A Dusty Tires Short Story

By Dusty Tires

It was 7:36 p.m. on a warm summer evening, and Steve “Mo” Marlington stood for a moment in the corner of the concession stand of the Eastside Drive-In Theatre a few miles east of Rendville out on U.S. 20, watching a mountain of hot buttered popcorn sputter and grow within its glass enclosure.

Before he left that Saturday night, it would be past 2 a.m. – a typical weekend night for the manager of the drive-in movie theatre.

He loved the aroma of the hot popcorn, the smell of hot dogs roasting in a roller-cooker next to the popcorn machine, and the brightly colored packages of candy, nuts and treats lined up in the concession stand’s main glass display case.

A man who ran toward the slender side, he prided himself on the fact that he could eat any amount of pizza, ice cream, candy or pretzels sold in the theatre’s concession stand and he rarely gained weight due to his immense amount of activity.

Marlington had grown up in the business. He started working at the theatre under his father’s tutelage in 1966 as a clerk and custodian in the concession stand. He was a kid, he needed a job, and he couldn’t deny the attraction the drive-in’s activity had for him. It was where all the action was for any teenager growing up in the ‘60s. Everyone came there, nearly every weekend, from mid-April through the end of October.

An entrepreneur had built the theatre in 1955. His father had become the manager under that man’s ownership and took the reins of the drive-in a few years after that. During those days, Mo had literally grown up around the drive-in with his mom, dad, brother and sister.

He had gotten his nickname, “Mo,” from his dad, who said, “Son, you’ve got to be motivated to be in this business, and it’s clear to me that you have it – that good old Mo.” When he got to be a little older, the nickname also stood for “Motor,” because his was always running.

But since that time, the drive-in movie theatre had become a dinosaur. In fact, the Eastside Drive-In was one of the few drive-ins remaining in the area, and he knew its days were numbered. He ran a hand over his balding head, which used to be covered with sandy hair.

He knew he was a working in a dying industry that had struggled first against television, then the triple threat of multiplex mall theaters, videocassettes and cable TV. Then came DVDs and finally the Internet and streaming media. Where the drive-ins once stood with their proud screens and rows of car speakers, now there were self-storage facilities, flea markets and vacant parking lots full of weeds. Yet he stubbornly held on to what he knew.

Mo knew every single aspect of operating the movie theatre, which included running from the ticket office amidst honking horns to start rolling the huge film projectors, tinkering with the drive-in’s car speakers and handling the throng lined up inside the concession stand for their movie snacks.

He nodded to one of the two teenage girls working behind the concession counter and walked into the theatre’s movie projection room, where he carefully threaded 2,000-foot film reels on the drive-in’s four 4,000-watt film projectors – two for each screen.

Two of the projectors reflected their images onto mirrors back to the rear screen, and two did the same for the front screen. Movies were run on two projectors each – one hour-long segment was on each machine, which meant the second feature needed to be threaded later in the evening after the first half of the first film was finished.

Tonight, the double feature on screen 1 was a pair of campy sci-fi and horror classics, “The Creature From the Black Lagoon” and “It Came From Outer Space.” On screen 2 were two family-oriented features, “Honey, I Shrunk The Kids” and “The Goonies.”

After double-checking the film projectors, he hoofed it to a golf cart next to the concession stand and sped to one of the drive-in’s two box offices at the entrance and took over selling tickets from one of his employees. He did this simply because it was now the most important job at the theatre, and he knew how to do it better than anyone else.

“Hey, Jeff. Go back to the projection room and start the film when I tell you,” he told the teenager. The teen grinned back.

“OK, Mo,” he said. Mo always wore faded Levi’s blue jeans, an equally faded rock-and-roll themed t-shirt or sweatshirt, depending on the weather, and a tired-looking pair of Converse All-Stars sneakers.

The most difficult and exhilarating part of the job was that instant when the drive-in lot was nearly full. Mo was still at the box office getting the last few tickets sold, and the horns started honking.

He knew he’d have to send a very quick text message to Jeff or another employee in the projection booth to start the first film reel, which included about 5 minutes’ worth of coming attractions, then a 12-minute cartoon (usually a Warner Brothers short featuring Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck) and finally the main feature.

The rest of his evening was spent mainly in the concession area, which had a steady flow of business all night, but got really busy when one feature ended. Another challenge was the timing of four movies playing on two screens, with two reels for each movie. Mo had to be in the projection booth to start the second reels at the right times, and time his intermissions just right so he didn’t have two movies ending at the same time.

That meant he had no time to sit back and actually watch the movies himself that his customers were enjoying. He was far too busy.

Making things even busier were the glitches that always popped up. There could be problems with the film projectors, with the popcorn machine or the ice cream maker, short-circuits in some of the auto speakers (always), and problems with customers (also always). He couldn’t count the number of times he’d had to remove young customers from the premises for inappropriate behavior, which included but was not limited to public intoxication, brawling and lewdness.

Even with the hassles and stresses of the job and the impending termination that he faced, Mo loved the work. It was his first love when he was 16 in 1966, and 50 years later, he was still living a good life for that first love.

It was now 2:30 a.m. “Goodnight, Jeff, I’ll close down,” he said to his most trusted employee, as cleanup was completed for the night.

He scooped a final bucket of popcorn for himself and poured himself an ice-cold root beer from the pop machine. He turned off the lights of the concession stand and headed to his own car to go home from his beloved drive-in movie theatre.

He turned around for a moment to take in the Eastside Drive-In Theatre, now dark and quiet, then turned to his car to head home. He was looking forward to a root beer, a bucket of popcorn, and an old Humphrey Bogart movie.

After all, even a guy named Mo needed some down time.

Find out about real drive-in movie theatres in Ohio at Dusty Tires.

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