Tales from the (Movie) Theater: Part 9

Completion of this series--see Intro, parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8a, 8b:

Journey's End

Being a senior projectionist (at age 22 for the first half of 1977, no less) at the independent Warner Huntington Park (a place I had come to regularly since I was a kid), was a one-of-a-kind experience. I went from someone who knew next to nothing about the trade to someone who could at the very least get a movie projected (by hook or by crook). As well, I learned how to teach the basics of the booth to anyone hired off the street (which happened too many times over). Coming to the end of my employment there, I began to experience similar feelings toward the job as my brother once did (the former sr. projectionist before me). It was eerie to see myself walk the same path at the theater, and end up with same result: that of giving notice.

As much as I enjoyed watching movies, the grind of projecting them over the last few months of my employment took a toll on that general outlook. When films turned up in the reel cans that were worth repeated screening, Wednesdays (the old traditional day the movies changed) could be the best day of the week. Plus, time in the booth would move fairly quickly. Those intervals, though, seemed to arrive fewer and further in-between in the last months of my stint there. This was especially true after the Christmas season of 1976. That holiday period, seemingly, was the high water point for my post as the senior tech. The city of Huntington Park's annual tradition of a holiday parade that went down the main thoroughfare, Pacific Boulevard, was that marker. And having access to the projection booth, meant one had access to the roof--which offered the best views of the parade (bar none).

The Huntington Park Christmas Lane Parade has a long history (since '46) and was a highlight for that area of L.A. then, and it remains so to this day. In younger days, I attended this event many times. Having worked the day of the parade, I stayed after my shift to watch it from the roof's vantage point. My brother and his friends also came by that evening and joined in on the viewing. Since the only parking available for this event was behind each side of the boulevard, they parked behind the theater. They walked up the exterior exit stairway and entered via the balcony egress (where I let them in). This has to be one of the age-old traditions (one, too, that could get you fired) for those working at a movie. Afterward, upon crossing into 1977, only diminishing returns were left on my plate at the theater.

The chronic low wages for everyone led to the ever continuing turnover for all personnel (especially in the booth). It appeared that I was always training someone new. Likely, it wasn't that bad--it just seemed that way. And some of them had no business being hired, let alone running the equipment in a movie projection booth. When they left (and it was only a matter of time), it was one of the few instances I was happy to see new replacements. Ultimately, I had no say in this as it was the purview of the owner. Add to this, college was picking up in tempo for that year's spring semester and the number of hours I could dedicate to work was putting a strain on my courses. All of this added to my dissatisfaction. So before my finals were about to arrive, I gave my notice to the owner, Armand. It was an amicable parting, though. No fits or words worthy of his legendary cursing were exchanged. Surprisingly, he said he was amazed that I stayed as long as I did (almost the same length of time as my brother - who departed in '76). No doubt, he was well aware of the effects of his pay schedule. But, the bottom-line was the bottom-line for him in how he ran his business.

So, by early June of 1977 I walked out of the Huntington Park Warner Theater for the very last time. I can't even remember what was the double-feature playing that week, which tells me the pair were nothing notable. The last (worthy) film I recall screening was J. Lee Thompson's The White Buffalo in May of that year. I drove by the theater a few times that summer, and gave thought to the memories I'd acquired there each time I did. However, the rest of 1977 provided other pivots in my life that would fuel changes (including my re-locating to other parts of L.A.). Sadly, though it left an indelible impression upon me, I never set foot inside that theater ever again.

Next up: Outro

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