Part One of Three
The RKO Madison Theater was holding its annual Halloween Horror Show on a night when they would show two classic horror films. Best of all would be a live on stage performance of a short segment from the 1930 movie Dracula. I hadn’t been to any of the previous ones, but some of my friends told me what went on. During intermission all the lights were shut off, except for a few illuminated exit signs. Beams of light would shoot in all directions while the theater filled with the shrieking sound of witches and the howling of werewolves. Ushers and other personnel stationed themselves throughout the house. They used long rods with thread hanging from one end to dangle over unsuspecting patrons who then became alarmed by the touch of what felt like a spider crawling on their bodies. My friends gave me the impression that it was like being at a wild and wacky party where misbehaving is part of the fun.
One day at school, just outside the auto mechanics shop near the boiler room, Louie the Honk and I were working on our project. He took note that I was unusually quiet and said, “Hey Mick! What’s spinning around in your head?”
“I’m going to the Halloween Horror Show. You want to come?”
“When, tonight?”
“Yeah.”
Half-kidding I said, “We could do something really crazy. Like running up on the stage when Dracula makes his appearance and jump him before he bites the girl sleeping in bed. The audience will go nuts and we’ll come out looking like heroes.”
Louie stared at me as if I’d lost all of my marbles, but then he laughed and said, “Mick, we gotta do that.”
Still, tongue-in-cheek, I said, “We’ll do it.”
That response got Louie wildly enthusiastic and he encouraged me to make certain that my fantasy would come true. He kept laughing and repeating, “Mick, we gotta do that. We gotta.”
I was surprised at how seriously Louie took me. He said, “I’m gonna get Eddie Hart. He’ll love this.”
Louie stepped out of the room. I didn't really believe I would go through with such a foolish scheme, but now that he was all thrilled with the idea, I couldn't back down. In less than a minute, our classmate Eddie joined us and we proceeded to the boiler room where we often held our little conferences. Eddie smiled as we sat down on the chairs that were normally used by the custodian, his assistant and visitors. Louie urged me to tell him of my great prank and, as I did, our classmate’s smile broadened. I mentioned that we would jump Dracula right on the stage in front of thousands of people, and he burst out laughing. When I invited him to participate, he eased up on the laughter and said, “I thought you were only kidding.”
His look alone told me that he would not be making his stage debut, but he agreed to go along with the two more confident thespians.
After school I went to Louie’s house and we ate slices of Italian bread that was kept on the kitchen table. He poured Chianti into two wine glasses and when we were finished, we went to his cellar and lifted weights for about fifteen minutes.
He invited me over to a friend’s house. There was a pool table in the basement and right away they racked them up. My friend acted silly and couldn’t stop talking and laughing about what we were going to do that evening. His friend was rather annoyed with him and soon said, “I don’t like your friend’s stupid scheme. And I don’t believe a word of it. I’ll be in the Madison Theater tonight and I don’t expect to see either of you on the stage.”
As we left the cynic's basement, he shouted, “I don’t like you guys pulling my leg. You’re both full of shit.”
We laughed.
Faced with the possibility of a night that might become the wildest and nuttiest in my entire life, who should I run into just before reaching home but Bertie the Bird. If I told him anything as reckless as what I proposed to my two classmates, he would be Johnny on the Spot. And on the spot where I met and told him, he became that Johnny. He liked the idea and wanted in.
The Bird and I met at 6:30 P.M. and walked directly to the Madison Theater. Louie was in the lobby with his ticket in hand. He said he mentioned to his friends at Kedenburg’s Ice Cream Parlor what we were up to and they told him they would sit as close to the stage as they could. Bertie and I got on a long line for our tickets and Louie stood at my side discussing the absence of Eddie Hart. I said, “He's not crazy.”
Eddie never showed up.
In ten minutes we had our tickets and entered. This was the largest crowd I had ever seen in the Madison Theater. There had to have been more than three thousand people in attendance. Almost every seat was taken, but we found ours near stage left and the orchestra pit.
We sat through one horror film and then I told my two cohorts that we had to work our way over to stage right. That choice was the correct one because the actors and stagehands were situated on the opposite side.
The lights went on in the theater and remained lit for several minutes. This gave us a chance to change our seats. We moved to the right, three rows from the orchestra pit. The lamps began to dim until we were in near total darkness. Electric lightbulbs flashed all over the theater and we heard moaning sounds, witch-like screams, and bat screeching. I felt some of those spider-like touches that the planted tricksters inflicted upon the paying customers. All at once I felt something come down over my head leaving me in total darkness. It felt like a heavy coat or blanket, and I soon realized that whatever it was, it covered the three of us like a net. I thought that either the theater manager had read our minds or someone snitched on us. We quickly threw it off and into the pit where the piano was.
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