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Hollywood
Soot Page 2The
Cozy Theaterby
Audrey A. Herbrich
"The theater had always been a town staple, not unlike cotton
of the 40s, Chicken Ranch hookers of the 60s, or oil of the 80s. It
was a prime hot spot. First dates, first kisses, first tastes of Cokes
not from cans—all in the Cozy. It was the Friday night hangout, the
Sunday afternoon retreat, the weeknight default."
La
Grange Hotels >
Book Your Hotel Here & Save |
| | Photo
courtesy Boyd Photography, La Grange, 3-8-00 |
The
theater was still vivid in my mind. It was where I saw a cartoon for the first
time (Pinocchio, when I was four). Never mind my dad falling asleep just
as Geppetto was bringing his “real, live boy!” to life. It was also where I first
held hands with a boy, and where my cousin got in his first fistfight (over a
girl). I knew those walls well. The plexiglassed ticket window was scratched and
foggy. Two double glass doors connected outdoors to indoors. The theater lobby
was a delicious den of assorted Red Hots, Junior Mints, Mike and Ikes, Snowcaps,
and Terriyaki Beef Jerky. The popcorn machine in the corner glowed beneath the
homemade price signs. Movie preview posters always lined the walls. The entrance
was split, allowing for access by going either right or left, and introduced viewers
to three sections of seating. There was even a balcony, rarely used, but there
nonetheless. The bathrooms were tiled a banana yellow and always smelled of pine.
The theater itself was tall—two storied ceiling—but the lobby area was not as
grand because it had an upstairs. Above part of the lobby lay a quiet apartment
flat: occupied, normally, but not today. The occupants, along with the entire
northeast side of the town’s square, had been suddenly tossed on the asphalt like
dice, they becoming spectators of this fantastic, this final, picture.
I like theaters, but I really liked the Cozy Theater. The Cozy always felt damp;
moisture hung in the air. The thermostat was always down, way down. The concrete
floors steamed cool. The plush blue velvet of the seats was kept refrigerated
by the steel frame of each chair. Even the clown on the painting on the way past
the entrance wore a coat. Sodas always stayed icy, and the Jujubes never stuck
together at the Cozy. The temperature could always be used to the advantage of
a first dater, hoping to slide closer to his girl. It was always a good excuse
to borrow momma’s knit sweater or daddy’s nylon jacket. Never mind the smell of
Avon or Old Spice. Just curl up, feet folded back between body and seat, coat
spread over the body like a tarp, and enjoy the cool. |
| | Photo
courtesy Boyd Photography, La Grange, 3-8-00 |
But the
realization that there would be no more cool hit me as I stood watching from these
three stories up. Now, only heat emanated from the enflamed exterior, the heat
so intense that it floated across the now smoky sky and settled around my feet,
making the tar stick to the soles of my leather flats as I moved closer to the
edge to get a better look at the fire, those fanciful flames that ate away our
Hollywood. Sirens squealed. The flames stretched higher. Particles peppered the
air. The heat began to hurt. I was sure by now my sweat had made the holy day
ashes disappear. I felt my legs becoming like those dimestore wiggle animals.
The toy animal—cartoon colors, ill proportions, toothy grin--would stand erect
until pressure was applied to the plastic base. The legs would crash to the base,
and the animal would sit, like a pretzel, with the same toothy grin. When the
pressure was off, he would stand up. And that’s how I felt: as if my legs would
collapse like those wiggle animals. The cinder blocks of the theater looked as
if, at any moment, they too would tumble, covering perhaps the Chinese woman,
the lawyer, the children, the barber, his customer.
“Get off ‘a there!”
Someone yelled. “Down! Now!” came the voice from the bucket truck. I focused my
gaze to the fireman who was looking at me. The truck drove closer to the dancing
flames, water streaming sharply from the rubber hose. I staggered back a bit,
watching, before turning to shimmy down the ladder on the opposite side of the
bank, near the alley. I didn’t even feel my legs bend, but they did. I joined
the crowd below. We all stared. |
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The
next day
Photo courtesy Boyd Photography, La Grange, 3-00 |
| | The
Cozy facade after the fire
Photo courtesy Boyd Photography, La Grange,
3-00 |
| And so
the town watched their Hollywood disappear that day, saying goodbye to has-beens
and would-bees. These heroes who visited for a week at a time—sometimes two—would
not be returning. Not even for a sequel. Starlettes and heartthrobs evaporated.
Adventures, comedies, and romances all vanished. Stories faded away. Memories
melted. They disappeared along with half our city block that day, leaving little
but an ashy reminder of their presence. |
| | The
Cozy Theater's stabilized facade as seen from the rear.
Photo by John
Troesser, November, 2004 |
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