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Airbase Drive-In Theater was the place to be in the 1950s

Mary Jo McTammany
Posted 9/20/17

The theater sat on the west side of two-lane U.S. Highway 17. Just north of the Clay County line, the back of the screen loomed into the sky.

The flickering marquee sat close to the road …

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Airbase Drive-In Theater was the place to be in the 1950s


Posted

The theater sat on the west side of two-lane U.S. Highway 17. Just north of the Clay County line, the back of the screen loomed into the sky.

The flickering marquee sat close to the road proclaiming the current attraction. On winter nights when darkness came early, it provided a clue to where the dirt and oyster shell driveway struck out from the hard road.

There was ample room between the road and the ticket booth to pull over and stuff half the occupants in the big trunk and decide who and how many would crouch on the running board on the hidden side of the car. Wily management soon decided to charge by the car instead of by the head and so that was one less fun thing for teenagers to do.

Past the little ticket house, the road curved around the screen which was the tallest structure in the area and made it further unique because it was also a tall, skinny house where the manager and his family lived. Children seemed to peer and hang out of every little window watching the nightly procession.

Where one parked once inside was an indication of age and attitude. Parents of small children pulled into the rows near the front. Kids with the fidgets were shuffled off to the playground equipment that nestled at the base of the screen.

Most cars parked in the middle rows – to be far enough back from the racket of child rearing and close to the concession stand. Those who parked on the back rows were up to no good and their reputations were pretty much ruined. Their mamas would know about it before dawn.

The concession stand was a wondrous, ingenious invention. Built like a bomb shelter, a style of architecture quite popular at the time, it served a multitude of functions. One entered a dimly lit opening and down a steep ramp into the ground to be blinded by bright lights and the wonders of marketing. Popcorn, dog on a stick, hamburgers that dripped juice off your elbows when you lugged them to your mouth, every candy bar known to man, the coldest Coca Colas in the world and more were to be found in that mole hole of a concession stand.

The all-time best-selling item was a mosquito killing device that never worked. A spiral orange thing came in a flat box with a book of matches. The directions confidently described sticking the wire spiral into the box and then igniting it – the orange thing not the box, but... that would have probably been more effective. For a few minutes, it would just sit there on the dash, hissing. Then it would really go to town and start emitting a noxious gas that probably did chase the mosquitoes out of the car but... it was so bad the people had to go too. At least each customer got a book of matches.

One side of the concession stand housed the mysterious projection room and its roof was flat and protruded from the ground only a few feet so that viewers behind could still see the screen. This roof became a stage for special intermission entertainment like Lash Larue.

Lash Larue, famous movie star, performed faultlessly the night he stood atop the concession stand dressed head to toe in his trademark black cowboy suit and magic light flashed from the silver trim dripping around him. The crack of his whip lifted small children from the ground as he slashed tubes of rolled up newspaper down to nubs. He shattered glasses, and chopped a cigar down to the lips of a courageous volunteer.

The driver was in charge of hanging the cumbersome speaker inside the window, a pre-stereo effect was achieved by positioning it in the rear window but that increased the chances of forgetting and tearing the speaker off the pole. After replacing several speakers, management reinforced the speakers with aircraft carrier airplane catching cables from the Navy so the common sound became breaking glass followed by various colorful expletives.

With the ending of the film, the final rendition of the Airbase Drive-In theme song, Blue Moon, blasted from the speakers.