This photo is how I remember Boothbay Harbor's Strand Theater on Townsend Avenue in my 30 years here before it burnt. The lighting and symmetry made it appear grand, and it was. It looked to my young self like a Mayan or Greek temple. It was laid out with an eye to giving a sense of grandeur: to walk up the flight of steps; go into the foyer with the glittering popcorn machine, yummy candy counter, formal ticket booth, and ticket taker by the door; and then into the vast seat and curtained screen area. It was a very pleasant gauntlet.

I remember in 1954 when I was about eight, that "Gone With The Wind" came in the fall. It had to be seen over two nights because it was so long. But a hurricane came too, power was lost, and the viewing took three nights. I was very proud of my joke that, "'Gone With The Wind' was gone with the wind."

As teenagers in the early 1960s, we'd get there early, be dropped off, and stood around on the steps, checking out who was with whom. Adults used to park in cars or drive around and around the harbor, just watching who was going to the movies and, like us, watching who was with whom. It was a form of entertainment in itself. The teenage guys lounged, perched on the balustrades. Later inside, the teenagers on dates sat toward the back. If couples chose the very back row, it was assumed they would not be able to summarize the movie's plot the next day. Other older, daring teenage guys sat halfway or more down near the side doors to surreptitiously let their friends in.

Saul Hayes and the Projector

Saul Hayes, born 1885 and the owner of the theater, was always there. He was an old vaudevillian who later in life provided places of entertainment such as dance halls and casinos in the region. Saul built the Strand in 1928 next door to the old movie place, the Opera House. Talkies came to the Strand two years later with a first night audience of 1,100.

When we kids got out of hand, Saul would have the projector shut off, slowly trudge down front, and tell us that if we didn't behave, there'd be no more movie that night. The theater endured through my childhood and adulthood, and my kids saw Star Wars there in the late 1970s.

My husband worked in the shipyards with Ted Dowling who ran the projector then. One night late in the 1970s, Ted let the four of us into the projection booth to see how the old carbon-arc projectors worked. The kids were fascinated that a little controlled fire illuminated the film; I think of the carbon rods we saw as looking like two sparklers whose tips nearly touched to create the bright white light. But they did not fling their sparks in every direction, instead focusing them toward the screen. They were slowly advanced by the projector as they burned to light and project the film. I wish those antique projectors could have made it through the arson fire that destroyed the building in 1981. My husband inquired about getting one of the projectors, just because it was such an elegant machine. But they had both been destroyed in the fire.

Sometimes it's hard to know if seeing old photos is a happy thing because of the happy memories, or a sad thing because those times are gone.