genuflecting over nostalgia
I'm not even sure now what sparked this one, but I recently recalled a place from childhood that I held very dear.
When I lived in Colorado Springs during my elementary years (kindergarten through my first year of junior high), there were many sites that I remember fondly: movie theaters, for instance. There was a spherical theater that was on the top of a hill across from a mall, and I went there many Saturday mornings for old science fiction films as well as contemporary movies. It may have been the precursor to today's "stadium-seating" concept. It was in this theater I saw Latitude Zero, with Richard Jaeckel and Caesar Romero. LZ was the tale of explorers who go so far under the ocean they find an upside-down realm where monsters still live, and they must save the world from a megalomaniac who intends total domination. I think. Understand, all of these memories are anointed with childhood haze. Some of the details might be under the influence of subconscious creative license.
Far as I can tell, you can't find this film any more. It's on a short list of potentially out-of-print movies I have listed over the years, including Hearts of Darkness, Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence, Candy Mountain, Straight to Hell, Walker, Cemetery Man and Island of Terror.
Other theaters include the downtown hole in the wall that premiered Rollerball, the two level tri-plex up the street from it, the dual theater closer to home with a drive-in behind it and the tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it college theater that I went to with my mother to see The Mad Adventures of Rabbi Jacob. There was also the local shopping center that had theaters on either end, one of which was beside a Shakey's Pizza. I saw Jaws the year it opened in that theater. I was 12.
Apart from theaters, I remember the storm-drain canyons that we rode our bikes through to go miles from home and play like there was no such concept as danger in the world. There was a cave in one of the local parks that was shaped like the upper torso of a man. There was a huge resort where I learned to ski. And of course, there was Pike's Peak and the white-capped mountain range I woke to every day.
But this latest memory was of something I haven't thought about for decades: the bike shop. The bike shop was a ratty little business where they sold bikes and accessories as well as did repairs. But my greater joy was the two rows of shelves where they kept old comic books. This was back in the years when old, frayed, torn comic books were a joy. You didn't care if they weren't perfect, because the stories and images inside were so incredibly cool. Running in, seeing a cover that made your eyes light up, and reading through the flimsy thing in the back seat of the car before you ever got home. Devouring those stories was one of the biggest joys of childhood, and really is the reason comics are cool. It's not the mylar bags or special editions or cover variations...it was the simple fun of the stories and the wild, unbelievable action.
Perhaps this is the giddiness my son will use when telling his children about videogames...I don't know.
I love my childhood, because I think I really did have it all. Seeming freedom, inventive and exhausting play, beautiful vistas and the purity of musty comic book bike shops and uniquely memorable movie theaters. A first-grade girlfriend with a bunny hutch in her backyard. A sixth-grade girlfriend whose name is the same as my wife's. A classically diverse group of friends and neighbors. Creature Features. Hot Wheels and Matchbox, though Hot Wheels' creators, Mattel, came up with the track (which I ran all through our home).
Scrambling around, making everything work, making everything count. Being a kid, with the occasional dog-eared page.
When I lived in Colorado Springs during my elementary years (kindergarten through my first year of junior high), there were many sites that I remember fondly: movie theaters, for instance. There was a spherical theater that was on the top of a hill across from a mall, and I went there many Saturday mornings for old science fiction films as well as contemporary movies. It may have been the precursor to today's "stadium-seating" concept. It was in this theater I saw Latitude Zero, with Richard Jaeckel and Caesar Romero. LZ was the tale of explorers who go so far under the ocean they find an upside-down realm where monsters still live, and they must save the world from a megalomaniac who intends total domination. I think. Understand, all of these memories are anointed with childhood haze. Some of the details might be under the influence of subconscious creative license.
Far as I can tell, you can't find this film any more. It's on a short list of potentially out-of-print movies I have listed over the years, including Hearts of Darkness, Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence, Candy Mountain, Straight to Hell, Walker, Cemetery Man and Island of Terror.
Other theaters include the downtown hole in the wall that premiered Rollerball, the two level tri-plex up the street from it, the dual theater closer to home with a drive-in behind it and the tiny, blink-and-you-miss-it college theater that I went to with my mother to see The Mad Adventures of Rabbi Jacob. There was also the local shopping center that had theaters on either end, one of which was beside a Shakey's Pizza. I saw Jaws the year it opened in that theater. I was 12.
Apart from theaters, I remember the storm-drain canyons that we rode our bikes through to go miles from home and play like there was no such concept as danger in the world. There was a cave in one of the local parks that was shaped like the upper torso of a man. There was a huge resort where I learned to ski. And of course, there was Pike's Peak and the white-capped mountain range I woke to every day.
But this latest memory was of something I haven't thought about for decades: the bike shop. The bike shop was a ratty little business where they sold bikes and accessories as well as did repairs. But my greater joy was the two rows of shelves where they kept old comic books. This was back in the years when old, frayed, torn comic books were a joy. You didn't care if they weren't perfect, because the stories and images inside were so incredibly cool. Running in, seeing a cover that made your eyes light up, and reading through the flimsy thing in the back seat of the car before you ever got home. Devouring those stories was one of the biggest joys of childhood, and really is the reason comics are cool. It's not the mylar bags or special editions or cover variations...it was the simple fun of the stories and the wild, unbelievable action.
Perhaps this is the giddiness my son will use when telling his children about videogames...I don't know.
I love my childhood, because I think I really did have it all. Seeming freedom, inventive and exhausting play, beautiful vistas and the purity of musty comic book bike shops and uniquely memorable movie theaters. A first-grade girlfriend with a bunny hutch in her backyard. A sixth-grade girlfriend whose name is the same as my wife's. A classically diverse group of friends and neighbors. Creature Features. Hot Wheels and Matchbox, though Hot Wheels' creators, Mattel, came up with the track (which I ran all through our home).
Scrambling around, making everything work, making everything count. Being a kid, with the occasional dog-eared page.
posted by scn at 9:10 AM
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