At The Movies

AT THE MOVIES

I had the great fortune to grow up in a small town in North Carolina in the 1950’s and early ‘60’s.  Whenever I get back there, which is less frequent as the years grow longer, I find myself missing those icons of my youth that have vanished: the original Fuzzie’s BBQ, where I probably put 10 thousand miles on Daddy’s car just circling the place during my high hormonal period, McFall Drug where earlier I learned the basics of matchbook football and drank copious amounts of Cherry Coke, the local Drive-In where, if you’re old enough to remember drive-in movies you know why they are so dear to my heart, and, most sacred of all, the PATOVI Movie theater where I developed my life-long passion for films.

Now the old PATOVI was unusual in a couple of aspects.  In the first place there was the name itself.  The PATOVI’s original owners were: Dr. Paul Setzer, Tom Taylor, and Vic Idol, a prominent insurance man in the town at that time. They were searching around for a name in the ‘20’s when they were building the structure, and my Mother’s cousin Toby Moore suggested taking the first two letters from each of their first names and  the PATOVI was born. 

However, the most unusual feature of the PATOVI was that it was “backwards”.  That is to say, as you entered the theater area the screen was behind you instead of in front.  I’m sure at one time the entrance had been from the other side of the theater and my guess is the entrance was reversed because the street on the other side was the one that ran through the main part of town.  However, I always liked my Mother’s explanation better.  She said it was that way because folks in town were so nosy that they wanted to be able to sit there and see who was coming in, and with whom.

My earliest memories of going to the movies predate my formal education so I guess I went to the PATOVI my first time around 1952.  I was, of course, too young to go alone, so if I didn’t go with my parents, my babysitter, Rosa Lee Scales, usually took me.  Of course Rosa Lee, who was African-American, had to take me in by way of the side alley that ran between the theater and the adjacent bank. In the alley was a side entrance that led into a balcony that was reserved strictly for blacks who were never allowed in the main lower theater.  I never understood the reasoning that said it was unsafe to all mankind for a black 16 year old to sit in the lower theater but it was perfectly safe for a white 5 year old to sit in an all black-balcony area.  But that was the times.

When I got old enough to go to there by myself, which was probably when I was 8 or 9, the PATOVI became Mother’s favorite babysitter on Saturday afternoon.  It seems like the first price of admission I remember was a dime and that went up to fifteen cents at around age twelve.  I can remember Mama letting me off in front of the theater and my walking up to the ticket booth which was just outside the entry way.  Miss Annie Goolsby sat in the booth and sold the tickets.  I believe her last name was Goolsby but I’m not sure because as long as I was going to the PATOVI I never called, or heard her called, anything but Miss Annie.

Once swapping your dime for a ticket, you entered the concession area where your senses were jolted by that irresistible smell of theater popcorn and a blast of frigid air-conditioning.  In the early ‘50’s air-conditioning was still pretty much of a novelty and the PATOVI one of the few totally cooled buildings in town.

After the concession area you walked through the double doors in to the theater proper.  As you entered you got your ticket torn in half by the one and only usher whom I firmly believed, at that time, had the best job in America.  In fact until I was ten, to my parent’s embarrassment, I would often respond to the “what do you want to be when you grow up” question with “The usher at the PATOVI.”  I’m still not too sure that wasn’t a pretty good idea. 

As I mentioned before once in the theater you were facing the audience with the screen at your back.  Now, understand the PATOVI was the only theater I knew so I never thought this arrangement strange.  The first time I went to a movie elsewhere I thought it odd that the screen was in front.  I mean, how would your friends know you had come in?

Passing through those doors was more than just moving from one room to another.  Rather, it was to enter multiple worlds of enchantment.  I rode with Lash LaRue, flew with Commando Cody, laughed at Larry, Moe, Shep, and later Curly Joe.  I remember sitting in the aisle to see The Lone Ranger because all the seats were taken, and again for Elvis in Love Me Tender.  Smiley Burnette, Gene Autry’s sidekick, made a personal appearance there in about 1953 or so and I had my picture made with him; a photo I have to this day. 

As I reached those terribly awkward “tweens”, that period before you could take your parent’s car and circle Fuzzie’s, and after the time you bit your lip to keep from crying when Bambi’s mother was killed, the PATOVI was about the only place in 3town you could realistically meet your girlfriend.  Of course a girl’s reputation could be sallied if she came alone with a boy, so usually the girls came in groups, the boys came in groups, and we would pair off in the theater.  The ritual rules here were complicated and strictly enforced.  If I “liked” a girl I had to know who her best friends were, and which ones already had a boyfriend.  I next had to seek out the boyfriend, tell him my feelings, and he would relay to his girlfriend, who would relay my feelings on to the girl in which I had an interest.  She would then respond by the same communication system and if the message came back “she likes you too” we entered the next phase.  This step involved my going to the PATOVI with the boyfriend who met the girlfriend who, yes, brought along the object of my affection.  This led us to the ritual seating arrangement in which the boyfriend and girlfriend sat together; I sat on the outside of the boyfriend and my heartthrob sat likewise beside the girlfriend.  If interest continued beyond this first meeting the ritual was repeated at another time with the seating arrangement becoming the two girls sitting together with the boys on the outside or vice versa. 

The first time I ever held hands with a girl was in the PATOVI.  She was a little blonde and my heart beat fast just at the sound of her name.  I remember that moment of truth when I reached out and prayed to Sandra Dee she wouldn’t jerk her hand away.  She didn’t and I had made it to “first base”.  A single to right would be as far as I would get at the PATOVI.

Time and life moves on.  With the advent of driving a car my world expanded and slowly my trips to the PATOVI waned.  I left my hometown for college in 1965 and never moved back.  In 1989 the PATOVI, in its second life as The Amber Theater, finally became a victim of television and the nearby city multiplexes that were so easily accessed with the proliferation of teenage drivers and improved roads.  I understand now there is parking lot where the PATOVI used to be.  Progress, I suppose.  Maybe those days were not as sweet and wonderful as I remember.  Yet, somehow, it seems sad to me that generations after mine will never ride with Lash or sit on Smiley’s lap or have that dark, cool magic place to rest and shyly, haltingly, hold a little blonde girl’s hand.