LET'S ALL GO TO THE MOVIES

On Saturdays, our goal as kids was to get to the movie matinees,  Girls helped with housework.

Who knows where the boys went, off to some secret club house. Then every kid in the neighborhood went to morning confession at Church.  I can still hear the whispering and kids nudging each other as we all lined up to recite our itty bitty transgressions. Do you think the priests took cat naps as we chanted our soft litanies?  A priest I knew said that hearing children's confessions was like being nibbled to death by ducks...

But, back to the subject at hand as there is lots to tell. After the morning's activities the procession of kids would begin at one end of the Village, and like the Pied Piper more and more would join in, the matinee calling to us like a mermaid's siren. 

 No adults included, thank you very much.  Just us kids.

In the 1950's there were two movie theaters in our small city, about a mile from the Village.  One was the Park Theatre, the other the Strand.  They were right next to each other down on Broadway at the edge of downtown and very near to our majestic public library.

Do these photos jog your memories?

Notice something about these photographs?

           

My earliest recollection of those theaters was being taken by my grandmother Delphina when I was still very young to see Snow White.I  think it was showing at the Strand. It's second release was in 1944.  I would have been 4 years old. 

I do know that the witch scared me  (in Snow White....not my grandmother).

Once inside the theatre, there was a steady hum of chattering as everyone jostled for seats.
Frazzled ushers tried to keep everyone calm.

Old ticket stub from the Park Theatre from Marty Martin...precious momento.

Next post: a whole lot of interesting facts about these theatres and their ancestors.

Of course, more about us, too.

THE VILLAGE FRONT PORCH PHILOSOPHY

One very special sound plays in my mind : the soft sibilant sound of the Portuguese language spoken all around us as children.  It traveled on the breeze, no harsh sounds to absorb it.  After all, often only the click clack of a manual lawn mower broke the quiet.

I connect the music of that sound to our front porch on School Street in the Village.

 When I looked at the photos of that front porch over the years, 

I could trace the loss of community we took so for granted.

  Take a peek.

Here is my late cousin Jack Bernandino in front of the Souza homestead porch on School Street. It is totally open, big and wide. Its entrance was a  wide stoop of stairs perfect for sitting, for chatting.  Notice the wicker chair over on the right?  That was where my Grandmother Delphina would hold court.  Often there would be another elderly person sitting next to her discussing things of importance: always in Portuguese.  My grandmother went up to the second grade in Madeira; knew how to read and write. As the unofficial Village secretary she was adept at writing or reading letters for folks who could not do it for themselves.  Sometimes though these visits were about pure remembering, no agenda except to share, to remember, to laugh...perhaps to cry. Sometimes just to share Village happenings.

Sometimes my grandmother sat alone working her Madeira embroidery 

remembering her own stories.

Lots of events took place on the porch: weddings were launched. 

 Here is my Aunt Alveda on her wedding day in 1946.  I am happy to announce

that in 1978 my sister Mariellen left that porch for her wedding reception across the street,

probably as our Aunt Al did. 

Since the house was smack in the middle of School Street, people would stop and chat with my grandmother, with my father or mother, with us.  You had to pass our house since then everyone walked everywhere: to Church, to downtown or just for a turn "around the block". No one was in a hurry.  Menfolk going to the Portuguese American Civic Club across the street always gave a shout out of greeting to whomever was sitting on the porch,

As we got older and times changed,  the porch was closed in a bit.  Here my sisters Kathy and Mariellen and I sit with a friend  in the 1950' as we went off to Girl Scout camp, the porch now screened in.

In the 60's 0r 70's the porch was entirely enclosed creating a room with louvered curtained windows. It documented the changing times in our Village. It was no longer as inviting, but perhaps folks were not walking as much, playing freely as they used to or just moving away.  

There have been two owners since we lived there.  

Now there is a wrought iron fence closing off the yard.

                                                                      ................

Soudade is the word used in Portuguese for nostalgia, but it goes far beyond that, more like a deep yearning.  When I hear Portuguese being spoken, that is what I feel. I tried to look up translations for thte greetings I remember, they did not seem right.  I leave it up to your own memories.  Spending long hours working on my Grandmother Isobel's history, I would play Portuguese Fada music to put me in the mood.  I recommend this beautiful Fado video.

                                    Listen and close your eyes. This is my gift to you today.

SOUNDS WE PLAYED BY.....

Memories spark more memories....that's how this post started out. My husband and I tried to remember the sounds of our youth. Sweet moments as each one came to mind filling us with the sound it evoked.  I am hoping that you can play this game, too, and share it with us.
 We could savor those sounds then
since it was before the cacophony of leaf blowers and the like.
 It seems now that it is hard to find a moment
 when there are not a whole lot of harsh sounds drowning out
the precious ones meant to be savored like the single notes of a bird.

I will be doing another blog just on this topic.

  Help me write the next one?
This is just a start.

The sound of a wooden screen door closing. 

              This is one of my favorites: if  I am watching an old movie and hear this sound:  
  whoosh it brings me right back!

The sound of clothes on the line snapping in the wind.
There was an art to hanging clothes, and a good line was a woman's pride.
They all loved a good warm wind that would dry the clothes beautifully.

The sound of roosters in the morning. 

Our next door neighbors had a chicken coop

for years and I still love hearing that boasting rooster sing his song.
 Remember the busy communal clucking 

of chickens?

The long sound of the rotary phone being dialed.
Each number had a good distance to go before you connected.

The clack of an old typewriter as each letter pounded into the keyboard. 

My sister and I had the job of typing

statements for my Dad's business so even

my fingertips remember this one, I recently saw
 an episode on the TV program Sunday Morning that
talked of young people rediscovering old typewriters and the
satisfaction of control and simplicity of that old style of writing.

Sounds coming from open windows.

No air conditioning meant that household noises could be shared

by neighbors and the street. Laughter, yelling, the clank of

pots and pans and meals being prepared...we heard it all. 

The sounds of music from radios or record players. 

Here  is a precious You Tube musical interlude to

put you in the mood.  We had this 78 record of Jan Pierce singing
The Bluebird of Happiness.  Would you believe I still have it?
As a child I loved it. It may be the first music I remember.

Click on the arrow, close your eyes and enjoy.

NOW IT IS YOUR TURN TO CHIME ON IN...

WE CAN DO ANOTHER POST WITH A LOT MORE!!!  RIGHT???

If you remember other songs I can get them from You Tube....