As big brothers go, I got one of the best. Ron is three and a half years older than I. He has always been someone I can look up to. (No, not because he is 6' 5".) Almost all the time he has had my back. Mom once told me she never had to worry about him until I came along and led him astray. She said he never even climbed trees until I was old enough and tried climbing every tree on the farm and got him to do the same. Luckily neither of us ever broke a bone falling out of them.
The American Theatre in Corning was operated by Mrs. Kuhl and her son, Dick. Saturday matinees were a dime; popcorn was a nickel. The selections were usually westerns or animal stories.
One Saturday afternoon when I was four Mom either let me go to the show with Ron or made him take me. She told him to sit with me near the back and not down front with all the other kids. I guess she was aware of how rowdy those down front kids got - throwing popcorn and punching arms.
The first two or three rows on the left as you went down the aisle were short rows of four seats each. Then the rows lengthened to either six or eight seats. We sat in the first long row and settled down to watch a movie about a boy and his dog. Everything was fine until well into the movie when the dog became lost. It went through some pretty harrowing experiences trying to get back to the boy. Finally it looked as though the dog was dead. I lost it; started crying and sobbing. Ron tried his best to console me, but I could not stop crying. He gave up in disgust (and embarrassment) and moved down the aisle several rows and left me crying.
There was a woman sitting behind us with her kids. She said "Come here." I went back to her. She took me on her lap, pressed my head against her shoulder and said over and over, "It's o.k. It's just a movie" until my sobs ceased. Of course it helped that about then the dog and boy were reunited.
Ron picked me up on his way out. As soon as we got to the car he told Mom, "I'm never taking her to the show again!"
He remained true to his promise until high school. I was a sophomore which means he had already graduated. I don't remember the movie but it was one I desperately wanted to see and since he was going anyway he agreed I could go along.
I met up with one of my classmates, Donna Perrin, and Sandy Wilkinson from Prescott. Par usual, after the show we went to the Candy Kitchen. Ron was ready to go home but I wasn't. Sandy had her car, so she said she would take me home. He left. We started scooping the loop.
Donna's brother and a couple cousins of mine were doing the same. They invited us to join them which we did. As soon as we got in their car they headed out of town and the tops began popping - they had beer. Prude that I was, I wanted to go back and have Sandy take me home. I knew driving and drinking did not mix and I wanted no part of it. They just laughed at me and said we'd go back soon.
We ended up going to Villisca where they bought more beer and drove all over the country until it was gone. My curfew time came and went. They finally took me home. Of course I wanted to try and sneak in the house. It was 2:00 a.m. Instead of leaving quietly, Don revved the engine and spun out of the driveway as noisily as he could.
The inquisition began as soon as I got into the house: "Where have you been?" "Who were you with?" "Do you know your brother is out looking for you?" "You're grounded for a month."
Not only was I in trouble, Ron was in trouble for not bringing me home with him. He did not get back until almost 4:00 a.m. - he had been driving all over looking for me. Once again my brother said, "I'm never taking her to the show again!" It was a promise he kept the second time.
I never knew who the lady was who consoled me. (I wish now I did.) There were many movies after that - especially scary ones like Psycho - when her mantra once again got me through: "It's only a movie. It's only a movie."
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