Although the weekend is over, it is never too late for me to write.
Saturday, March 2 was the birthday of my late husband, Barry Beall. As I celebrated him I remembered a story he told me about his childhood.
He was born in 1935 in Georgia. When he was a small boy, he spent time with his grandparents, Roy and Myrtice Alexander who lived in Roopville, Georgia. The Alexanders had an unusual business - at least it is considered unusual for today.
They drove around the rural areas of western north Georgia and showed movies in the small towns where there were no movie theaters at that time. Barry said they loaded up a movie projector and screen as well as the large reel-to-reel films. They arrived on Saturday and set up in a library, a church fellowship hall or any place large enough to seat the audience that turned out for the show. The whole town welcomed them.
Barry was about five or six years old when he toured with his granddaddy and grandmother. He played while they worked. After setting up the projector and making sure it worked properly, Grandmother Alexander sold tickets. Families arrived together and young men brought their girlfriends to see the western movies or the latest Humphrey Bogart films.
Barry was too young to enjoy the picture shows, but he always was given a nice treat to eat. He remembered falling asleep in his grandmother's lap and waking when the lights were turned on.
Barry was too young to enjoy the picture shows, but he always was given a nice treat to eat. He remembered falling asleep in his grandmother's lap and waking when the lights were turned on.
