Essay: Remembering those 1950s Saturday matinees at the Capitol Theater

One of my favorite childhood memories was attending Saturday matinees at the Capitol Theater in New Bedford. This was in the ’50s, and I was in the eighth grade and finally able to walk there by myself week after week. The matinee would start at 1 and finish around 5. In those days, my parents didn’t seem to worry about my safety. It was truly a different time and place.

I think every city had a Capitol Theater of its own. Many of you can probably identify with me as I walk down memory lane to those “good old days” when we enjoyed simple pleasures like Saturday matinees.

I especially remember those cold winter afternoons when I ventured down Bullard Street on my way to the Saturday matinee. As I arrived on Acushnet Avenue with its landmark Capitol Theater, I joined my neighborhood friends weaving their way across the Avenue. What a thrill it was to see the marquee with its blinking lights and bold black letters silently announcing the double features!

While tightly clutching my 12 cents admission fee in my mittens, I inched my way into the crooked line of children pushing and shoving their way to the ticket booth. Once there, I carefully dropped my 12 cents into the narrow metal opening in exchange for a ticket.

At the entrance to the lobby, I handed my ticket to Butch (never knew his last name), the usher. He looked like a toy soldier in his red double-breasted jacket with gold buttons and matching cap.

In the lobby I smelled popcorn and melted butter, drawing me to the concession stand with a glass case. It was decorated with fingerprints of all shapes and sizes. The inside was filled with candy bars in rainbow-colored wrappers. I reached into my jeans pocket for my last two coins to buy popcorn and Junior Mints.

Stepping inside the theater, I heard voices of children anxiously awaiting show time. I spotted my group of Saturday matinee friends in the middle of the front row. Tightly gripping my popcorn and candy, I successfully reached my destination. Plunking myself down on a soft red-velvet seat, I began munching my treats while impatiently waiting for those dark-green-velvet curtains with gold tassels to open.

When the lights flickered, there were claps and whistles. Then, like a starless night, total darkness filled the theater. Frightened children quietly held hands. The ushers’ flashlights blinked on and off like fireflies as they guided latecomers safely to their seats. How thrilled I was to hear the clinging and clanging of curtains being pulled open, giving way to a large white movie screen. At the first sound of blaring music startled children jumped in their seats.

Before the main feature, we had to first sit through the news films with clips from World War II. I found it very boring. In those days, we were truly innocent children who were protected from the harsher realities of life, such as war. The previews of coming attractions were next and filled me with excitement. When cartoons like “Popeye” and “Bugs Bunny” finally appeared on the screen, they were welcomed with loud cheers. To a clap of thunderous applause, the featured movie appeared on the screen. It was showtime at last.

When showtime was over, the dim theater lights appeared once again. I marched out of the theater into the lobby. With squinting eyes and tingling cheeks, I turned up my street. As another Saturday matinee came to an end, I was already anticipating the next. Like a welcoming and treasured friend, the Capitol Theater filled my young life with excitement as I vicariously experienced a whole new world through the magic of film. Movies such as Disney’s fairy tales like “Cinderella” or “Snow White,” westerns like Roy Rogers’ or Gene Autry’s, musicals like “Annie Get Your Gun” or “Oklahoma,” comedies like “Abbott and Costello” or “The Three Stooges,” and many other stimulating adventures transformed my black and white world into color.

As the saying goes, “All good things must come to an end.” And so, around 1980, the lights went out at the Capitol Theater for the last time. But for those of us who were fortunate enough to have had a Capitol Theater (whatever it was called) in our younger days, these memories will always shine brightly.

 Muriel A. Gelinas earned her PhD at Boston University and was administrator of Beacon Hill Nursery School in Boston. Later she was a professor at Fisher College. She was raised in New Bedford.