Summer 1975
Jun. 14th, 2005 01:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cabensonMy life was forever changed thirty years ago this week. A child of the Seventies, we did not have computers, DVD players, VHS, or video games to keep us occupied during the long summer months away from school. We rode our bicycles three miles every day to the community park, played softball and swam, reveling in an innocence we did not know we had. At night, we went to the drive-in.
I grew up in a very small town and the biggest social events of the summer involved going to the drive-in. For those of you not familiar with the term, a drive-in was a nighttime outdoor movie theater. As the sun began to set, cars pulled in to a fenced off area sporting a 100 ft. screen (some drive-ins had “twin” screens at each end of the lot) and parked next to a pole holding a speaker box that hooked onto one of the cars windows. Hi-tech drive-ins had the audio transmitted over a radio frequency that was picked up by the car’s radio. A concession stand held a bevy of movie snacks within its doors and housed the movie projectors on its roof. You did not want to park next to the concession stand because people would always walk in front of your car. There was a small playground in front of the mammoth screen and parents encouraged their kids to go play in hopes that they would fall asleep during the movies
In mid-June 1975, Mom and Dad told us kids to find our sleeping bags-we were going to the drive-in. Dad hosed out the back of the Ford station wagon while mom filled a paper grocery sack with fresh popcorn , grabbed a mixed 8-pack of soda pop in returnable bottles for us kids and Miller Lite for herself and Dad. My brother, sister, and I laid out Holly Hobbie and Snoopy sleeping bags, put on our pajamas and climbed in the back of The Wagon. We headed into the country and thirty minutes later, we were parked, speakered, and ready for the film to begin.
The drive-in usually showed a family friendly film first, followed by an “R” or sometimes, an “X” rated flick for the adults. That summer evening we watched the visually stunning Walt Disney Production, Bedknobs and Broomsticks. We drank Big Red soda, snacked on popcorn, and conned Dad into getting us hotdogs. After the first film, Mom told us kids to get in our sleeping bags and go to sleep (we were 9 , 8, and 5 years old and it was past our bedtime. I snuggled down in my sleeping bag and started to sleep as the next movie began.
Sleeping in the back of a station wagon had one major downfall. There was a raised metal hinge that allowed the backseat to fold flat, and in order to stretch out (I was a tall kid) I had to lie on that ridge. This was uncomfortable, but no more so than enduring a humid summer night in a closed-up vehicle with no air conditioner. Then my sister opened her pie-hole and let out a blood-curdling scream. Startled into consciousness, I scraped my back the metal seat hinge and sat up quickly to see what was wrong. Unable to sleep, my sister had been secretly watching the “not for kids” movie and was now too scared to close her eyes. With a sigh, my dad pulled my sister into the front seat and Mom, noticing I was awake, told me to save the “If she gets to watch…” argument. I could stay up if I promised not to scream. Feeling as though I was getting away with something, I wisely decided not to tell her about the night I had secretly watched Mandingo, and became mesmerized by the frightening film.
The movie scared me like no other film I had seen. It was more terrifying than the “Indian Jim” scene in Tom Sawyer or the “crushing scene” in Crowhaven Farm combined, and those were damn scary visuals for a nine year old. Thirty years later, I still get chills when I hear the theme music. And I continue to blame my lower back problems on my sister’s shrieking.
The movie? JAWS. And yes, I am still scared to go back into the water.
And why does my "nostalgic" kitty look like he's spewing?
I grew up in a very small town and the biggest social events of the summer involved going to the drive-in. For those of you not familiar with the term, a drive-in was a nighttime outdoor movie theater. As the sun began to set, cars pulled in to a fenced off area sporting a 100 ft. screen (some drive-ins had “twin” screens at each end of the lot) and parked next to a pole holding a speaker box that hooked onto one of the cars windows. Hi-tech drive-ins had the audio transmitted over a radio frequency that was picked up by the car’s radio. A concession stand held a bevy of movie snacks within its doors and housed the movie projectors on its roof. You did not want to park next to the concession stand because people would always walk in front of your car. There was a small playground in front of the mammoth screen and parents encouraged their kids to go play in hopes that they would fall asleep during the movies
In mid-June 1975, Mom and Dad told us kids to find our sleeping bags-we were going to the drive-in. Dad hosed out the back of the Ford station wagon while mom filled a paper grocery sack with fresh popcorn , grabbed a mixed 8-pack of soda pop in returnable bottles for us kids and Miller Lite for herself and Dad. My brother, sister, and I laid out Holly Hobbie and Snoopy sleeping bags, put on our pajamas and climbed in the back of The Wagon. We headed into the country and thirty minutes later, we were parked, speakered, and ready for the film to begin.
The drive-in usually showed a family friendly film first, followed by an “R” or sometimes, an “X” rated flick for the adults. That summer evening we watched the visually stunning Walt Disney Production, Bedknobs and Broomsticks. We drank Big Red soda, snacked on popcorn, and conned Dad into getting us hotdogs. After the first film, Mom told us kids to get in our sleeping bags and go to sleep (we were 9 , 8, and 5 years old and it was past our bedtime. I snuggled down in my sleeping bag and started to sleep as the next movie began.
Sleeping in the back of a station wagon had one major downfall. There was a raised metal hinge that allowed the backseat to fold flat, and in order to stretch out (I was a tall kid) I had to lie on that ridge. This was uncomfortable, but no more so than enduring a humid summer night in a closed-up vehicle with no air conditioner. Then my sister opened her pie-hole and let out a blood-curdling scream. Startled into consciousness, I scraped my back the metal seat hinge and sat up quickly to see what was wrong. Unable to sleep, my sister had been secretly watching the “not for kids” movie and was now too scared to close her eyes. With a sigh, my dad pulled my sister into the front seat and Mom, noticing I was awake, told me to save the “If she gets to watch…” argument. I could stay up if I promised not to scream. Feeling as though I was getting away with something, I wisely decided not to tell her about the night I had secretly watched Mandingo, and became mesmerized by the frightening film.
The movie scared me like no other film I had seen. It was more terrifying than the “Indian Jim” scene in Tom Sawyer or the “crushing scene” in Crowhaven Farm combined, and those were damn scary visuals for a nine year old. Thirty years later, I still get chills when I hear the theme music. And I continue to blame my lower back problems on my sister’s shrieking.
The movie? JAWS. And yes, I am still scared to go back into the water.
And why does my "nostalgic" kitty look like he's spewing?
