"Catching up with the Past!"

It started out to be a normal early-spring morning that March in 1932, which soon turned into one that transformed local citizens into volunteer firemen, Dad being one of those who broke out into a fast run towards the billows of dark smoke arising above the trees in the middle of our small county-seat town of Atlantic. The Court House was afire!

The five of us kids under the age of eight (that would be nieces and nephews...Bus, Peggy, Glee and Wayne with me in temporary charge) were to follow Dad's hurried instructions to "Stay put!" at 210 Birch and help Mom if things got even more serious. Now, Atlantic back then, was not that spread out. We lived on the western edge of the town of 5,000 population and could walk the distance to the Court House in less than ten minutes.

It wasn't until we saw hot ashes landing on the roofs of the homes and in the streets in our neighborhood that we realized we all could be in for some serious trouble. Those of the townspeople who could were helping the volunteer Fire Department and the Court House employees try to save the building and the all-important county records.

Our childlike fascination with all the excitement soon turned to frightened wonder as we watched the twisting and twirling charred bits of paper and embers landing around us. Whatever measures the neighbors who had stayed home took to save our homes worked for the homes were untouched.

The Court House was lost to be rebuilt later, and most of the records were saved by the fast and furious efforts of the citizens. Dad came home with a slightly-scorched pendulum wall clock that hung in our living room (as opposed to the William McKinley portrait holding court in The Woodshed) for years after that great fire. One of the clerks pushed the clock into Dad's hands and said, "It's yours, George...a memento!" That clock faithfully regulated the lives and times of three generations living within the family home at various times until well after I left Atlantic in 1948, as a young bride for our new home in California, and was a constant reminder of our Dad who turned "hero" in our eyes, at least, one normal early spring morning in March of 1932...

As long as you are here reading this Blog, let me tell you about the Atlantic Theatre! You have already read about Talty's Pasture where we kids played softball during the spring and summer and where the Traveling Medicine Shows held court, right? Now, Atlantic, even with being a tad small in those days of the Twenties and Thirties, had more than a few "fun for family" activities like playing Billiards and Poker at the local Pool hall, fishing the waters of the Nishnabotna River for catfish, Sunday potlucks with always a Horseshoe Tournament, the yearly Circus coming to town and the County Fair that awarded prized ribbons for outstanding boars and bulls, sows and cows, pies and pickles, and Boy and Girl 4-H'r, the new bowling alley with live pinsetters. The Sunnyside Park Swimming Pool was a draw for the burgeoning crowd as were the semi-professional baseball and softball games held at the various diamonds.

As great as all the aforementioned were, none could compare to the Atlantic Theatre...for some of us with wild imaginations: "How to Escape Without Leaving Town!"

The aisle seat, right side and ten rows down at the Atlantic was all mine, the next seat over being piled with books from the Carnegie Library, just across the street. For one thin dime, attending the latest Hollywood production was pure escapism from the Depression Day Blues, harsh wintery and insufferably humid summer days...plus a right smart way to "inspect" unsuspecting farm lads in town with parents for a day of stocking up on non-farm commodities. (Much like the days when I am bowling at Action Lanes in El Monte, "inspect and suspect.") :)

On the silver screen unfolded wondrous fables of forbidden romance, comedies featuring The little Rascals, Laurel and Hardy, Keystone Cops, mysterious intrigue, song-and-dance extravaganzas, western sagas and weekly serials that foretold of events to come during a space age when men would fly with rockets on their backsides and in rockets to the moon. Who would have thought the "man on the moon" would someday have a name: Neal Armstrong!

(This you should know right now and you will soon read about: A member of the Class of 1943 is most directly responsible for Neal's success in landing on the moon back in the late 1960's...Lt. Col. (Retired) Emil E. (Jack) Kluever, now of Las Vegas.)

Probably the biggest attraction ever to sell tickets at the Theatre was Sally Rand and Her Fabulous Fans, direct by bus from Hollywood. For those with 20/20 vision, it was easy enough to detect the flesh-colored body suit, but for those who were a bit myopic and couldn't discern, it appeared slightly scandalous through my squinty eyes. However, I must give the "aging" Sally credit for being beyond graceful and concede that I might have been just a tad envious of her obviously feminine charms. This lovely 30-year-old (or plus) movie star was well worth the 25 cents the Theatre charged for her appearance that day, and the male population was eagerly looking forward to a repeat performance that evening! I have only to close my now-corrected eyes to see Miss Sally Rand and Her Fabulous Fans flit across the stage of the Atlantic Theatre once again...and just saved myself 25 cents!

When Shirley Temple was at her zenith (like all of seven years of age) every Mom became a stage mom and entered her dimpled darling in the Shirley Temple Look-Alike Contest held in every movie theatre across these United States. Shirley was every little girl's best friend in those days, we longed to be in her shoes as she tapped up and down those stairs with her leading men (yes, I am trying to remember their names...give me a minute!) and took delight in punching out the clothes (with the tabs, remember?) to attach to her cute little plump figure. I know what you are thinking...did I enter a contest? No...I was too attached to my cowgirl boots and, besides, the cost of a Shirley Temple frock was more than what Mom and Dad spent on a Sunday dinner with all the kids around the table. And, besides even that, 56 or more pin curls to match Shirley's popular hairdo...I don't think so! But, someday, I told myself, YOU will go to Hollywood and I did! One of the very first "must do" things that Del and I did upon reaching sunny Southern California in January 1948 was to visit Hollywood for the touristy Walk of Stars, not so expansive then as it is today. (Oh, yes, I expect to "zenith" any day now!) :)

Indelibly etched in my memory are the Seven Spies Sisters who had appeared on many other theatre stages across Iowa and nearby states and on the Major Bowes Amateur Hour Show. Combining individual beauty with precision tap dancing and acrobatic showmanship, these young gals from nearby Massena, Iowa, were what every little gal who had ever attended Saturday morning dance class aspired to be. Hollywood really "blew" it big time when the moguls failed to sign these seven cuties to contract. Eventually the Seven Spies Sisters retired from show business, married local lads, raised their families in Atlantic and nearby communities and took their kids to Sunnyside Park. The youngest sister, Betty, and I became friends when my brother, Dutch, dated Cleone for a time. We played Jacks on my bedroom floor, fame put aside for the time being. I think I missed the boat when I did not ask the girls to show me how to "shuffle off to Buffalo." You think? You may be able to find their story on the Internet as I once did some years ago.

There is no doubt in my mind that the Atlantic Theatre was the center of entertainment for 99.44% of the entirety of our small Midwestern town. We were educated in every sense of the word by what we witnessed on the silver screen...we learned, by example, proper dining etiquette (from Gabby Hayes scooping up beans from a tin plate to Greer Garson lifting her right pinky when consuming high tea and scones); we learned the rules of courting (not all cowboys and cowgirls walked off into the sunset with just their saddled beasts of burden) better still, looking up into the balcony of the theatre where the young swains of Atlantic were hesitantly sliding their right arm across the back of their young ladies' seat (those farm lads were quick studies!) we learned there is quiet dignity in being poor, being willing to toil under adverse conditions (Henry Fonda in "Grapes of Wrath"..remember?) and we learned of the ravages of World War II via the Lowell Thomas Newsreels and saw the torn lands where some of our Atlantic-born heroes gave up their lives.

But, most of all, I learned that in "escaping for a few hours via the movies," my yellow-brick road ("The Wizard of Oz) would lead me back to 210 Birch and memories I would never be able to leave home without....