The Dumps Summer was over and it was back to school. My normal grade should have been 4-A, and it was only by sheer luck that I made it into 2-B. Judy liked the new tenant’s son, who lived on the fourth floor of our building. His name was Johnny Olsen and he was about twelve years old. His dad ran a moving business, and they soon moved away. Since Carol and Minnie Mouse had also moved away, I soon became attracted to a girl named Dolores. She had a pretty face, black hair with pigtails, and small brown eyes that seemed to disappear when she smiled. She was a lot taller than I was but that didn’t matter since she wasnt aware that I liked her, and anyway, I never got the feeling she liked me. Her father managed the Grandview Movie Theater on Grandview Avenue in Ridgewood. It was known as “The Dumps.” Every town seemed to have one even though some preferred calling theirs “The Itch.” The Grandview was ours. In addition to feeling itchy in any and all of these dumps, you paid a smaller admission because the films they showed had already made their first, second and sometimes third run. You would also have the distinction of being among the last persons in your neighborhood to see these films. By the time a movie reached The Dumps, the demand to see it had dwindled down to children who liked seeing the same film over and over, to cheapskates and to connoisseurs of fine vintage films like me. Since The Dumps didn’t have air conditioning, they had an outdoor theater that was used in the summer. I seldom went, but I recall seeing the Bowery Boys films starring Leo Gorcey on several sweltering summer nights. Still, on those warm evenings both theaters operated simultaneously. If you could put up with the noise of stand-up fans, you could go to the indoor one. The outdoor theater was actually the parking lot during the non-summer months. They set in place wooden benches that were not comfortable, but no one seemed to mind. We enjoyed ourselves. Some evenings you might pray for no rain, but it was always difficult to prevent mosquito bites. Still, nothing could beat watching a movie under the stars. I never saw Dolores in either the indoor or outdoor theater, but did see her father. He was a distinguished looking man who resembled actor Otto Kruger, who was outstanding in the movie, Draculas Daughter. Seven years later he was still the manager of The Dumps. One Saturday afternoon in the spring of 1948, I went with a friend to the indoor theater. My pal had a sickly color, was skinny and could easily pass for Dracula’s son. His mother called him Bertram and his sister Gladys called him Burton. Everyone else called him Bertie. The afternoon that we went to The Dumps he was twelve and I was fifteen. We stood in the back of the theater until our eyes adapted to the darkness. Finding seats in the center of the children’s section was not a problem. My sense of smell has never functioned on as high a level as it does for most people. When it comes to identifying one odor or another, I’m the last to find out. While I was preoccupied with the movie, Bertie’s nose was absorbed in something else. Suddenly, he leaned forward and turned to me with a curious look and said, “Do you smell that?” “What?” “Lean over the seat in front of you. Take a whiff.” I did, but smelled nothing in particular. Moving closer I rested my arms over the chair in front of me. The theater was packed, so it was strange that our row and the one in front of us were empty. Within a few seconds I began to smell something. I pressed my chest hard against the chair in an effort to get a better view of the seat and floor in front of me. I saw nothing there, but thats when the odor alerted me to something offensive. I turned my head to Bertie who apparently saw in my eyes his own conclusion. He blurted, “It smells like shit!” The odor was as foul as Berties language. Though he got that right I wished he had informed me sooner. I pulled away from the chair like an experienced paratrooper jumping from an airplane. Bertie, with probing eyes, said, “What’s that on your T-shirt?” I looked down and just under my chin saw something dark spread across the knitted cotton. I glanced at Bertie, who looked like he had just swallowed vinegar. His expression told me that he had the scoop on the poop. I looked at my shirt again. It surely was what Bertie called it. I took a breath and the odor seemed as if it was inserted in my nose. What was deposited at the top of the chair apparently came from the bottom of a film fan’s shoes. It was all a matter of choosing the wrong seat. I didn’t bother complaining to Dolores’ father or anyone else. Instead, I just hurried home. The theater lived up to its name and after its demise became a funeral parlor.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Nov 2014 23:00:00 +0000
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