Memo to our blog's youngest readers: There are those among us who remember a time when the home live-entertainment center consisted of a radio, period. You could go "economy class" with a Crosley table model, or a Philco console; big enough to fill a hole on the line between guard and tackle. (Granted, this was a line of the 40's, when football players didn't have the girth to occupy two seats on the team bus.) If you weren't immersed in programs like Captain Midnight, and deciphering clues with the secret decoder badge, then you were obliged to create your own entertainment....until the dawn of discovery, when.....
...... She was charming. She was classy. She was spellbinding, as I beheld her radiance from a distant table in Mrs. Zelinsky's third grade class at West Portal School. Four years later, I achieved worldly -junior high- status, and the courage to ask her out for a date; the only affordable date, and one of the most romantic ever - the movie theater.
Little did this writer know, after having asked and been accepted, that a thorough vetting process was to pursue his invitation. The Spellbinder's parents gained all the intelligence they could about this precocious twelve year-old, who had the brass to ask their daughter out for an afternoon on the town. Once given parental blessing, it wasn't "the town" as it turned out; it was a neighborhood (1931) El Rey Theatre.
Presently in use as a church,The El Rey was an arch-typical neighborhood movie house of the 20's and 30's. The architecture followed a Moorish, Gothic, or Art Deco motif, and was always finished with lavish appointments.
Ticket booths were beneath the shelter of the theater marquee; never inside the entrance. The "color guard" consisted of at least four attendants, all garbed in the livery of the theater; the ticket booth lady, the census-taker dude who salvaged the ticket stubs, the usherette -equipped with shielded flashlight - and the vendor behind the irresistible temptations counter, where we indulged in one of two all-time favorites; Peter Paul Walnettos, or the Clark bar. (Butterfingers are a shabby imitation of the real thing)
I digress. To be sure, this suave, debonaire veteran of two grade school-age dance cotillions, left it to the damsel to decide the movie for this monumental happening. She chose the "Blue Grass of Kentucky" (Monogram Studios-1950), which proved to be a pre-Thanksgiving turkey, if ever there was one. Vain attempts were made by this writer to pick up the slack in the screen play with occasional bursts of ill-conceived, nervous laughter.
Replaying the devastation in my mind ("I'd go out with him again, if he weren't so silly") the only highlight of the day turned out to be the rides to and fro her abode on the K-line streetcar. There followed a four-year retreat from movie dating; time enough to allow ego bruises to fade. The retreat lasted until........
Again, I digress. ....She was the scintillating cymbalist of our high school marching band. She was petite. She was demure. She was so alluring that your correspondent absolutely had to ask her for a date to see "The High and The Mighty" (Cinemascope-1954). She said "yes" to the invitation without a moment's delay.
Presently in use as a church,The El Rey was an arch-typical neighborhood movie house of the 20's and 30's. The architecture followed a Moorish, Gothic, or Art Deco motif, and was always finished with lavish appointments. Ticket booths were beneath the shelter of the theater marquee; never inside the entrance. The "color guard" consisted of at least four attendants, all garbed in the livery of the theater; the ticket booth lady, the census-taker dude who salvaged the ticket stubs, the usherette -equipped with shielded flashlight - and the vendor behind the irresistible temptations counter, where we indulged in one of two all-time favorites; Peter Paul Walnettos, or the Clark bar. (Butterfingers are a shabby imitation of the real thing)
I digress. To be sure, this suave, debonaire veteran of two grade school-age dance cotillions, left it to the damsel to decide the movie for this monumental happening. She chose the "Blue Grass of Kentucky" (Monogram Studios-1950), which proved to be a pre-Thanksgiving turkey, if ever there was one. Vain attempts were made by this writer to pick up the slack in the screen play with occasional bursts of ill-conceived, nervous laughter.
Replaying the devastation in my mind ("I'd go out with him again, if he weren't so silly") the only highlight of the day turned out to be the rides to and fro her abode on the K-line streetcar. There followed a four-year retreat from movie dating; time enough to allow ego bruises to fade. The retreat lasted until........
....... that night at the Varsity Theatre on Palo Alto's main drag. This movie house boasted one very unique amenity; an open-air courtyard fountain, situated between the ticket booth and the foyer. It's screen went dark in 1994. Praiseworthy attempts to restore this cinematic
treasure have failed thus far.
Again, I digress. ....She was the scintillating cymbalist of our high school marching band. She was petite. She was demure. She was so alluring that your correspondent absolutely had to ask her for a date to see "The High and The Mighty" (Cinemascope-1954). She said "yes" to the invitation without a moment's delay. Despite the serious competition that John Wayne presented, my date was not oblivious to the tentative advance of my right hand toward her left during an appropriately engaging scene. Au contraire, not only did she accept, she held mine in hers for the duration of the movie! In so doing, she lifted your correspondent-at-large to a much more relevant "high and mighty" degree...if only in his own mind. Because of a long-abiding fear of seeing this kind of beautiful bubble burst, we never kissed upon parting. (High school New Year's Eve dances at the stroke of midnight are another story for another time.)
"Pride", as is written, "goeth before a fall". As a matter of fact, not only a fall, but a winter, a spring, and summer. The '40 Chev powder-blue bomb and its owner spent the next year in movie-dating retreat after learning that a certain cymbalist-turned-Jezebel was ringing someone else's chimes, wearing his ring, and riding around town in his spiffy '53 Jeep Wrangler. This guy was the kind of wimp illustrated in cartoonish Charles Atlas advertisements, and yet I was the one getting the facial.
Said retreat lasted until....."The first time, ever I saw her face", on a fateful Sunday before freshman orientation at Willamette University. From across the pews in a crowd of congregants at St. Paul's church I beheld her, and was immediately captivated. She carried herself with a modest grace. She was a subtle, but riveting presence in her beauty. She was the one and only, and I felt driven to take that first step to convince her that we were destiny's duo. It shouldn't take a genius to connect the dots, and figure the direction that step would lead...to Salem's movie mecca, The Elsinore, of course!
One more brief digression: On May 28, 1926, the Elsinore Theatre opened its doors to the public. Developed by George Guthrie, an entrepreneur and lover of art, the Tudor Gothic building was designed to resemble the castle in Shakespeare's "Hamlet". It was a cinematic museum, which fell into abuse and disrepair in the '70's. However, over the past two decades, it has enjoyed a resurrection as a magnificent performance hall.
Back to the chase. The movie of choice was the Burt Lancaster-Walter Matthau vehicle, "The Kentuckian" (MGM-1955) To make it a truly memorable night, we stopped first at a local creamery to enjoy a couple of black & white sundaes. Then came disaster! Much to your scribe's shock and chagrin, he discovered that, after picking up the tab for the treats, he didn't have enough of the "folding green" left to cover the cost of admission to the show. His face was doubtless as red as the crimson WU Bearcat jacket he wore.
On the walk back to her residence hall, I conjured up a host of future prospects with my date of the evening. They all ended with a flashing neon sign, spelling "T-O-A-S-T".
Strangely, miracles were still happening in the autumn of our freshman year. This fair-haired beauty did consent to another invitation to see Burt and Walter duke it out at the Elsinore. Fifty-six autumns later, it's fairly certain that the Bride has forgiven that original sin of omission, but it's even more certain that she hasn't forgotten.
"Pride", as is written, "goeth before a fall". As a matter of fact, not only a fall, but a winter, a spring, and summer. The '40 Chev powder-blue bomb and its owner spent the next year in movie-dating retreat after learning that a certain cymbalist-turned-Jezebel was ringing someone else's chimes, wearing his ring, and riding around town in his spiffy '53 Jeep Wrangler. This guy was the kind of wimp illustrated in cartoonish Charles Atlas advertisements, and yet I was the one getting the facial.
Said retreat lasted until....."The first time, ever I saw her face", on a fateful Sunday before freshman orientation at Willamette University. From across the pews in a crowd of congregants at St. Paul's church I beheld her, and was immediately captivated. She carried herself with a modest grace. She was a subtle, but riveting presence in her beauty. She was the one and only, and I felt driven to take that first step to convince her that we were destiny's duo. It shouldn't take a genius to connect the dots, and figure the direction that step would lead...to Salem's movie mecca, The Elsinore, of course!
Back to the chase. The movie of choice was the Burt Lancaster-Walter Matthau vehicle, "The Kentuckian" (MGM-1955) To make it a truly memorable night, we stopped first at a local creamery to enjoy a couple of black & white sundaes. Then came disaster! Much to your scribe's shock and chagrin, he discovered that, after picking up the tab for the treats, he didn't have enough of the "folding green" left to cover the cost of admission to the show. His face was doubtless as red as the crimson WU Bearcat jacket he wore.
On the walk back to her residence hall, I conjured up a host of future prospects with my date of the evening. They all ended with a flashing neon sign, spelling "T-O-A-S-T".