I'm too young to remember the "Empress" Theater but I sure do have a lot of memories of the old State Theater. Located right in the heart of downtown (during downtown's "Heyday"), even the marquee in the front was quite impressive for a town the size of Central City. It probably had two hundred flashing light bulbs and neon runners on that sign that reached out over the 6' sidewalk all the way to the curb. There was no way to turn onto Broad Street from either end of the downtown shopping district without seeing it immediately. It was a large building that was sandwiched between the J. C. Penney store and Wells Dry Goods.
Most of you will remember Pauline, the bright red-headed lady who single-handedly sold tickets from a 3'x3' booth in the front by the sidewalk. When I was a kid of seven or eight, I was always amazed as I would hand her a quarter on Saturday Morning and she'd give me a dime back and a blue or red ticket would magically appear from a slot on the small stainless steel counter in front of her. As you entered through the right hand double doors that led into the lobby, you would be captivated by the posters of movies that would be showing in the coming weeks with stars such as Rock Hudson, Doris Day, Tony Curtis and a host of other big name stars. These were people who became stars and remained stars for a lifetime, not just a "fleeting" few years like most of those so-called stars of today.
As you entered along the red carpet you ascended a set of steps (probably about five or six) and the concession stand sat in the middle of the lobby. Those entering the theatre stayed to the right and those leaving did the same. There were no signs or barriers that told us to do that...everyone just knew it was that way. Of course, at the top of the steps stood "Jimmy," the man with the "burr" haircut that was responsible for taking up the tickets, overseeing the concession stand, running the projector, keeping people quiet in the theater when the movie began and finally, sweeping the floors after everyone left.
He didn't say a lot but Griff Head (the theater's owner) sure got a lot of "bang for the buck" with him.
The dime Miss Pauline gave me as change at the ticket booth would provide my meal for the rest of the day. The Saturday matinees began at 10:00 A.M. and once you were inside, you were free to stay until they closed if you wished. I would go with a group of guys from our neighborhood at 10:00 A.M. and we'd usually stay until about 5 or 6 P.M., seeing the movie three or four times during that period. The Saturday movies were mostly geared for kids like us, being a Roy Rogers or Gene Autry or Tim Holt or Hopalong Cassidy feature. Sometimes they'd throw in a "Cartoon Carnival," which would be about five or six cartoons and of course, there was always a "Saturday Serial," mostly headlined by "Captain Marvel" (who originally coined the term "Shazaam").
I remember going one Saturday and Eddie Underwood was in our group. He was a couple of years younger than I was and I was probably eight or nine.
The movie that day was "House on the Haunted Hill," a flick about an eccentric rich man that offered $10,000 to anyone who was willing to stay the night in his mansion, an old castle like fortress that sat out in the middle of nowhere high atop a hill. Of course it was in an area where it was never daylight and always storming. We all went into the theater and sat about three rows back from the front (there was actually an orchestra pit down there but there never was an orchestra). Everyone looked forward to the main feature but we also enjoyed Bugs Bunny and Captain Marvel and the previews of upcoming movies (all of this took about a half-hour). When it was time for the movie to begin, everything went completely dark for about ten seconds. Then there was this "Blood Curtling Scream," and another three or four seconds of darkness. It was exactly at this point when the opening credits began that we noticed Eddie was missing. He was nowhere to be seen. I quickly jumped up and ran out to the lobby where he sat just outside the door to the main theater on a padded bench. "I ain't going in there until that movie is over," he proclaimed and he didn't! When the movie ended, he'd meet us in the restroom and meander back in with us for the next showing until the point of the scream. As soon as it happened, he'd run back out there and sit out the movie. Since we watched the movie about four times that afternoon, that meant he spent at least eight hours in the lobby. He never did come in and see it.
Sometime about mid afternoon, and between the showings, while the previews were on, we'd go out to the concession stand and get something to eat and drink. We could get a sack of popcorn or a candy bar or a box of Milk Duds for a nickel. What we usually did was for one of us to get popcorn while another got Milk Duds and we'd share them. Apparently fountain cokes hadn't been invented yet so they had a machine in the lobby that sold you a coke for a nickel. It dropped a cup from somewhere up in the machine and the coke poured into the cup filling it. If you weren't careful, sometime the cup would hang sideways and you'd lose the coke. I learned quickly to reach in and insure that the cup was upright.
Occasionally one of us would opt for a box of Cracker Jacks instead of plain popcorn. I remember one time the gift inside was a "clicker" shaped like a frog.
You remember "clickers." They had no other function other than when you pushed on them in the middle they'd make this annoying "clicking" sound. We'd get it out and "click" it during the movie and Jimmy would come down with his flashlight and try to "zero" in on the sound so he could use his authority to escort one of us out (I don't think he cared much for us kids but since we made up about 80% of the matinee audience he had to tolerate us). We'd click the frog a few times and here he'd come. We'd let him get about ten feet past our row and then we'd hit it a few times. He'd turn around and head back up the aisle and when he got about ten feet behind us, we'd click it again. He'd turn around and this scenario would go on for a good ten minutes. He was pretty sure it was coming from our row but he couldn't prove it. Finally after awhile he'd have to get back up to the projector room to exchange reels. It was only years later that I discovered Jimmy's mentality was on par with ours....except we were only eight years old. He never did get to escort any of us out.
I can still remember what it was like to have Milk Duds stuck to the soles of our shoes. They stayed there until we left the auditorium section of the theater and into the lobby which was carpeted. I can imagine how much Jimmy hated Milk Duds since he was the one saddled with getting them up from the floor and worse yet, the carpet. Somehow he got it done because I don't remember getting any Milk Duds stuck to my shoes until after a movie, never before one. I'm not even sure they even make Milk Duds any more but even as a boy, I never saw them sold anywhere else but in a movie theater.
Every once in a great while a movie would come to town that my mother wanted to see, so having no babysitter, she'd take us (my brother and me). Two of these in particular that I remember was "To Hell and Back," starring Audie Murphy. In real life, Murphy was the most decorated soldier in World War II, a Medal of Honor winner and national hero. No doubt he was a better soldier and warrior than he was an actor. In this particular movie, he played himself, reinacting what he did in the war to win his medals. I couldn't imagine someone like General Eisenhower playing himself as a great General but Murphy apparently had no problem with it.
I also remember going with her to see "Gone With the Wind!" I know it's considered to be one of the greatest motion pictures ever made but I've seen it a few times as an adult and I still didn't care for it. I can imagine how bored I was with it as a kid. I do remember, however, in the final scene when Scarlett
O'hara asked Rhett Butler what she was to do and his answer of "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn!" It was as if all the gasps in the audience "sucked" all of the oxygen from the room. I guess it was one of the first "cuss" words in a major motion picture. Man, those folks (including my mom) would be shocked with today's movies.
I always thought it was cool after we left the movie and was exiting the theater to stop by the poster boxes on the right hand side of the theater. They always contained about eight or ten smaller pictures of various scenes in the movie. We'd always stop and discuss each one of them.
During the winter months, it was usually dark when we had seen the movie for the fourth time and it was time to leave. Sometimes we'd go out on our own and sometimes Mom would send Dad down to get us. If he had a rare day off, he and Mom liked to go out to eat on some Saturday nights and this usually involved going to Owensboro. If we wanted to eat by 6:00, we needed to leave town by 4:30 or so. That's when Dad would come in and "fish" us out. He'd take all the other boys and drop them off at their respective houses.
If He didn't have to come get us, we'd usually go up to Winnie's or the D&W (both were cafes) and call for Mom to come get us. Sometimes we'd be brave and just walk home (but this wasn't after movies like "House on the Haunted Hill" however). I'm still amazed when I think how simple times were back then and how our parents allowed us to do things like this without electronic aids like cell phones. We'd just tell them where we were going and they trusted us to do what we said. Of course, we had better do what we said we were doing or that would have put an end to that trust. We never felt threatened or were scared or untrusting of any adult. How times have changed.
Of course, the State Theater burned down in 1963 or 64 and it was the beginning of the Demise of downtown as we knew it. J. C. Penney burnt down at the same time and neither was rebuilt. I suppose it was fitting that "Who's Minding the Store?" starring Jerry Lewis was playing when burn't. It was years before a new library was built on that site. We have a newer four screen theater downtown now and it's nice but it just isn't the same. Gone are the Saturday Matinees for kids, the Cartoon Carnivals and the Saturday Serials. Now you're lucky if you can buy a ticket to a movie and a bag of popcorn & coke for $10.00 (per person). The old State Theater had a stage and from time to time one of our heroes would come to town where you could see them in person. Gene Autry's been there. So has Smiley Burnette, Tim Holt and Gabby Hayes. These people were bigger than life in their heyday and to come to a town like ours was nothing short of a great honor.
I wish I had $5.00 for every time I've seen "The Hounds of the Baskerville," (I believe Griff Head purchased this movie as he showed it at least 10 times a year at the State Theater and Palace Theater in Greenville (which he also owned). I used to thrill at seeing an old 3-D movie where you were issued a pair of glasses with their red and green lenses made of cellophane. They were placed in a tub when you entered the theater and you put them back in the same tub upon exiting. I'm sure it was very unsanitary but it didn't kill any of us as far as I know.
I guess ol' Griff and Miss Pauline and "Jimmy" have gone to that great Theater in the sky. Looks like they took the "Hounds of the Baskerville" with them as I haven't seen it since the theater burn't.
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