HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD

I saw so many movies while growing up that they left me with a blurred image. Read on, and see for yourself.
02/23/2016

HOORAY FOR HOLLYWOOD

Hollywood is to blame. Moguls such as Cecil B. De Mille stopped me from experiencing real life as a child. Movies, with their dream world of adventure and comedy, captivated me while growing up. Only by watching TV documentaries have I managed to catch up with events that passed me by during those pre-teen years.

I joined legions of Hoboken’s waifs every Saturday afternoon to see endless numbers of films at the nearby U. S. Theater, a grand name for a somewhat shopworn venue. On one occasion a few ruffians raced through a balcony fire escape door one of their accomplices opened for them. They scattered like mice, some of whom were captured and ejected by an usher. The excitement generated by this storming of the gates exceeded that of the adventure film which followed.

I never tried to sneak in this way. I had some pride, after all. I preferred to pay for a seat. Of course, there were times when I had to steal a few deposit milk bottles to earn my ten-cent admission fee.

Boys sat in the balcony, girls in the orchestra, an unmarked hard-hat area. The boys showered the girls with wads of gum and candy wrappers. This barrage only ended when the first serial began showing. Then, everyone focused their attention on the screen for the next three to four hours.

Few ‘B’ movie made in Hollywood from 1935 to 1940 escaped my viewing. Their plots taught me values that became etched in my psyche. Good guys always won. Bad guys always got their comeuppance. A few Native Americans were okay, like Tonto, but most of them were low-down Injuns. Mexican cowpokes, especially the Cisco Kid, always spoke broken English in a hilarious way. The Chinese were definitely inscrutable, especially Charlie Chan, although his son was a nerd. Black people had rhythm. Did you ever see that old butler dancing down a flight of steps with Shirley Temple?

One afternoon in the summer of 1938 while walking home after spending four hours watching movies, I observed many apartment house and store front canvas awning window shades ripped and torn, flapping in the breeze. I did not mention the matter to anyone in my family. Years later I learned that a great hurricane had smashed the eastern seaboard that afternoon, destroying lives and property across a wide region of the northeast including metropolitan New York, Long Island and much of New England.

All the movies I viewed that day were memorable, legendary even. In one, Tom Mix and his horse became lost in New York City. The Marx Brothers stole his nag and took it to the races. Meanwhile, Mickey Mouse chased a big ape up to the top of the Empire State building. The brute clutched a rag doll in his hand. I know. I saw it.

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