Lakewood Lore

Movies, radio drew them in during Great Depression

Flocking to the neighborhood movie theaters every time the features changed, usually three times a week, was a way of life for many Lakewood families in the 1930s, even though our economy was beset by the Great Depression.

Among screen favorites then, and in the decade that followed, were dashing he-man Clark Gable, romantic swashbucklers Tyrone Power and Errol Flynn, Robert Taylor's flawless features plus widow's peak, Cary Grant's debonair air and masculine charm, classic south-of-the-border brunette Dolores Del Rio, and Jean Harlow, the "Blonde Bombshell."

William Powell and Myrna Loy came out with "The Thin Man." (When I saw the film in a packed house on New Year's Eve 1934, I had to sit in the only seat left, which was so far off to one side of the theater that Powell, the Thin Man, looked as tall and lean as a castor bean.)

Shirley Temple, born in 1928, became a far-famed child star. Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland followed, starring together in the Andy Hardy series, possibly a precursor of today's TV sitcoms.

Dancer deluxe Fred Astaire teamed with Ginger Rogers in 1936 in "Swing Time," one of several popular musicals with the talented pair. Fred also danced in films with heart-thumpers Rita Hayworth and Cyd Charisse. Bette Davis took a leading role in "Of Human Bondage," a famous movie from a famous novel by W. Somerset Maugham. Humphrey Bogart, bitter and lispy, played Duke Mantee in "The Petrified Forest" (1936).

Lon Chaney, consummate contortionist, spawned the monsters. Some of my boyhood friends who saw him in "The Phantom of the Opera" in the silent '20s still are scared. I, fortunately, covered my face when he took off his mask. Chaney died in 1930, but was followed by other horror-mongers, including his son, Lon Jr. (Wolf Man), Bela Lugosi (Dracula), and Dr. Frankenstein's Boris Karloff.

Going Hollywood in the '30s were such athletic greats as Sonja Henie, Esther Williams and Johnny Weissmuller. Surfacing, too, as the World War II years approached, were prize pinups Betty Grable, Paulette Goddard, Lana Turner, Dorothy Lamour and Ann Sheridan.

Film classics stirred the scene in the late '30s—"Gone With the Wind," "Citizen Kane," "The Wizard of Oz" and "Stagecoach." The last, with John Wayne, was one of the most memorable westerns ever made.

Lines of movie-goers, waiting for the doors to open, frequently stretched around corners. Besides main features, and sometimes double features, there were comedy shorts, cartoons and newsreels, and, in addition, cliff-hanger serials during Saturday matinees.

Of the early movie theaters in Lakewood, most of which sprang up in the '20s, only the Detroit remains. Long gone are Lucier, Pastime, Royal, Lincoln, Lakewood, Homestead, Melba and Hilliard Square. The Granada on Detroit Avenue was just a few steps across our eastern border in Cleveland.

Theater operators in Lakewood and other neighborhoods scheduled "Bank Night" prizes drawings to attract more customers. There were "Dish Nights," too, at which a piece of china was given to the viewers the same night each week, eventually making up an entire dinnerware set.

Tickets were cheap. For a long time, 35 cents was the price of admission. In the '20s, it was even less.

But going to the movies wasn't all that depression Lakewoodites did. They listened to the radio-shows such as "Amos 'n' Andy," "Fibber McGee and Molly," "The Lone Ranger," Fred Allen, Jack Benny and Edgar Bergen's Charlie McCarthy, and the commercial Singin' Sam the Barbasol Man.

Big bands became the rage. There were such magnetic maestros as Benny Goodman, Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Artie Shaw and Harry James, with adored singers Wee Bonnie Baker, Peggy Lee, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como and Dick Haymes. When the bands appeared at downtown theaters, fans danced in the aisles.

Some families gathered 'round their parlor player pianos and uprights in the evenings to sing "Moonlight and Roses," "Shine on Harvest Moon," "When You Wore a Tulip" and other oldies but goodies.

After a leisurely supper (fast food then was what one ate during Lent), Lakewood residents retired to their front porches to relax in rocking chairs, gliders and swings.

In the spring, kids played tops and marbles. During the warmer months, they made wooden scooters by attaching roller skates to 2-by-4 planks, and they collected cigar bands and match pads.

Inside, there were tiddlywinks, Erector sets, checkers and a place in the basement to build small scale, balsa-wood airplane models.

On Mondays, women hung out the wash (laundry) in the back yard to dry. Dirty carpets were draped over clothes lines and swatted clean with wire rug beaters. Late at night, while lying in bed, one listened and got to love the long, mournful sounds of steam locomotive whistles.

The birth of the Canadian Dionne quintuplets in 1934 captivated a continent, and the quints were reported upon for years afterward. In 1938, there was Orson Welles' ever-so-realistic broadcast of a Martian invasion—one that frightened the dickens out of millions of radio listeners who believed it actually was happening.

Money and jobs were sparse during the '30s, but, then again, prices were rock bottom. Gasoline was down to 18 cents a gallon. One could buy an electric iron for $2, a vacuum cleaner for about $18, and a gas stove for $29.

Wool dresses sold for $1.95, a good pair of dress shoes for $3.85, neckties for 50 cents, and a catcher's mitt for $1.19. A pound of cheese was 25 cents, a dozen eggs 29 cents, and a quart of milk—home delivered—was 9 cents.

Of Course, one must realize that some of the aforementioned positives are rose-colored by nostalgia, which, in a grammatical observation, tends to make the present tense and the past perfect.

This article by Dan Chabek appeared in the Lakewood Sun Post April 3, 1997. Reprinted with permission.

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