33 Emma Storley I have always loved movies. As a child, I remember being compliant during nap time only when I would be attending a movie that evening. No nap, no movie. I figured that was a fair trade. The only problemwas I could hardly keep my eyes closed as I pictured a night filled with candy, popcorn, and excitement over whatever PGrated movie was showing that weekend. The Strand Theatre sits on the corner of Main Street in Britton, South Dakota. I went to the movies practically every weekend (only missing on the few occasions my parents deemed the movie “inappropriate”). My preferred seating changed with my age. At my youngest, the front row held the best seats in my eyes. Soon, around fifth grade, I realized I did not enjoy straining my neck to see the entirety of the screen as much as I had thought, and I preferred sitting in the left side aisle in the middle-ish of the theatre. After I began working at the Strand at the age of thirteen, I was required to sit in the back of the theatre during my shifts. Now, after my many years of experience in movie-going, I can say with certainty the back row is by far the best seating. Red carpet lines the lobby and trails into both aisles. The concession area is rather small and can hardly fit the two high school students taking and preparing orders (three on Sundays). The illuminated Strand sign shines down on everyone that enters the theatre. It was painted just a few years ago, the same colors, but something in me misses the chipping paint that showed the rusting metal underneath. It had a certain charm to it. The wall at the back of the lobby has an opening on each side. Thick blue curtains wait, pushed to the side until they are pulled promptly at the start of previews, separating the dark theatre from the glow of the concession stand. The curtains are then pulled to their full covering by Strand workers at least one hundred and thirteen times per shift (give or take), chasing away the intruding beams that follow after movie-goers who seek more treats or a bathroom break. There are so many fond memories that tether me to the theatre. The constantly jammed straw dispensers. The microwave that just barely holds the tubs of butter and forces you to stand on your tippy-toes to reach. The time that my brother dropped a full tub of melted butter all over himself trying to maneuver it out of the microwave. The sound of M&M’s rolling from the back of the theatre all the way to the front row. The wonderful feeling of spattering hot oil flying at your arms while bagging popping popcorn. The sight of customers trying to pull on the front left door even though it has been locked ever since I can remember. The overwhelming scent of popcorn on my clothes and hair that requires an immediate shower upon returning home. The Strand Theatre was built over one hundred years ago, in 1915. I wonder if its first owner, Mr. C. C. Baker, knew it would still be standing today. Perhaps even then he could picture all of the memories that would be made there. I imagine he would smile at the thought of howmany laughs, tears, first dates—and lasts—have been shared at the Strand. Tradition courses through the theatre. It is felt in the soft paper of the movie tickets—the true purpose of which is no more important than the glimmer in the eyes of children as they drop them into the ticket-pillar. I can still recall the absolute feeling of joy when my parents would hand me all of our tickets, and I would watch them fall one by one. Tradition is heard through the sweet reverberations of the creaking stairs and found strand theatre: admi t one
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