What a wonderful surprise, stumbling across memories more than six decades old. Thanks, everyone, for contributing details about our beloved ”Itch.” We lived on Washington Avenue, just a few doors off Myrtle from the early 40s till June 52 when the family moved to Long Island. From the mid-40s to very early 50s, my sister, Ginny, and I along with probably a half dozen of our friends, routinely spent Saturday afternoons in the sometimes raucous but always comfortable and familiar Peerless.
I passed the theater, in shadow beneath the el, every weekday as I made my way to class at Sacred Heart (would anyone today allow a first- or second-grader to walk that far unattended?) But come Saturdays, clutching my quarter allowance, I headed for the Peerless with my crowd.
For 12 cents, we got at a minimum two feature films, a cartoon and, most importantly, a serial (or “chapter,” as we called those black-and-white, episodic stories of Nyoka, Rocketman, G-Men [who] Never Forget, Superman and our other matinee heroes). On the best Saturdays, the top feature was a comedy like the Bowery Boys or Abbot and Costello while the undercard, the “second”—and in we boys’ estimation, the better—film was most often a western, war flick or other shoot-em-up.
We got more than movies. The 20-foot-wide lobby had great posters and photo stills, most of them advertising the week’s upcoming features (any film, the way I remember it, stayed in the theater no more than a couple of days). The first poster frame on the left, my favorite spot, was a vertical rectangle reserved for the current serial, so it sat there for at least 12 or 13 weeks and most often 15. At our ages, those months were a lifetime before the new artwork went up.
For no practical reason, I liked to pick up a copy of the Peerless program for the upcoming week when I found them stacked at the ticket booth. It was a small (maybe 4 x 6) flyer, of marginal print quality and it came in a variety of colors: black one week, purple another). It included artwork and display type that promoted the upcoming, albeit brief, appearance of films. For me, the back page was the focus of my interest since it highlighted the Peerless’ Saturday matinee.
The program’s front must have featured Sunday, maybe Monday (two films). Inside, double features were scheduled for Tuesday-Wednesday and Thursday-Friday (again, this is 60-plus years of reconstruction; corrections welcome!)
As others have noted, the snack stand was located under the screen, at the foot of the right aisle. A small bag of potato chips cost, I think, a nickel, but they came with something other theaters didn’t provide: the matron added a small but strategic tear somewhere in the center of the bag. That kept young snackers from inflating their empty bag and punching it to achieve a loud bang.
Just past the screen and refreshment stand were the double exit-only steel doors that opened onto to Waverly Avenue. Kids who left early armed themselves with rocks then directed noisy but brief fusillades against the metal.
The memories still burn bright with me, and I’m glad to see they do as well with so many others. That was some neighborhood that we all called home!
What a wonderful surprise, stumbling across memories more than six decades old. Thanks, everyone, for contributing details about our beloved ”Itch.” We lived on Washington Avenue, just a few doors off Myrtle from the early 40s till June 52 when the family moved to Long Island. From the mid-40s to very early 50s, my sister, Ginny, and I along with probably a half dozen of our friends, routinely spent Saturday afternoons in the sometimes raucous but always comfortable and familiar Peerless. I passed the theater, in shadow beneath the el, every weekday as I made my way to class at Sacred Heart (would anyone today allow a first- or second-grader to walk that far unattended?) But come Saturdays, clutching my quarter allowance, I headed for the Peerless with my crowd. For 12 cents, we got at a minimum two feature films, a cartoon and, most importantly, a serial (or “chapter,” as we called those black-and-white, episodic stories of Nyoka, Rocketman, G-Men [who] Never Forget, Superman and our other matinee heroes). On the best Saturdays, the top feature was a comedy like the Bowery Boys or Abbot and Costello while the undercard, the “second”—and in we boys’ estimation, the better—film was most often a western, war flick or other shoot-em-up. We got more than movies. The 20-foot-wide lobby had great posters and photo stills, most of them advertising the week’s upcoming features (any film, the way I remember it, stayed in the theater no more than a couple of days). The first poster frame on the left, my favorite spot, was a vertical rectangle reserved for the current serial, so it sat there for at least 12 or 13 weeks and most often 15. At our ages, those months were a lifetime before the new artwork went up. For no practical reason, I liked to pick up a copy of the Peerless program for the upcoming week when I found them stacked at the ticket booth. It was a small (maybe 4 x 6) flyer, of marginal print quality and it came in a variety of colors: black one week, purple another). It included artwork and display type that promoted the upcoming, albeit brief, appearance of films. For me, the back page was the focus of my interest since it highlighted the Peerless’ Saturday matinee. The program’s front must have featured Sunday, maybe Monday (two films). Inside, double features were scheduled for Tuesday-Wednesday and Thursday-Friday (again, this is 60-plus years of reconstruction; corrections welcome!) As others have noted, the snack stand was located under the screen, at the foot of the right aisle. A small bag of potato chips cost, I think, a nickel, but they came with something other theaters didn’t provide: the matron added a small but strategic tear somewhere in the center of the bag. That kept young snackers from inflating their empty bag and punching it to achieve a loud bang. Just past the screen and refreshment stand were the double exit-only steel doors that opened onto to Waverly Avenue. Kids who left early armed themselves with rocks then directed noisy but brief fusillades against the metal. The memories still burn bright with me, and I’m glad to see they do as well with so many others. That was some neighborhood that we all called home!