Memories Offscreen (First in a series)

I grew up with the movies. Seriously, now. They were my sister, my best friend, my first love. In Flatbush we had two new Loews'. I went to show at least twice a week. Always on Saturday. Missing Loews' Saturday serials was like skipping Mass. You'd suffer for your sins the following week when the next episode was shown.

My life seemed to pass by on a screen. I saw my parents less as real people than as characters in an epic drama...or comedy.

Which label fit my life? They'd converse with each other and talk at me. There'd be passion -- shouting -- and laughter - sarcasm. Both were very dramatic. My mother would act like a confused child. She was all stubbornness and impatience, deeply rooted in innocence. Ma was Jean Harlow to Father's William Powell. She'd say something flip and he would laugh at her, bemused. "Just like a child," he'd chuckle, and leave the apartment. Father felt obliged to parent me and Ma. He'd address Ma in highly condescending tones. When she'd ask him about his affairs, he'd smile, chuckle: "I doubt seriously that you'd understand, my dear. Or be interested, for that matter."

Very William Powell. It's a pity that Ma wasn't Myrna Loy. Fortunately, I made the perfect Asta. I was trained to listen in perplexed appreciation while my father talked about his projects. Or dreamed of a future, enhanced by the technology he'd developed. "Just think of it, Buddy," he'd exclaim to me.

"Someday, we'll be watching movies inside our homes. All the buildings will be attached to the same wires as the theatres in Loews'." He'd make a point to state everything very simply so that I could comprehend. Then he'd have me repeat it back to him, to make doubly sure I understood.

"Inside our homes, Daddy?" Inside, I wanted to scream, "You don't have to speak to me that way. I'm not a stupid child. I'm not like Ma." But, in those days, children respected their fathers. So I watched my mouth. However, I couldn't control my dismay at what he was saying. I looked forward to the advent of television like it was Doomsday. For me, movies at home were too close. Whenever possible, I had sought distance from the events and persons in my life. Now, the hand was being torn from my eyes and I was being dragged closer to the screen.

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