Friday, June 16, 2006
Centerville, Ia. - Out in a scrubby field of spotty new grass, 10 vehicles are parked on sod ramps, tilting upward toward a projection of glamor.
Inside the cars are pajama-clad kids, nostalgic parents and a giggling young couple.
Suddenly, a 20-foot version of Matthew McConaughey appears, glowing in color across the lonely, dark rural highway. It's as if a traveler has witnessed a falling star.
This is a drive-in theater, survivor of VHS, DVD, multiplex and a chilly opening night in May.
Behind a window in the concession building, the light splays out from a projector that Phil Radosevich operates in the shadows as if he were rolling out old family memories.
There we are, when we were young.
Reversing decades of drive-in closings, Radosevich and his sister, Nina Finch, built a new one, the Sunshine Mine Drive-In two miles west of Centerville. It just opened its first full season after a brief test run last summer.
One by one, drive-ins across the country closed over the last four decades, dwindling from a peak of 4,063 in 1958 to a low of 401 in 2003.
Drive-in theaters are no longer dying, or at least the bleeding has stopped.
This year, for the first time since 1958, there are more drive-in theaters than the year before - 407 in the United States, according to the United Drive-In Theatre Owners Association.
A trip across the rural countryside often meant zooming past a weeded-over field with lonely metal poles that once held speakers crackling great adventures to listeners clinging to a window.
Rising land values played a part of drive-in's demise, said the president of the association, Walt Effinger. The resurgence is driven by nostalgia and families who need an economical night out.
Although 25 drive-in theaters in Iowa have closed over the decades, according to drive-ins.com, three have survived: Valle Drive-in in Newton, the 61 Drive-In in Maquoketa and the Council Bluffs Drive-In. The Sunshine Mine represents a small comeback in Iowa and one of 10 new or reopened drive-in theaters in the country in the past year.
Radosevich's and Finch's kids work here. Their parents, Doris, 84, and Lewis, 83, take tickets in a small entrance shed when they are able.
The family did it all. A pond was drained and field dirt moved to make ramps on ground that once was a little community called Sunshine, a group of homes around a coal mine. The mine is long capped, and only a large hill of shale remains.
Family members took apart an old theater screen in Missouri, piece by piece, and moved it here.
They built the concession stand, and Radosevich did the wiring and the plumbing. He even constructed his own transmitter to relay the movie sound to car radios.
They pop the corn, grill the $2 hamburgers and wind the film on reels.
"I met my husband at the drive-in," Finch says. "We've got our heartstrings here."
Both Finch and Radosevich are die-hard baby boomers who worked in the old drive-in near Centerville before it closed in the 1980s.
Radosevich said video killed it. Then the two began operating the old Majestic Theatre on the downtown square until a multiscreen complex knocked them out of business.
A couple of years ago, Radosevich had this crazy drive-in idea.
He was working in a rock quarry. Finch was helping people with their tax forms.
But movies have always been a family passion. So he bought the mostly unusable land off Iowa Highway 2, a piece of the region's coal-mining past, and planned for its future.
"I wanted to do this for the people of Centerville," he said. "They need something to do, and you don't have to be rich to do it."
For a $6 ticket (free for kids age 12 and younger), one can take in a double feature for the price of a run through the fast-food window, if you bring your own popcorn and Kool-Aid.
On opening night, Lucrecia Kimm, 30, of Centerville had a Suburban stuffed with her six kids, ages 13, 12, 11, 8, 6 and 4.
"It's hard to find stuff to do with the kids that isn't expensive," she said.
Part of the industry's revival has relied on families, so most are showing films rated G, PG, or PG-13.
In the 1950s heyday, families were the primary customer, said Jim Mertz, who has owned the Valle Drive-In in Newton since 1976.
Teens took over in the 1970s and 1980s before drive-ins returned to their family niche.
It's a tough enterprise for owners, Mertz said. First-run films are expensive, and film companies often demand a longer showing than the traditional one-week drive-in theater run.
In Iowa, the warm season lasts about as long as a double feature. Most drive-ins operate every day of the week, but only from Memorial Day to Labor Day.
Yet the appeal remains. People travel for miles around to remember their past, eagerly waiting for the movie while the brilliant sunset sinks behind the screen.
Jeff and Susan Swan of Albia were the first to arrive at the Sunshine Mine Drive-In well before light faded, hauling their teenage children Cody, 13, and McKenzie, 15.
"It's been a good 20 years since I've been to a drive-in," said Jeff, a 1982 high school graduate.
"It was part of our growing up. When we got older, I'd hook up with buddies with a cooler of beer."
At first the couple was confused. They didn't see any speakers on poles. It's a new age, with sound now picked up on FM radio.
The kids looked slightly amused at the drive-in theater concept.
"High school kids don't remember it," Finch said. "I had one ask me when we were going to open the drive-through.
"I said, 'No it's drive-in.' "
Finch could still remember putting on her pajamas and piling into the back seat of her parents' car. Now her children, granddaughter and others in Centerville can have the same experience.
Just down the row, a family sat in a pick-up bed eating pizza on lawn chairs.
All was right with the world.
"There's just something about the big screen and something about it being outside," Radosevich said. "The kids can bring a pillow. You can sneak beer in. One guy even said I was going to be contributing to the next baby boom around here.
"But where else can a teenager make out for five straight hours?"
Becky Wray, 35, and Tammy Johnson, 36, of Centerville needed no reminders as they gathered blankets out of the van for the kids.
"Have you ever seen 'American Graffiti?' " Wray said with a smile.
Tonight's film, "Failure to Launch," was a few minutes into its setup. The pink sky had turned dark and couples of a new era could contemplate the fogged-window privacy of the drive-in.
Danielle Wagner, 23, of Ottumwa and boyfriend Jon Bettis, 26, of Albia were giggling.
Bettis said he warned her the night would be a surprise. All his life, he had heard his father wax nostalgic about drive-in theaters.
He pulled into this field and Wagner broke out laughing as she looked up at the big screen, as if they were headed for an old-fashioned romantic row on the pond.
"Now, I can tell my dad I've gone to a drive-in," he said.
Another generation can pull their seats back, talk loud, fall asleep for a spell, eat a burger or kiss, with nary a complaint from other movie watchers.
A satisfied extended family is inside the concession stand here in Centerville, glad to watch it all unfold, hoping they can at least break even on a big, big screen showing moving pictures just across from a cornfield on a newly glowing highway.
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Inside the cars are pajama-clad kids, nostalgic parents and a giggling young couple.
Suddenly, a 20-foot version of Matthew McConaughey appears, glowing in color across the lonely, dark rural highway. It's as if a traveler has witnessed a falling star.
This is a drive-in theater, survivor of VHS, DVD, multiplex and a chilly opening night in May.
Behind a window in the concession building, the light splays out from a projector that Phil Radosevich operates in the shadows as if he were rolling out old family memories.
There we are, when we were young.
Reversing decades of drive-in closings, Radosevich and his sister, Nina Finch, built a new one, the Sunshine Mine Drive-In two miles west of Centerville. It just opened its first full season after a brief test run last summer.
One by one, drive-ins across the country closed over the last four decades, dwindling from a peak of 4,063 in 1958 to a low of 401 in 2003.
Drive-in theaters are no longer dying, or at least the bleeding has stopped.
This year, for the first time since 1958, there are more drive-in theaters than the year before - 407 in the United States, according to the United Drive-In Theatre Owners Association.
A trip across the rural countryside often meant zooming past a weeded-over field with lonely metal poles that once held speakers crackling great adventures to listeners clinging to a window.
Rising land values played a part of drive-in's demise, said the president of the association, Walt Effinger. The resurgence is driven by nostalgia and families who need an economical night out.
Although 25 drive-in theaters in Iowa have closed over the decades, according to drive-ins.com, three have survived: Valle Drive-in in Newton, the 61 Drive-In in Maquoketa and the Council Bluffs Drive-In. The Sunshine Mine represents a small comeback in Iowa and one of 10 new or reopened drive-in theaters in the country in the past year.
Radosevich's and Finch's kids work here. Their parents, Doris, 84, and Lewis, 83, take tickets in a small entrance shed when they are able.
The family did it all. A pond was drained and field dirt moved to make ramps on ground that once was a little community called Sunshine, a group of homes around a coal mine. The mine is long capped, and only a large hill of shale remains.
Family members took apart an old theater screen in Missouri, piece by piece, and moved it here.
They built the concession stand, and Radosevich did the wiring and the plumbing. He even constructed his own transmitter to relay the movie sound to car radios.
They pop the corn, grill the $2 hamburgers and wind the film on reels.
"I met my husband at the drive-in," Finch says. "We've got our heartstrings here."
Both Finch and Radosevich are die-hard baby boomers who worked in the old drive-in near Centerville before it closed in the 1980s.
Radosevich said video killed it. Then the two began operating the old Majestic Theatre on the downtown square until a multiscreen complex knocked them out of business.
A couple of years ago, Radosevich had this crazy drive-in idea.
He was working in a rock quarry. Finch was helping people with their tax forms.
But movies have always been a family passion. So he bought the mostly unusable land off Iowa Highway 2, a piece of the region's coal-mining past, and planned for its future.
"I wanted to do this for the people of Centerville," he said. "They need something to do, and you don't have to be rich to do it."
For a $6 ticket (free for kids age 12 and younger), one can take in a double feature for the price of a run through the fast-food window, if you bring your own popcorn and Kool-Aid.
On opening night, Lucrecia Kimm, 30, of Centerville had a Suburban stuffed with her six kids, ages 13, 12, 11, 8, 6 and 4.
"It's hard to find stuff to do with the kids that isn't expensive," she said.
Part of the industry's revival has relied on families, so most are showing films rated G, PG, or PG-13.
In the 1950s heyday, families were the primary customer, said Jim Mertz, who has owned the Valle Drive-In in Newton since 1976.
Teens took over in the 1970s and 1980s before drive-ins returned to their family niche.
It's a tough enterprise for owners, Mertz said. First-run films are expensive, and film companies often demand a longer showing than the traditional one-week drive-in theater run.
In Iowa, the warm season lasts about as long as a double feature. Most drive-ins operate every day of the week, but only from Memorial Day to Labor Day.
Yet the appeal remains. People travel for miles around to remember their past, eagerly waiting for the movie while the brilliant sunset sinks behind the screen.
Jeff and Susan Swan of Albia were the first to arrive at the Sunshine Mine Drive-In well before light faded, hauling their teenage children Cody, 13, and McKenzie, 15.
"It's been a good 20 years since I've been to a drive-in," said Jeff, a 1982 high school graduate.
"It was part of our growing up. When we got older, I'd hook up with buddies with a cooler of beer."
At first the couple was confused. They didn't see any speakers on poles. It's a new age, with sound now picked up on FM radio.
The kids looked slightly amused at the drive-in theater concept.
"High school kids don't remember it," Finch said. "I had one ask me when we were going to open the drive-through.
"I said, 'No it's drive-in.' "
Finch could still remember putting on her pajamas and piling into the back seat of her parents' car. Now her children, granddaughter and others in Centerville can have the same experience.
Just down the row, a family sat in a pick-up bed eating pizza on lawn chairs.
All was right with the world.
"There's just something about the big screen and something about it being outside," Radosevich said. "The kids can bring a pillow. You can sneak beer in. One guy even said I was going to be contributing to the next baby boom around here.
"But where else can a teenager make out for five straight hours?"
Becky Wray, 35, and Tammy Johnson, 36, of Centerville needed no reminders as they gathered blankets out of the van for the kids.
"Have you ever seen 'American Graffiti?' " Wray said with a smile.
Tonight's film, "Failure to Launch," was a few minutes into its setup. The pink sky had turned dark and couples of a new era could contemplate the fogged-window privacy of the drive-in.
Danielle Wagner, 23, of Ottumwa and boyfriend Jon Bettis, 26, of Albia were giggling.
Bettis said he warned her the night would be a surprise. All his life, he had heard his father wax nostalgic about drive-in theaters.
He pulled into this field and Wagner broke out laughing as she looked up at the big screen, as if they were headed for an old-fashioned romantic row on the pond.
"Now, I can tell my dad I've gone to a drive-in," he said.
Another generation can pull their seats back, talk loud, fall asleep for a spell, eat a burger or kiss, with nary a complaint from other movie watchers.
A satisfied extended family is inside the concession stand here in Centerville, glad to watch it all unfold, hoping they can at least break even on a big, big screen showing moving pictures just across from a cornfield on a newly glowing highway.
test
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