JAWS!
There it was in big block letters, underneath the movie cinema’s name: The Flick. Those were the four letters one day back in June of 1975 that just might have saved my bacon. After coming out of the seafood joint with the latest job rejection behind me - no hello, no nice to meet you, no application to fill out or a sit down interview, just a loud NO! The second the redneck owner saw me with my longish, dark brown hair was all he needed to see. He had then turned on his heels and headed back to the kitchen from whence he just come. On walking out myself, feeling dejected once again, there were those huge block letters up there on that marquee, about to announce to me that my luck had finally changed. I just didn't know it yet.
Down there, way down there, across that big parking lot to the L-shaped strip mall, was a long line of people in what must have been the hundreds. The proverbial light-bulb went off. If jobs were to be had around this town, that had to be the place. So I sauntered on down across the big parking lot, politely pushing my way through the crowd at the theater's door.
On entering the place I asked the girl taking tickets if the boss man was around, but he was already heading my she said - wading through the lobby crowd as I turned to look. As he approached, it was immediately obvious the man was a little on the short side, stout, but not really too much overweight. He also had an unmistakable limp. The sweat was forming around his thinning dark blond hair and his mien looked all business. It was to be a few days before I was to see one of the grandest, most genuine smiles to ever grace a human face.
As the first days and weeks passed, this middle-aged man was to turn out to be the Real McCoy of a wonderful human being; and add to that, a Southern gentleman, good friend and mentor to boot within that first year . Yes, as time went on over the many years to come, I discovered Mr Trimble wasn't perfect, who is? But he came about as close to it as a person can and that in and of itself was pretty remarkable.
The only time I ever so him maybe be unfair - possibly fooled by a jealous one into feeling in a bad way towards a relative he looked-up to as a boy...and man- was to come many years later and was a kinfolk despute concerning his older brother. Mr. Trimble was the kind of person that found it hard to see the thieving, back-stabbing, lying and concealments in others because he didn't possess those negative qualities himself. Not that he was anybody's fool, the man simply saw the good in people and more often than not forgave those who fell short.
There it was in big block letters, underneath the movie cinema’s name: The Flick. Those were the four letters one day back in June of 1975 that just might have saved my bacon. After coming out of the seafood joint with the latest job rejection behind me - no hello, no nice to meet you, no application to fill out or a sit down interview, just a loud NO! The second the redneck owner saw me with my longish, dark brown hair was all he needed to see. He had then turned on his heels and headed back to the kitchen from whence he just come. On walking out myself, feeling dejected once again, there were those huge block letters up there on that marquee, about to announce to me that my luck had finally changed. I just didn't know it yet.
Down there, way down there, across that big parking lot to the L-shaped strip mall, was a long line of people in what must have been the hundreds. The proverbial light-bulb went off. If jobs were to be had around this town, that had to be the place. So I sauntered on down across the big parking lot, politely pushing my way through the crowd at the theater's door.
On entering the place I asked the girl taking tickets if the boss man was around, but he was already heading my she said - wading through the lobby crowd as I turned to look. As he approached, it was immediately obvious the man was a little on the short side, stout, but not really too much overweight. He also had an unmistakable limp. The sweat was forming around his thinning dark blond hair and his mien looked all business. It was to be a few days before I was to see one of the grandest, most genuine smiles to ever grace a human face.
As the first days and weeks passed, this middle-aged man was to turn out to be the Real McCoy of a wonderful human being; and add to that, a Southern gentleman, good friend and mentor to boot within that first year . Yes, as time went on over the many years to come, I discovered Mr Trimble wasn't perfect, who is? But he came about as close to it as a person can and that in and of itself was pretty remarkable.
The only time I ever so him maybe be unfair - possibly fooled by a jealous one into feeling in a bad way towards a relative he looked-up to as a boy...and man- was to come many years later and was a kinfolk despute concerning his older brother. Mr. Trimble was the kind of person that found it hard to see the thieving, back-stabbing, lying and concealments in others because he didn't possess those negative qualities himself. Not that he was anybody's fool, the man simply saw the good in people and more often than not forgave those who fell short.
His name was Bob, Bob Trimble to be exact. At first he gave me that kind of look the other two potential employers had that day; but Mr. Trimble took a second glance and told me to come back tomorrow after lunch time. Sleep was very sweet that night; a little apprehensive and a lot of relief for this seventeen year old with no past to go back to -- thanks to a substance abuse and drinking situation in the nuclear family that had driven me away from the madness-- but suddenly with the possibility of some kind of future. One that was about to take this young fellow on a nearly eight year journey through a smorgasbord of people, life, and movies he would never forget.
Up and and at 'em, bright and early the next morning, by noon I was ready to have the interview with Mr. Trimble and find out my fate. Driving down the little road from the duplex in a Ford Galaxy 500 my Grandmother Mimi had been so kind to help purchase for me -- I waved bye-bye to her and zoomed on off. The theater was crowded as it had been the day before. After arriving, there was Mr. Trimble running interference in the packed lobby for that first day's show.
He then followed me up the stairs to the office cubicle inside the projection room. There he introduced me to the manager, Joel, a fellow not too many years older than myself. Joel was a slender guy, about medium height with long straight black hair, and a pair of intense but friendly green eyes behind some wire-rimmed glasses. Joel then finished up something and departed.
For some reason, Mr. Trimble apparently had pretty much decided he was going to hire me right then and there to train as a co-manager. I suppose the unexpected success of JAWS had something to do with it, and, my first job at the age of 15 had been as an usher in a small-town theater, so I had some experience; at any rate, after filling out a short application and the tax forms I began my first day of work at the Flick. The starting pay was $109 a week- close to about 315 bucks today, which was decent starting money back in 1975), plus all the buttery popcorn I could crunch into my tummy.
Speaking of popcorn, or concessions in-general, rather, was one of the first things I learned, and that is why they've always been so expensive - marked-up like they are in other words. The majority of a theater's profits often came from concessions and that is why they are high-priced, then and even more so now.
The theater held some 365 rocking chair seats and I had the unenviable task of stopping at a certain point to break the bad news to folks that there wasn't going to be any shark thrills for them at this showing as it was sold-out. The recommendation was to wait until after the first show started, and then come back and buy advanced tickets for another show that night. It was to go on like this for many weeks.
After the JAWS run was over, Mr. Trimble was nice enough to take all the theater's employees to the local barn dinner playhouse for some expensive eats and a funny floor show that descended from the rafters. I was really beginning to like this boss, a lot, and that's saying something compared to what had come before in any job, or life in general for that matter, and that's being perfectly frank about it. It had been a cruel world at times, with even a long stint basically on the mean streets of Atlanta, Georgia.
As a matter of fact, if I'd been able to get to the Fox Theatre on Peachtree Street one afternoon, I might have wound up working as a roadie-type or lord knows what for the big rock concert promoter, Alex Cooley. I'd helped him a bit the previous night, sans any compensation, with crowd control at a Lynyrd Skynyrd show and he'd told me to come back the next day for a talk about some real work. I couldn't make it, though, so life was to eventually lead in a different direction.
Mr. Trimble had originally gone into partnership buying the business with a man named Maximillian Hell ( sorry folks, I couldn't resist that pseudonym, which isn't too far off the mark anyway) in late 1974. It didn't take long for Mr. Hell to have dreams of being a maker of independently- made movies, with maybe even his own studio ( like Southern legend Earl Owensby had, with more about that gentleman in the unabridged book.)
While making his first production called D. J. Redneck Miller or something similar for the drive-ins, the Flick's employees were even asked to show up and be extras in a restaurant scene. The director had me sit next to the young couple starring in the film but pretty quickly told me to get lost. ( Must have been my extra-long hair and not so chic clothes at the time, not exactly right for a pseudo-fancy restaurant scene, eh?)
Anyway, the independent movie must have run into cost overruns which Mr. Hell made up for by dipping into Mr. Trimble's part of the Flick's profits a bit. Mr. Trimble was a good man and instead of getting the law and courts involved, he just allowed his soon to be ex-partner a chance to sell him his half-share of the movie theater at a reduced price. In retrospect, Maximillian would have done much better sticking to the exhibiter side of the business as things turned out for him rather as a maker of B-film producer dreams.
At some point many years later, after we employees had started calling our boss Pop T in affection, I asked him (for the one and only time) how much he had netted on JAWS. Thirty thousand dollars was his clipped reply; that's well over a hundred thousand bucks today. As time went on, and I learned more and more about Pop T, and his alcoholic but good-hearted wife Mrs. Dot, I came to the conclusion that they surely deserved it all and then some.
There was one other person besides Joel who was to work the next seven and a half years with me. Her name was Vicky and she must have been about twenty or so when we met. She had moved down south from Maine with the rest of her family, after their father had dropped over with the big one at an early age.
I always felt sorry for her and her younger sister and even younger brother. However, I’m going to state it plainly: Vicky was not a sexy girl, which may have been one reason she lasted so long at the theater. Vicky had long, very frizzed-out mousy brown hair, she was also a little lumpy and only wore lumberjack shirts and blue jeans. Her basic duties were to sell tickets and concessions..
Generally, after a show had started, she would sit in her chair next to the register and read paperback books. Occasionally Vicky would throw out a comment or two but usually would have to be asked to join in on any conversation. She grew on us all, and except for a time or two, when she was having that monthly scourge of a biological process women are prone to, we became right fond of her.
Up and and at 'em, bright and early the next morning, by noon I was ready to have the interview with Mr. Trimble and find out my fate. Driving down the little road from the duplex in a Ford Galaxy 500 my Grandmother Mimi had been so kind to help purchase for me -- I waved bye-bye to her and zoomed on off. The theater was crowded as it had been the day before. After arriving, there was Mr. Trimble running interference in the packed lobby for that first day's show.
He then followed me up the stairs to the office cubicle inside the projection room. There he introduced me to the manager, Joel, a fellow not too many years older than myself. Joel was a slender guy, about medium height with long straight black hair, and a pair of intense but friendly green eyes behind some wire-rimmed glasses. Joel then finished up something and departed.
For some reason, Mr. Trimble apparently had pretty much decided he was going to hire me right then and there to train as a co-manager. I suppose the unexpected success of JAWS had something to do with it, and, my first job at the age of 15 had been as an usher in a small-town theater, so I had some experience; at any rate, after filling out a short application and the tax forms I began my first day of work at the Flick. The starting pay was $109 a week- close to about 315 bucks today, which was decent starting money back in 1975), plus all the buttery popcorn I could crunch into my tummy.
Speaking of popcorn, or concessions in-general, rather, was one of the first things I learned, and that is why they've always been so expensive - marked-up like they are in other words. The majority of a theater's profits often came from concessions and that is why they are high-priced, then and even more so now.
The theater held some 365 rocking chair seats and I had the unenviable task of stopping at a certain point to break the bad news to folks that there wasn't going to be any shark thrills for them at this showing as it was sold-out. The recommendation was to wait until after the first show started, and then come back and buy advanced tickets for another show that night. It was to go on like this for many weeks.
After the JAWS run was over, Mr. Trimble was nice enough to take all the theater's employees to the local barn dinner playhouse for some expensive eats and a funny floor show that descended from the rafters. I was really beginning to like this boss, a lot, and that's saying something compared to what had come before in any job, or life in general for that matter, and that's being perfectly frank about it. It had been a cruel world at times, with even a long stint basically on the mean streets of Atlanta, Georgia.
As a matter of fact, if I'd been able to get to the Fox Theatre on Peachtree Street one afternoon, I might have wound up working as a roadie-type or lord knows what for the big rock concert promoter, Alex Cooley. I'd helped him a bit the previous night, sans any compensation, with crowd control at a Lynyrd Skynyrd show and he'd told me to come back the next day for a talk about some real work. I couldn't make it, though, so life was to eventually lead in a different direction.
Mr. Trimble had originally gone into partnership buying the business with a man named Maximillian Hell ( sorry folks, I couldn't resist that pseudonym, which isn't too far off the mark anyway) in late 1974. It didn't take long for Mr. Hell to have dreams of being a maker of independently- made movies, with maybe even his own studio ( like Southern legend Earl Owensby had, with more about that gentleman in the unabridged book.)
While making his first production called D. J. Redneck Miller or something similar for the drive-ins, the Flick's employees were even asked to show up and be extras in a restaurant scene. The director had me sit next to the young couple starring in the film but pretty quickly told me to get lost. ( Must have been my extra-long hair and not so chic clothes at the time, not exactly right for a pseudo-fancy restaurant scene, eh?)
Anyway, the independent movie must have run into cost overruns which Mr. Hell made up for by dipping into Mr. Trimble's part of the Flick's profits a bit. Mr. Trimble was a good man and instead of getting the law and courts involved, he just allowed his soon to be ex-partner a chance to sell him his half-share of the movie theater at a reduced price. In retrospect, Maximillian would have done much better sticking to the exhibiter side of the business as things turned out for him rather as a maker of B-film producer dreams.
At some point many years later, after we employees had started calling our boss Pop T in affection, I asked him (for the one and only time) how much he had netted on JAWS. Thirty thousand dollars was his clipped reply; that's well over a hundred thousand bucks today. As time went on, and I learned more and more about Pop T, and his alcoholic but good-hearted wife Mrs. Dot, I came to the conclusion that they surely deserved it all and then some.
There was one other person besides Joel who was to work the next seven and a half years with me. Her name was Vicky and she must have been about twenty or so when we met. She had moved down south from Maine with the rest of her family, after their father had dropped over with the big one at an early age.
I always felt sorry for her and her younger sister and even younger brother. However, I’m going to state it plainly: Vicky was not a sexy girl, which may have been one reason she lasted so long at the theater. Vicky had long, very frizzed-out mousy brown hair, she was also a little lumpy and only wore lumberjack shirts and blue jeans. Her basic duties were to sell tickets and concessions..
Generally, after a show had started, she would sit in her chair next to the register and read paperback books. Occasionally Vicky would throw out a comment or two but usually would have to be asked to join in on any conversation. She grew on us all, and except for a time or two, when she was having that monthly scourge of a biological process women are prone to, we became right fond of her.
Bob Trimble was an independent theater owner with one screen competing against a big exhibitors chain of two screens, in this medium-sized Southern town of maybe 30,000 people. Old Hollywood had finally crashed and burned around 1971 and a whole new paradigm in the movie business had opened up. The major production studios for some time had almost no idea in which way things would finally be sorted out for a proven and sure-fire way to proceed.
This small window of opportunity—roughly from about the mid-seventies to around the earliest years of the eighties-- opened the doors for filmmakers with true vision and passion to get in there and have their movies green-lighted, that might otherwise not have been made. Some of the greatest films in American history were produced during this time; the list of course is far too numerous for this first chapter in the Flick story to mention. But we sure got to play a lot of them at the theater.
The last half of 1975 was pretty mundane in comparison with what was to come. A parade of crazy oddball town characters like Behemoth, Vampire Clown, Humpy were to come our way, and so many others whose outrageous antics and humorous doings entertained us all, most of the time that is; there was a great deal of real and pretended sex in those swingin' seventies too ( a largely female alumni at a local college in the county saw to that), and of course there was love and heartbreaks, gratuitous violence, Boss Hogg corruption, and life lessons in some ways more valuable than a university degree.
The two movies I remember from that first year are unarguably some of the first true block-buster movies of the post old Hollywood era: JAWS and ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST. The latter film did a very surprising, near JAWS like box-office, or so it seemed. Nurse Ratched could give one nightmares worse than that ol' demon Pazuzu did from The Exorcist. What an unusual and fantastic film One Flew Over...was, and is. Do they really make them like that anymore? If so, I sure haven't seen any- especially not with the lines outside the theater's doors like this one had.
This small window of opportunity—roughly from about the mid-seventies to around the earliest years of the eighties-- opened the doors for filmmakers with true vision and passion to get in there and have their movies green-lighted, that might otherwise not have been made. Some of the greatest films in American history were produced during this time; the list of course is far too numerous for this first chapter in the Flick story to mention. But we sure got to play a lot of them at the theater.
The last half of 1975 was pretty mundane in comparison with what was to come. A parade of crazy oddball town characters like Behemoth, Vampire Clown, Humpy were to come our way, and so many others whose outrageous antics and humorous doings entertained us all, most of the time that is; there was a great deal of real and pretended sex in those swingin' seventies too ( a largely female alumni at a local college in the county saw to that), and of course there was love and heartbreaks, gratuitous violence, Boss Hogg corruption, and life lessons in some ways more valuable than a university degree.
The two movies I remember from that first year are unarguably some of the first true block-buster movies of the post old Hollywood era: JAWS and ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST. The latter film did a very surprising, near JAWS like box-office, or so it seemed. Nurse Ratched could give one nightmares worse than that ol' demon Pazuzu did from The Exorcist. What an unusual and fantastic film One Flew Over...was, and is. Do they really make them like that anymore? If so, I sure haven't seen any- especially not with the lines outside the theater's doors like this one had.
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