I was ten years old. Dad piled us all into the station wagon and off the mountain and into the valley we went, all seven of us. I was so excited. I had never been to any theater before, so this trip to the Hamilton Drive-in was a life-changing event.
I remember the little road that wound around the perimeter, the young guy in the booth taking up money, and the sheer size of the screen. It was the largest construction I had ever seen.
Dad parked between two metal posts where clunky old speakers rested on top with long black cords. He rolled down his window and pulled one of the speakers inside and rolled up the window so it would rest at the top of the glass.
Mom had popped popcorn and filled three empty bread bags and used the same twisty-ties to close them. She had also stuffed several can sodas in her huge purse. Dad might have splurged on the entry fare, but there’s no way he would waste money on food.
The show began with a cartoon and watching it on that gigantic screen was awesome. Then came the main movie – The Apple Dumpling Gang starring Don Knotts and Tim Conway. It was great.
Before long however, sitting in that cramped car, trying to see from the backseat, the toxic fumes from Dad’s Camel-with-no-filter cigarette, and my small bladder, I had to get out. I walked back to the restrooms by the concession area. People were lined up for snacks and it looked like a carnival. The food smelled so good. The bathrooms not so much.
But the coolest thing I discovered were bleachers right in front of the projection room. They had speakers right by the seating and you could look up and see the light beams coming from the projector window behind us. I had found my spot. I sat there in the cool night air and watched the entire rest of the movie. It was paradise.
After the movie was over we headed back to our little house on Sand Mountain as I stared out the window and munched on what was left of the popcorn. Up until then, it was the single greatest experience of my life, and still ranks pretty high. I never even knew such wonders existed. It sure beat watching Hee Haw on our 13-inch B&W TV.
I went back several times on my own after I bought my first motorcycle at age 14. Sadly it closed not long after and was torn down during my senior year in high school. But it was pure Americana and I’ll always remember that night. You never forget your first.
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