Catch Jim Reed’s Red Clay diary podcast on youtube: https://youtu.be/6vlZ_enbvek
or read his transcript:
LIFE, ACTUALLY
TILL WE HAVE FACES
The smelly old Ritz movie theatre in the heart of 1940s-50s downtown Tuscaloosa is where I get my first glimpse of play-like robbers and bandits and desperados and thieves.
On the big black-and-white screen, bad guys and gals seem to need only one item to turn themselves into lawless—thus, very exciting—bandidos and gangsters.
That one required item is a bandanna.
I’m way back in time right now. Bear with me.
My childhood pals are sitting here with me, engrossed with the action in front of us. Lots of stylized punching and wrestling and shoot-em-up chaos is choreographed for our pleasure. The greasy popcorn and shared soft drink last a long time, because we want the last gulp, the final crunch, to occur when THE END pops up, when the hero and his best buddy the horse ride off into the sunset, their mission accomplished.
Funny thing about bandannas. I always wonder why some dude covers his nose and mouth, then suddenly becomes unidentifiable to everybody on the range. He’s wearing the same prairie-fragrant clothes, waving the exact six-shooter holstered until just moments ago. His voice is the same, his lope unchanged.
I decide that it’s just a movie. This bandanna-disguise would not work anywhere but in Hollywood. Imagine me, running into the family home, hiding my face with a trusty bandanna, then grabbing a handful of candy and rushing out, knowing that nobody will realize it’s just Jimbo.
“Why, we ought to call the police,” sister Barbara would say. “Somebody just stole our candy.”
“Uh, who was it?” I will say.
“I have no idea. He was your size, wearing the same cowboy outfit as you. But half of his face was covered by a mask, so there’s no way we can tell his true identity.”
Of course, this scenario will never work. It’s only Jimbo, masking up for action like actors on a projection screen.
Where does this fond memory come from? What makes me suddenly recall childhood in the middle of the day in the middle of my old bookstore, in the middle of exchanging books for cash?
Why, my customer is wearing a bandanna. I am wearing a bandanna. Just like those range riders at the Ritz Theatre.
We are suddenly characters from childhood, breathing into cotton face covers and trying to understand our mutual muffled mutterings. I smile extra big, hoping my crinkled skin will help the purchaser know that I am being polite. I speak as clearly as possible to overcome smothered words.
And you know something? There are regular patrons I do not recognize. They don’t look the same when masked.
So, I guess I might actually have gotten away with candy theft back in the day. Or not. You can’t get away with anything when an older sister knows everything about you and your behavior.
Maybe I owe my life of clean living and no crime to my big sister.
There’s always the chance that a bandanna just won’t do the trick. I’d definitely be the only member of the Tuscaloosa Marauder Gang to get caught.
Just my luck
© 2020 A.D. by Jim Reed