I
remember that day at the movie theater when Peter O’Toole, a somewhat bookish leading
man developed his character up on the silver screen, as I looked around the old
theater. The Arion on Metropolitan Avenue was long and deep and wide. The
showplace was old and run-down but still had the richness and grandeur of its
earlier incarnation as a Vaudeville theater, with ample chairs and a stage for
live performances which the picture screen hovered above it like a ghost. A
good cleaning and some restoration were all that would be needed to resurrect the
playhouse to its former self. Dusty old wood carvings, peeling gold leaf and
faded frescoes looked down mournfully from above on the audience, for the
running of this not so old classic Lawrence of Arabia.
As Mr.
O’Toole struggled in a dust storm on his trusty camel under the hot,
penetrating, searing heat of the desert sun, I grew parched.
Luckily
the Arion had its own somewhat lush, green oasis of sorts. The matron had the
double role of also running the snack counter. Far from considering this task
to be a challenging role requiring the utmost respect and confidence of her
employer, she approached it with the excitement and bravado of someone sorting
out their sock drawer or digging their own grave. I purchased a bottle of
Coca-Cola, a stale Baby Ruth, fully capable of hitting a Home-run with, and a
pack of Camels. It seemed an appropriate choice given the performance.
Cigarettes had made the meteoric rise from .90 cents to $1.10 a dizzying,
exorbitant price and I made a mental note to rid myself of this nasty habit which
was a drain on meager finances.
There
was a long arduous task ahead for our leading man and I trudged back into the
darkness Coca-Cola in hand, my iron candy bar in tow and the pack of smokes, to
face the desert sands with Lawrence of Arabia.
Jim
Dec 2020
No comments:
Post a Comment