What caught my mind on a particular trip was noticing how many drive-in theaters had disappeared. Between Dover and York their were six I can remember. One in Newington whose property is now being auctioned off, one on the York - Kittery line which is now part of the giant Kittery Outlet Mall, and a few others scattered around Portsmouth. It doesn't take a genius to realize that whoever buys the land vacated by the drive-ins will not continue the business of showing movies. They will probably build another outlet mall or another car lot.
Feeling a little depressed, I came to the realization that the drive-in theater represented a good portion of my pre-adult life. A life which only lives in memories and is as gone as the drive-in itself.
My first memory of going to a drive-in was when I was a little boy of perhaps seven. My parents loaded up my two sisters and myself in our 1956 red and black Ford Galaxy. The two colors were separated by the thickest and shiniest chrome piece that, to this day, I have never seen again. Inside the seats were covered by a tight thick plastic shield with bubbles in it so you would not stick when you sat down. We all sat in the back in nervous anticipation. We were never sure which Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis comedy we would be watching. I remember clearly how we had to wait in line in order to pay one price for the whole car. My mother always directed my father to the center most portion of the lot in front of the screen. We never drove to the front row because my mother said that if you get too close to the screen you would lose your eyesight.
After placing the speaker over my father's window we all left the car excited in anticipation for what we would find at the snack counter. I could never talk my mother into letting my father place the speaker in my window because she said that if you sat too close to the speaker you would lose your hearing. Of course, we knew exactly how much time their was before the movie started because the screen would light up with local advertisements at five minutes before the show was to begin.
The air was always fresh at the drive-in. It was also full of biting bugs too. I knew that my father would buy one of those weird looking coils at the snack bar to later light and nearly suffocate all of us who sat in the car.
Entering the snack bar was an experience in itself. Their was always a labyrinth of shiny silver bars and red velvet covered cords you had to travel down in order to get to the food. My sister once told me that they had to put these blockades up because a few years earlier their was such a rush to get to the food counter at intermission that the small people in front of the counter were trampled to death. Since I was still a small person I don't think I ever went up to the snack bar during intermission.
While waiting in line, I always enjoyed the posters showing pictures of the upcoming movies. They were so big and portrayed the actors and actresses as being beautiful and perfect. I especially enjoyed the horror movie posters even though they usually brought on nightmares. I loved being scared by them. My father used to tell me that the posters always proved to be a lot scarier than the movie.
We always got back to our seats with our newly acquired goodies just in time to see the hot dog flip its way into the hot dog bun trainer and the parade of the baton twirling ice cream bars. The music, of course, will always be indescribable. What I remember most of all about this animated scene was that it always looked old and full of lines. At the time it made me feel very young and new.
The coming attractions were my favorite. They showed the most exciting and daring parts of the movie. They also made you want to see the movie even though you knew that it wouldn't be half as food as its advertisement. I never got to see the second coming attractions after the first movie because my parents always took us home before they began. In fact, we always left before the end of the first movie so that we could beat the other cars out. In those days their were few cars left at the end of the first movie.
During the show all was quiet. I don't ever remember being told to quiet down during the movie because we never said a word. At that age the movie was always the most boring part of the whole evening. In face, I am glad that my parents never allowed us to see the second one because I don't think I could ever have stayed quiet through it.
Now that I think of it, I don't remember the drive home because I always fell asleep as did both of my sisters. There were times that even though the rattle of the car hitting the bottom of our drive way woke me up, I faked being asleep. I did this because I loved the feeling of security in being carried to my room by my father and mother. There is no better feeling of self than having ones parents tuck you into bed and gently kiss you good-night. The drive-in became one of my favorite memories of my early childhood.
Then came my pre-teen, pre-pre puberty stage of my drive-in career. I still went to the drive-in with my parents but enjoyed it less unless I was accompanied by a favorite friend. My oldest sister, by this time, was too old to go any more so their was always room for a good buddy. The game now became more advanced than just observing the snack bar and its surroundings. Even though I still liked to gaze upon those posters of coming attractions their were more important things to do. Oh, by the way, nightmares were not the only dreams that were produced by those posters. I also started to enjoy the more adult ones.
This was the era of watching the older boys and girls snuggle ever so closely while they bought their one box of buttered pop corn. Because their was two of us now we were allowed to go right up to the front of the drive-in and play on the always crowded play ground that stood at the foot of the screen. The swings and the slides were colored so bright that they almost seemed to be made of glass. My favorite ones were the large animals on giant coiled springs. I always wanted to swing on them but I assumed, at this point of my life, that I would make a fool out of myself to my friends. An early mistake in my life that I am doomed to never be able to correct.
I never could understand why the big kids always hogged the swings and stared up at the screen. You always knew the show was about to begin because above our heads that good ole well trained hot dog and that ever familiar parade of ice cream pops would appear. When you were up that close to the screen they seemed a little more faded and thus a little older. Toward the end of this era of my life my friend and I sometimes tried to be late so that we could go between the rows of cars and sneak a peak at what we only heard about and hoped we soon would be allowed to learn.
One of the greatest experience in my life occurred when I was allowed to join a group of my friends at a drive-in without my parents. It seems that someone's older cousin was visiting from another town and was conned into taking his younger cousins to the drive-in. Of course, it started out that the older kid just wanted to take his new girl friend and didn't want to take his related brats. And, of course, their friends. As we stuffed into his car, the cousins shocked look evolved into one of hate as he jammed the car into first gear and carefully steamed off.
When we arrived at the drive-in we were free to do as we pleased. In fact, I am sure the older cousin only cared about the head count before it was time to leave. The adventure consisted of sneaking up to the cars during the movie. Some of the people in the car were just watching the movie. But every now and then you would walk up to the steamiest of windows and learn first hand what my father first learned in the back of some neighbors garage. My mother could never understand why I always needed to take a bath when I arrived home.
A solo. A young man's life really only begins when he is given a driver's license and use of his father's station wagon. Even the better if the station wagon's back seat folds down. After weeks of deciding who to ask, I had my first date to go with me to the drive-in. I picked her up at the approved time and what to my surprise, my date told me that her parents had insisted that we take her younger sister and her friends. My surprised look quickly evolved into one of disdain. At the theater I quickly got rid of the kids and finally snuggled up with my date. Every time I leaned over to give her that first kiss, I swear I saw something outside the door. Must have been my imagination. The movie was the shortest I could ever remember and after counting that I had the right number of those stupid kids, I drove home.
My first intimate solo to the drive-in was bizarre. It occurred in my own 1961 bright yellow Ford Fairlane. It wasn't really my own. It was my mother's old car that I basically took over by trashing it. To this day I think she wanted me too so that she could get that new oldsmobile. I loved my first car. It had the wide flowing rear fins and pitted rusting chrome.
The date actually started out innocently enough with my best friend's girl friend needing pity because she just broke up with my best friend. Figuring that the local drive-in showing some Devil's Angels motorcycle film would calm her nerves, my decision seemed viable. The movie began as usual except that this was my date's cue to take her top off. I had to follow suit because I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable. So within minutes it was all over. Had to be the longest few minutes of my life and even more important, it happened at the drive-in.
After the novelty of going to the drive-in alone with one's favorite girl friend wore off it was much more fun to jam into a car and go in groups. But unlike the old days one had to pay by the person instead of by the car. Thank God for my father's fixation with station wagons. I figured that if I took out the spare tire from it's compartment I could stuff at least three medium sized friends into it. And if I ever had a blanket, and of course I always did, I could fit at least that many girls under it in the back seat. I was very popular in those days because of that car.
At the drive-in we still went to the snack bar before the movie began and then again, with the exception of myself, at intermission. We also always played in front of the large screen during the movie and watched the giant creatures above our heads as we leaned back on the now rusted chains of the always rusted swings. As we looked at the yellowed hot dog jump into the totally faded out bun we thought of nothing and everything. We talked about our futures and how it scared the hell out of us. We talked about what we wanted to become and hoped we would never be. Some of my most interesting and intriguing conversations occurred on those swings even though the little brats stared at us because we were on their swings.
College, marriage, and responsibility came soon after. I went to the drive-in less and less each year because I simply didn't have the time. I remember bringing my daughter only once. She was two years old and I made the mistake of taking her to see a horror film. She never wanted to go again. But that made no difference because most drive-ins were closing down.
I try not to drive down old Route One much now because it depresses me. I don't feel sadness because I have lost the capacity to go to a drive-in. No, I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to go and now my time is over. I do feel sadness for my daughter and her friends though because they don't have any place that real to associate life with. Arcades and malls just don't represent the reality of people like our old time drive-ins did. But then again my reality is not my daughters. Yeah, I stay away from old Route One as much as I can.
Jim Fabiano is a free lance writer living in York Beach, Maine