SARASOTA, Fla. - Tim Walsh might have put fun into the hands of more than 4 million people, but hardly any one of them would recognize the toy inventor if they passed him on the street.
Instead, he is among the unknown pioneers of play, one of those unsung heroes of Christmas mornings and rainy days who endured a litany of rejections before turning their brainstorms into big bucks for toy companies.
Then they fade into anonymity.
It's a story that Walsh has lived himself - perhaps destined when he was born on Christmas Day 1964 - and chronicled in his book, "The Playmakers," which tells the behind-the-scenes toy stories of some of the world's most beloved playthings, from Flexible Flyers to Beanie Babies.
In the 1990s, Walsh collaborated with two college friends to invent the game TriBond, which sold 3 million copies in the 1990s, and followed it up with his own invention, Blurt!, which sold more than 1 million copies.
For Walsh, it has been a happier ending than some of the inventors who have gone before him, leading him to become a full-time game designer and author who is eager to share his fascination with all things fun.
"It's not just about the things they had. It's the people they played with," Walsh said, explaining the emotional connection he finds that adults have with toys. "If they had a Radio Flyer wagon, it was the people who were pulling it along that they remember."
For Walsh, the fifth in a family of six children growing up in Voorhees, N.J., about 15 miles outside of Philadelphia, the journey into the toy industry began when he was studying biology at Colgate University in the late 1980s and thinking about becoming a doctor.
The Trivial Pursuit craze was sweeping college campuses, and Walsh and his friends thought they could come up with a game of their own.
TriBond, created with Dave Yearick and Ed Muccini, is a game in which readers move ahead by answering a question based on three clues. The game was rejected by every major toy company because executives were convinced people wouldn't buy a game which required them to think.
The men, backed financially by their families and friends, persisted in marketing the game, selling it themselves out of the trunks of their cars and at small game shops.
Eventually, they teamed up with game manufacturer Patch Products Inc. in Beloit, Wisc. and TriBond began selling big. Walsh followed up with Blurt!, a game in which players move ahead by shouting out a word based on clues.
Walsh later was hired by Patch Products, becoming vice president of marketing before he resigned in 2001. In February, Mattel announced it was buying distribution rights to Blurt! and TriBond. Walsh still retains royalties on both games.
Now living in an upscale subdivision in Sarasota, Walsh has published a tribute to the toy inventors who blazed their trails before him.
Like his games, the book was rejected by every major publisher so Walsh published it himself earlier this year, financing some of it through the sale of vintage toys from his collection.
Walsh found many of the founders of favorite playthings to have lived anonymously, at times making hardly any money off their creations that later became cultural icons.
Among his favorite stories is of Eleanor Abbott, who in 1948 was an adult patient in a polio ward in a San Diego hospital and wanted to create something to cheer up the children. She crafted "Candy Land," which in the past 55 years has become so popular that Walsh said it can be found in 60 percent of households with a 5-year-old.
There's also the story of the patriarch of Mr. Potato Head, George Lerner, who came up with the idea to attach plastic features to real potatoes. But in a post-World War II era where memories of food rationing were still fresh, toy companies thought the idea of playing with food would cause a public backlash. Lerner ended up selling his idea for $5,000.
That was a lot better than what happened to the man who invented the mechanical basis for the game Operation. John Spinello created it when he was an industrial design student in 1962 and sold his interest for $500.
Then there's the story of Walsh's own inspiration in the toy business: Chris Haney and Scott Abbott, the inventors of Trivial Pursuit, became so rich that they now own golf courses, race horses and a professional hockey team.
Walsh, who doesn't like to discuss the money he's made from his games, said some of the inventors he tracked down are happy to remain in the shadow of their famous invention.
"They don't really care to be famous," he said. "They are not complaining about anonymity."
For Walsh, the fascination with toys isn't wrapped up in the commercial success, it's all in the memories the toys bring of simpler times. His office is decorated with toys from the Iron Man series, which became a favorite when his older brother went off to college and left him with a box of comic books.
"Growing up, I wouldn't say we had a lot of toys," he said. "My Big Wheel, I remember riding it until it fell apart. The wheels were split and when I got too big for it, I took the seat off so I could keep riding it."
Walsh and his wife, Sarah, prefer toys that encourage imagination and creativity for their daughters, Emma, 8, and Kate, 6. They don't buy their girls "sexy" dolls or toys that give kids too much a story line that doesn't allow for them to create their own make-believe.
He gleefully shows a visitor an original Nerf ball package that promises "You can't hurt babies or old people." He fondly recounts the sounds of a Frisbee skipping on the street and knows that it's always the second bounce of a SuperBall that is its most impressive.
He bought a 1974 Big Wheel on eBay for Emma, took it out of its original packaging and let her ride.
"I live vicariously through her," he said. "I just look at her and think, 'Wow, that's fun! It's so loud!'"
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