A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

St. Augustine is a fair sized city, these days. But in the 1960s it was much smaller. And when we moved into the house on St George St, it was just a walk from there to the Matanzas Theatre, the town's only cinema, which brought the wider world within reach.

Opening its doors between late 1938 and early 1939, the theatre was a marvel of design, crafted by architect Roy A. Benjamin in the Atmospheric/Spanish style that captivated moviegoers of the time. As one of the last atmospheric-style theatres to be constructed, the Matanzas Theatre was initially operated by Paramount Pictures Inc. through their subsidiary E.J. Sparks. It later came under the management of Florida State Theaters Inc., well into the 1950s.

And on Saturday mornings, we didn't even have to pay! At least, not with money. The practice of exchanging RC Cola bottle caps for movie tickets was a popular promotion during the 1960s. It was a part of the Summer Fun Shows where children could gain free admission to morning movie screenings by collecting and presenting RC Cola bottle caps. You didn't even have to buy a soda; you could literally, with a little diligence, find enough caps on the street to see the matinee.

As I was now (in 1961) ten years old, I was considered old enough to chaperone my younger sisters to the movies. And Mom trusted the Saturday morning matinees, which they'd had when she was a little girl, to only show us movies that were appropriate. And it was true; we saw movies ranging from westerns (including old serials, like The Lone Ranger) to classics like Little Women. But the indoctrination was more subtle than that.

See, as we left the theatre we had to pass through the lobby; and that's where the posters for the first run movies couldn't help but be seen as we traversed. My family didn't own a TV set at this time; so the only way I could ever have known a movie existed, was if I saw the posters. And that's how I found out about the Bolshoi Ballet's cinematic performance of Tchaikovsky's Cinderella.

Now, to be honest, I barely remember the movie. What I remember is the argument Mom and I had in order for us to be able to go. Because the Bolshoi Ballet (and Tchaikovsky) were…Russian. And therefore, to my mother's eyes, Communist.

So that was actually my introduction to the Cold War.

But I did talk Mom into letting us go.

Which made me realize I needed to become more financially independent. So, when I saw the poster for Disney's Babes In Toyland, a movie based on an old Victor Herbert musical that we almost performed at school, I knew I had to see it and didn't want to have to argue with Mom over whether Mother Goose was a Communist. So I went around the neighborhood until I found someone willing to let me mow their lawn for 35 cents, the price of an afternoon matinee ticket. And, oh, how I loved that movie!

But then came…The Mask.

I loved Babes in Toyland because of the special effects, especially the scenes with the characters seemingly shrunk to a few inches tall. And I also loved stereoscopic (3-D) photos; so the idea of seeing a 3-D movie was just irresistible. And I had never, ever even heard of a horror movie. And there were no Communists in it, I assured Mom. And that's how I wound up dragging my sisters with me to see The Mask.

Most of the movie was actually not in 3-D. Some scary guy in the film would say, Put the mask on, now! and we would have to put on the anaglyph (red/green) mask to see the 3-D effect, which was basically this Aztec mask jumping out at the audience.

I don't actually remember a thing about the plot or story, other than it was very scary to a ten-year-old, not to mention his eight and nine-year-old sisters. And so I angrily rose in the middle of the film (probably in the first ten minutes, really) and dragged the girls with me to the manager, who I chewed out for allowing little kids to come in and see such filth.

He gave us a refund. I vowed never to return.

However, return I did, for the film classic that is still, sixty years later, my favorite movie: Mary Poppins.

That was in 1964, and by then we had moved to Coquina Gables on Anastasia Island. I used to play the radio while going to sleep, and on Sunday evenings the town's main radio station, WFOY, played soundtracks and original cast albums from various musicals; and one of them was the soundtrack to Mary Poppins. I completely fell in love with the score. And so, I had to see it.

But I was older now. I was in 8th grade, and becoming aware of the racial strife that was sweeping the nation. And this was the first time I actually realized that the kids sitting in the balcony didn't, necessarily, choose to be there.

I had always wanted to sit in the balcony, because I imagined the view was better. But the ushers would never let me, without telling me why. I had assumed the balcony was just closed. But if so, why were there kids sitting up there?

I had convinced myself they were the projectionist's kids. And their many friends.

But then, on July 22, 1965, there occurred a significant event in the civil rights movement when 21 Black youths attempted to integrate the auditorium seating area, which had been restricted to white patrons only, with Black patrons historically relegated to the balcony section. This act of civil disobedience aimed to challenge the segregationist policies of the time. The attempt ended in confrontation and arrests, marking yet another poignant moment in the struggle for racial equality in the United States.

In any case, the theatre no longer exists. The façade does; it currently houses an art gallery that whispers tales of the past to those who wander through its arches. The Matanzas Theatre was more than just a place to watch films; it was a vibrant social hub where memories were made and shared. And, yes, where history was made.