Many summer evenings of my early boyhood were spent standing in front of my hometown theater, which was referred to by all as "the show." I was most likely to be there on those evenings when my daddy was out of town working as a brakeman on the railroad. Early on I learned the goings and comings of railroad trains. Consequently, I did not expect his return home until I had successfully completed the mischief of "slipping in" the show. This was a rather easy act to accomplish. When the explosion of humanity erupted through the side double door exit at the end of the first (early) show, I easily entered in for the second (late) show, unnoticed in the madding crowd.

My daddy preferred that I not go to the show at all. He felt moving pictures were of Satan, let alone me adding insult to injury by fraudulently gaining entry into that den of iniquity. To make matters worse, on occasion I had the dime fare which I saved for legal entry in case my illegal attempt was unsuccessful. Anyone caught "slipping in" was bodily thrown out by Buck Millican, who slammed the door behind them. No further punishment or penalty followed.

Directly across the street from the show was a beautiful newly built common red brick Church of the Nazarene. Those Nazarenes, God bless them all (most of whom currently reside in heaven), held evening services continuously. On summer evenings before air conditioning was heard of, all windows had to be raised high to prevent death by crushing from the heavy, still, humid, hot air. As I wasted these evening hours waiting to "slip in" the show, it was impossible for me to miss the preaching from across the street, which always came through loud and clear. Preacher Fox's booming voice assured his message of hell fire and damnation. I even imagined he was speaking directly to me. "Hey, N.," he said, "Why are you over there across the street trying to steal your way into hell when your entry there is already virtually guaranteed?"

(More later.)

Have a good week!