They Gave Free Dishes at the Movies. But There Was So Much More
The movie theater was my Friday night destination
Not long ago, I was chatting about my regular trips every Friday night to The Castle Theater on Chalkstone Avenue in Providence.
Friends gathered to watch two movies following which we adjourned to the ice cream shop next door. We became ritualistic citizens of film, aficionados thereof, knowing every star and every supporting actor. Ritualistic indeed, our diversion.
The Castle Theatre’s marquee jutted in the shape of a vee; its white background laced with black metal strings held the movie titles; titles that were changed twice a week; new movies Sunday through Wednesday and Thursday through Saturday. Alongside the doors and encased in glass were the movie posters. Two friendly lions graced its art deco façade.
The lobby was small. The ticket counter was on the right, and the candy counter was tucked in a corner deep on the left. It had a buttery, salty, musty smell with a hint of our school’s chemistry lab. Mahogany velvet curtains hung on either side of the screen. “This would be a great place for vaudeville shows,” I thought. I loved the place.
I was reminiscing about the old days at that theater with friends. “My mother and her sisters were regulars on Monday night. That’s when they gave out free dishes.”
“Wait, wait, I never heard that. They gave out dishes when they went to the movies. At the Castle?”
“You bet they did. Regular goers collected place settings; for six as I recall. Even silverware.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
I don’t remember the china. Ugly comes to mind. All I remember was the trip, the win, the treasure as in, “Did you get your dish this week?” I did some homework.
Movie attendance dropped precipitously after the stock market crash in 1927, so savvy marketing people like those at Salem China, saw an opportunity. They convinced theater managers to give away free dishes to women. Dish night promotions were successful. Salem sold loads of their Tricorne pattern ( I have no idea what that is) to theater owners at wholesale prices and, in turn, the owners gave them to patrons.
Sure enough, Mom and her sisters, and her sisters-in-law and her friends headed to the theater every week to get a coffee cup, saucer, gravy boat, or dinner plate. Everyone in the neighborhood had the same gravy boat. The tables sparkled with new china. The ladies were happy. They saw a movie, or two, and carried home a prize every week. Everyone won.
A collector by convention, my mother was happy to get the dishes, but I don’t remember ever seeing one. I chatted with my cousin to jog her memory. She remembered the details but save for the silverware, misplaced her china collection years ago.
Professor Kathy Fuller-Seeley explores this story through historic images and photos from the Salem archives and her research into Hollywood history. Dish Night at the Movies. Giveaways Saved Hollywood in the Great Depression.
The dishware giveaway programs are celebrated in Jean Shephard’s story “Leopold Doppler and the Great Orpheum Theater Gravy Boat Riot.” If you haven’t read his work, you must. He is the author of the film, “The Christmas Story.”
Movies were much more than dishes for me. They were an integral part of my life, and the Castle was the home of it all.
“All right, move along, get in, get in!”
Mrs. G (Mammagool) was the severe lady who managed the Castle Theater on Chalkstone Avenue and patrolled the aisles with an iron fist that pounded the seats, and a flashlight that pierced the darkness. Buxom, stern, glasses pinched on her nose, square-heeled, white-shoed, and white hair tied in a bun, she ruled with fear, the fear of eviction. “What do you mean you got thrown out?”
Because the movies mattered so much, we marched to Mamma’s orders. We had to be there. We never missed the Friday night features and in our minds—just for a while, we became the heroes we saw in those movies.
“Take your hat off!” Mamma again.
“Knowing is becoming,” Aristotle said. We knew the stars; Weissmuller, Murphy, Rogers, Crabbe, Johnnie Mack Brown, Autry, Hopalong, Widmark, Geronimo, Crosby, Spanky, Dagwood Bumstead (well, maybe not), and Ladd…and we became them. They brought our senses alive. It was fun to identify the second-rate actors. “Who’s that guy in the back?” Pete would ask. He knew. Was Andy Clyde second-rate?
Oh for a cartoon. Elmer, Bugs, Donald. Something more! Please? “Wipe your feet!” Mamma.
Randolph Scott, Hoot Gibson, Judy, Tin Man, Scarecrow, Snow White, Dopey. 3-D glasses. “Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
“Quiet! Be quiet! Hurry! Move on in!”
Dorothy, Crosby, and Hope. Hedy, Lana, Rita, and Coop.
“No one in the balcony!” The balcony, where couples smooched, was a great place to watch the movie, but off-limits by Mamma’s rules.
Candy was necessary and an integral part of the experience; Jujubes, Jujyfruits, Jawbreakers, Junior Mints, Root Beer Barrels, Charleston Chew, Mason Dots, Milky Way, Snickers, Sen Sens, Squirrel Nuts, Necco Wafers or The Sky Bar, Milk Duds and, of course, popcorn.
Saturday; two movies for 25 cents. Pathe’ news, war films.
“No gum!” Mammagool again.
Black Beauty, Strawberry Roan, Trigger.
“Don’t rest your head on the seat, you’ll get ringworm! They’ll shave your head.” After the movie, we went next door to The Creamery for ice cream.
Share memories with friends who were there when Hoppy won, when Worlds collided, when Abbott ran in fear, when Geronimo was captured, when Randolph fell off his horse, when Gorcey slapped Hall, when Stratton pitched on a wooden leg, when Dizzy (was that Dan Daily) pitched with Daffy, when Fred (was that MacMurray?) discovered Flubber, when ‘Coop’ won at High Noon. They were pieced together in an adventure fantasy.
Mamma flashed her light. “Take your arm off that girl!”
How exciting it was to put your arm around a girl. Now what? What next?
The weekly serial; The Lost Jungle, Giant Warriors.
“Get your feet off the seat.”
I walked to and from that neighborhood theatre from Wealth Avenue to Chalkstone Avenue every Friday night. It was safe. One evening Mamma confiscated my jackknife. “Pick it up on the way out!” When I asked for it, she didn’t even look up. “What jackknife?!”
“Never mind.” What would I do if I were banished forever?
The Castle Theatre on a Friday night was the ritual. Movies, adventure, heroes, stories, two for twenty-five, ice cream, candy, Randolph, Clark, Scarlet, and Mamma. How lucky we were, children of film, fun, friendship, and fantasy.
How do we understand our love for that old theater? Easy. Movies were fantasy mixed with reality, friendships, and the pleasure of extra freedom on Friday nights. And gravy boats.
Honey nougat can’t be beat; fudge parfait what a treat. You’ll love Necco Sky Bar.
“Go right home!” I was empty-handed. No dishes, but my gravy boat held a boatload of memories that lasted forever.
postscript and the prices!
I remember going to the Columbia theatre on Charles Street mostly on Saturdays, but when it was Dish night my brother and I went with my mom to get 3 dishes. Great movies, newsreels and cartoons. Oh for a return of the GOOD OLD DAYS!