Sixty years ago, my bedroom window looked out on the back wall of The LaGrange Theatre. As a kid, I had a great view of everything happening in a suburban Chicago alleyway.
On the other side of the red brick wall, movies were being shown featuring the stars of the day: Marilyn Monroe, Jimmy Stewart, Joan Crawford. Some of the popular movies were “Ben-Hur,” “Some Like It Hot” and “The Diary of Anne Frank.” I didn’t see many of the movies, but I viewed a lot of the real action back in the alley.
Attractions included:
A “smokin” hot romance between a teenage boy and a lady about twice his age. The lighting wasn’t great, but I think they both were having a fine time.
A brief fight. One swing, and the bigger man went down. He chose to stay there. I thought he was smart.
An exchange of a paper bag for a fistful of dollars. They seemed to be in a hurry. I didn’t think it was popcorn.
An old fella with a bottle of wine wrapped in a brown sack. He just sat there on a cement block, sipping his beverage. He made many repeat performances.
I could go on and on. There may have been some fine acting on the big screen inside the LaGrange Theatre. But I had a front row seat to some of the grittiest shows that never made it to the screen.