sir.”
“This Is Memphis, Gentlemen”
In the 1930s and 1940s, M.A. consolidated his empire. He bought out his business partners, so that he was sole owner of Malco Theatres, Inc. Memphis never sank into the black pit of the Depression as many other cities did, because Boss Crump was in Congress and steered public works projects to Memphis. Still, you could see white men cutting their own lawns. You could see men with college degrees working for practically nothing in the seed and hardware stores on Front Street near the river, and in the farming supply stores, and the cotton traders on Cotton Row out of work. You heard about customers taking money
out
of the glass donation box in the Toddle House restaurant instead of putting money in, after they’d eaten. You saw whole families loitering in front of Schwab’s Clothing and Dry Goods Store on Beale Street, and not only Negroes. Other homeless families congregated in the fifty-odd churches in downtown Memphis. But people still went to the movies.
Using his background in engineering and his technical knowledge, M.A. researched improvements in Vitaphone and Movietone before his competitors and always had the most advanced sound systems in his theaters. Sometimes, he would spend a few hours in the projection booth watching everything the operators did, just so he would understand every aspect of the business—every aspect, because M.A. didn’t want a single detail that he didn’t understand. That was M.A. Lightman foryou. In the evenings, when he wasn’t away traveling on business or to bridge tournaments, he would lie on the sofa in the living room, next to the grand piano, and read crime novels. Celia was in charge of reading to the children and caring for them. He loved his children, of course, but after spending a half hour with them, he found himself
bored
. M.A. would never admit such a thing, even to Celia. His children just weren’t as interesting as the other activities in his life. His bridge games kept his mind sharp, and he craved the high-adrenaline national tournaments in the luxury hotels of Chicago and New York. He relished the looks of surprise and defeat on the faces of other players, the best players in the world, when he outmaneuvered them in battle. And his movie theaters. The way M.A. saw it, he was contributing to the mental and spiritual life of the nation. The movies not only entertained people, the movies helped people make sense of their lives; the movies were
stories
, and people needed stories. The movies
sustained
people. Many times—and this is well documented—M.A. sat in one of his theaters with the audience and watched customers laugh or cry, and he watched them come out of the theater excited and moved and dreaming new dreams for their lives. In his mind, and maybe in reality, he was an agent of change. He was creating something new from nothing, something from his own hands, something that had never existed before. He, the son of an uneducated Hungarian immigrant. Malco Theatres, Inc. It would last a century, maybe longer. The generations of human beings, tiny specks in the cosmos, came and went, came and went, but
he
had made something that would last.
There were few people M.A. could talk to about his vast ambitions. Few people would understand; not even Celia, as intelligent as she was. He had plucked her out of the University of Kentucky in Lexington when she was only twenty. She was refined and cultured and well educated. But her aspirations weregrains of sand compared with his. She read her art and her history books, she attended the symphony with her friends. And minded the children. That was just as he wanted. On Sunday evenings, they listened together to the Chase and Sanborn comedy show. They especially loved Edgar Bergen and his dummy. After the hour was up, M.A. would go up to Lila’s room and make a voice for each of her stuffed animals, ignoring Celia’s pleas not to act silly, and sometimes he would don one of the
“This Is Memphis, Gentlemen”
In the 1930s and 1940s, M.A. consolidated his empire. He bought out his business partners, so that he was sole owner of Malco Theatres, Inc. Memphis never sank into the black pit of the Depression as many other cities did, because Boss Crump was in Congress and steered public works projects to Memphis. Still, you could see white men cutting their own lawns. You could see men with college degrees working for practically nothing in the seed and hardware stores on Front Street near the river, and in the farming supply stores, and the cotton traders on Cotton Row out of work. You heard about customers taking money
out
of the glass donation box in the Toddle House restaurant instead of putting money in, after they’d eaten. You saw whole families loitering in front of Schwab’s Clothing and Dry Goods Store on Beale Street, and not only Negroes. Other homeless families congregated in the fifty-odd churches in downtown Memphis. But people still went to the movies.
Using his background in engineering and his technical knowledge, M.A. researched improvements in Vitaphone and Movietone before his competitors and always had the most advanced sound systems in his theaters. Sometimes, he would spend a few hours in the projection booth watching everything the operators did, just so he would understand every aspect of the business—every aspect, because M.A. didn’t want a single detail that he didn’t understand. That was M.A. Lightman foryou. In the evenings, when he wasn’t away traveling on business or to bridge tournaments, he would lie on the sofa in the living room, next to the grand piano, and read crime novels. Celia was in charge of reading to the children and caring for them. He loved his children, of course, but after spending a half hour with them, he found himself
bored
. M.A. would never admit such a thing, even to Celia. His children just weren’t as interesting as the other activities in his life. His bridge games kept his mind sharp, and he craved the high-adrenaline national tournaments in the luxury hotels of Chicago and New York. He relished the looks of surprise and defeat on the faces of other players, the best players in the world, when he outmaneuvered them in battle. And his movie theaters. The way M.A. saw it, he was contributing to the mental and spiritual life of the nation. The movies not only entertained people, the movies helped people make sense of their lives; the movies were
stories
, and people needed stories. The movies
sustained
people. Many times—and this is well documented—M.A. sat in one of his theaters with the audience and watched customers laugh or cry, and he watched them come out of the theater excited and moved and dreaming new dreams for their lives. In his mind, and maybe in reality, he was an agent of change. He was creating something new from nothing, something from his own hands, something that had never existed before. He, the son of an uneducated Hungarian immigrant. Malco Theatres, Inc. It would last a century, maybe longer. The generations of human beings, tiny specks in the cosmos, came and went, came and went, but
he
had made something that would last.
There were few people M.A. could talk to about his vast ambitions. Few people would understand; not even Celia, as intelligent as she was. He had plucked her out of the University of Kentucky in Lexington when she was only twenty. She was refined and cultured and well educated. But her aspirations weregrains of sand compared with his. She read her art and her history books, she attended the symphony with her friends. And minded the children. That was just as he wanted. On Sunday evenings, they listened together to the Chase and Sanborn comedy show. They especially loved Edgar Bergen and his dummy. After the hour was up, M.A. would go up to Lila’s room and make a voice for each of her stuffed animals, ignoring Celia’s pleas not to act silly, and sometimes he would don one of the
Similar Books
