Linden Street Entertainment

Linden Street Entertainment

During the late forties and early fifties, the usual forms of entertainment were available in my hometown, Fond du Lac, Wisconsin. There were two theaters on Main Street in the business district: the Fond du Lac and the Retlaw (Walter spelled backward). Other screenings in Fondy were available at the Outdoor Theater next to Lakeside Park, and at the Public Library Art Film series. I enjoyed them all but my favorites were the weekly summer playground movies.

Each year, the city recreation department hired Mr. Neubecker to show films at specific parks and playgrounds around town. On given summer weeknights, he went to certain sites; the Senior High School play area was one of them. Thursday was our night, and from the time I was six, my family never missed one.

It took some preparation to gather all the requisite equipment for movie nights. We needed the old army blanket to spread on the ground. It served as a buffer between the chalk connecting the ball diamond bases, and our tail feathers. Refreshment and munchies were a must. We usually made popcorn and a jug of Kool Aid. Jackets or sweaters came in handy if it got too cold, or they could serve as pillows. A mosquito repellent was mandatory. Shortly before sundown and after a last minute bathroom encounter, Dad, Mom, my sister Jeanne, and I set out across Linden Street and over the High School lawn to the playground behind the building.

Once there, we picked a spot to accommodate our blanket. The best sites for viewing were the grassy areas on the little incline along the south edge of the playground. Those were available on a first-come first-served basis. That meant launching Dad early, a significant challenge, and one that usually fell to me. My sister was too young and Mom was always at work on some chore and too busy to be otherwise motivational.

Nearly everyone from the surrounding area came to these filmings and by the time the movie started, blankets and audience tiled the entire playground. We made ourselves as comfortable as possible. There were only two positions: sitting and tummy lying. Depending on the under layer, it was sometimes necessary to switch from one to the other often. The only thing that canceled the movie was rain. Otherwise, we braved mosquitoes, cold, heat, and some wind. The freestanding portable projection screen didn't bear up under too much of the latter.

These gatherings were more than entertainment; they were social occasions. While waiting for the movie to begin, neighbors milled about the area and chatted with other neighbors. Contacts like this were as efficient as the backyard fence for catching up on local "news." Mosquitoes also had movie nights on their calendar and came in droves to enjoy the occasions with us.

Mr. Neubecker arrived early and pulled his snappy station wagon with the wood trim into position. He parked at an angle at the southeast corner of the play area with the rear end aimed to the northwest. The tailgate was open and his projector sat on it. The projection screen was situated at the far northwest corner of the site where it received the images as they wafted above the assembled audience. Mr. Neubecker had speakers that he positioned on each side of the screen. Long wires connected the projector to the speakers, and an extension cord to a power outlet brought the whole works to life.

We all understood that the folks who chose the center spots should stay put during the movie. If they didn't, their silhouette would displace the entertainment. It happened occasionally and the rest of us roundly castigated the offender.

As soon as it got dark enough, someone turned the playground floodlights off and Mr. Neubecker started the projector. We all suspended our disbelief and focused on the sputtering images on the screen. The films were always wholesome, upbeat, and feel-good stories. We saw Heidi, Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House, Room for One More, The Canterville Ghost, and The Three Musketeers. Robert Young, Martin and Lewis, Bob Hope, and Abbott and Costello drifted across the screen. The Life of Riley, Charlie's Aunt, and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington were other favorites.

If all went well, we were mesmerized until the film flickered to an end and the lights came back on. Occasionally, the celluloid strip broke at some point. The jagged end stuttered across the screen accompanied by groans and all went dark. Someone turned the floodlights back on so Mr. Neubecker could assess the situation and make the needed repairs. He re-threaded the continuing end through the projector and wound it onto the take up reel far enough for it to hold. Then he restarted the projector and the movie shimmered back to life.

When the film ended, everyone gathered up their gear and headed for home. I always slept well after movie nights. By the time we came home and I got ready for bed, I was tired. Mom and Dad enjoyed the diversion, too, and it was fun doing this as a family.

Without the near constant visual bombardment to which I am subjected today, movies were a unique adventure for me. The only thing that rivaled it was the radio. Perhaps it fired my imagination to an even greater degree than movies. My sister, Jeanne, and I shared a bedroom in the big house on Linden Street. Our beautiful red plastic radio with black knobs sat on the fruit crate between our twin beds.

The radio was a bedtime ritual. It felt good after a day of hard play to snuggle in and close my eyes. We tuned in toThe Great Gildersleeve, Charlie McCarthy, The Red Skelton Show, Ozzie and Harriet, Fibber McGee and Mollie, Our Miss Brooks, and The Jack Benny Show. We also enjoyed Boston Blackie, The Green Hornet, Dragnet, Inner Sanctum, and The Shadow. As I listened, I would allow my minds eye to pave over the gaps in the dialog and create a movie in my head.

It was a simpler time then. These vivid memories are a reminder of the simple childhood that I enjoyed in my hometown, Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.