EARLY ADOLESCENCE
I think perhaps
I am a different generation
--
the one prior to your Mickey Mouses and
Beach Balls.
I had a different set of
heroes,
and mine all rode horses.
At the edge of town,
down the block from the
ancient Hotel Roosevelt
(where rumor was rampant in
high school
that the Roosevelt was
where
the dashing boys from the air
base
went to pick up --
whores!),
there, in the darkened
movie theater "The Ritz,"
replete with the scent of
the popcorn
my allowance didn't run to
buying,
I would sit on the edge of
my seat
and watch Roy Rogers and
his palomino horse Trigger
and his girlfriend Dale
Evans;
listen to Gene Autry sing
cowboy songs
between chasing scurvy
cattle rustlers,
thrill to the Lone Ranger's
"Hi yo, Silver, awaaay!"
and the adventures of
Hop-a-Long Cassidy,
giggle at side-kick Gabby
Hayes,
and wonder what was going
on in the episode
of the serial
adventure
that I never got to see in
sequence.
(In my movies
you always knew who the good guys
were
because they wore white
Stetsons
and the bad guys wore
beat-up black ten-gallon hats.)
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