llustration by Denis Shifrin

The house lights dimmed, the scraping of the chairs reverberated throughout the hall as the audience settled in their seats, an expectant hush descended and the magic began. There, on the screen before us, were the heroes and heroines of our youth who brought glamor, mystery, excitement, enchantment and romance into our lives.

It was Saturday at the movies, the most fabulous day of the year, the day we had waited all week, when for 6 hours, (yes, 6) we escaped into the dream world of Hollywood. Before the days of electronic miracles like the Internet, DVD, HD TV, IPOD, Videos, Blackberries, Cellphones, MPVD, there was magic.

Can any youngster today possibly imagine the excitement, the anticipation, and the thrill of Saturday at the movies? When now, with a click of the finger, any movie, any music, any picture, anything, appears before his eyes. But where is the wonder? Where is the magic?

Every Saturday, I had to shlepp my several nieces and nephews, barely younger than I, along with me to the movies. It’s the price I had to pay to get the 5 cents I needed for admission. I also had to tote along a huge paper bag filled with salami sandwiches (the pungent scent of garlic permeated the hall, adding to the general mixture of odors), plus apples, cookies and a huge bottle of KIK Cola, to keep us satiated through the 6 hours of movies.

First, we laughed our way through the antics of Tom and Jerry, Mickey Mouse and Popeye, then some comedy with an actor named Leon Errol who always seemed to be in wife-trouble. It was now time for the weekly serial where Flash Gordon, Roy Rogers or Tarzan wiped out all the rotten guys in one fell swoop while saving the heroine with his other hand, and which had to be continued the following week since one of the villains threatened to awaken from his head injury to the cries of “Watch out he’s not dead!” from the audience.

This was followed by the “B” picture where the bad girls – Jan Sterling or Marie Winsor or Gloria Graham – got the good guy into trouble before dying (with every hair in place) while saving his life. Then the trailer for the following week, then the news, and finally the main attraction.

And what movies they were.

Yes, they don’t make them like that anymore. There, in the palace of dreams, we watched Bacall and Bogart fall in love (to whistles and cat calls from the guys); we bit our nails as Joan Fontaine felt threatened by Cary Grant in Suspicion; thrilled to the passions of Heathcliff and Catherine as portrayed by Laurence Olivier and Merle Oberon. Were any femmes fatales ever as fatal a femme as Barbara Stanwyck in Double Indemnity or any heroine as tortured as Ingrid Bergman was by Charles Boyer in Gaslight? And how about all the war movies of the 40’s where the brave ones made it and the bastards didn’t because they were destroyed by John Wayne or Clark Gable or Robert Taylor or Tyrone Powers who flew the planes and piloted the submarines that eventually overpowered the enemy (to cheers and whoops from the crowd).

And what of the unforgettable thrill of watching the debonair Fred Astaire partnering a will-o’-the wisp Ginger Rogers as they danced amidst impossible scenarios up in the sky, under water, up the stairs or amongst the stars to romantic music by Cole Porter and George Gershwin (they don’t write hummable music like that anymore either). They were always in heaven. And yes, so were we.

They were giants whose artistry stirred our imaginations and provided us with endless hours of enchantment and entertainment. Our hearts swelled with pride at their exploits, our lives were brightened by their accomplishments, our dreams fired by the possibility of our own Bogart or Grant or Gable and we knew that “happily ever after,” would be our future.

Being 12 years old on Saturday at the movies was akin to receiving the golden key to the door that opened to a world of wonder. A world where we were all beautiful and brave and where anything was possible.

Okay, we cannot go back in time. And email is the 8^th wonder of the world. But for those of us who were alive then, weren’t we lucky to have had that moment in our lives? When the magic was still there on Saturday at the movies. Before all the rest of it changed with the click of a finger.