Sign from one of our Drive-in's. Can you believe some folks would still try and hide their children in the car trunk! The start of 1978 was a lesson in the ways of love and the vicissitudes of life, not to mention the movie business. Speaking of the films the Flick played that year, they didn't quite start off with a bang. One of the first ones was called Blue Collar, starring Richard Pryor. As best can be remembered, it was about labor shenanigans in the then vibrant Detriot auto industry, which has a shocking scene where one of the auto workers ( actor Yaphet Kotto) is purposely trapped inside an area spraying-painting cars and comes to a most horrible end.
Two other shows the Flick ran early that year were, An Unmarried Woman, with the late Jill Clayburgh throwing up when she finds out her husband has cheated on her; and The Buddy Holly Story, which was notable for Gary Bussey's fine portrayal, as well as being the movie rock star Keith Moon saw the night he overdosed on sleeping pills. Neither of these films did much at the box-office and it was a lucky thing we had the kung-fu late shows still running on the week-end nights.
The so called sexual revolution was at it's pre-AIDs peak around this time and, with a liberal-arts college near town, that had a largely female student body(no pun intended), any guy with half a game plan often did very well in the love-life curriculum. The legal drinking age was eighteen and several night clubs took advantage of this fact. Young folks just love to mingle, get tight, dance and sweat. At six feet and considered attractive by the ladies, I generally had a "date" - even a literal one, once every few weeks or so, but I was more often than not too inebriated to fully consummate anything. Being brain-washed about how evil, disgusting and morally corrupt sexually-transmitted diseases were as a boy probably didn't help the psychological processes any either. I had to be comfortable with a woman to have a full-course love session with her. A character flaw, maybe. But two things pounded into my head as a kid were the mortal dangers of heroin and yes...you guessed it, VD.
Besides, I really was inherently a I Only Have Eyes For You kind of guy and preferred to really feel something for a gal before going all the way. However, I did discover that no two women are built exactly the same. The lovely forms that nature has bestowed on the fairer sex come in all shapes and sizes and are as unique as snowflakes falling on a beautiful winter's day. Purple prose from Yours truly, perhaps, but oh so true.
Some of the nightclubs had a sideline going in the back after hours. These poker or what-ever games, where big money was won or lost, often drew a crowd of spectators. You had to be approved, or rather trusted, to view or sit-in of course. I never played, only watched and learned. It seemed the sensible thing to do at the time. There were pay-offs to the, ahem, proper authorities and only an occasional knifing or game of bullet tag in the parking lot to spice things up further.
The meaty bouncers kept order on the inside of the bars. These guys were mostly friendly if a bit book- challenged, but get one of them mad enough and they'd beat you into rubber, as I saw them do on more than one occasion. All in all, these nightclub owners made serious fortunes, until at some point in the 1980's the state legislators raised the drinking age to 21. A couple of "mysterious" night-clubbing fires quickly followed. Naturally the places were heavily insured.
Two other shows the Flick ran early that year were, An Unmarried Woman, with the late Jill Clayburgh throwing up when she finds out her husband has cheated on her; and The Buddy Holly Story, which was notable for Gary Bussey's fine portrayal, as well as being the movie rock star Keith Moon saw the night he overdosed on sleeping pills. Neither of these films did much at the box-office and it was a lucky thing we had the kung-fu late shows still running on the week-end nights.
The so called sexual revolution was at it's pre-AIDs peak around this time and, with a liberal-arts college near town, that had a largely female student body(no pun intended), any guy with half a game plan often did very well in the love-life curriculum. The legal drinking age was eighteen and several night clubs took advantage of this fact. Young folks just love to mingle, get tight, dance and sweat. At six feet and considered attractive by the ladies, I generally had a "date" - even a literal one, once every few weeks or so, but I was more often than not too inebriated to fully consummate anything. Being brain-washed about how evil, disgusting and morally corrupt sexually-transmitted diseases were as a boy probably didn't help the psychological processes any either. I had to be comfortable with a woman to have a full-course love session with her. A character flaw, maybe. But two things pounded into my head as a kid were the mortal dangers of heroin and yes...you guessed it, VD.
Besides, I really was inherently a I Only Have Eyes For You kind of guy and preferred to really feel something for a gal before going all the way. However, I did discover that no two women are built exactly the same. The lovely forms that nature has bestowed on the fairer sex come in all shapes and sizes and are as unique as snowflakes falling on a beautiful winter's day. Purple prose from Yours truly, perhaps, but oh so true.
Some of the nightclubs had a sideline going in the back after hours. These poker or what-ever games, where big money was won or lost, often drew a crowd of spectators. You had to be approved, or rather trusted, to view or sit-in of course. I never played, only watched and learned. It seemed the sensible thing to do at the time. There were pay-offs to the, ahem, proper authorities and only an occasional knifing or game of bullet tag in the parking lot to spice things up further.
The meaty bouncers kept order on the inside of the bars. These guys were mostly friendly if a bit book- challenged, but get one of them mad enough and they'd beat you into rubber, as I saw them do on more than one occasion. All in all, these nightclub owners made serious fortunes, until at some point in the 1980's the state legislators raised the drinking age to 21. A couple of "mysterious" night-clubbing fires quickly followed. Naturally the places were heavily insured.
Damien the Omen part two was a well made and eerie flick, with anyone getting in the way of the junior Anti-Christ's path to world domination being dispatched in unique and horrifying fashion. If you look into it deeply enough, you'll find this sequel may of had more of a curse on it than its famed predecessor supposedly did. Corvette Summer with Mark Hamil of Star Wars fame, I'm sorry to say, is totally forgotten in my memory for some reason, , except for Mark sitting on a car's hood and that may have been from the preview trailer.
Either the third or fourth biggest grosser that year was a Burt Reynolds feature called Hooper, which was about the lives of movie stuntmen. It's a singularly sad fact, that around this time, Reynolds, was voted top money-making star by the "National Alliance of Theater Owners Association" but, his career seemed to go down hill from there. It would seem Burt was a bit too cocky, even for what was probably the cockiest place in the world, Hollywood itself and the production side of the business. Just take a look or remember some of Burt's appearances on the The Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson and you'll know what I mean. All in all, though, Burt seems to have been a good ol' boy from Florida who made good and was, and is, a decent fellow.
If there was ever a son of a sleeper ticket seller, National Lampoon's Animal House was a top candidate for the winner. This film is often considered the prototype "gross out movie" and it was the top box office film of 1978 bringing in $121,000,000 at the door. The Flick got a decent share of those dollars, in addition to the employees having the pleasure of watching John Belushi and his sorority house buds raise hell. The show was seriously funny and moviegoers were delighted with it from beginning to end. The ladder scene with Belushi trying to watch the undressing co-ed, and then falling backwards on to the ground, probably got the biggest laughs in the movie, but there were many, many, more. Now, before we get to the last box office winner of that year, a couple of personal remembrances are in order.
Either the third or fourth biggest grosser that year was a Burt Reynolds feature called Hooper, which was about the lives of movie stuntmen. It's a singularly sad fact, that around this time, Reynolds, was voted top money-making star by the "National Alliance of Theater Owners Association" but, his career seemed to go down hill from there. It would seem Burt was a bit too cocky, even for what was probably the cockiest place in the world, Hollywood itself and the production side of the business. Just take a look or remember some of Burt's appearances on the The Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson and you'll know what I mean. All in all, though, Burt seems to have been a good ol' boy from Florida who made good and was, and is, a decent fellow.
If there was ever a son of a sleeper ticket seller, National Lampoon's Animal House was a top candidate for the winner. This film is often considered the prototype "gross out movie" and it was the top box office film of 1978 bringing in $121,000,000 at the door. The Flick got a decent share of those dollars, in addition to the employees having the pleasure of watching John Belushi and his sorority house buds raise hell. The show was seriously funny and moviegoers were delighted with it from beginning to end. The ladder scene with Belushi trying to watch the undressing co-ed, and then falling backwards on to the ground, probably got the biggest laughs in the movie, but there were many, many, more. Now, before we get to the last box office winner of that year, a couple of personal remembrances are in order.
During the showing of Animal House one night, there was the usual good-sized gang of co-manager's Joel's buddies hanging around the lobby after the last regular feature had started. One of these guys was known by the name of Big Moe. He was about 21 years old and wasn't the brightest bulb in that group of fellows, for sure; but what happened to him that particular night was little short of moronic. I noticed a stranger dude sizing us all up and, the next thing you know, he's chatting up Moe in private, off from the rest of us a ways. It wasn't long till they both disappeared. A couple of hours later, during the late shows, Moe comes huffing and puffing into the lobby, with quite a tale to tell about the vanishing act.
Seems the mustached stranger had talked the big boy into unloading his Cessna full of pot straight into a van at the small county airport, while he, no doubt nervously, observed everything from a ways off. When we asked Big Moe what the guy had given him for payment, the silly lug pulled out two skinny joints, giggling like a kid with lollipops. He was very pleased with this reward and even offered to share one with everybody. The rest of us, as can be imagined, were rib-tickled to the point of falling over each other with laughter about Big Moe's adventurous labor and regal compensation by the cagey pot smuggling pilot from out-of-town.
I once heard secondhand about another little escapade of Big Moe's, too, so can only vouch for it as something he certainly would have done...not out of character for him in other words. Here's the scene: Big Moe and some of his friends pull up to a stoplight with a car in front of them that has a dirty rear window. With a look of childish glee on his baby-faced, 250 pound, six-foot something body, Moe hops out of the front seat and lumbers up to the back window of the car, and with his index finger writes "wath me" on it. Then snorting all the way back he returns to his bud's passenger seat. Name it and claim it is perhaps the best epitaph for that little story about Big Moe.
Another time a bunch of us were headed over to Moe's mama's house for some reason. When we got within what must of been about a quarter mile of the place, we heard booming rock music coming from down the street. Mystery solved when we turned into her driveway, as that was where the racket was emanating from. I was the first one in the den and, lo and behold, but there was Moe lying there on the floor with two giant speakers pushed up tightly against his elephantine-like ears -- and obviously with no head phones on them at that. Needless to say, the hefty chap looked a little dazed and confused trying to stand up.
Yes my fine readers, it was dim the lights for real with good ol' boy Moe.
I was still chauffeuring Pop T and Mr. B on their trips to their empire of indoor and drive-in movies in 1978. They owned or were partnered up with several others in maybe six or seven screens all around in a couple of different States. These two gentlemen were not only wonderful men, but were also extremely interesting to hear talk about their pasts. In Mr. B's case, he would often reminisce on the old days and about certain movie and TV stars he knew or had met. One time he began to talk about an old Hollywood story he experienced as a young man just starting out in the business with the theater supply company.
It seems a group of the sales guys visited a house of ill-repute in Los Angeles where all the girls resembled the current lady stars of the silver screen. This must have been around the mid- 1930s. A Madam "Snares" had them pick a partner for the evening and then brought the ladies back in after the selections were made with bags over the girls' heads. With a wink and chuckle, she then asked the boys to choose the woman they'd just picked out in the line-up. Mr. B said not a one of them could do it, much to the Madam's cackling delight.
According to the book The Life and Times of Mickey Rooney that "Madam Snares", as Mr B called her, may well have been retired movie actress Billie Bennett, put in place in a boardinghouse brothel off Sunset Strip in 1932 by MGM boss Louie B. Mayer and his right-hand man Eddie Mannix to service visiting exhibiters, sales reps, actors and such. Some of the girls were even surgically altered to look like the movie star women of the day. God what a place it must have been.
Mr. Trimble once shared with me something less amusing. He said as a boy growing up in Chattanooga, Tennessee, he more often than not went to bed hungry. Seems he lived in a large family and his father's furniture store went belly-up pretty early in the Great Depression years. No doubt the county relief fund ( remember, this was well before the social safety net we have today) was a pittance. To stifle those hunger pangs during the day he would sometimes roam the Civil War battlefield near Missionary Ridge, and find buttons and bullets and even the occasional unexploded cannonball.
Pop T had no vices, except, perhaps, he loved to eat. The man would greedily gnaw a corn-cob or T-bone steak down to the nub or marrow when we would be dining out on our inspection trips or at his house. Who can blame him though, after all that he went through as a half-starved young boy living in an era that very nearly saw America have another Revolution.
Sometimes coming back from these inspection trips we would start singing old songs like My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean , which was Pop T's favorite. These sing-a-longs were endearing and bonding for all three of us. I really grew to love those two gentlemen, I really did. They just don't make 'em like those two anymore it seems like. It was the end of an era when those two men and some of their friends and associates passed on, and that's for sure my friends.
Seems the mustached stranger had talked the big boy into unloading his Cessna full of pot straight into a van at the small county airport, while he, no doubt nervously, observed everything from a ways off. When we asked Big Moe what the guy had given him for payment, the silly lug pulled out two skinny joints, giggling like a kid with lollipops. He was very pleased with this reward and even offered to share one with everybody. The rest of us, as can be imagined, were rib-tickled to the point of falling over each other with laughter about Big Moe's adventurous labor and regal compensation by the cagey pot smuggling pilot from out-of-town.
I once heard secondhand about another little escapade of Big Moe's, too, so can only vouch for it as something he certainly would have done...not out of character for him in other words. Here's the scene: Big Moe and some of his friends pull up to a stoplight with a car in front of them that has a dirty rear window. With a look of childish glee on his baby-faced, 250 pound, six-foot something body, Moe hops out of the front seat and lumbers up to the back window of the car, and with his index finger writes "wath me" on it. Then snorting all the way back he returns to his bud's passenger seat. Name it and claim it is perhaps the best epitaph for that little story about Big Moe.
Another time a bunch of us were headed over to Moe's mama's house for some reason. When we got within what must of been about a quarter mile of the place, we heard booming rock music coming from down the street. Mystery solved when we turned into her driveway, as that was where the racket was emanating from. I was the first one in the den and, lo and behold, but there was Moe lying there on the floor with two giant speakers pushed up tightly against his elephantine-like ears -- and obviously with no head phones on them at that. Needless to say, the hefty chap looked a little dazed and confused trying to stand up.
Yes my fine readers, it was dim the lights for real with good ol' boy Moe.
I was still chauffeuring Pop T and Mr. B on their trips to their empire of indoor and drive-in movies in 1978. They owned or were partnered up with several others in maybe six or seven screens all around in a couple of different States. These two gentlemen were not only wonderful men, but were also extremely interesting to hear talk about their pasts. In Mr. B's case, he would often reminisce on the old days and about certain movie and TV stars he knew or had met. One time he began to talk about an old Hollywood story he experienced as a young man just starting out in the business with the theater supply company.
It seems a group of the sales guys visited a house of ill-repute in Los Angeles where all the girls resembled the current lady stars of the silver screen. This must have been around the mid- 1930s. A Madam "Snares" had them pick a partner for the evening and then brought the ladies back in after the selections were made with bags over the girls' heads. With a wink and chuckle, she then asked the boys to choose the woman they'd just picked out in the line-up. Mr. B said not a one of them could do it, much to the Madam's cackling delight.
According to the book The Life and Times of Mickey Rooney that "Madam Snares", as Mr B called her, may well have been retired movie actress Billie Bennett, put in place in a boardinghouse brothel off Sunset Strip in 1932 by MGM boss Louie B. Mayer and his right-hand man Eddie Mannix to service visiting exhibiters, sales reps, actors and such. Some of the girls were even surgically altered to look like the movie star women of the day. God what a place it must have been.
Mr. Trimble once shared with me something less amusing. He said as a boy growing up in Chattanooga, Tennessee, he more often than not went to bed hungry. Seems he lived in a large family and his father's furniture store went belly-up pretty early in the Great Depression years. No doubt the county relief fund ( remember, this was well before the social safety net we have today) was a pittance. To stifle those hunger pangs during the day he would sometimes roam the Civil War battlefield near Missionary Ridge, and find buttons and bullets and even the occasional unexploded cannonball.
Pop T had no vices, except, perhaps, he loved to eat. The man would greedily gnaw a corn-cob or T-bone steak down to the nub or marrow when we would be dining out on our inspection trips or at his house. Who can blame him though, after all that he went through as a half-starved young boy living in an era that very nearly saw America have another Revolution.
Sometimes coming back from these inspection trips we would start singing old songs like My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean , which was Pop T's favorite. These sing-a-longs were endearing and bonding for all three of us. I really grew to love those two gentlemen, I really did. They just don't make 'em like those two anymore it seems like. It was the end of an era when those two men and some of their friends and associates passed on, and that's for sure my friends.
A good example of the hit and miss nature of the business in 1978 is the movie Halloween. Nobody expected this one to do much box office, which is probably why the big chain company passed on it, in that particular rotation pick period, and Mr Trimble snatched it up. Before Jason and Freddy Krueger there was Michael Myers, and boy did he ever scare the pants off of people.
It did very well for us, but we, nobody, really, had any idea that it was to spin into gold with the sequels, genre and stuff. The musical score, especially Mr Sandman, the unique lensing and early fall setting were all ingredients in this blockbuster's success. Not to mention Jamie Lee Curtis's awesome debut as Laurie Strode. Except for some clips over time, I only saw the movie when we played it and remember Jamie Lee's performance more than Jason's. Hat's off to director/writer John Carpenter and everyone else involved in it.
It did very well for us, but we, nobody, really, had any idea that it was to spin into gold with the sequels, genre and stuff. The musical score, especially Mr Sandman, the unique lensing and early fall setting were all ingredients in this blockbuster's success. Not to mention Jamie Lee Curtis's awesome debut as Laurie Strode. Except for some clips over time, I only saw the movie when we played it and remember Jamie Lee's performance more than Jason's. Hat's off to director/writer John Carpenter and everyone else involved in it.
The second or third biggest film the Flick showed that year was also the last one featured. It was Every Which Way But Loose starring Clint Eastwood and an Orangutan named Clyde. Foul Play was possibly our third biggest grosser of the year and had that hilarious seduction scene with the late Dudley Moore and Goldie Hawn in it, however, this latter film had nowhere near the belly laughs Every Which Way did. Eastwood's interplay with Clyde, and his crazy but lovable mom (Ruth Gordon), coupled with the motorcycle gang that couldn't ride straight, trying to track Clint and his pals down, was a joyous and delightful way to end 1978 for the Flick.
RSS Feed
