I was the head doorman at the Branford in 1972. My salary was $1.65 an hour. I replaced Sid,who was not happy about that. But I made friends with John Hudson,and Hassan,from Pakistan. All ushers wore tuxedo’s and bow ties and polished black shoes.
The manager was Mr. Osborne. The assistant manager was named Mike. In an office on the second floor they counted by hand the ticket stubs I collected after I completed my shift. Occasionally I accompanied Mike or Mr. Osborn to Newark Airport to pick up the new films;crated in metal boxes,they were bulky and heavy.
A red haired woman named Lucy ran the concession stand. The elderly projectionist name was named Andy. He ran the noisy carbon light projector from a small cramped booth. I was friends with the Newark cops who worked in the Branford. One policeman, Johnny, was a Korean vet. I had done an infantry tour in Vietnam; we could talk about such things. In the usher locker room Johnny once told me,“You don’t know nothing you never seen a human wave attack.” And he closed his eyes and looked away.
It’s sad to see that the Branford and most of the theaters in Newark are gone. Each was ornate and beautiful and layered with character and history.
I was the head doorman at the Branford in 1972. My salary was $1.65 an hour. I replaced Sid,who was not happy about that. But I made friends with John Hudson,and Hassan,from Pakistan. All ushers wore tuxedo’s and bow ties and polished black shoes.
The manager was Mr. Osborne. The assistant manager was named Mike. In an office on the second floor they counted by hand the ticket stubs I collected after I completed my shift. Occasionally I accompanied Mike or Mr. Osborn to Newark Airport to pick up the new films;crated in metal boxes,they were bulky and heavy.
A red haired woman named Lucy ran the concession stand. The elderly projectionist name was named Andy. He ran the noisy carbon light projector from a small cramped booth. I was friends with the Newark cops who worked in the Branford. One policeman, Johnny, was a Korean vet. I had done an infantry tour in Vietnam; we could talk about such things. In the usher locker room Johnny once told me,“You don’t know nothing you never seen a human wave attack.” And he closed his eyes and looked away.
It’s sad to see that the Branford and most of the theaters in Newark are gone. Each was ornate and beautiful and layered with character and history.