In my last year of high school in Franklin, Virginia, somewhere around 1950, I was a Future Farmer of America, raising chickens and some rows of sweet potatoes as class projects, but whenever possible, on weekends, I would often be found, with my bothers, Pete and David, at the Lyon's State Theater on Main Street, watching movies, mostly third-rate westerns.  At some point, I was recommended by a fellow classmate to replace him as a student projectionist on a high school work-release program at this very theater.  Of course I was eager to do it, as this already was one of my most favorite places to be!  And so, I became a trainee in this awesome booth of precision projection equipment.  suddenly I was not only watching the show, but putting it on - and even being paid!  "What a deal!" I thought.

Early in the afternoon, I would be there setting up the film reels for the day's schedule, splicing short subjects, (trailers, i.e., previews; news reels, cartoons, "The Three Stooges," etc.) together with the main feature and loading the first two reels into the mechanism of those humongous arc-light projectors, getting ready for the afternoon matinee, in this booth at the very back of a quite long balcony that stretched out over the main audience toward the screen.  At the appropriate time, I would lower the lights and start the generic pre-show music as gentle streaks of colored light played across the large red curtain covering the screen.  Then, with everything set up and not a finger to spare, I would fade the colored lights and the music while activating the motor and light switches on the first projector.  Then, it was Show Time!

I loved what I was doing, and therefore, took particular care to do it well.  And I learned so much from the visions and wonders I viewed through the small window portal of that projection booth.  I was being vividly transported into other lives and worlds.  If the movie was one I especially liked, I watched it over and over with rapt attention as I waited for the crucial cue marks indicating a switch-over from one reel and projector to the other.

I used to even go to certain movies at times, even when I was not the projectionist, if there was something I especially wanted to see.  On one such occasion, I talked my dear Mother Gertrude into going with me to see the H. Rider Haggard fantasy,  She (1935, with Randolph Scott and Helen Galhagen).  It was quite thrilling to me, a story of explorers finding a lost realm within the glaciers that was ruled over by the immortal queen, known as "She," or, as the natives referred to her, "She who must be obeyed!"  I think it amused Mama, as well.  (She was not a big movie goer.)  There were other stories that caused my imagination to soar, among them King Solomon's Mines (1950, with Stewart Granger and Deborah Kerr), Unconquered (1947, with Gary Cooper), and the immortal All Quiet on the Western Front (1930, with Lew Ayers).

Next Story:  Is life prescient of its own future, or is it just that amazing coincidences do occur?  It was almost 20 years after my high school movie projection days that I found myself interviewing for the position of associate pastor at a big, old "pre-Revolutionary" Congregational (UCC) church in Wilton, Connecticut, circa 1967.  What immediately caught my eye as we toured the facilities was a little window, high up on the back of the huge social meeting room, or auditorium, that was connected by hallways to the main sanctuary.  This tiny window reminded me of the little viewing window at the Lyon's State Theater in Franklin, Virginia, where, from my projector's booth, I used to gaze at strange and wondrous visions passing before me on the silver screen.  I think that, in addition to the exceptional warmth and intelligence of the people at this church in Wilton, seeing the theatrical/cinematic potential of that little back window in this huge open hall was a big deciding factor in my accepting the job, one of the very best choices I ever made!

-- Bill Joyner

Phone (323) 466-2157 / Fax (323) 466-2150 / email ihmla@pacbell.net 
5515 Franklin Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90028

Funny Times Subscriptions * P.O. Box 18530 Dept. 4AL * Cleveland Heights, OH, 44118