by Brenda S Brown

Created on: January 06, 2011

If odd-sounding names like Lash LaRue, Hoot Gibson, Tom Mix, Crash Corrigan, and Hopalong Cassidy sound familiar, then you too have fond memories of the cowboy stars of long ago.  For years their adventures were broadcast on the radio; the introduction of the cinema changed them into legends of the silver screen.   Many were marksmen; they rode handsome horses, performed rope tricks, and a few could even dance, but the most famous of them were singers. 

 Bullets, bandits, and ballard-singing gents; sidekicks, stagecoaches, and sweet-talking heroines all combined to create captivating chronicles filled with rolling dust, sweaty horses and on occasion, unreciprocated affection. 

 Our family business was located downtown, on West Broad Street, adjacent to the Richland Theatre.  When my brother and I were declared mature enough to behave like young ladies and gentlemen, we were permitted to attend the Saturday afternoon matinee, unattended.  We never dreamed of misbehaving because daddy frequently walked over from next door to check on us. 

 The price of admission was one dime, and for fifteen cents we purchased a box of hot buttered popcorn served in a red and white cardboard box, and a paper-cup full of ice-cold “co-cola.”  Frequently mamma furnished an extra nickel for a sticky, caramel flavored Sugar Daddy lollipop, or a frozen Milky-Way candy bar on a stick.

 There was a lighted ticket booth that could be accessed from two sides; the entrance that we frequented, and the access used by our housekeeper, Hattie Mae and her family.  They entered the movie by climbing a dimly lit staircase and viewed the motion picture from a smoked-filled balcony.   

 When you paid your money to the female in the glass-enclosed box, she dispensed a coupon through the tiny arched opening.  During inclement weather, and until the next customer appeared, she blocked the opening with a chock of wood. 

 The admission ticket was presented to the usher, he tore it in half, deposited part into a locked box, and returned the remaining portion.  Sometime during the afternoon, prizes were awarded, so you always kept your ticket stub. 

 Adults rarely attended the Saturday matinee therefore the entertainment was geared toward adolescents and teenagers.  The first offering was a movie reel featuring current events, followed by the coming attractions. 

 If the projected light-beam was angled just right, you saw wisps of blue smoke in the reflection.  When you heard that familiar flop, flop, flop noise coming from the projection booth, you knew to be patient while they repaired and re-winded the film. 

 Our favorite presentations were serial short stories starring either Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers; it was our first exposure to science fiction cinema.  Once the black and white serialized adventure concluded, you were treated to a Technicolor cartoon.          

 We enjoyed attending a movie on Saturday but I’ll bet seeing it in daylight would truly be a frightening experience.  Even so, in our community, it was a heartbreaking day when the marquee was removed and the movie-house closed forever.       

Learn more about this author, Brenda S Brown.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.