The Auditorium, A monolith of memories Options

[Charon]

As we grow older images from our past are destroyed, vanquished as too old, non productive, or dangerous.  In my hometown of St. Joseph, Missouri there once was a magnificent old building simply called The Auditorium.  I put ink to paper to play a tribute to that hulk from my past, where many wonderful events occurred in and around.  Please come and take a trip back to the early 60's when this was the center of entertainment in my hometown.  The building is no longer in existance.

The Auditorium

For years it stood majestically perched high upon the hill on 4th street, between Faraon and Robidoux.  To a small child’s wits, this was a place of such magnitude that only a House of God could equal it in grandeur.  Towering over the landscape it was dwarfed only by the Buchanan County Court House, which regaled in its location, just a scant block away.

I had been in this observatory only three times before I was to become bonded to it.  The first time was for a circus, the second for a Harlem Globetrotters game, and the third was when I participated in a musical.  The circus and basketball game diverted my attention from the domineering size of the edifice, because my whole focus was on the events before me.  The events wrestled one on one with the building, each bettering the other in some shape or form; neither would have been the same without the other.  However, the musical attempted to prepare me for what soon to become a house of entertainment while I traveled through my high school years.

The musical brought together the eighth grade classes from all over St. Joseph.  We sang the songs of Rogers and Hammerstein’s “Oklahoma.”  Sitting on the floor of the gym, small for my age, I was contracted in size even further by the sheer magnitude of the event.  Our parents surrounded us in seats mounting to the very heights of heaven or maybe just the sky.  Because not one, or two, but three balconies were stacked high upon one another, soaring above us.  It seemed the Gods themselves were on high watching our performance that night.  For all we could see, in the faint light, were their faces beaming down at us – one and all.

We sang, beautifully and rapturously, as one.  Our voices soaring and enriching, absorbed into every brick, piece of wood, and shred of fabric of that impermeable structure.  No sledgehammer, wrecker’s ball, or bulldozer could have shaken a single piece of that structure.  Not that night.

That fall I, and the majority of my fellow eighth graders entered high school.  Most of us entered the northern confines of Lafayette, home of the Shamrocks, bastion of the Fighting Irish.  Pennants of green, gray, and white flew in, around and over our hearts, minds and souls.  We discovered a new way of life, a religion - Irish pride – true and true.  We bonded, connected, linked and became attached to complete strangers.  Strangers, that in our later years, we would reflect back upon as dear friends, and possibly a few would even be considered heroes.

We attended our first Jamboree, our first sock hop, and our first homecoming, each a first time special event, a hatching.  The nest we rested in contained many eggs, incubating slowly and surely, each waiting for the right time to burst open and lay before us a treasure beyond belief.  Some would be within our grasp, while others would always be just beyond reach, forever tantalizing, tempting us with promises of glory.  Lurking in our near future was such a gem, a challenge, especially for those of us who considered ourselves - Irish.

When the first Christmas Vacation came upon us, yes that is what it was called back then, we discovered we were given ten days of liberty from school.  Some of us would be disappointed, at first, for school to us was freedom, and opportunity.  There would be some, even today, who would have wanted us tested for a sanity check.

Right after the holiday, the big event happened.  When that old auditorium became alive once more.  Alive with life, color and sound.  It became a temple, a house of prayer, a den of worship.  Eight different high schools would walk into that abattoir and become prey to the butchery and debauchery known as the Christian Brothers Christmas Basketball Tournament.

For the next four years of my life, this event would be the highlight of the Christmas season.  A time when eight high schools gathered into one huge monolith and became a yelling, screaming, joyful mob.  Oh, there were tears, however, they were long in coming, and short in duration.

The smell of popcorn would waft throughout the place, every nook and cranny: cotton candy, hot dogs, the smell of mustard and ketchup.  Perfume (Charley and Chanel) and cologne (Old Spice, English Leather and Hi-Karate) would mix with the odors of food, creating a sweetness we would never encounter again.

The noise would ebb and swell depending on the situation.  Teams would arrive, while others would go home.  The youth of my community milling about: screaming and calling out names common at the time, Janet, Tommy, Marilyn and Bobby.  The squeaking of the shoes (Converse all-stars) on the court reverberates off the concrete box seats.  Flashing colors moving back and forth, players rushing from one end to the other. The sound of the ball bouncing off the floor or rattling off the rim, and the scream of the whistle as one player or another slides by trying to save the ball from the dreaded out of bounds line, just adds to the confusion.  Finally the horn, a horrid blast signaling another period has ended.  Either a chance at redemption, or the final acclaim indicating victory and defeat.

The floor sticky with spilt pop.  Programs lying about, caressing the floor, wadded into balls of crumpled mass pitched into corners by disappointed fans, transforming the floor into art deco created by a mad painter who was a conglomeration of Andy Warhol and Picasso. The colors, reds, blues, blacks, yellows, golds, greens and whites dazzle the eye.  

Cheerleaders in their breathtaking outfits, sweaters declaring not only their schools symbols but also their names – Linda, Mary, Nancy, and Connie.  Bows and ribbons dangling from their hair, skirts flaring from hips and legs soon pictured and captured in the dreams of many a young lad.  Tennis shoes, dyed to match the colors of the uniform, delicately encasing the bright white Bobbie socks.  Smiles glittering white, surrounded by well-coiffured hair, lacquered in place by several copious sprayings of Aqua Net or Breck hair spray.  Why some of those mammoth creations never caught fire I’ll never know.

These bundles of joy would arrive on the scene unlike invaders of old.  Exploding with energy and life, vanquishing the despair and loneliness of even the most disenchanted soul.  In their eyes their team was the best, their boys could achieve anything, climb any pinnacle.

Letter jackets worn by the massive football players burst with color.  Terrifying warriors strikingly blazoned with metal ornaments, emblems of their conquests.  Arriving as part of an entourage, escorting the young fair maidens.  When compared to the beauty of the ladies, these warriors were apelike in appearance.

Each year we, the Irish faithful, arrived at this den of swindlers, this charlatan, this painted lady which dazzled us with her beauty and promises of victory and grandeur.  Each year, it became a mortuary, filled with the ashes of our crushed hopes and dreams.  We came to seek counsel at this ministry, this presbytery, only to be cast out from the Garden of Eden.  We were never permitted to gaze upon the tree of knowledge, the holy grail of high school basketball.  Each year some destroyer would prevent us from grasping the scepter of greatness, the first year it was North Kansas City Vikings, my sophomore year it was Christian Brothers Golden Eagles, junior year Maryville Spoofhounds, and my senior year the Kearney Bulldogs.  

The building is now gone, called a firetrap by some.  The third balcony had become dangerous; it could collapse at any time.  The ramps were in need of repair.  The stage floor, where many of the bands of Dick Clark’s fantastic tours preformed, was considered dangerous.  Vanquished while I was away at war, torn down by mysterious forces.  This Parthenon will always remain firmly entrenched in my mind.  The years I ventured there, the ladies I escorted – Becky, Diann, and Sherese - will remain frozen in time.  Forever entrapped as if in a snow globe, to be shaken every once in a while, to bring a smile upon my face and reward me with pleasant memories.

Posted as an unpublished work.

Emerson Butch Sollars January 2005

[Guest_Cailean_*]

Good stuff, flows well, and interesting to read. A few nits tho:

"House of God"

Oddly, removing the capital from "house" accentuates the capital on God. Just my impression, House of God sounds like a title, which doesn't read right to me- the important thing about the phrase is God, not necessarily House :)

"domineering size of the edifice"

I'd go with "daunting", domineering is like an oppressive mother in law, it's not just dominating or scaring, but almost a plague - it's normally used for people, but even with anthropomorphism, it's still lacking something in this context. You could also slip in the word "looming" somewhere to accentuate the height :)

"That fall I, and the majority of my fellow eighth graders entered high school."

I'd go with "That fall, me and the majority of my fellow eighth graders ..."

It may not look right, but "me" is correct, not "I". I is only used there when it's the subject, and the subject is the fall and what happened in it. It would be different if you said "I and the majority of my fellow eighth graders entered high school in the fall." But that would be a clumsy sentence, and you're looking at the time period rather than the entry to high school.

Still, reading it back, this sentence could do with a little reworking - it's still a bit awkward.

"It seemed the Gods"

I'd go for "gods" here, but that's sheerly personal preference. The reason why most Westerners capitalize the word "God" is because it's used as a name. (and names are always capitalized.) It's also why Native American totems are capitalized as names, haha :) A collective noun like "gods" for me doesn't need a capital.

"When the first Christmas Vacation came upon us, yes that is"

My punctuation Nazi self rises.

"When the first Christmas Vacation came upon us - yes, that is"

And finish off with another elan. Punctuation marks of all different kinds really do spice up and add impact to a piece without adding word count! I'm still not perfect with them, but I'm definitely seeing their effects. My editor is also a punctuation Nazi, so she really helps me learn new ways of using the little things.

"Each year we, the Irish faithful,"

I'd suggest elans here too.

"Each year we - the Irish faithful -"

All in all, a fairly evocative work with some good word usage in places, without being overdone. Heh, I couldn't avoid thinking of my best friend through part of it - he's becoming a monk for the Christian Brothers here in Oz. And he's very athletic - he coulda been one of your opponents, haha :)

Anyway, good stuff, and I'm glad you can give this place a good tribute :)

Cailean.

[Charon]

Cailean

Thanks so much for stoping by and criting.  You offer some excellent advice.  I will have to rewrite just a bit and add some of your suggestions.

Unfortunately I have gone back to school to get my Masters and have had my first class, which I discovered I must have two papers and a 15 minute presentation by next class.  

Also unfortunately, it has been 20 some odd years since I last went to school, so the startup is going to be exciting.

Again, thanks for the crit, and when I get some time, I will attack with joy.

Butch
aka Charon

[Guest_Cailean_*]

Take your time, study comes first :) And yeah, that "going back to school" shock is kinda freaky, you'll get back into the swing of it soon enough, I reckon :)

Thank you for coming by and thanking me, heh. :) Glad I could help!

Cailean.

[Guest_RonPrice_*]

Charon

I liked the way you went about this exercise. It had the effect of taking me back to some of my old haunts in Canada in the early sixties before I left my home area.  Georges Poulet writes in his book "Proustian Space," that memory starts from "a taste, from a scent, from a clamour of bells perceived in the depths of the years, a second movement of reminiscence which, like a sky-rocket, opens itself up and reveals a fan of new memories."(John Hopkins Press, Baltimore, 1977, p.304) You seem to have found some scents, some tastes, here.

As far as punctuation and grammar are concerned: keep in mind that half of punctuation follows rules and half is personal idiosyncratic choice. In today's world idiosyncratic choice in punctuation and the spelling of the advertising world is making alot of English a dog's breakfast. We all seem to have different ways of dealing with that breakfast.-Ron Price, Tasmania.:blues:

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hello!

Just a quick note to say I have printed this one out to read during vacation.

Hope to be abck with comments real soon...

:)

[Cleo_Serapis]

Hi Butch!  :wizard:

Thanks for a visit to your youth! This one has a charm to it that is YOU. It reminded me of one of your Christmas pieces - a visit back to your younger days.

A few nits for you to T or T:

Intro word 'Existance' - should be existence.

However, the musical attempted to prepare me for what {would} soon to become a house of entertainment while I traveled through my high school years.

Sitting on the floor of the gym,{I was} small for my age, I andwas contracted in size even further by the sheer magnitude of the event.

We attended our first Jamboree, our first sock hop, and our first homecoming, each a first time special event, a hatching.

Right after the holiday, the big event happened.  When that old auditorium became alive came to life once more.  Alive with life, color and sound.