Back When I Was a Movie Star
I used to be a movie star. No, I didn’t star in any movies, nor did I direct any movies. I didn’t even meet anyone in a movie. My claim to fame was being the marquee changer at the Sunrise Theatre in Fort Pierce, Florida.
ALTHOUGH I WAS NOT UP on the silver screen, I was the person responsible for showing people that there was, really, a movie being shown. I was a marquee changer. I was the guy who put the big, black letters up above the front door that showed the title of the movie being shown.
This may seem like a simple thing. A little, inconsequential part of the movie biz. But, I tell ya, I was a star … top of a world, ma! Literally. I had to climb a rickety ladder on the edge of the curb on Second Street in downtown Fort Pierce, Florida and attach those giant letters into the sign. Oh, and I had to make sure I spelled “Peter Sellers” right, too.
Film At Seven
EVERY THURSDAY I would show up around 7pm and was handed the playlist from Mrs. Novak, who ran the joint. I carried the film boxes up three flights stairs after Benton Brothers delivered them, to the projection room. The projectionist, smoking cigarette after cigarette, grunted and pointed, and I placed the steel caskets of film in the appointed spot. Then, I would go into the dark basement (this was Florida — basement — whattttt!!!) and turn the rheostats to bring up the lights. Rheostats were like big rotary levers that I spun around to create a spark or nuclear reaction or something that turned the gloom into movie magic.
I would then drag buckets of yellow goo up to the concession stand. They called this “butter.”
Once the movie started, I would go upstairs to the “letter room.” This is where there were boxes of giant, heavy black letters to put up on the marquee. There were also posters from old movies, like Billy Jack and The French Connection up there. And, cigarette smoke. I would place a collection of letters into a cardboard box and head outside, grab the ladder, and carefully place it along Second Street and climb way, way, up, like five feet to start my real job as “Marquee Changing Guy.” I would wobble on the ladder, carefully placing letter after letter until I had it done. The movie Steel took only a few minutes. The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu, starring Peter Sellers, was torture!
The thing is, hardly anyone went to see those movies. Fu Manchu had two people viewing and one of them was me. The wife of my friend asked me to get a ticket for Steel for her husband. I obliged. He was treated to private showing of this Lee Majors bomb in velvety comfort.
The coolest part of working at the Sunrise was sitting in the Colored Section. Sorry, but that is what it was called, there was an actual sign on the wall. The theater was build in the 1920s and the seats up above were set aside for African-Americans, or “Coloreds” as referred to in the South of the times. The seats were actually very good. I mean no disrespect, but I enjoyed watching the movies from that section. Recently, I had occasion to see two shows, Bill Cosby and Garrison Keillor, and sat up in that section again.
Live Long and Prosper. And Visit the Gift Shop.
OUR BIG NIGHT was to come, however. Star Trek: The Motion Picture was going to be shown in our theater! As a big Star Trek fan, it was an honor to place those hallowed letters on my marquee. Imagine! Me! A part of the Star Trek universe!
I volunteered for “bridge duty” that night. I was second-in-command at the concession stand. I reported to a sour young woman who uttered nothing but grunts and scowls — a Romulan spy if ever I saw one! I churned the yellow goo and dispensed the orange particles of corn to the hordes of people who showed up. It was the best showing of my career. Usually, a crowd of five was a good night. But, for Star Trek, there must have been more than 20 humans in there! The butter was flowing and I got to watch the movie front row — about 14 times.
To Serve And To Pee
ONE OF THE BENEFITS OF BEING The Marquee Guy was seeing alllll of Fort Pierce from atop my ladder. The theater was right across from the courthouse. Every night I was there, the cops would come by to check in or whatever. I would watch them pee against the courthouse wall and smoke cigarettes (or what looked like cigarettes). They never noticed me. I was The Marquee Guy, shrouded in shadow, cloaked in darkness…
I worked there for about two years. I never made it to the silver screen, but my time in the move biz was exciting and rewarding and I contributed my small bit of history to Fort Pierce and the Sunrise Theatre.
