John Gilbert > Reflections After Dark, Memories of the Drive-In 6

The next evening it began to grow dark and the wind began to blow.  In just a few minutes a storm was brewing. The rain began to fall in buckets and the wind was roaring.  The lights flickered on and off several times. "Your daddy said part of the screen blew down." she informed me.

Reflections After Dark, Memories of the Drive-In by John Gilbert
Chapter 6

There was something magical about late afternoons at the Edgewood.  There was an air of anticipation that something special was about to happen.  The lot had sat closed and empty during the heat of the day. Now as the sun was going down the drive-in was coming to life. Doors were being opened and lights were coming on.  The familiar smells of popcorn and burgers drifted from the concession and the phone rang constantly with callers wanting to know the shows and times.  It was now 1971 and Martin Theaters had a new city manager.  The box-office had just opened when a car pulled off the driveway and parked.  A man in a business suit carrying a clipboard got out and approached the doorman.

"I'm Mr. Zimmerman, the new city manager," he snorted as he walked past the ticket taker.

Mr. Zimmerman knocked on the office door.  Daddy opened the door.

"You just open the door without asking who's there?" he asked making a note on his board.  "I'm here to do an audit.  I want to check the books."

Daddy complied with all of Mr. Zimmerman's demands.  For some reason all managers were suspected of being dishonest.  After all, theaters were a cash only business and there were plenty of opportunities for some cash to go missing.  My father was a very honest man and try as he may, Mr. Zimmerman could find nothing amiss with the Edgewood's books.  He checked ticket numbers over and over again.  He counted the safe and went through every paper in the file cabinet.  Everything was correct.  This only served to make this manager red in the face.

"I've got my eye on you Gilbert," Mr. Zimmerman growled. "My job isn't to find out what's right with your theater.  It's to find out what's wrong.  Be here at 10:00 in the morning.  We're going to go over this place with a fine toothed comb and if I find so much as a blade of grass out of place, it may be your job."

Daddy was crushed.  Martin Theater's President Carl Patrick had just told him that he was the best manager in the entire company.  Daddy had received numerous awards and letters of recognition for a job well done.  Now this "Johnny-come-lately" was holding his job over his head.  It was the Strand all over again.

Daddy met with Mr. Zimmerman the next morning.  At the end of two hours the man had three pages of notes.  He even wrote up the cracks in the sidewalk and pinned them on daddy.  My father was crestfallen. Looking back, he was never the same man again.

It was about this time that my father hired a concession manager named Smitty.  Smitty was full of energy and seemed to run the concession very well.  He volunteered to help with an upcoming promotion. Clint Eastwood's latest movies "A Fist Full of Dollars" and "For A Few Dollars More" would be playing in a couple of weeks.  Daddy had contacted a group of western gun fighter re-enactors in Warm Springs.  They had agreed to stage a shoot out at the concession during the intermission.  Though the flood lights would be on during the intermission, the concrete pad in front of the concession was poorly lit.  I remembered two of light fixtures stored away in the screen that just might help.  They were square metal boxes with polished metal reflectors each holding a 250 watt bulb.  I retrieved them from the screen and took them home to clean to clean them up.  They cleaned up nicely and that night I sat one on our back porch and plugged it into an extension cord.  It lit up the entire back yard.  "That's just what we need," I thought.  I put the two fixtures in my shop to await my next trip to the drive-in.

The next evening it began to grow dark and the wind began to blow.  In just a few minutes a storm was brewing. The rain began to fall in buckets and the wind was roaring.  The lights flickered on and off several times.  Things were blowing off our porch and across the yard.  The rain drove hard for several minutes and finally settled down.  It rained for about forty-five minutes then stopped.  Daddy called from the drive-in and talked with mother.

"Your daddy said part of the screen blew down." she informed me.

"Oh, can you take me over there?" I asked.

"There are limbs down in the street.  You can go tomorrow."

I was disappointed.  I remembered the stories of the Rexview and how the screen had landed on Daniel Elementary School. I imagined part of the huge screen laying across the lot.  I wondered how they were going to show a movie but mother said that the show was running.  

The next day I went with daddy to the Edgewood.  Only two panels of the screen face were missing but most of the front above the loading door had collapsed.  This was the right door as one faced the screen, the area that was painted black.  From the ground to the bottom two white panels had fallen onto the grass and I could see inside the building.  I had my 8 mm camera and filmed the damage from several angles.  I remember that daddy was in a somber mood.  I was sure that this had reminded of that fateful evening at the Rexview so many years ago.  This along with being under Mr. Zimmerman's microscope weighed heavily on his mind.  

Within days work started on repairs.  I was asked if I would like to help and I accepted.  When I got to the drive-in the framework had been replaced.  I climbed up the ladder and set to work putting the masonite panels into place. As long as I feel safe, I'm not afraid of heights.  In a short while I was hanging from the framework thirty feet above the ground nailing away.  Harold Bishop was also helping out and he said he had never seen me work with so much energy.  By the next day the new front was in place and the painters set to work and within a few hours there was no sign of the storm damage.

Friday night the gunslingers arrived in full western gear.  Daddy had hung my lighting fixtures on poles from the concession roof to illuminate the show.  The gunfighters seemed to be having a party.  They kept coming out of the concession with Totem Trays full of drinks, popcorn, pizza, hamburgers, ice cream, and candy bars.  They would distribute the goodies to their families and head back for another load.  Daddy must have been paying them well.

During the intermission Harold announced over the speaker system for everyone to come to the concession area.  As one of the cowboys walked in front of the concession, another called from the roof. There was an exchange of words and gunfire broke out between the two.  The guy on the roof fell to the ground and his buddies sought revenge. Gunfire broke out all around the building.  Every time a shot rang out, women would plug their ears and small children would cry. Several cowboys fell from the roof to the ground and when the smoke cleared, the good guy had won.  There was a ripple of applause and everyone headed back to their cars.  The cowboys got up and dusted themselves off and headed for the concession.  This scene would repeat itself the next night only this time Smitty wore his western wear.

Sunday night was inventory night and daddy took an exceptionally long time with his counting. Something wasn't right.  The concession was checking up hundreds of dollars short.  He checked and rechecked but it came up the same.  Daddy's theater was always the example for others to follow.  He never checked up short or over more than a few dollars either way.  He moved a box of cups and it felt very light to him.  He opened it and all of the cup sleeves were in place.  These cups came 500 to the case.  Each case held ten sleeves of 50 cups each.  He pulled one out and opened it.  It was empty.  He pulled out another and then another.  The were all empty.  These were one dollar cups and they were counted daily as $500 worth of inventory.  This case had been counted as full and it was actually empty with no money to show for it. Another $500 added to the shortage.  Pizza crust were missing as well as candy, burgers, and ice-cream. Daddy was sweating bullets.  Mr. Zimmerman was looking for something wrong and here it was.  

Daddy's guts were in knots the next morning as he left for the downtown office.  He went straight to Mike Patrick, one of the owners, and presented the problem.  Mike offered to go the theater with him that afternoon to check out the situation.  Patrick checked the inventory and came up with the same results.

"I was told that Smitty was giving out food by the tray load to the actors this past weekend," daddy explained. "That may explain a lot of the shortage."

Mike looked over the figures once more.

"Herschel, if this happens again, it may be your job."

Daddy was broken.  Theater business was his life.  When he came home I remember thinking he looked like a hollow shell.  He sat on the sofa for a long time staring at the floor.  Where was the man with the huge ring of keys who looked so important?  Where was the man that was always singing and joking? Where was the man who was planning his next big promotion?  This was not him.  He looked old and drawn.  I had never seen my father so sad.

The next day daddy announced that Tuesday would be his last day at the Edgewood.  He was retiring.  I was stunned.   How could the Edgewood exist without him?  He was Mr. Gilbert, the manager!  Daddy WAS the Edgewood.  He told the family that He had talked with Carl Patrick about a pension and Mr. Patrick had agreed to give him a pension of $30 a month. $30 a month! Even as a teenager I knew that that was a joke after the many years my father had given Martin Theaters.  I was angry.  Daddy reminded me that we should always be grateful for what we get.  

For the next few weeks daddy didn't know what to do with himself.  He and mother had divorced some months earlier which had only added to the pain of the theater ordeal.  He began to visit the Senior Citizens Center and began to make new friends.  Friendship came easily to my father. The seniors liked to watch movies and he had an idea.  He would check out a film and 16 mm projector from the Bradley Library and have a film day at the senior center.  He would plan a film program that would fit the needs of the seniors.  Sometime he would show a film on aging at one center and maybe a documentary at another. He now had a new direction.  He was happy and looked years younger now that he was removed from Mr. Zimmerman's hit list.

One day my phone rang.  It was Scott Whitley, the projectionist union's business agent.

"Johnny, how would you like to be a full time operator?" he asked.  He knew the answer to that question before he asked it.

"Where?" I asked breathlessly.

"You can start Tuesday at the Liberty if you want the job."

"I'll be there!" I assured him.

It was the prophetic words of Harold Bishop and my greatest desire come true.  I was about to be a projectionist!

next read chapter7

Share you're Adventures with the community. Well written pieces with pictures if possible. Send Articles Here

No portion of this article by John Gilbert, Columbus, Ga., may be printed, reprinted nor reproduced for sale or profit by anyone without first acquiring written permission of John Gilbert.

Contact John Gilbert