Frank Mendez
Tehachapi, CA |
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I remember as a nine year old in 1932, time and again, sneaking into the Plaza Theater to watch movies. We were poor and couldn't afford admission. We would climb up the back wall of the theater and go over the metal rail. We would peek inside the back door looking for the usher. When the coast was clear we would make a break for the last row. Hiding behind the row of seats we would watch the movies.
One night under the cover of darkness we made it into the back of the theater as usual. Only on this night the New York Opera was performing. Just as we sat down the house lights went on and there we were, shoeless in our worn out bib-overalls, and to our surprise it was a black-tie affair. Sticking out like sore thumbs, we were promptly ushered out of the theater. Fortunately, the police officer we were handed over to was the father of my best friend. He took me home without reprimand, but from then on he would greet me with, "Have you seen any operas lately?"
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