Before the last frame of celluloid rolled off the reel, Jacob was yanking the curtain closed with one hand, raising the house lights with another and jerking his head for the intermission singers to get on with it.

Jacob burst out into the house like some had set a firecracker off under his rear. He only had three songs to get up to the projection booth and load the next film.

Bounding up the stairs, he found the Theatorium’s owner, Mr. Dinstuhl, sitting on the landing, shoulders slumped.

“Sir?” Jacob asked, unaccustomed to seeing his hardworking boss like this.

“Ah, Jacob, my boy” Mr. Dinstuhl looked up with a weak smile. Then, without warning, asked, “How are you at making candy?”

“I dunno? I just run the projectors.”

“You know, I opened this nickelodeon to sell candy. Chocolates, toffees, brittles. I could give two shakes about the movies, I just wanted to sell these rubes sweets. Now they all want something called ‘popped corn’. Popped corn! What the hell is that? Killing my margins, that’s what. Gonna have to sell the blasted theatre to make up for it.

“So, let me rephrase. Would you like to learn to make candy?”

Memphis Note
The Theatorium was Memphis’s first official nickelodeon. Films were the main draw, with live acts only being used between features. The theatre was opened by Charles Dinstuhl, who owned a confectionary next door. He rightly saw the theatre as a way to increase his customer base. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much interest in the movies or the business of running a theatre, and when pop corn began to over take candy sales, he pulled out of the movie business. Which was probably a for the best, since he went on to found the legendary Dinstuhl Fine Candy Company.

The patrons were unusually quiet, anxious even, as they queued in front of the Warner Theater. In the sweltering summer heat, women fanned themselves, men sweated through their linen shirts, what few children there were stamped impatiently at the wait. Hundreds yellow incandescent bulbs in the marquee over head pulsed in steady rhythm, driving the crowd slowly forward past the ticket booth and into the theatre.

Inside crowd filed past the concession stand without stopping for refreshment, disappearing into the dimly lit cavern of the screen room. They took their seats as silently as they’d entered. A baby started to cry, and the theatre manager had a sinking sensation that he’d just hung an albatross around his neck.

The lights went out and everyone in the room held their breath. Silver light spilled across the screen, images dancing to life. Speakers hissed and popped then a lively jazz tune began to roll out of them.

Still the audience held their breath. All of this they’d seen before. They were here for something new.

Then a dull roar echoed through the room, followed by a cold breeze drifting down from above. They all exhaled as the air conditioning came to life.

Memphis Note
The Warner Theatre was the first building in Memphis to get air conditioning. It was originally a Vaudeville theatre called the Pantages, purchased by Warner Brothers in the 30s after Vaudeville gave way to movie theaters. The theatre had a marquee that would put even the modern Orpheum to shame, but sadly it was demolished to make way for One Commerce Square in the late 60s.

He was very tired these days. Even more so than normal, which was something considering he slept nearly fourteen hours a day when he was a spry, young thing.

When he came here no one cared that he’d been in the movies or that he’d come from across the ocean or that Volney wasn’t even his real name. His new neighbors just looked him over, turned their noses up, and went about their business.

Ingrates, he’d thought at first. They should appreciate being in the presence of a star like him. But, when the meals brought to him were the same as everyone else’s and he was given exercise hours just like everyone else, he realized that he was the same as the rest of them.

And for a while, that Volney made very sad. Not a deep sadness, but an accepting kind of sadness. The sort you get when things have changed forever and won’t go back.

He still had his roar, though. The resonant, primal, echoing shout that had made him famous.

As he headr the gate clank open for their morning feeding, Volney decided that he should remind everyone why lions are the king of all beasts.

Memphis Note
The lion you see at the beginning of classic MGM movies is the Volney of this story. He was born in the Dublin Zoo and originally named Slats. He was brought to MGM by his trainer Volney Phifer, his future namesake. After retiring from the movie business, Volney was sold to the Memphis Zoo, where he spent the rest of the day in the zoo’s cat house, his roar echoing through the building and cinematic history.

The hatchback of his beat up Volvo station wagon was open wide, yawning like a lazy lion. Warm summer wind whistled past, and bursts of heat lightening made the clouds over head flash, with rain sure to follow later. The back seat was pressed down, she was in his arms, and they were in a light blanket watching the credits roll upward on the drive-in movie screen.

This would end soon, they both knew it. She was heading to one coast, him to another. They’d both gotten into the colleges of their dreams, and now the whole rest of their lives were conspiring to pull them apart. But that’s how high school went.

They were lucky enough in that there was no regret, nothing unspoken, no hidden animosities. She was his best friend, and he was hers. They were partners through the biggest years of each other’s lives. Really, there wasn’t much more you could ask than that.

The credits for one movie finished and the screen went white, a blinding terminus.

But then, it went dark again, as the next movie began.

This would end soon, but not tonight. He pulled her closer to him in the meantime.

Memphis Note
The Summer Avenue drive-in is the only one in the city. Horrible and crappy and dirty, just like a drive-in should be. Because when you go to the drive-in, you don’t go for a great picture or stunning sound, you go to be with people. The movie is just an excuse to gather, the people are the reason you go.

“We need you to do this, Larry.”

In the dark room you could barely see the man with the downturned face nod. “I understand that, Revered, and I honestly wish I could help you. But, it’s been done before. Up in New York. They couldn’t make it stick. If we try it again down here, the same thing’ll happen.”

Larry Parrish’s eyes darted from one man of God to another. The room was full of them. Packed in like sardines. Incredibly well connected sardines, though. These were the sort of men that you couldn’t say no to. They could make his career, or sink it.

“Pornography is the worst kind of pabulum for the masses.” Started another one, a priest this time. “It corrupts the mind, ruins the values of a community. We can’t – won’t – have it in ours, Larry. You understand?”

He nodded in response. “But that still doesn’t change – ”

Another priest cut him off before he could finish.

“You could try a different route than New York did. Go after the actors. Make an example. Show them that they aren’t free of sin for their debauched actions.”

Then the Reverend spoke again.

“Ruin them, Larry. Ruin them all.”

Memphis Note
The Larry Parrish in this story is real. He’s the prosecutor that went after the actors in the movie DEEP THROAT, the first time anyone had tried that avenue of attack. And it worked. Well, for a bit, at least. The conviction was later over turned for the main actor.