Magnolia Theater

I enjoyed my Friday and Saturday nights at the Magnolia Theater. I also enjoyed going to the magic/trick store downtown on 1st Avenue. One night, I made my own trick. I carefully folded a dollar bill so that it overlapped perfectly. I meticulously ironed it, making it look like a regular dollar bill, but half the length. The cashier said nothing when I handed it to her, she just unfolded it and gave me back sixty-five cents change, disappointed I pushed through the aluminum turnstile.

Across the front of the lobby was a wall of one-inch thick glass doors that opened to a foyer about fifteen feet deep, then another set of matching glass doors opened to the outside and 34th Avenue West. We could stand here when the movie was over, waiting for our parents to pick us up while safely inside and out of the rain.

The two sets of thick glass doors were more than enough to leave the outside world behind on Friday and Saturday nights. We would see two feature movies, a newsreel narrated by a dramatic broadcast voice, plus at least one cartoon. It was always a fantastic night at the movies for us kids and a very good night at home for our parents.

The thick teal carpet with light Magnolia blossoms transitioned me into the experience. Coming from the left as I entered was the smell of fresh buttered popcorn, immediately triggering thoughts of other treats that were inside the glass display case. Visions of Bonbons, Milk Duds, Good and Plenty, Dots and M&M’s started going through my mind. The concession girls, wearing Art Deco uniforms, matched the exterior and interior architecture.

I don’t know why Mrs. Chester, the theater manager, was always getting mad at us and giving speeches from the stage. On an average night, there would be popcorn flying up into the projector light, hooting and hollering, and candy being thrown occasionally, but that was just routine behavior for us kids. She would get our attention by stopping the movie and threatening not to start it again until we behaved. Eventually, the film would restart, and our behavior would be mostly back in line with her expectations.

About twenty-five percent of the time, we would go through the routine a second time with a much more dramatic speech from Mrs. Chester. I think only once she marched up the stairs a third time. “Musclewhite,” her Assistant Manager, opened the side doors. We were all being ejected! Mrs. Chester was suddenly in a real predicament, sending young children out into the night with no parents to pick them up. After five very long minutes with both sides not knowing what to do and not another word on either side, Mrs. Chester walked down the stage stairs. Musclewhite closed the side exit doors and the movie restarted. The theater remained quiet the rest of the night.

Mrs. Chester left individual and small group rule enforcement to Musclewhite (which was his real name, as far as we knew). He was scary and much more feared than Mrs. Chester. You didn’t even want to look at him sideways.

Another night he became our protector. Westside Story was playing downtown; the film may have given some older kids bad ideas. Outside on the sidewalk were four guys, “greasers,” wearing jeans, black boots, and white t-shirts with packs of cigarettes rolled up in them. They had long hair, greased back, in their back pockets were long chrome car wrenches so heavy they made their pants slide down.

Musclewhite changed from villain to hero that night—Musclewhite paced back and forth between the sets of glass doors; his intimidation was focused on the intimidators. His non-verbal intimidation worked; they soon disappeared into the night...

That was the only drama I saw in Magnolia as I was growing up—it was an idyllic time, it was a fantasy world that was real. I grew up, and it all faded away. Before the Magnolia Theater was torn down, a fantasy came true. I rode off with an Art Deco concession girl in her ‘55 Chevy. I learned what happens when asked, “Do you love me?” and you tell the truth.