In the early sixties
My father and I used to go to to the movies
On Sunday afternoons
To get away from my mother I think.
Most of the films were his choice,
World War Two stories
And James Bond.
I’ve seen them all,
Dr. No and The Longest Day,
The Guns of Navarone and much more.
For the most part
I had no idea what was going on
And spent entire movies asking questions.
My father was not an unusually patient man
And I’m sure it was annoying
But I think i remember getting answers
Unless there was gunfire.
Nevertheless,
D Day remained a mystery to me
And I never quite got Ursula Andress’ raison d’etre
Though Sean Connery permanently implanted himself in my heart.
Every once in a while we’d go to a kids movie.
I remember, we went to see Babes In Toyland
with Annette Funicello and Tommy Sands.
I’ve seen it since, it’s unbearable,
Excruciating even,
But I was seven and I loved it.
(I aspired to Annette-hood. )
There were some teenage boys sitting in the row behind us.
They were laughing at the movie and being disruptive.
My father turned back to them a couple of times to glare at them
But they didn’t care.
Finally he stood up and leaned over the back of his seat and said, sternly,
You may not like This
But my daughter is having a good time
So you need to shut up
So she can enjoy the movie.
My father was a physically big man for that era
And they got quiet.
“The Arlins,” he used to say, “Don’t take shit. “
But I became aware of my father’s potential for violence
And for about five minutes before the movie reclaimed me,
I got scared.
Afterwards, outside of the theater,
The teenagers went up to my father.
I’m not sure what happened then.
It’s funny,
I remember everything from that afternoon
Up until that confrontation but then it’s gone.
I think they threatened him
And he pushed one of them against a wall
But sometimes I think they just talked.
My father grew up in Brownsville, Brooklyn
And fought in the Pacific during World War II.
He was a sergeant of a crew that repaired radios
And he liked to tell about
The young antisemitic lieutenant
Who used to harass him
Until one day, in front of witnesses,
My father pointed a rifle at the lieutenant’s belly
And told him that if he said one more thing
He was going to stick him with the bayonet.
That was my father,
Stanley Arlin,
Who fought for my right to enjoy a movie in 1962.
Daddy sang bass in the temple choir
And ran a business
That installed and operated coin operated laundry machines in apartment buildings.
The mafia tried to take over the company
(it was a cash business)
And he went to the feds and fought back
And it went to trial and everything.
For two years I wasn’t allowed to get in the car
Until after a parent had started it.
He died in 1982 at the age of 61
From mesothelioma
From working with asbestos
in the Brooklyn Navy Yard before the war.
The Navy
And the asbestos company, Johns Manville,
Murdered him.
