaborations with major institutions. For him, the machines are more than objects; they’re social history. “These carved figures were played by thousands of people in casinos over the decades, and imagining those personalities and moments really brings that slice of mid-century Americana to life.”
He also notes the contrast with digital gambling. “Most people raised on screens have never seen antique slot machines like these. They used artwork and unique designs to attract people, which is very different from today’s screen-based gambling.”
Stories in Carved Faces
Pollack often imagines the gamblers who once tugged at these wooden levers. In places like Virginia City during the 1950s, cowboys and cowgirls in denim and gingham pulled the same handles his machines still carry. “Did those folks back then really believe they were going to beat the machine?” he wonders. By preserving Polk’s carvings, he has safeguarded a peculiar but vital thread of Americana. They remind us of a time when gambling was tactile, theatrical, and deeply human—before screens and algorithms took over. Thanks to Pollack, those carved myths still stand tall.
Last modified: January 1, 2026
