INTO THE LIGHT
One of my earliest memories is one of my father--in his Sunday suit, gold stickpin that spelled out "Bud" in his tie, lugging a heavy, movie projector up rickedy, wooden steps behind an old apartment building. This was in the 1960's, long before VHS tapes or DVD's, so a movie shown in one's own home was an unusual occurrance, a grand occasion. My father worked hard all week as a chemical engineer on the night shift at Dupont Industries. Why was he going to all this trouble on the weekend for people we didn't even know?
At that time, young married couples with small children were moving into our area, a growing suburb north of Memphis. They didn't have much money and often started out in some of the more shabby apartment complexes. The apartments were dingy and small, sparsely furnished with secondhand chairs and a table, a threadbare couch, and worn, oval rag rugs on the floor. This particular husband and wife, barely older than teenagers, huddled together on their sofa, obviously anxious over having visitors in their first home. The young mother tried to calm a squirming toddler on her lap, but we were all too excited to be still.
My father set the big metal projector on a fragile-looking coffee table; the spindly legs swayed slightly with the weight and then settled into one stiff position, much to everyone's relief. He put one large, empty metal wheel on the front arm of the black box, and another one full of shiny, dark brown tape on the back arm. He threaded a loose end of the tape over and around several small wheels on the left side of the projector and attached it to the empty wheel in front. Even the toddler was quiet now. We watched my father's mechanical operation with rapt interest, and I felt very proud of him; this must be important for some reason, considering all the trouble he was going to. He didn't seem to mind.
He stretched out the cord, found an electrical outlet and pulled the plug that was there. Suddenly, the room went dark! I stiffened in the strange room and held my breath. A switch was flicked. A very bright light beamed from the lens on the front of the projector onto a bland wall by the kitchen, illuminating the room. The machine rattled as its wheels began to turn. A loud humming noise blew hot air in my face from a vent in the back. I scooted away from the heat and turned to the images that appeared on the wall.
Who was this bearded man in the movie that seemed to hold everyone's attention? He seemed nice. Everyone liked him. You could tell from their faces which showed rapt attention as they stood around in their bathrobes. He patted the children, and they sat in his lap as he told stories to the crowd. One time, he fed everyone from his baskets, fish and bread. People shouted, turning happy faces and raised hands toward the sky. One little girl was sick and lay very still on her bed. The nice man smoothed the hair on her forehead with his big, rough but gentle hands, and she opened her eyes. Her momma and daddy cried.
One old man had trouble with his eyes. The nice man put mud on them. The old man washed his eyes, and then began to run around and shout. Another man sat on his twisted legs and refused to walk. The nice man told him to, so the little man slowly stood up, and then began to run around too, shouting to the others.
It was quiet and scary when the nice man came to a cave. His friend was alone inside in the dark. Hearing someone call his name, the little man, wrapped in rags, stumbled out into the light. People screamed.
After that, everything changed.
The nice man rode on a donkey, and people waved branches of leaves, but others whispered in the shadows, old men with long beards and fancy clothes. They found him when he was alone and crying. They grabbed the nice man and took him away. His friends were afraid and hid. The nice man was pushed onto the ground. They stretched out his arms. Then, he was lifted up, pointing to the sky. Dark clouds gathered, and thunder and lightning raged. The rain fell on the people as they cried, sorry for what they had done.
Then, the nice man was alone in a cave in the dark, just like his friend had been. A big rock rolled away; the nice man stood up and walked out into the light of day. He joined his friends, who were happy again.
The end of the shiny tape whipped loose and the metal wheels clacked. My father turned off the projector and plugged the lamp back in.
The young couple hugged each other and cried quietly. My father took their hands as they held their baby, prayed with them, and they were happy again, too.
It was still a bright afternoon outside.
On the way back to our car, I held my father's hand, a rough but gentle hand like the man's in the movie, the man who reminded me of my father. They both seemed glad to go to a whole lot of trouble to make other people happy. I wanted to grow up to be just like them.
J. Wallace
At that time, young married couples with small children were moving into our area, a growing suburb north of Memphis. They didn't have much money and often started out in some of the more shabby apartment complexes. The apartments were dingy and small, sparsely furnished with secondhand chairs and a table, a threadbare couch, and worn, oval rag rugs on the floor. This particular husband and wife, barely older than teenagers, huddled together on their sofa, obviously anxious over having visitors in their first home. The young mother tried to calm a squirming toddler on her lap, but we were all too excited to be still.
My father set the big metal projector on a fragile-looking coffee table; the spindly legs swayed slightly with the weight and then settled into one stiff position, much to everyone's relief. He put one large, empty metal wheel on the front arm of the black box, and another one full of shiny, dark brown tape on the back arm. He threaded a loose end of the tape over and around several small wheels on the left side of the projector and attached it to the empty wheel in front. Even the toddler was quiet now. We watched my father's mechanical operation with rapt interest, and I felt very proud of him; this must be important for some reason, considering all the trouble he was going to. He didn't seem to mind.
He stretched out the cord, found an electrical outlet and pulled the plug that was there. Suddenly, the room went dark! I stiffened in the strange room and held my breath. A switch was flicked. A very bright light beamed from the lens on the front of the projector onto a bland wall by the kitchen, illuminating the room. The machine rattled as its wheels began to turn. A loud humming noise blew hot air in my face from a vent in the back. I scooted away from the heat and turned to the images that appeared on the wall.
Who was this bearded man in the movie that seemed to hold everyone's attention? He seemed nice. Everyone liked him. You could tell from their faces which showed rapt attention as they stood around in their bathrobes. He patted the children, and they sat in his lap as he told stories to the crowd. One time, he fed everyone from his baskets, fish and bread. People shouted, turning happy faces and raised hands toward the sky. One little girl was sick and lay very still on her bed. The nice man smoothed the hair on her forehead with his big, rough but gentle hands, and she opened her eyes. Her momma and daddy cried.
One old man had trouble with his eyes. The nice man put mud on them. The old man washed his eyes, and then began to run around and shout. Another man sat on his twisted legs and refused to walk. The nice man told him to, so the little man slowly stood up, and then began to run around too, shouting to the others.
It was quiet and scary when the nice man came to a cave. His friend was alone inside in the dark. Hearing someone call his name, the little man, wrapped in rags, stumbled out into the light. People screamed.
After that, everything changed.
The nice man rode on a donkey, and people waved branches of leaves, but others whispered in the shadows, old men with long beards and fancy clothes. They found him when he was alone and crying. They grabbed the nice man and took him away. His friends were afraid and hid. The nice man was pushed onto the ground. They stretched out his arms. Then, he was lifted up, pointing to the sky. Dark clouds gathered, and thunder and lightning raged. The rain fell on the people as they cried, sorry for what they had done.
Then, the nice man was alone in a cave in the dark, just like his friend had been. A big rock rolled away; the nice man stood up and walked out into the light of day. He joined his friends, who were happy again.
The end of the shiny tape whipped loose and the metal wheels clacked. My father turned off the projector and plugged the lamp back in.
The young couple hugged each other and cried quietly. My father took their hands as they held their baby, prayed with them, and they were happy again, too.
It was still a bright afternoon outside.
On the way back to our car, I held my father's hand, a rough but gentle hand like the man's in the movie, the man who reminded me of my father. They both seemed glad to go to a whole lot of trouble to make other people happy. I wanted to grow up to be just like them.
J. Wallace
posted by Purgatory Penman | 6:20 AM
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