Solitude at midnight on New Year’s is pretty rare — not to be lonely at that solitary moment, rarer still. So it was that Paul (Paulie) Plonski — who worked as a teenager at the concession stand of our 2672-seat movie palace in 1976 — sent this account of what he was doing as 1976 became 1977. The St. George Theater was and is located halfway up a steep hill in Staten Island overlooking New York Harbor, a pretty interesting place at midnight in any company. Here’s Paulie:
“...We had a late show at the St. George. You and Dean made sure to get us out of the theater before midnight so we could make it home in time.
My ‘68 Pontiac Firebird was parked on Hyatt Street, right in front of the theater. At around 11:30 I got in, started the car, but could not get it into gear. So...at midnight I was on the hill, waiting for a tow truck, the cold wind blowing. I was freezing.
Quiet, except for the wind. Then at the stroke of midnight, the ships in the harbor sounded their whistles and shot off fireworks. It was just me, the wind and the ships with the NYC skyline, a night to cherish forever.
PS: The New Years party was still raging when I made it home (nothing missed)."
Privation, exhilaration. These fit my overall experience of running the theater in 1976 and the first few months of 1977. It was going to be a cold cold winter; we’d be out, broke, by spring. But the theater, while it lasted, was itself a kind of fireworks, a lit spark I try to keep going, in these blog posts. Thanks again, Paulie!
Peace in the New Year everybody.
“...We had a late show at the St. George. You and Dean made sure to get us out of the theater before midnight so we could make it home in time.
My ‘68 Pontiac Firebird was parked on Hyatt Street, right in front of the theater. At around 11:30 I got in, started the car, but could not get it into gear. So...at midnight I was on the hill, waiting for a tow truck, the cold wind blowing. I was freezing.
Quiet, except for the wind. Then at the stroke of midnight, the ships in the harbor sounded their whistles and shot off fireworks. It was just me, the wind and the ships with the NYC skyline, a night to cherish forever.
PS: The New Years party was still raging when I made it home (nothing missed)."
Privation, exhilaration. These fit my overall experience of running the theater in 1976 and the first few months of 1977. It was going to be a cold cold winter; we’d be out, broke, by spring. But the theater, while it lasted, was itself a kind of fireworks, a lit spark I try to keep going, in these blog posts. Thanks again, Paulie!
Peace in the New Year everybody.
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