The Motor-Vu Drive In

I don’t know how many times we went to the Motor-Vu Drive-In, probably dozens and dozens over the years but all those memories lay one atop another blending into one picture in my mind.

We always left home about an hour before sundown to get a good spot. My daddy had 1948 Cadillac, a fact which embarrassed me, as my friend’s dad drove a car twelve years newer with huge tail fins that would make Jaws jealous. When I would complain he would say, "Honey, don’t you worry, stew or fret, this old Cadillac will get you there yet." The upholstery was a plushy gray that you couldn’t slide over. You had to kinda bump, bump your bum to get across the seat. If you were wearing cotton you were okay, but any kinda wool or velveteen and you were stuck for sure. Off we’d go, my daddy and me to the Motor-Vu Drive-In on a Friday night.. Usually we wanted to see westerns, real shoot-em ups for dad, lots of horses for me. My mom would sometimes come if I really begged. She was there for "Swiss Family Robinson." I liked it when she came, it made me feel like we were a regular family.

The previews didn’t start until the sun went down but you had to get there early to get a good spot. Leaving the smooth highway we drove up to the ticket booth and daddy paid. Then the car would crunch into the gravel that covered the acres of parking spots, each with a four foot pole. Most had speakers on them but some stood empty. Sometimes folks were so sleepy when the movie was over they would forget and start to drive off with the speaker still attached and rip the wires out of the pole. Dad always picked a spot about two rows behind and ten car spaces to the right of the Snack Shack. Here we had a clear view of the enormous white screen, the lines and cracks crossing it disappearing with the beginning previews.

The first order of business after parking was a trip to the Snack Shack which sat right in the middle. Cars with small children already dressed in pajamas parked close to the Snack Shack as the restrooms were inside. The pea-green cement block building squatted beneath a flat slab of roof, as thought it was ducking down, trying to not block the view of the movie screen. The florescent lights dazzled our eyes. The floor was always sticky with sloshed pop and bits of cotton candy dropped by jostling children. I always got potato chips and root beer. My daddy had brought is own special pop, the squat brown bottles were tucked into a six pack on the floor behind the back seat.

Back in the car dad would carefully hang the metal speaker on his half rolled down window. Reaching around back he would grab a bottle still cold from the store cooler, snap off the cap and settle in. First up, the Roadrunner. Beep, Beep!