I remember this movie theater as it was co-located with the Morris County Mall. Although I saw several films here I can only immediately recall Monty Python’s LIFE OF BRIAN, PORKY’S, and the movie version of BEATLEMANIA. This movie theater also hosted late shows.
As with many smaller theaters, this movie was doomed by multiplexes such as the one that replaced the Morristown theater.
As noted by others, this is one of those beautiful grand old theaters that was reworked into an oddly shapped triplex. Fortunately I had the opportunity to see several films on the big screen, such as PRIVATE BENJAMIN, REDS, and RAGTIME before the theater was rebuilt in the early 1980s.
Parking for the theater was generally found in assorted parking lots in the rear of the building. There is a narrow alleyway leading from the main lot to the front of the building. The size of the theater is deceiving as there is a narrow entrance flanked by stores (Not unlike the Ed Sullivan Theater in New York City), but opens up once you get into the theater itself.
The drawback of dividing up the old place is that the individual theaters are small. I took my kids there to see THE EMPEROR’S NEW GROOVE and the size and quality of the picture was little better than watching the film at home on a large televison set. Today when I pay an arm and a leg for movie tickets I expect a BIG picture with unmatched sound quality. Alas, those days are gone.
It was a shame to read that the theater building was gutted for some other purpose. I have fond memories of the Abercorn Cinema and movies I saw there. At the time we lived in Hinesville, GA. Nearby Fort Stewart offered two AAFES theaters, but the movies were often dated and the young soldiers in attendence often talked back to the screen. Just outside of town there was a dual screen movie theater, but it was run down. In fact in the rear of the indoor theater there was the remains of a dual screen outdoor drive in that was being used as a weekend flea market.
For us the Abercorn Cinema was the closest modern facility on the way to Savannah. You barely crossed the Route 204 bridge across the river into Savannah and the movie theater was on the right hand side. The cinema was a stand-alone cinema with six auditoriums. It was a modern facility with entrances at both the north and south sides of the building.
The UA Abercorn 6 shared a parking lot with a small trip mall. While waiting for a movie you could duck into Wal-Mart and shop or have an ice cream at a store just across from the theater.
My wife and I often stopped at the Abercorn 6 during our travels in and out of Savannah. There was no need to consult the newspaper as there were always first run movies playing there. Those were the Army days, before we had children, when we would sometimes catch two movies a weekend. Movies were a particular necessity as cable television did not reach our apartment building until 1987. The television stations we did receive in Hinesville were on the television’s wobbly rabbit ear antennas. No HBO, no cable movie channels.
In remembering the Abercorn Cinema I harken to remember all the films we saw there. Those I recall are too numerous and would serve no purpose to laundry list here, but some highlights of that decade were: THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS, CROCODILE DUNDEE (I & II), DIE HARD, YOUNG GUNS, Rodney Dangerfield in BACK TO SCHOOL, THE THREE AMIGOS, STAR TREK IV and dozens of others.
When the military moved us to a new assignment in mid 1989 the Savannah Mall was still a couple months from completion. I am sure that once the mall was completed and open for business that balance of power, so to speak, changed and eventually forced the cinema to close.
It is time to dip into that big bag of Berkeley Cinema stories I introduced in my August 2005 entry.
I “worked” at the Berkeley Cinema from 1973 to 1977. I use the term “worked” because I was technially on the payroll from 1976 to late 1977 and continued to spend time there into the early 1980s. A couple of my friends worked as cleanup crew at the cinema. The then manager, soon to be a full time law school student, approached them after a matinee and asked them if they would sweep out the auditorium for the fee of a couple Berkeley Cinema movie passes each. Remember that those were the days when it was still thought to be traditional to throw all of your snack trash on the floor of the theater.
My friends had already been cleaning the cinema for a couple months when I was asked to join the team. As cleaning an air-conditioned cinema was a lot more fun than my soon to expire newspaper route I gladly accepted.
After each show the seating rows were deep in dumped popcorn, wrappers, sticky candy, gum, and spills from clandestine sodas. In those days the odd Berkeley Cinema rule was to not allow snack bar sodas in the auditorium.
The job of cleaning the auditorium was a big one particularly as there was a specific prescribed method and no deviations were allowed. First you would walk through the rows of seats picking up the larger cardboard trash. Then two kids armed with long dust pan brooms crawled on their knees between the seats and swept the debris downward to the next row of seats. You then entered the next row and swept this ever growing pile of trash forward to the next row. This continued until you reached the open floor in front of the screen. From there the dune of popcorn and debris was pushbroomed and scooped up into a trash bag.
Big trash was swept up from the aisle carpets and the carpets were then vacuumed. The floor between the rows of seats were selectively mopped.
For this labor after summer, weekend, or holiday matinees and early shows you were “paid” two to four movie passes per day. Originally these passes were for your personal use, but later it was understood that as part of the cleaning crew you were entitled to enter the cinema and see the movies for free. We sold the passes at school, as well as sometimes unabashedly to people waiting in line for a movie, for anywhere from 50 to 75 percent of the door ticket price. The pay, for lack of a better term, was not great, but it generated about six to eight dollars of pocket money per week.
These idyllic days soon changed. The Berkeley Cinema was built during a final 1970s surge of single-screen theaters. This was a time when other larger classic theaters converted their solitary screen space into oddly configured multiplexes. The Berkeley Cinema — and others from that brief era — stood out as stand-alone exceptions. In the 1970s the Berkeley Cinema’s business was one of feast or famine. For first run movies the theater was sometimes so mobbed by crowds that they had to turn people away. Other times there were so few people in the auditorium that the manager would opt to shut off the projector, slip the handful of people in the audience a couple movie passes and close the cinema for the evening. It did not help our situation when during these slow periods an ever increasing number of movie passes were presented at the ticket counter. During one early show there were seven people in the auditorium and six of those seven gained entrance with movie passes.
Mind you, our teenage cleaning crew was hardly the solitary source for the glut of movie passes, though we were immediately tagged as the culprits. Indeed the cinema managers (who were also the projectionists in such a small theater) handed out numerous yellow movie passes to friends and family. Those working the ticket counter often scooped up the incoming passes to hand out to their own friends and family. Further stressing the situation was that township police officers, firemen, and their families were provided identification cards that allowed them unlimited free movies.
By 1975 we were no longer paid in movie passes. Every couple of weeks we were given one or two passes as a courtesy, but for the most part our labors at the Berkeley Cinema were treated as gratis. If you complained you were reminded how much you benefited by being allowed to see movies, eat popcorn, and drink sodas for free. As kids we did not care that much as the theater was still a great place to hang out and see movies including R-Rated flicks. This benefit was not enough to sustain everyone in our group and a couple kids abruptly stopped showing up at the cinema. For those of us who remained our duties now included shoveling snow, cleaning the bathrooms, standing on the top of wobbly stepladders changing air-conditioning filters, and other tasks that truly befitted a paid employee. Occasionally I was asked to play the part of usher. I was several months away from legally obtaining work papers from school, but I dressed for the part, armed with a flashlight, and paid under the table.
By 1976 the whole concept of a teenage cleaning crew faded away. By then I was legally a part time usher at the theater. Not only was it my duty to tear tickets and patrol the aisles, but during breaks between movies I was tasked to sweep out the theater, vacuum, shovel snow, and all the other tasks I previously completed as a non-payroll kid. As a part timer being paid $1.85 an hour I was clearing more money than I ever did as an unofficial custodian. The primary downside was that my extra cleaning duties before business hours or in between shows was pegged at a maximum of an extra half hour or hour per week. The remainder of the time I was off the clock.
It was a lot of fun working at the Berkeley Cinema and it was always understood that the money would never be great. In 1977 my friend and I, both ushers, were the last survivors of the original cleaning crew. When he moved on to more traditional unionized part time employment offering double the hourly pay, substantially more hours, and benefits I was left to evaluate my options at well. As a high school senior playing on varsity teams and driving a second hand car the allure of a higher paying job was increasingly on my mind. As fate would have it I found a job elsewhere and left the Berkeley Cinema without notice. It was a childish bit of drama on my part, but one that was somewhat provoked by circumstance.
A projectionist in training, related to the Berkeley Cinema’s then manager, joined us an occasional usher. Those occasions increased to the point where my hours shrank while my counterpart’s grew. It was explained to me that the theater could no longer support a staff of two ushers, but as a long term member of the cinema family I would be kept on for Sundays only. The writing was all but on the wall. It came to a head one rainly early Autumn day.
The Berkeley Cinema hosted a sold out crowd. I had been at the theater since before it opened cleaning, picking up trash around the outside of the building, and shoveling mulch around the shrubs by the sidewalk — all while in my leather shoes, good slacks, jacket and tie. It started pouring rain outside. Darting out of the deluge into the theater lobby where the manager, projectionish usher, and candy counter woman were involved in a heated discussion about something or other. Whatever the subject of the argument, the manager was visibly upset.
In the worst possible timing the manager shoved a five dollar bill in my hand and told me to run across the street to buy him a sandwich. As the rain was falling with biblical intensity and had turned Springfield Avenue into a river, I responded that I would run across as soon as the rain let up a little. The manager pressed me further and observed that I was already soaked from the rain and that he would give me a garbage bag to wear as a poncho. As lightning flashed and thunder boomed in concert with a curtain of heavy rain, I again deferred to wait a few minutes until the rain storm slackened.
My observation about the rain was deemed insubordinate and shortly thereafter all of us in the lobby were given handwritten work lists of all the tasks we had to accomplish. My list covered both sides of the lined sheet of paper and was chock full of outdoor tasks including digging up the mushrooms that were growing by the side of the building. After finishing my voluminous tasks I re-entered the lobby dripping wet, saturated with perspiration and with shoes and trouser cuffs muddy. By that time the earlier tension had all but disappeared and the manager, usher, and candy sales staff were all talking and joking around in the lobby. As I walked through the door the manager laughed and observed that I looked like a drowned rat. I suspect no other worklist other than mine was completed that late afternoon.
In childish bravado I completed my evening usher duties and officially ended my ended my Berkeley Cinema employment by not showing up to work the following weekend. The sad part is that nobody from the theater even called to see where I was.
We outgrow many things in our lives and the Berkeley Cinema was one of those significant moments. In the summer of 1978 a full six months after I walked out of the cinema I was back at the front door waiting to buy a ticket for a movie. The staff waived me in without payment and the manager came out and treated me like a long lost best friend. From that point onward I stopped by the cinema to say hello every couple months. Rarely did I ever have to pay to see a movie.
The Berkeley Cinema was good experience and the first real job requiring me to complete a Federal 1040 EZ Form. It also taught me how dramatic exits are not necessarily the best way to go.
Menlo Park was one great theater. My parents took me to see MARY POPPINS at Menlo Park way back in 1964. Unfortunately I did not make it back to this particular theater until THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK was released. It was Memorial Day, and there was a line of people stretching across the parking lot toward the old Menlo Park Mall. I took my younger brother and sister with me to see the movie. First we went into the mall to get some snacks, and I bought a paperback book, for the long wait in the line. Then we got in line for about three hours before we got into the theater.
My favorite story about that wait in line was how the best parts of the movie were spoiled by people exiting the theater by the back door. This mob of people had just seen the movie and had to cross through our long line in order to get to their cars. As they passed by you could not help but hear them comment about the film: “I can’t believe Darth Vader is Luke’s father.” “That was gross when Luke’s hand got chopped off.” “I hope they rescue Han Solo and unfreeze him.”
Thanks guys.
Yes, I was one of those fanatics who went to see EMPIRE STRIKES BACK a half dozen times.
The last movie I saw at Menlo Park was LION OF THE DESERT.
It was not until several years ago, while driving north on US 1 for the first time since leaving the Army that I realized the magnificant Menlo Park Cinema was gone.
Regretfully, I only made it down to the Fords Cinema once. In the late 70s I started going to midnight shows to see classic movies and off-the-beaten-track films on the wide screen. George Harrison’s CONCERT FOR BANGLADESH was showing at the Fords Cinema. A friend and I drove down Interstate 287, exited by Fords, made a couple turns and by sheer luck pulled up in front of the theater. It was an old classic cinema. Sorry to hear that it closed.
Although I long assumed the Somerville Drive In was no more, I only confirmed my suspicion last year when I opted to drive that stretch of US Route 22 instead of taking Interstate 78.
The last time I was at the Somerville Drive In was 1969. The absolute last film we saw there was WHERE EAGLES DARE. My parents bundled us into the station wagon and off we went. Back then, I thought it was the coolest thing to watch outdoor movies.
In those days, the area surrounding the drive in was not cluttered with corporate complexes. The area in front of the screen had a playground. There was also a train ride that chugged along a short stretch of track along the eastern side of the complex. By 1969 the train was no longer running.
Unfortunately, the drive in was the only way my parents could get out to see a movie when they a bunch of noisy kids in tow. I remember seeing several James Bond and Elvis movies there as well. My favorite part of the adventure were the intermission advertisements and ads for the snack bar.
As with other drive ins, it was sad to hear of Somerville’s closing.
The Berkeley Cinema opened its doors in 1973. The single screen theater was built on the foundation of the old Garden State Farms Milk store, what we would now call a convenience store. Some of the original flooring from the Garden State store could be found in the popcorn storage crawlspace under the projectionist’s booth. The theater was part of the Nathan Cinema chain. Despite similarity in construction, it was never part of the Jerry Lewis theaters. The nearest Jerry Lewis theater was the cinema at the Lyons Grand Union shopping center about 15 miles away.
One of the first movies premiered by the Berkeley Cinema was Marlon Brando’s riske LAST TANGO IN PARIS. This caused somewhat of an uproar in the township as the theater owner reportedly originally promised not to screen movies of an excessively romantic nature. The Berkeley Heights township council held very conservative views. This was the same local government that fought, unsuccessfully, to keep cable television out and denied McDonald’s request to build a restaurant in the Drug Fair plaza. This same council regularly denied the Cinema from having a lighted marquee as it was deemed that this would distract drivers and cause auto accidents. The Berkeley Cinema eventually wormed its way around this restriction by backlighting the large “BERKELEY CINEMA” letters on the roof. After the LAST TANGO debacle, the Berkeley Cinema redeemed itself in more traditionally acceptable showings of AMERICAN GRAFFITI and EXECUTIVE ACTION.
One of Berkeley Cinema’s greatest challenges was that its small size regularly prevented it from affording first run movies. Though this significantly changed in the 1990s, the theater of the 1970s often got blockbuster movies after they had already been premiered in larger multiplexes. When the cinema did procure a major motion picture shortly after its release date, you could be assured that the film would show for weeks, if not months, even though the crowds tapered off to a handful after the first weekend. As I worked at the Berkeley Cinema during its early years, I clearly remember seemingly endless weeks of films like FUN WITH DICK AND JANE, THE DEEP, A STAR IS BORN, and THE GREAT GATSBY. Normally following these major Hollywood releases the theater would receive a glut of real stinkers like BREAD AND CHOCOLATE, THE GAMBLER, and other movies that, if it were the 1950s, would be classified as B-movies. I learned later that this was a block-booking arrangement with the movie distributer. Essentially in order to get a first run blockbuster, you had to also agree to sceen a bunch of celluloid bombs.
On the other hand, the Berkeley Cinema in the 1970s was a great place to regularly see double features. For example, when James Bond’s THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN was released, it was double featured, at least for the first week, with LIVE AND LET DIE. The same occured with 1977’s release of Burt Reynolds' SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT, which was partnered with W.W. AND THE DIXIE DANCE KINGS. You could always bet that a new Mel Brooks comedy would initially be double featured with a previous Brooks' hit. BLAZING SADDLES with YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN, YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN and SILENT MOVIE, and so on.
Berkeley Cinema also hosted its share of re-releases such as BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID, MAS*H, THE POSIDEN ADVENTURE, and THE SOUND OF MUSIC. When the theater screened a weekend showing of Julie Andrews' THOROUGHLY MODERN MILLIE, the theater was mobbed by Julie Andrews fans from across the state.
Hey, what about some of those great matinees? Marx Brothers movies, Don Knotts movies, Three Stooges two-reelers, WILLIE WONKA AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY, and a bunch of other movies that previously could only be seen on television. Watching Don Knotts in THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN on the big screen was much better than watching it on a 12-inch black and white television.
The Berkeley Cinema’s nemesis was the Blue Star General Cinemas multiplex in Watchung. The theater manager called the Blue Star Cinema on a regular basis to avoid screening the same movies at the same time. Ticket prices were cheaper at Berkeley Cinema, but Blue Star Cinemas was bigger, ran more shows, and generally had a big cinema feel about it. Ironically, Blue Star Cinemas closed in the 1990s and Berkeley Cinema survived. In the 1970s, Berkeley Cinema’s other closest competition were cinemas in Summit, Chatham, Lyons, and Bernardsville.
One of the biggest drawbacks about the Berkeley Cinema of the 1970s was that you were not allowed to bring sodas into the auditorium. Popcorn and all sorts of sticky candy were okay, but beverages were not permitted. Apparently the theater owner imposed that rule. We no doubt lost signficant sales of carbonated beverages by telling customers that they had to finish their drinks in the small lobby. This oddball rule was overturned in the 1980s.
As motion pictures became increasingly sophisticated, the Berkeley Cinema found it difficult to keep pace. Movies like MIDWAY required additional speakers to give the movie its full effect. It was not until the late 1980s or early 1990s that the theater augmented the solitary speaker behind the screen with multiple surround units on the walls.
Having worked at the Cinema for several years, I have a veritable Santa Claus bag of memories from the early days, but those will have to wait for another time.
I remember this movie theater as it was co-located with the Morris County Mall. Although I saw several films here I can only immediately recall Monty Python’s LIFE OF BRIAN, PORKY’S, and the movie version of BEATLEMANIA. This movie theater also hosted late shows.
As with many smaller theaters, this movie was doomed by multiplexes such as the one that replaced the Morristown theater.
As noted by others, this is one of those beautiful grand old theaters that was reworked into an oddly shapped triplex. Fortunately I had the opportunity to see several films on the big screen, such as PRIVATE BENJAMIN, REDS, and RAGTIME before the theater was rebuilt in the early 1980s.
Parking for the theater was generally found in assorted parking lots in the rear of the building. There is a narrow alleyway leading from the main lot to the front of the building. The size of the theater is deceiving as there is a narrow entrance flanked by stores (Not unlike the Ed Sullivan Theater in New York City), but opens up once you get into the theater itself.
The drawback of dividing up the old place is that the individual theaters are small. I took my kids there to see THE EMPEROR’S NEW GROOVE and the size and quality of the picture was little better than watching the film at home on a large televison set. Today when I pay an arm and a leg for movie tickets I expect a BIG picture with unmatched sound quality. Alas, those days are gone.
It was a shame to read that the theater building was gutted for some other purpose. I have fond memories of the Abercorn Cinema and movies I saw there. At the time we lived in Hinesville, GA. Nearby Fort Stewart offered two AAFES theaters, but the movies were often dated and the young soldiers in attendence often talked back to the screen. Just outside of town there was a dual screen movie theater, but it was run down. In fact in the rear of the indoor theater there was the remains of a dual screen outdoor drive in that was being used as a weekend flea market.
For us the Abercorn Cinema was the closest modern facility on the way to Savannah. You barely crossed the Route 204 bridge across the river into Savannah and the movie theater was on the right hand side. The cinema was a stand-alone cinema with six auditoriums. It was a modern facility with entrances at both the north and south sides of the building.
The UA Abercorn 6 shared a parking lot with a small trip mall. While waiting for a movie you could duck into Wal-Mart and shop or have an ice cream at a store just across from the theater.
My wife and I often stopped at the Abercorn 6 during our travels in and out of Savannah. There was no need to consult the newspaper as there were always first run movies playing there. Those were the Army days, before we had children, when we would sometimes catch two movies a weekend. Movies were a particular necessity as cable television did not reach our apartment building until 1987. The television stations we did receive in Hinesville were on the television’s wobbly rabbit ear antennas. No HBO, no cable movie channels.
In remembering the Abercorn Cinema I harken to remember all the films we saw there. Those I recall are too numerous and would serve no purpose to laundry list here, but some highlights of that decade were: THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS, CROCODILE DUNDEE (I & II), DIE HARD, YOUNG GUNS, Rodney Dangerfield in BACK TO SCHOOL, THE THREE AMIGOS, STAR TREK IV and dozens of others.
When the military moved us to a new assignment in mid 1989 the Savannah Mall was still a couple months from completion. I am sure that once the mall was completed and open for business that balance of power, so to speak, changed and eventually forced the cinema to close.
Berkeley Cinema, Part II
It is time to dip into that big bag of Berkeley Cinema stories I introduced in my August 2005 entry.
I “worked” at the Berkeley Cinema from 1973 to 1977. I use the term “worked” because I was technially on the payroll from 1976 to late 1977 and continued to spend time there into the early 1980s. A couple of my friends worked as cleanup crew at the cinema. The then manager, soon to be a full time law school student, approached them after a matinee and asked them if they would sweep out the auditorium for the fee of a couple Berkeley Cinema movie passes each. Remember that those were the days when it was still thought to be traditional to throw all of your snack trash on the floor of the theater.
My friends had already been cleaning the cinema for a couple months when I was asked to join the team. As cleaning an air-conditioned cinema was a lot more fun than my soon to expire newspaper route I gladly accepted.
After each show the seating rows were deep in dumped popcorn, wrappers, sticky candy, gum, and spills from clandestine sodas. In those days the odd Berkeley Cinema rule was to not allow snack bar sodas in the auditorium.
The job of cleaning the auditorium was a big one particularly as there was a specific prescribed method and no deviations were allowed. First you would walk through the rows of seats picking up the larger cardboard trash. Then two kids armed with long dust pan brooms crawled on their knees between the seats and swept the debris downward to the next row of seats. You then entered the next row and swept this ever growing pile of trash forward to the next row. This continued until you reached the open floor in front of the screen. From there the dune of popcorn and debris was pushbroomed and scooped up into a trash bag.
Big trash was swept up from the aisle carpets and the carpets were then vacuumed. The floor between the rows of seats were selectively mopped.
For this labor after summer, weekend, or holiday matinees and early shows you were “paid” two to four movie passes per day. Originally these passes were for your personal use, but later it was understood that as part of the cleaning crew you were entitled to enter the cinema and see the movies for free. We sold the passes at school, as well as sometimes unabashedly to people waiting in line for a movie, for anywhere from 50 to 75 percent of the door ticket price. The pay, for lack of a better term, was not great, but it generated about six to eight dollars of pocket money per week.
These idyllic days soon changed. The Berkeley Cinema was built during a final 1970s surge of single-screen theaters. This was a time when other larger classic theaters converted their solitary screen space into oddly configured multiplexes. The Berkeley Cinema — and others from that brief era — stood out as stand-alone exceptions. In the 1970s the Berkeley Cinema’s business was one of feast or famine. For first run movies the theater was sometimes so mobbed by crowds that they had to turn people away. Other times there were so few people in the auditorium that the manager would opt to shut off the projector, slip the handful of people in the audience a couple movie passes and close the cinema for the evening. It did not help our situation when during these slow periods an ever increasing number of movie passes were presented at the ticket counter. During one early show there were seven people in the auditorium and six of those seven gained entrance with movie passes.
Mind you, our teenage cleaning crew was hardly the solitary source for the glut of movie passes, though we were immediately tagged as the culprits. Indeed the cinema managers (who were also the projectionists in such a small theater) handed out numerous yellow movie passes to friends and family. Those working the ticket counter often scooped up the incoming passes to hand out to their own friends and family. Further stressing the situation was that township police officers, firemen, and their families were provided identification cards that allowed them unlimited free movies.
By 1975 we were no longer paid in movie passes. Every couple of weeks we were given one or two passes as a courtesy, but for the most part our labors at the Berkeley Cinema were treated as gratis. If you complained you were reminded how much you benefited by being allowed to see movies, eat popcorn, and drink sodas for free. As kids we did not care that much as the theater was still a great place to hang out and see movies including R-Rated flicks. This benefit was not enough to sustain everyone in our group and a couple kids abruptly stopped showing up at the cinema. For those of us who remained our duties now included shoveling snow, cleaning the bathrooms, standing on the top of wobbly stepladders changing air-conditioning filters, and other tasks that truly befitted a paid employee. Occasionally I was asked to play the part of usher. I was several months away from legally obtaining work papers from school, but I dressed for the part, armed with a flashlight, and paid under the table.
By 1976 the whole concept of a teenage cleaning crew faded away. By then I was legally a part time usher at the theater. Not only was it my duty to tear tickets and patrol the aisles, but during breaks between movies I was tasked to sweep out the theater, vacuum, shovel snow, and all the other tasks I previously completed as a non-payroll kid. As a part timer being paid $1.85 an hour I was clearing more money than I ever did as an unofficial custodian. The primary downside was that my extra cleaning duties before business hours or in between shows was pegged at a maximum of an extra half hour or hour per week. The remainder of the time I was off the clock.
It was a lot of fun working at the Berkeley Cinema and it was always understood that the money would never be great. In 1977 my friend and I, both ushers, were the last survivors of the original cleaning crew. When he moved on to more traditional unionized part time employment offering double the hourly pay, substantially more hours, and benefits I was left to evaluate my options at well. As a high school senior playing on varsity teams and driving a second hand car the allure of a higher paying job was increasingly on my mind. As fate would have it I found a job elsewhere and left the Berkeley Cinema without notice. It was a childish bit of drama on my part, but one that was somewhat provoked by circumstance.
A projectionist in training, related to the Berkeley Cinema’s then manager, joined us an occasional usher. Those occasions increased to the point where my hours shrank while my counterpart’s grew. It was explained to me that the theater could no longer support a staff of two ushers, but as a long term member of the cinema family I would be kept on for Sundays only. The writing was all but on the wall. It came to a head one rainly early Autumn day.
The Berkeley Cinema hosted a sold out crowd. I had been at the theater since before it opened cleaning, picking up trash around the outside of the building, and shoveling mulch around the shrubs by the sidewalk — all while in my leather shoes, good slacks, jacket and tie. It started pouring rain outside. Darting out of the deluge into the theater lobby where the manager, projectionish usher, and candy counter woman were involved in a heated discussion about something or other. Whatever the subject of the argument, the manager was visibly upset.
In the worst possible timing the manager shoved a five dollar bill in my hand and told me to run across the street to buy him a sandwich. As the rain was falling with biblical intensity and had turned Springfield Avenue into a river, I responded that I would run across as soon as the rain let up a little. The manager pressed me further and observed that I was already soaked from the rain and that he would give me a garbage bag to wear as a poncho. As lightning flashed and thunder boomed in concert with a curtain of heavy rain, I again deferred to wait a few minutes until the rain storm slackened.
My observation about the rain was deemed insubordinate and shortly thereafter all of us in the lobby were given handwritten work lists of all the tasks we had to accomplish. My list covered both sides of the lined sheet of paper and was chock full of outdoor tasks including digging up the mushrooms that were growing by the side of the building. After finishing my voluminous tasks I re-entered the lobby dripping wet, saturated with perspiration and with shoes and trouser cuffs muddy. By that time the earlier tension had all but disappeared and the manager, usher, and candy sales staff were all talking and joking around in the lobby. As I walked through the door the manager laughed and observed that I looked like a drowned rat. I suspect no other worklist other than mine was completed that late afternoon.
In childish bravado I completed my evening usher duties and officially ended my ended my Berkeley Cinema employment by not showing up to work the following weekend. The sad part is that nobody from the theater even called to see where I was.
We outgrow many things in our lives and the Berkeley Cinema was one of those significant moments. In the summer of 1978 a full six months after I walked out of the cinema I was back at the front door waiting to buy a ticket for a movie. The staff waived me in without payment and the manager came out and treated me like a long lost best friend. From that point onward I stopped by the cinema to say hello every couple months. Rarely did I ever have to pay to see a movie.
The Berkeley Cinema was good experience and the first real job requiring me to complete a Federal 1040 EZ Form. It also taught me how dramatic exits are not necessarily the best way to go.
Menlo Park was one great theater. My parents took me to see MARY POPPINS at Menlo Park way back in 1964. Unfortunately I did not make it back to this particular theater until THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK was released. It was Memorial Day, and there was a line of people stretching across the parking lot toward the old Menlo Park Mall. I took my younger brother and sister with me to see the movie. First we went into the mall to get some snacks, and I bought a paperback book, for the long wait in the line. Then we got in line for about three hours before we got into the theater.
My favorite story about that wait in line was how the best parts of the movie were spoiled by people exiting the theater by the back door. This mob of people had just seen the movie and had to cross through our long line in order to get to their cars. As they passed by you could not help but hear them comment about the film: “I can’t believe Darth Vader is Luke’s father.” “That was gross when Luke’s hand got chopped off.” “I hope they rescue Han Solo and unfreeze him.”
Thanks guys.
Yes, I was one of those fanatics who went to see EMPIRE STRIKES BACK a half dozen times.
The last movie I saw at Menlo Park was LION OF THE DESERT.
It was not until several years ago, while driving north on US 1 for the first time since leaving the Army that I realized the magnificant Menlo Park Cinema was gone.
Regretfully, I only made it down to the Fords Cinema once. In the late 70s I started going to midnight shows to see classic movies and off-the-beaten-track films on the wide screen. George Harrison’s CONCERT FOR BANGLADESH was showing at the Fords Cinema. A friend and I drove down Interstate 287, exited by Fords, made a couple turns and by sheer luck pulled up in front of the theater. It was an old classic cinema. Sorry to hear that it closed.
Although I long assumed the Somerville Drive In was no more, I only confirmed my suspicion last year when I opted to drive that stretch of US Route 22 instead of taking Interstate 78.
The last time I was at the Somerville Drive In was 1969. The absolute last film we saw there was WHERE EAGLES DARE. My parents bundled us into the station wagon and off we went. Back then, I thought it was the coolest thing to watch outdoor movies.
In those days, the area surrounding the drive in was not cluttered with corporate complexes. The area in front of the screen had a playground. There was also a train ride that chugged along a short stretch of track along the eastern side of the complex. By 1969 the train was no longer running.
Unfortunately, the drive in was the only way my parents could get out to see a movie when they a bunch of noisy kids in tow. I remember seeing several James Bond and Elvis movies there as well. My favorite part of the adventure were the intermission advertisements and ads for the snack bar.
As with other drive ins, it was sad to hear of Somerville’s closing.
The Berkeley Cinema opened its doors in 1973. The single screen theater was built on the foundation of the old Garden State Farms Milk store, what we would now call a convenience store. Some of the original flooring from the Garden State store could be found in the popcorn storage crawlspace under the projectionist’s booth. The theater was part of the Nathan Cinema chain. Despite similarity in construction, it was never part of the Jerry Lewis theaters. The nearest Jerry Lewis theater was the cinema at the Lyons Grand Union shopping center about 15 miles away.
One of the first movies premiered by the Berkeley Cinema was Marlon Brando’s riske LAST TANGO IN PARIS. This caused somewhat of an uproar in the township as the theater owner reportedly originally promised not to screen movies of an excessively romantic nature. The Berkeley Heights township council held very conservative views. This was the same local government that fought, unsuccessfully, to keep cable television out and denied McDonald’s request to build a restaurant in the Drug Fair plaza. This same council regularly denied the Cinema from having a lighted marquee as it was deemed that this would distract drivers and cause auto accidents. The Berkeley Cinema eventually wormed its way around this restriction by backlighting the large “BERKELEY CINEMA” letters on the roof. After the LAST TANGO debacle, the Berkeley Cinema redeemed itself in more traditionally acceptable showings of AMERICAN GRAFFITI and EXECUTIVE ACTION.
One of Berkeley Cinema’s greatest challenges was that its small size regularly prevented it from affording first run movies. Though this significantly changed in the 1990s, the theater of the 1970s often got blockbuster movies after they had already been premiered in larger multiplexes. When the cinema did procure a major motion picture shortly after its release date, you could be assured that the film would show for weeks, if not months, even though the crowds tapered off to a handful after the first weekend. As I worked at the Berkeley Cinema during its early years, I clearly remember seemingly endless weeks of films like FUN WITH DICK AND JANE, THE DEEP, A STAR IS BORN, and THE GREAT GATSBY. Normally following these major Hollywood releases the theater would receive a glut of real stinkers like BREAD AND CHOCOLATE, THE GAMBLER, and other movies that, if it were the 1950s, would be classified as B-movies. I learned later that this was a block-booking arrangement with the movie distributer. Essentially in order to get a first run blockbuster, you had to also agree to sceen a bunch of celluloid bombs.
On the other hand, the Berkeley Cinema in the 1970s was a great place to regularly see double features. For example, when James Bond’s THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN was released, it was double featured, at least for the first week, with LIVE AND LET DIE. The same occured with 1977’s release of Burt Reynolds' SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT, which was partnered with W.W. AND THE DIXIE DANCE KINGS. You could always bet that a new Mel Brooks comedy would initially be double featured with a previous Brooks' hit. BLAZING SADDLES with YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN, YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN and SILENT MOVIE, and so on.
Berkeley Cinema also hosted its share of re-releases such as BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID, MAS*H, THE POSIDEN ADVENTURE, and THE SOUND OF MUSIC. When the theater screened a weekend showing of Julie Andrews' THOROUGHLY MODERN MILLIE, the theater was mobbed by Julie Andrews fans from across the state.
Hey, what about some of those great matinees? Marx Brothers movies, Don Knotts movies, Three Stooges two-reelers, WILLIE WONKA AND THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY, and a bunch of other movies that previously could only be seen on television. Watching Don Knotts in THE GHOST AND MR. CHICKEN on the big screen was much better than watching it on a 12-inch black and white television.
The Berkeley Cinema’s nemesis was the Blue Star General Cinemas multiplex in Watchung. The theater manager called the Blue Star Cinema on a regular basis to avoid screening the same movies at the same time. Ticket prices were cheaper at Berkeley Cinema, but Blue Star Cinemas was bigger, ran more shows, and generally had a big cinema feel about it. Ironically, Blue Star Cinemas closed in the 1990s and Berkeley Cinema survived. In the 1970s, Berkeley Cinema’s other closest competition were cinemas in Summit, Chatham, Lyons, and Bernardsville.
One of the biggest drawbacks about the Berkeley Cinema of the 1970s was that you were not allowed to bring sodas into the auditorium. Popcorn and all sorts of sticky candy were okay, but beverages were not permitted. Apparently the theater owner imposed that rule. We no doubt lost signficant sales of carbonated beverages by telling customers that they had to finish their drinks in the small lobby. This oddball rule was overturned in the 1980s.
As motion pictures became increasingly sophisticated, the Berkeley Cinema found it difficult to keep pace. Movies like MIDWAY required additional speakers to give the movie its full effect. It was not until the late 1980s or early 1990s that the theater augmented the solitary speaker behind the screen with multiple surround units on the walls.
Having worked at the Cinema for several years, I have a veritable Santa Claus bag of memories from the early days, but those will have to wait for another time.