When I was barely seven, my mother once dropped me and my boyhood chum Paul Wilkerson at the Oldham Theatre in Winchester, TN. Paul was my sleepover guest, and my mother thought an afternoon matinee of FOLLOW ME, BOYS was the answer to her desire for some domestic tranquillity. My mothers methods of childrearing are the subject for a later date. The point is that two energetic seven-year old boys were unleashed on a lazy summer afternoon in a large, dark and mostly empty theatre. The Oldham had a balcony which seemed mysterious and enticing. Paul and I made our way up the stairs and onto the balcony, where we both settled down to watch the film and eat Milk Duds. Our reverie was interrupted by the blinding torchlight of the Oldhams manager, an portly fellow who reeked of cigar smoke and Old Spice. His day job was teaching History at Franklin County High School, but he moonlighted at the Oldham, where he had acquired a reputable for being something of a martinet. Time and providence have erased the mans name from my memory. All I really remember is that he bore an uncanny resemblance to Ned Beatty. The manager grabbed both Paul and me by the ear. Without a word he dragged us both down the stairs and into the vestibule, where he pointed to a spot in the orchestra with the unspoken but explicit command that we were to take two seats there. Yall boys know the balcony is for the nigras, he spoke to our retreating backs. When people tell me that America is going to hell in a hand basket and the world was so much purer and better when we were young, I remember that episode from my youth and I know that such nostalgia is just bullshit. I have no desire to relive those times. America is better today in every respect. It isnt perfect yet. But it is wonderfully better.
Posted on: Fri, 04 Jul 2014 21:03:24 +0000
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