Popcorn

Almost every Sunday my mom, brother and I would go to the matinee at the New Potrero Theatre on 18th and Connecticut streets. We’d have our usual lunch of pasta, quickly do the dishes and be at the movie house before the 1 p.m. start.

The theatre was owned and operated by a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. What a pair they were.  She was short and pudgy; he was tall and thin.  She wore a white uniform with yellow epaulets on the shoulders. The coat had large gold buttons. She topped it off with a white captain’s hat with gold braiding. Under her cap was a big, black wig. Of course, she sported a black bow tie. 

Mr. Holmes wore a black suit with a white shirt and black bow tie. Neither one smiled much. He ran the projector. Once the movie started, she patrolled the aisles with her flashlight making sure no one was up to any mischief.

We’d pay our 25 cents, enter through the little side door, and immediately head for the old-fashioned popcorn machine with our nickel. We took one of the little brown bags from the slot, placed it under the hole, put our nickel in and watch the yellow, buttered popcorn slide down into our bag. Oftentimes Mr. Holmes, who we nicknamed “General” and “Ichabod Crane,” would be lurking around the machine. The popcorn was usually stale and salty, but we loved it and gobbled it up fast as soon as the movie started. Sometimes we’d get candy; Necco Wafers or JuJubes.

The lights would go down, the movie would begin. After the first film there’d be a newsreel, cartoon, coming attractions and then the second movie.  What a wonderful afternoon of make believe it was. 

There was one drawback.  The theater’s nickname was the “flea hole.” We often left with a few bites. We’d usually get home after 5 p.m. Mom would make pizza with English muffins as the base, and we’d have a special treat: a coke. How simple and wonderful those Sunday afternoons were.

We saw delightful musicals at the theater, which sparked my love of tap dancing. I often imagined myself up on the screen dancing with Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire.

I’m not sure when the theatre opened but much to our dismay it closed in the late 1950s. It was a great loss to our neighborhood, but big screens and stereo sounds were becoming popular. The little New Potrero Theatre couldn’t compete. It gave many hours of great entertainment to the working class who couldn’t afford much more. Thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes.