A police officer and an actress fell in love. From their romance, a toy robot museum grew.

NEW YORK (TND) — Ask Joe Knedlhans about any toy robot in his 3,000-plus-piece collection, and the retired New York City police officer will welcome the chance to chat.

Robert the Robot is a favorite of his. Released in 1954 by Ideal Toy Company, the remote-control-operated talking mechanical man with light-up eyes was the first plastic toy robot manufactured in the United States.

Knedlhans has multiple versions of Robert on display at the Toy Robot Museum, each one a slightly cheapened version of the last to remain competitive with the copycat Electric Robot and Son from rival toymaker Louis Marx. He’ll point out each difference for you, from the removal of Robert’s clear plastic antenna to the crank handle knob’s shift from wood to plastic.

Then, there’s Ideal’s Mr. Machine, a 1960 release for the mechanically inclined that came disassembled with 44 parts and a plastic wrench. Press the button on a playback unit affixed to the case, and a vintage commercial with a catchy jingle will play:

“Here he comes! Here he comes! Greatest toy you’ve ever seen, and his name is Mr. Machine!”

Behind the dapper red wind-up toy is the Mr. Machine board game, a circuitous and obstacle-laden journey to Mr. Machine’s Factory; to his left, there’s a copy of the decades-old patent filed by legendary toy designer Marvin Glass.

Another Marvin Glass and Associates fad requires little explanation from Knedlhans. If the sight of Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots induces nostalgia, feel free to play a few rounds of the retro game — it’s one of several interactive displays scattered throughout the museum. Variations on the classic ‘60s toy, including Mattel’s more recent shrunken-down release and a Wendy’s Kids’ Meal prize, are kept behind glass.

But there’s one story Knedlhans enjoys telling most of all. It, too, starts with a robot — Remotec’s Andros Mark V.

Knedlhans opened the Toy Robot Museum in September of 2000, but his story begins much earlier than that.

Long before he started lining the walls of his Adamstown, Pennsylvania storefront with the likes of Robert the Robot and Mr. Machine, Knedlhans was a New York City police officer. He worked with only one robot, the Andros Mark V. Remotec’s bomb disposal machine had been repurposed for the N.Y.P.D. Emergency Service Unit so that the “bucket of bolts,” as Knedlhans calls it, would be first in line to enter hostage situations and incidents involving barricaded perpetrators.

The Andros Mark V, decidedly not a toy, isn't on display at Knedlhans’ museum, but he’ll show you a pamphlet about his former “partner.”

The subsequent print-outs in his stack are photos of Margo Moore, a fashion model and actress — and the love of his life.

Toward the top of his pile is one of Margo's headshots, 20 years before Knedlhans first met her. The next one shows her on the cover of Vogue, then a publicity shot with Jayne Mansfield and Ray Danton for “The George Raft Story.” There’s Margo on the set of the 1960 comedy “Wake Me When It’s Over,” and there she is with Fabian in “Hound-Dog Man.”

Knedlhans met Margo in the ‘80s. She was living in New York City and owned an ice cream shop called the Chocolate Garden on Third Avenue and 79th Street. Never mind that Knedlhans was 21 years her junior; the two fell in love and wed soon after. They went to Disney World for their honeymoon.

Robots generally have a reputation for being cold and detached, unable to feel the same emotions we experience as humans. In that way, Knedlhans stands in stark contrast to his collection of gear-filled machines as he flips from one photo to the next with a proud, beaming smile that lights up his entire face. His gaze is pure love, mixed with the slightest hint of melancholic nostalgia in his eyes.

Certainly, he’s no mechanical man.

But it’s not for the sake of juxtaposition that Knedlhans spends such a large portion of his unofficial museum tour talking about Margo — he’s giving credit where credit is due. It’s because of Margo, he’ll explain, that the Toy Robot Museum exists at all.

This is where the story takes a turn toward Adamstown, a small borough of Pennsylvania with enough antique malls to earn the name “Antiques Capital, USA.” Lancaster County was a common weekend getaway for the unlikely couple, and on one such occasion, they wound up in Adamstown searching for a birthday gift for Knedlhans’ cousin. There, Margo insisted on buying Knedlhans a Playtime Mystabot from the ‘80s, thinking it was a cute complement to Knedlhans’ career.

The Mystabot had a mate, so that came next, and then there was a third robot and a fourth, and more (many, many more) would soon follow. Knedlhans’ collection rapidly grew out of control, though it would take 35 years, give or take, to expand to its current size.

To visit the Toy Robot Museum, head to Stoudtburg Village, an Epcot-esque curiosity based on the medieval German town of Rothenburg ob der Tauber.

The village of multicolored Bavarian-style houses, dreamt up by Adamstown entrepreneur Ed Stoudt back in the ‘90s, is impossible to miss, but navigating the meandering pedestrian pathways to the museum is considerably more challenging. On Google Maps, you’ll search for the Toy Robot Museum, but the actual signage is for Knedlhans’ shop, Out of This World Oddities and Artifacts. Look for a maroon door with a tiny silver spaceship promising toys, books, magazines, and games. Then, pass through the narrow gift shop (with a silent pledge to peruse its selection later), and turn right at the counter to begin your self-guided tour.

Knedlhans, almost always, will be behind the counter. He’s the museum’s only employee — and he lives right upstairs.

When Stoudtburg Village first debuted in 1996, that was the whole ethos behind the community. “Have a shop; live on top!” Stoudt would say.

Joe and Margo, having learned of Stoudtburg Village during their weekend trips to Adamstown, were some of the earliest adopters of the concept. They made the move from New York City in 1999. By September of 2000, the museum — then called the Toy Robot and Pig Museum to account for Margo’s collection of 1,300 pig items — opened its doors to the public.

In those days, everyone had a shop (Knedlhans remembers a time when more than 30 storefronts drew day trippers to Stoudtburg). Now, the village is primarily residential, with many of the ground-floor spaces converted into family rooms and home offices.

The Toy Robot Museum, though, doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Over the course of 24 years, it has been a true labor of love for Knedlhans to so carefully arrange his collection of more than 3,000 robots in rows of illuminated Ikea display cases (each one painstakingly painted white, because they only came in black). There are robots dangling from the ceiling and robots perched atop the vitrines. The biggest robots, like Robbie the cotton candy vending machine and an R2-D2 Pepsi cooler, get dedicated floor space.

And still, hundreds of overflow items remain stashed in Knedlhans’ attic.

The shelves are so jam-packed that it would be downright impossible for Knedlhans to include even a quarter of the collection on his unofficial tour. Further go-tos include Topo, a not-so-successful early attempt at a home robot, and fortune teller ZZYZZX.

“Greetings, earthlings. My name is ZZYZZX,” the iridescent head will say at the flick of his switch. “You can ask me yes-and-no-type questions, then pass your hand over my head two times.”

Knedlhans’ enthusiasm never wavers. Alongside his guests, he’ll watch a vintage Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots commercial as if it’s his first time seeing it, and he’ll share Robert the Robot’s background as if he hasn’t told the very same facts to thousands of others. He keeps his shop’s eclectic stock reasonably priced, letting profit take a back seat in favor of prioritizing his customers’ amusement.

He's the kind of guy you can’t help but root for.

And so, as he shuffles through his prints of Margo, you’ll start praying that his story has a happy ending.

You’ll have to settle for bittersweet.

In December of 2000, Margo passed away from breast cancer. She was 69 years old.

When Knedlhans reaches that point of his story, even the most mechanical of his robots are likely to shed a tear amid the palpable sadness that suddenly hangs heavy in the air. The realization that Margo was only able to enjoy the museum for a few short months comes as another punch to the gut.

The story’s sweetness is not as easy to find, but it’s there — take a closer look at the display cases.

You’ll see C-3PO and R2-D2, each represented in every possible form from Pepsi-cooler-big to teeny tiny, from Pez dispenser to keychain to toothpaste tube. There’s the shelf dedicated to Robert the Robot, and over there, you’ll find educational robots: Playskool’s Alphabet Alphie, the circa-1986 Talking Tutor Robot, a machine named Albert that promises 120 different lessons, and so on. Your eye will jump from Mr. Machine to Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots, and then to another version of Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots, and then another and another.

All of them are there because of Margo.

Yes, Knedlhans’s colossal collection reflects his fondness for robots, but even more so, it’s become a showcase of his enduring love for Margo. It’s a way to keep her memory alive, a chance to share her spirit with all those who never had the opportunity to meet her during her time on earth. And even though Margo spent only three short months at the Toy Robot Museum before her passing, her presence remains felt every single day.