The Earle of Baltimore

 

The Earle Movie Theater

Unassuming red brick makes up the back of that small old building almost directly across the street from our part of the row house. The front was simple with an inviting brightness coming from the angular marquee. Detailed with smooth glazed brick and Art Deco curves more welcoming than the Italianate style church across and up the road, there was an opulence combined with mystery which created excitement for wonders held inside. To this day, I love going to the “movies” by myself. The sense memory of that special place with its sweet smell of butter, popcorn and the cavernous, benevolent darkness fractured by flickering images projected onto silvery white background.

 

Many may remember its unfortunate decline into an adult movie theater during the 1970s’ and 80s’ or its present incarnation as a church. If that is not a metaphor for America than there just isn’t one. But for me it was a new and unexplored continent, it was outer space, a journey to the center of the earth. It was sensual and intimate; it was the Wild West, the freezing tundra, the landscape of dreams, and of my heart.

 

On a Saturday morning, I was allowed to cross Mayfield Avenue, go up to the corner and purchase my ticket. That’s how close I lived to the Earle and the screen, an opening to another dimension embedded therein. To see the whole frame of it I would have to sit in the very front. Otherwise, the seat ahead of me blocked a good portion of the picture. Looking up from the red crush velvet and cast iron seats, I followed the adventures of “Puss In Boots.” A swashbuckling kitty with a snide sense of humor.

 

At some point from my perch in the front row, I became curious about the red and white “EXIT” sign lit over a metal door with a long push bar handle. The cat with a hat, sword, and boots no longer captured my attention. My own feline curiosity took hold and I found myself going through that door. Immediately I was blinded by the bright light of Saturday. The contrast between dark enclosed Movie Theater and wide open parking lot under blue sky was overwhelming.  I took a few paces out into the openness and looked back. The door was ajar, so I decided to return.

 

Once seated and again looking up at the screen the Usher, who was also the ticket vendor, popcorn maker and projectionist, came bounding down the side aisle. He looked at me and then wildly around for some invisible intruder. Yet all he saw was the blonde haired boy he had sold a ticket staring innocently at the matinee. He shook his head and stalked slowly away.