Ready, Pops? he heard his son ask. If we hurry, we can get in line first. It was the last day the old movie theater would be open after seventy-five years of entertaining the people of this once small town. He was eight years old when the doors opened, and a silent movie played on the huge screen. He remembered newsreels playing during the war, asking boys to enlist and folks to buy war bonds to support the cause.
He relived the first time he asked his high school sweetheart, Mary Jo, to a Saturday matinee showing Gone with the Wind, holding her hand and sharing a box of popcorn. At seventeen, they sat in the balcony stealing kisses, and at eighteen, she promised to write to him every day until he returned.
Bring back memories, Pop, his son asked. He didn't need to answer as he wiped away a tear, remembering she didn't wait and how his heart was broken. On this final day, they showed bits and pieces of the past seventy-five years, those that made you laugh with The Three Stooges and The Wizard of Oz that you could watch a hundred times. They played cartoons like Felix the Cat and Superman, King Kong, and Tarzan. All of which were played out in backyards, bringing the movies to life with you as the hero and your friends as villains.
As the last film ended and the lights went on, old folks didn't get up too fast, not because of their age but to soak in for the last time the place that molded their lives. All set, Pops, his son asked. Just a second, son, he answered, reaching into the box of milk duds and throwing one from the balcony, hitting someone on the head who said in a loud voice, I've been waiting for someone to do that for a long time. Thanks for the memory. He took his son's arm to guide him down the steps of the balcony, slowly looking one last time at the movie posters on the walls in the lobby and the smell of popcorn popping, the one constant memory of going to the movies.
Bring back memories, Pop, his son asked. He didn't need to answer as he wiped away a tear, remembering she didn't wait and how his heart was broken. On this final day, they showed bits and pieces of the past seventy-five years, those that made you laugh with The Three Stooges and The Wizard of Oz that you could watch a hundred times. They played cartoons like Felix the Cat and Superman, King Kong, and Tarzan. All of which were played out in backyards, bringing the movies to life with you as the hero and your friends as villains.
As the last film ended and the lights went on, old folks didn't get up too fast, not because of their age but to soak in for the last time the place that molded their lives. All set, Pops, his son asked. Just a second, son, he answered, reaching into the box of milk duds and throwing one from the balcony, hitting someone on the head who said in a loud voice, I've been waiting for someone to do that for a long time. Thanks for the memory. He took his son's arm to guide him down the steps of the balcony, slowly looking one last time at the movie posters on the walls in the lobby and the smell of popcorn popping, the one constant memory of going to the movies.
Mike 2026
Mike 2026
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