The Imperial

(sorry-Casino's a lousy name for a theater)






Back in the Forties in downtown Memphis, there was this theater called The Imperial.
Movies were still a new thing and all that could, would go to them as often as possible.
Two blocks down, a left on 3rd, and then a right on Creole, lived Marcus.
Now Marcus was an older black man who lived in a run down shanty and he got along by running errands and sweeping at the train depot.
Marcus didn't really have any friends you could really call friends and at night he'd walk uptown
with his head down low and his tattered collar pulled high.
He'd walk to the hardware store across from the theater, lean deep in the shadows against the dirty brick wall and just watch the coloured lights of the theater race like dogs chasin rabbits.
Marcus would study the letters spelling titles and stars and he'd watch the long black coats and soft furs pass through the front door.
How wonderful it must be, to be able to just walk in, sit down and see a movie, he'd think to himself and his lips moved to the thinking.
Marcus thought of holding a ticket, finding a warm soft seat and watching the giant screen come to life.

After all the rich white folk had made their way in and the taxis had all driven off, Marcus would put
his hands deep in his pockets and shuffle home where he'd just sit on the steps of his busted up porch and watch the street embrace the darkness, just like everyone did on that street.
But Marcus's dreams hadn't gone completely unnoticed. See, the Imperial had a manager who had a soft heart and he had noticed Marcus leaning the wall night after night.
One night, after the privileged had taken their seats and Marcus pushed himself off the wall, he felt a hand upon his shoulder.
"You'd like to see the movie, wouldn't you?"
Marcus's red eyes just stared back silently, knowing he wouldn't be allowed in even if he had the money.
The manager bent low and spoke softly, almost in a whisper, as he looked over his shoulder to see
who might be watching.
"I can get you in," the manager paused. "but not through there." He nodded toward the lights.
And so a deal was struck.
Marcus would sneak down the alley, past the banged up garbage cans, and wait by the side door that was painted black and only opened from the inside.
It would be here, after the movie had started, after the white folk had gotten their popcorn, that the manager would sneak back and let Marcus in.
The manager took Marcus down a dark hallway and showed him a small hole he could look through with one eye while standing. But if one of the boys came along taking trash to the alley, Marcus would have to quick duck behind a curtain to a small storage closet.
He'd be seeing the same movie as the white folk, only see it a little different.
The manager did this on many nights and even began stopping by Marcus's place once a week or so with a small bag of groceries.
But he always came well after dark and never stayed more than a minute. Always moving fast with his collar up and hat pulled low.
This arrangement, on the surface, seemed pretty good.
The manager felt better about himself and sang a little louder at church on Sunday morning
But Marcus, though he was able to know the cinema almost like white folks, didn't sleep too well and the groceries always tasted a little funny.
One night, the manager went to the black door down the hall to let Marcus in, but Marcus wasn't there.
Stepping into the damp alley he looked up and down but all he saw was a couple of rats scurrying for territory.
Walking out the front door of The Imperial, the manager saw Marcus across the street, leaning against the cold brick wall.
After looking around to see who might be watching, the manager began to cross the street.
But before he could get there, Marcus turned up his collar and walked away.