What a Show!

What a Show!

By Mark Leitheiser

Well, here we are. Another winter has come and gone and despite a roller coaster of spring temperatures, we can begin to look forward to the warm joys of summer. Thankfully, many of the summer traditions of our childhoods are alive and well today. Swimming, fishing, camping and many other summer activities seem to be as popular today as ever, albeit a bit more expensive. Yet, one of the great activities of summers past has nearly vanished: the evenings at the drive-in movies.

Going to the drive-in was a rite of passage for teenagers for decades. Yes, traditional movie theaters had certain advantages, to be sure, but when it came to a full evening of entertainment, the drive-in movies offered unique opportunities that remain unchallenged to this day.

One of the best things about the drive-ins was the time of the shows. The sun was never allowed to see a show, only the moon and stars were invited. Waiting for the late summer sunsets to slide under the dark horizon forced our parents to adjust their be-home-or-else curfew. And if there was a double-feature that night? Oh my! During an age free from cell phones, we were free to terrorize the town until at least 1:30 in the morning. So we did.

Full disclosure: my friends and I didn’t always make it to the drive-in but, to our credit, occasionally, we did. This is when the fun started. Teens then, like teens today, like to hoard money and break rules and sneaking into the drive-in satisfied our lust for both.

Our drive-in was located about a mile west of town which was just enough distance to pull a fast one. At dusk on a warm summer evening, teenage jalopies would line the side of the highway with their trunks open while their friends climbed in to sneak in without paying. Most of them had the money but somehow the show was better if they could sneak by management.

One evening, a friend and I opened his trunk to sneak someone in . . . which is how we almost killed my cousin. Claiming he had no money, my cousin gratefully folded himself into the trunk of my friend’s wreck of a car. After reminding him to be quiet, we were on our way.

The trouble started as we approached the entrance to pay, when we were startled to hear muffled howls and pounding thumps. “Shut up, you idiot, we’re pulling in now!” we hissed at the back seat, annoyed at this obvious breach in protocol. After a few more cries, more muted this time, he quieted down and all seemed well as we paid for our tickets and rolled away to release our passenger in the shadows near the back of the drive-in.

We weren’t alone of course. With near military precision, cars backed up, trunks popped open, and shadowy figures climbed out and melted into the night. Yet, when we popped our trunk, nobody came out. It was then that my friend remembered he had forgotten to patch the large, rust-collared hole right above the exhaust pipe, allowing carbon monoxide to fill the trunk.

As we stood there, wondering if my cousin was dead, we were heartened to hear him groan and begin to move. Eventually, with a bit of assistance, he was able to pull himself from the trunk and begin to walk slowly and unsteadily, as if trudging through mud. Satisfied that he was fine, we left him and drove closer to the big screen to enjoy the show.

Of course, not everyone watched the show. Why would they? Most shows were awful with an occasional exception such as my favorite, Revenge of the Cheerleaders. This may explain the loving, the fighting, and everything in between as the stars shifted across the sky. In truth, watching the shows wasn’t too difficult but listening to them was another story!

Today, the wimps who attend one of the few remaining drive-ins simply crank up their radios and turn to the proper frequency to hear the show. Not so, back in the day. Our only source of sound was a metal squawk box with a frayed cord which hung inside the car window. To say the sound quality was poor would be far too kind. Often, the dialogue sounded similar to Charlie Brown’s teacher: “wah, wah, ne ahh de wennde ahh, offa wan eno . . .” Only a good lip reader could fully follow the plot.

Yet sound quality was hardly the only problem with our squawk boxes. Hanging them inside the driver’s window meant the window could not be fully closed, a fact not lost on an entire squadron of mosquitoes eagerly waiting to vampire-up for the weekend. And opening the door for a trip to the bathroom or the concession stand? Forget it. We’d be slapping mosquitoes nonstop the rest of the night. On the bright side, at least we got some exercise.

When the movie was complete, cars would roar to life and crawl in line toward the exit with headlights cutting through the thick northern night. My cousin never returned for a ride home. For some reason, he seemed reluctant to jump into the back seat for a trip back to town. The good news is he survived. In fact, we all did.

Today, my old drive-in exists only as a fond memory, razed years ago and replaced by an RV dealer. Yet, whenever I drive by, I become a bit wistful thinking of those summer nights and all the teenage foolishness that took place on that very spot. 

Thankfully, there are few active drive-ins left in our state but I doubt I’ll ever stop. The experience just wouldn’t be the same. Still, you never know. I guess I’d be willing to pop the trunk and pull up a squawk box for another round of Revenge of the Cheerleaders. What a show!