I was nine when this model came out. I remember wanting one. The idea of a stereo receiver with separate components—turntable, cassette tape, maybe even reel-to-reel tape player—was so much cooler than our awful one-piece hi-fi, with the tape-eating tape-player, the warped turntable, and the built-in tinny speakers. My mother said I was too young. Even if I had enough to buy the receiver, where would the I get the money for the other components and the speakers, all sold separately. I called my father late one night—I didn’t remember that it was even later at night where he was—and he told me that he would discuss it with my mother discuss. “Which means no,” I shouted into the phone. Walnut finish. Front facing is a pearlized appliqué that has circular patterns etched in it. The sides are vented in neatly cut slats. The man having the yard sale says, “She runs hot.” I get her into the basement without my wife seeing. The packing on the bottom of her box survived, styrofoam hard as wood and flaky. Her manual is in English only. Her console is presented in photographs with a woman’s hand pointing to its features in each detail. She has two pin meters on the right. She’s almost facial on the left, the alignment of three knobs: two level eyes and a nose between, slightly below a tiny open mouth in the form of her headphone jack. She also has a set of toggles, for switching on additional speakers. And two lighted buttons. The word MONO is under the mono button (I still don’t know why mono was an option after stereo was invented!). She has several input types on the rear panel, (5 volt, 12 volt, slurry, full-toothed, etc.) and one that looks like a skuzzy port. And what I was looking for: input for components (turntable, tape, and one labeled other) and the speaker hookups. The power cable is black, a replacement, I can tell. The word Realistic. I have not plugged her in yet. I will clean her again tomorrow and read the manual again. Then I will plug her in.