The Joy Theater

            My Mama told me never to go to that part of town. “It’s where some really bad people are,” she said. But the fellows I hung with heard it was a great place and told me I should get myself over there. I know the older boys all went, so I decided to take the plunge.

            I remember, just like it was yesterday, passing the Joy Theater on Canal Street. “Lickety Split” was the title flashing on the marquee. I was sure it had something to do with race cars and since I was a thirteen year old, pimple-faced kid, car speed was my first love. I jealously witnessed the older boys driving their rods around my neighborhood, with hot chicks practically sitting in their laps. When Friday rolled around, our local movie house, The Abalon, showed one of their third or fourth run features, and attendance by every kid under eighteen was mandatory.

            So, up to the Joy Theater ticket booth I step, and ordered my stub, “One adult please.”

            Unfortunately for me, the ticket seller was a twenty-something year old woman who looked as if the jury had just returned to her a verdict of death by a thousand cuts.

            She said, much louder than was necessary, “How old are you, little boy?”

            “Old enough,” was my rapid retort.

            “Old enough for what? You look to be about ten or eleven; tops. What you think dis here movie is about?” she questioned, exhibiting her eighth grade education to the fullest. She chewed her three sticks of gum at a record setting pace, while interspersed between every five or six chews, she created a loud popping sound. It was sort of like a tree branch snapping underfoot and would violate even the least sensitive ears.

            I guess I should have walked away from this surly beast, but looking at the great mound of dyed red hair piled aimlessly on top of her head, and with her chewing and popping that gum, it made me bow my young back.

            “I know what this movie is,” I raged. “This here ‘Lickety Split’ is a movie about race cars and I want in.” With that, I plopped a one dollar bill down on the kiosk ledge.

            She damn near swallowed her great wad of gum. “Hoib,” she yelled back toward the lobby. “Come’ere. You gotta see dis here.”

            Out from the lobby pops Herb, or ‘Hoib,’ as our demure ticket seller affectionately knew him. “Dis here little punk wants to see da movie about race cars. What you tink? Let ‘em in?”

            Now Herb was about six feet two; tall for those years, and about one hundred thirty pounds; skinny for those years. His head was so small it looked like a replica of one of the head hunters of Borneo’s trophies. But Herb packed a cool attitude befitting the floor manager of the Joy Theater. After all, they were offering “Lickety Split” as a feature to their discerning customers. Customers I immediately discerned were conspicuously absent. I didn’t see anybody flocking to the popcorn machine dispenser or ordering a coke, like we did at home at the Abalon Theater. In fact, I didn’t see anybody in the lobby at all. Surely, the cool, laid-back guys were inside watching the Daytona 500 being replayed for them; hopefully in slow motion. That’s what I came to this part of town to see. An action movie, not those kissy things they often showed at the Abalon.

            Herb looked down at me; saw my one dollar bill on the ledge. “Dis here foist run feature is t’ree dollars, my boy. You got dat much on ya?”

            By now I’m assuming the feature movie may be a replay of not only the Daytona 500, but the year’s most exciting races at Talladega and Indianapolis as well. I reached down deep into my Levi’s and pulled out the last of my money, extracting two one-dollar bills, and realized I didn’t even have enough left for my bag of popcorn and a coke. But what the hell, I was going to see seven or eight hours of the year’s best auto races. I’m really beginning to like this part of town.

            As ‘Hoib’ tore my ticket in half, he said, “Hurry up boy. Da preview done started five minutes ago. And one other ting; don’t sit in da back. Dem prevoits is all in dere.” I assumed my new friend Herb knew what he was talking about and just wanted me to see the movie better, ‘cause I didn’t know nothing about no prevoits.’ He was just chasing me closer to the front where I could observe, first hand, all the action on the track.

            I then entered the theater proper, which was totally dark. I had my head down seeking a seat in front as Herb had advised, when I heard these great moans coming from the screen and saw from the corner of my eye, the “prevoit” section, in the back. Naturally I assumed it was the sounds of an injured driver following a particularly nasty crackup on the Daytona track. But since this was the previews, I changed my mind. It had to be the Coyote being banged around by the Roadrunner.

            I reached my seat, looked up, and to my shocked little face, there appeared on the silver screen at the Joy Theater, a tiny little man with the longest wee-wee I had ever seen. I was thrown into a complete state of shock. Now, everybody at home knew ‘Turkey’ House had the biggest wee-wee in our neighborhood, but this man made poor ‘Turkey’ look like a new born baby in an incubator. He was strutting around a king-sized bed, eyeing three naked women who appeared not to notice his gigantic thing.

            The women in bed kept calling the little guy ‘Tripod,’ and I finally guessed why. Well he climbed into the king-sized bed and commenced doing things with the three women the older boys at home told me about, but I, up to this moment, doubted anyone wanted to do that stuff with anybody. I was glad when it was over because I was starting to fell real funny, particularly down in my drawers.          

            This Joy Theater certainly had different previews than The Abalon Theater did in my

neighborhood. We always had Woody Woodpecker, and our favorite, The Roadrunner precede our flicks. All this nasty stuff was a real change for me, and I knew it would take some getting used to.

            Then the feature attraction came on. While I was still anticipating an exciting day at the races, the feeling in my drawers lingered a little. Unfortunately for me, the feature, “Lickety Split,” was nastier than the preview, and I began to be suspicious about this place. I never saw so many naked people in my life. Even at gym class or in the swimming pool locker room in summer, nobody looked like those folks. We used to look through the peep-hole into the girls locker room at school, but this was different.

            Four skinny guys looked to me almost as big as Tripod, were jumping up and down on four women, who looked surprisingly like the redheaded ticket seller in the booth outside. After about ten minutes of the same thing, I got out of my seat and trudged back up the aisle to talk to Herb, who was busy chatting-up the ticket seller as though they were about to do the same nasty things the actors on the Joy Theater screen were doing.

            “Hay, Herb. When do the races come on?”

            Herb slowly turned his head and said, “You just seen the races, my boy.” He continued his conversation with the piranha chewing ticket woman, who ignored me.

            “I want my money back, Herb. There ain’t no cars racing in there.”

            The redheaded gum chewer broke away from Herb’s death-like clutches. “You ain’t gettin’ no money back kid, so you might as well go look at what we got in dere and play wit ya’self  like them prevoits are doin’ in da back.”

            That was it for me. I stormed out of the Joy Theater with three dollars less in my Levi’s, but with a newly acquired knowledge of what goes on in the bad part of town. I returned to my neighborhood, gathered my friends around me, and told them all about my adventures at The Joy Theater. I felt bad because ‘Turkey’ House became extremely upset someone had bested his long-standing record of having the largest wee-wee in our part of town. But he got over it when they all went to see “Lickety Split” and got a funny feeling down in their drawers, too.

            Turkey lost his title that day, but as for me, those Roadrunner previews at The Abalon were never the same.