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Love Lost and Never to Be Rediscovered
My love of old movie houses that are gone now but live on in my memory
Every time I go to a movie, it’s magic, no matter what the movie’s about — Steven Spielberg
I love movies and old movie houses. They’re in my blood by an infusion of films into my DNA when, as a child, I took back deposit bottles to gather the nickels and dimes I needed for a Saturday film.
Once seated in the third row from the screen in terribly uncomfortable seats with rough edges, I was transported, and I never regretted a moment of it. Always afraid of the dark, the blackness in the old Loew’s dream movie houses, I was home in the dark, and I welcomed its embrace.
And what movie mansions they were. Our town had one of the indescribably beautiful Loew’s theatres. Incredibly thick carpeting rivaled that of Radio City Music Hall, and a hall of mirrors led you to the ticket collector in his uniform with that silly hat.
