SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE

We have all envied the exploits of others whose lifestyle we could easily pursue.  They were our revered heroes.  They were of the stuff we envied.  They were our inspiration.  They were icons at whose feet we worshiped. My sacred temple was the prosaic movie theatre; that for the princely sum of 15¢ permitted entry through its heavenly portals. 

Comfortably seated together in the matron’s children section, each of us fully loaded from the candy counter at the rear with either Holloway’s, Milk Duds, or Mason’s Black Crows and gum drops filled the bill for the next few hours. 

During our pre-teenage years and later, the Saturday matinee in the local ‘air conditioned’ movie house was a weekly trek for the gang; a cool respite from summer’s heat and our un-insulated homes.

In those ancient days the only relief from the summer heat and the only air conditioning available anywhere was in the movie house.  A crude system of air blown over blocks of ice from somewhere in the roof served the purpose.  For the blistering nights at home wet towels prevented heat stroke.

We sat through the continuously running films of trailers, cartoons, newsreels, and the eagerly awaited ‘The Perils of Pauline’ daring episode defying certain death every week. 

‘How would Pauline ever escape the Kawanga tribe cannibals’ dinner menu?’ we wondered. That was last week’s suspense.  Only the armed missionaries with veiled threats and in exchange for some wonderful trinkets saved her from becoming a soft boiled entrée.  The missionaries begged off an invitation to dinner, not sure of what, or rather who, was on the menu.

We relaxed and gave our imagination free reign to wander.  We eagerly saddled up with sheriff Tom Mix and his horse Tony galloping after the ornery gang of horse thieves.  We flew with Ace Eddie Richenbacker in WWI as he came out of a loop blasting the German Red Barron from behind.  We shivered in our boots as Dracula nightly rose from his coffin in full dinner attire, searching for beautiful sleeping ladies whose necks would quench his bloody thirst.  His hypnotizing eyes locked the brain of anyone caught in his stare.

In spite of the bloody Prince of Transylvania I remember leaving the theater; square jawed, proudly in the bright sunlight, leader of the fighter squadron ordering my brave fighter pilots into dodging bullets and the hellfire of victory. 

Most of us knew these lofty ideals, once out in the fresh air would fade away like a New Year’s resolution; but, there was nothing like it to boost our morale.

For a few, those examples of bravery sparked personal ideas that led to a determination to pursue difficult goals.  The rare tearful film full of compassion and sympathy for victims, taught us about walking in another man’s shoes.

That was our Saturday afternoon bill of fare.  The mornings were filled with roller skate hockey, stoop ball, or touch foot ball in one of the empty lots along Church Avenue.  Wild cheering spectators raised our spirits from the imaginary bleacher filled stadium seats surrounding us. 

On those playing fields were developed the rudiments of our personalities in the spirit of fair play, competition, and the race to be the first in all things: just like the storied champions of filmdom.

The sanctified pleasured dome of the source of the amazing plethora of entertainment of course, was Hollywood, California.  We knew little of its convoluted workings, aside from the press releases.

For the most part the gossip columns that dealt with the matinee star idols were quite superficial, leaving the much unsaid to the imagination. The personal lives of our heroes and heroines were hardly known to us, and led to the glorified level in which we held them.  It was difficult to conceive of them as ordinary people with common everyday problems.  Perhaps it was better that way.  For us they existed only in the parts they played, otherwise their halos would surely have fallen.  Yet, there was method to this madness.

The high level of the star’s personal idolized exaltation was the result of the studios powerful publicity control over the media, and its contract players.  No reporter would jeopardize his privileged status on the movie lot without a passing nod of his articles.  Anything sinful or detrimental was taboo.

Gossip from writers like Hedda Hooper and Walter Winchel was insatiable fodder for the reader’s appetite.  The mutual benefit for writer and censor kept the arrangement happily in tact for years.
 
Historically, we must give our unbounded credit to a tiny venturesome group of early twentieth century immigrants, with little or no artistic background; and even in their greatest dreams of a budding penny picture parade, could ever conceive of creating the most ubiquitous form of entertainment the world had ever known.  They were strangers to each other, but commonly driven to a distant, and yet remarkable future for a wonderful developing invention.  Even though their place in our hall of fame deserves a monument, their phenomenal work speaks for itself.

This accomplishment involved many different inventors.  One of the first was Muybridge, whose string of successive photos proved that all four legs of a galloping horse did leave the ground together; and Edison, much later, who gave the motion picture camera its modern scope and versatility.

This new vista that began as a toy ran afoul of indignant followers of the older respected forms of entertainment.  Many early movie companies did not survive criticism or the rigors of birth.  The few who did were confident of the brilliant destiny of this new form.  Their strenuous efforts matched its lofty prospects.

Times and customs did change.  The children’s section in our theater vanished.  (But not the candy counter).  Previously vacant balconies now became populated by couples who ignored the show searching for privacy.  Their activities sometimes turned our patrons’ heads away from the orchestra screen below to the upper show.

In time I became one of those denizens of the balcony because of my new companion, Lois, the girl next door; unnoticed before, she had suddenly blossomed out.  She was as adventurous as I and, we learned a great deal from each other, up there in seventh heaven.  I was sure I would marry her one day; but then there was Cathy, Jane, and Beth.  I thought I was quite mature, for all of my fifteen years. 

So time did move on, but thankfully, many of the customs I really liked have remained. 

There will always be a pleasant place in my heart for my misspent youth and the wonderful medium that brought pleasure and far away places to our door step. 

My particular spot is still above the clouds, in seventh heaven.