No, Montana isn’t going anywhere. This Big Sky is an old, shuttered drive-in theater. It was located on the far west side of Madison, Wisconsin…in what used to be the country-side. The place closed down nearly a quarter century ago. They built a TV station on the site. What a shame! At least that TV station honors the memory by calling its movie-time Big Sky Theater!
Part of my morning routine at KMBC is reading the Madison, Wisconsin paper on-line. Yes, I should be working but I won’t tell if you won’t. Anyway, according to one of my long-time favorite columnists, Doug Moe, in The Wisconsin State Journal, the old Big Sky Theater fence is being taken down. When I read that, I immediately flashed back to a summer night in my freshman year of high school. I know that sounds like this could be the beginning of a tale of teenage puppy love. Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy gets girl back…at the drive-in! Nope. My adolescent romances were more like: Boy meets girl. Boy gets laughed at by girl. Boy ends up at home with a bowl of Cheetos and Love, American Style.
My Big Sky nostalgia involves $$$$! The summer between my freshman and sophomore years, I worked as a maintenance man…well, boy…at Bluffview Courts Retirement Village. It was a family tradition. All of my brothers had put in their time there, too. Most of the time, I mowed lawns and moved picnic tables. Sometimes the residents would come out with apple juice and hard butterscotch candies. I would’ve preferred a glass of cold chocolate milk and a Hershey bar, but sweaty, incompetent beggars can’t be choosers. As long as the kindly men and women of Bluffview overlooked all the flowers I accidentally mowed down, I would happily accept their goodies. Anyway, at the end of my first week of summer-work, I got my check and cashed it. $72.43! I was rich. My dad advised me to put it in the bank. I wanted to carry it around for awhile. In my prior job, as a box-boy at Don & Ellen’s Butcher Shop and Grocery Emporium (Okay, I was the only one to refer to it as an “emporium” but it made it sound glitzier) I had never gotten that large a check.
Well, it was a Friday and that meant kick-the-can. A bunch of us would get together at the Frudden home out in the country. The Frudden’s were a very tolerant family. I remember one daughter, Sarah, always made sure we all got fresh chocolate chip cookies. While the game, kick-the-can, was one almost-athletic pursuit I could handle, I mostly liked hanging out with Randy Kostroski and not just because he had a bunch of cute sisters. Randy was a senior when I was a freshman and was, for our high school, Jack Armstrong: All American Boy! By the way, that was an old radio show. No, I didn’t listen to the original but my dad had these records of radio memories from Longines Symphonette. I listened to those…oftentimes on Saturday nights. (Please, see paragraph two.) Back to Mr. Kostroski. Randy lettered in every sport he ever tried. He was friendly and funny. Didn’t act too big for his britches. In his senior year he was recruited to play Tom Sawyer in the all-school play, for two reasons:
1. He seemed like Tom Sawyer.
2. Having Randy Kostroski as the lead, meant you’d sell a bunch of tickets.
I played the integral part of Ben Rogers. Sure, Tom, Becky, Huck are important, but without Ben Rogers, the whole thing just kind of sits there. During the Paintin’ The Fence number, it was my Dean-Martinesque twist on “ship made of logs” that really made the tune a hit. My point, which has been greatly obscured by my clearly desperate attempt to puff up my role and influence, is that Randy and I got to know each other during the spring play. So, when summer came along, I was included in the kick-the-can Fridays.
Do you recall the point of this story? Oh, yeah, Big Sky. Back on my payday Friday, I went to play the game with a pocket full of dough. That night it was decided that we’d all go to a movie instead of kicking the can. We piled into three cars and headed for the Big Sky Drive-In. The movie was One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. Frankly, the characters didn’t seem all that off the beam, to me, personally. At this point I should mention that our little group was co-ed and, as far as I knew, very platonic. Then again, all of my relationships at that point, and well into adulthood, were platonic. In fact, lately, my wife has started to leave pictures of Plato around the house, as well.
Turns out that some of the other kick-the-canners were actually interested in more than the subtle intricacies of hiding in the woods…stalking the empty coffee can…running up and knocking it into the darkness while the person who was “it” stands there, dejected. Also, it became clear as soon as we arrived at the theater, that the movie was not of great import, either, to six of our group…three boys…three girls…three couples. With three cars, that meant those of us left-overs had to be outside the vehicles. I sat on top of a station wagon. I felt bad for the kids in the cars because there was no way they would be able to see the movie with all that fog on the windows.
The movie ended and we drove back to the Frudden Farm. When we got there, I noticed something was missing and it wasn’t just my dignity. My money was gone. My billfold was gone. My teenage-hood was about to be gone…once my dad found out about it. I couldn’t drive. I had no idea where to look, anyway. Then, Randy Kostroski came to the rescue. He left the campfire and chocolate chip cookies and movie-date to drive me back to the Big Sky. It was the middle of the night by the time we got there. I was pretty sure the dollars were long gone. Then, there in the headlights, I saw my wallet. I was glad that I’d brought the plain brown one and not the one with the beaded trout on the side. I jumped out of the car and grabbed the imitation leather. No moolah, though. Randy was walking up ahead. He reached down and came up with a bundle of bucks. MY MONEY! Apparently, my wallet fell out of my pocket when I was sitting top of the car and flew off as we departed. Talk about luck. Talk about a good friend-Randy Kostroski.
Since then I am quite nearly obsessive-compulsive about checking for my keys and checkbook and anything else I’m supposed to be carrying.
Oh, and I haven’t been to a drive-in since, either. Part of the reason is long-standing loyalty to Big Sky but, also, I’m pretty sure my family would make me sit on the roof of the car and why take that chance?
