Low blow Saps! It ain’t funny either. I feel that I have to defend both of these men because they have both passed on and can not here to defend themselves. They were both straight as arrows and were the models of morality and what you would expect in a Catholic priest. Fr. Hardy lived and worked in the pre air conditioning days. His Summertime masses were held with the church doors and windows open. The rectory doors were open too. He had a little dog who would amble over in the Summer from the rectory, and lie down near the altar just to watch his boss work. He was a nice man and a good leader.
Fr. Harrigan was a bit of an iconoclast. No shades of gray for him, all black and white. The truth is saying what is, is and what is not, is not. There were no little white lies for that man. I have a feeling that he would have been the first to hang any priest who touched a kid, or was not true to his vows. In reviewing the nature of these pastors, I suspect that it was Fr. Harrigan who blew up over that New Howard Beach Theater movie.
There was another time that Sonny’s Clam Bar on Cross Bay Blvd. placed and ad in the Long Island Press for topless waitresses. Fr. Harrigan announced that one from the pulpit too. That was THE END of Sonny’s big plan to turn Cross Bay into slime street. That would have killed Howard Beach as a viable community too.
Fr. Harrigan would just not join in on the modern slippery slope to moral decay which we are now firmly set upon in our contemporary moral crisis. To my mind, that was a good thing.
The bulk of the theatre is now occupied by a body shop. I had some business there about nine years ago. On the wall of the shop was a press clipping from a local newspaper, possibly the old The Long Island Press. The article was a description of opening night of The Howard Beach Theatre. It described the silent movie which was shown and the orchestra which provided the accompaniment for the film.
I was in that theatre as a kid. I remember the dirt! I also remember that the owners wanted to show a purportedly imprudent movie. The pastor of Our Lady of Grace, the local Catholic church, mentioned it in his homily one Sunday and encouraged the parishoners to stop the showing of filth in our neighborhood. That was either Fr. Hardy, or Fr. Harrigan, I forget which.
After that mass, my mom took me to Stals Bakery which was across the street from the theatre for some kaiser rolls. That was a Sunday tradition in my house. I just remember being afraid of the crowd and the commotion in front of the theatre.
From the distance, and cold light of the early 21st century, this story may seem as if my Mom was a bad parent. That is not the point of this story. If you can think back to a simpler time in Ozone Park where nothing bad ever happened, here is the tale.
It was a summer Saturday 1962, I was six years old, and my sister was eight. My mother had to go on an errand, and she decided to let us spend the day at The UA Crossbay. The main feature was “The Longest Day.†Not exactly kiddie fare. My mom gave my sister the money and gave her strict instructions to wait for her on the bench, which then existed on the triangle in front of the theatre. The bench faced west towards Woodhaven Blvd. It was a plan. It should have worked. It would have gotten her in trouble these days, but back in 1962, life was different.
My sister was wearing shorts. Back in those days, the UA Crossbay, and a lot of other theatres had a modesty rule against ladies wearing shorts to their establishments. I guess that it is the same kind of rule that they use in Afghanistan where women may only wear those birkas in public.
The manager in his suit and tie saw my sister in her shorts and refused admittance to her on the basis of her attire. I said that if my sister can’t go in, I am not going in. We held hands and crossed Liberty Avenue to the bench on the triangle. We sat there until everyone had entered the theatre. The show must have started. I guess that the manager felt like a real fool enforcing that no shorts rule against an eight year old and her six-year-old brother. He sheepishly ambled across Liberty Avenue and told us that it was OK; we could come in and see the movie. Before I could say “YIPEE!†and race across Liberty Avenue, my sister dug her heels in and firmly told the manager that she was staying right there and waiting for her mother. She did not want to see their movie. The manager slunk away like the evil minded little jerk that he was.
We sat there watching cars zoom up and down Cross Bay/Woodhaven, Liberty/Rockaway for at least six hours. Barley talking. I never counted so many cars before. It was among the worst days of my little life. My mom was angry with the manager, but proud of us for sitting like little statues for such along time. She never did anything like that again.
There is a distinct tinge of sadness now almost half a century later that the UA Crossbay is now gone, I have moved far away to the wilds of central New Jersey, the manager of public morals must have gone to his just reward, and the world is such a different place. Whatever happens to the UA Crossbay property, I hope that it is a good thing, and a nice place for children and a place where all goes well.
Low blow Saps! It ain’t funny either. I feel that I have to defend both of these men because they have both passed on and can not here to defend themselves. They were both straight as arrows and were the models of morality and what you would expect in a Catholic priest. Fr. Hardy lived and worked in the pre air conditioning days. His Summertime masses were held with the church doors and windows open. The rectory doors were open too. He had a little dog who would amble over in the Summer from the rectory, and lie down near the altar just to watch his boss work. He was a nice man and a good leader.
Fr. Harrigan was a bit of an iconoclast. No shades of gray for him, all black and white. The truth is saying what is, is and what is not, is not. There were no little white lies for that man. I have a feeling that he would have been the first to hang any priest who touched a kid, or was not true to his vows. In reviewing the nature of these pastors, I suspect that it was Fr. Harrigan who blew up over that New Howard Beach Theater movie.
There was another time that Sonny’s Clam Bar on Cross Bay Blvd. placed and ad in the Long Island Press for topless waitresses. Fr. Harrigan announced that one from the pulpit too. That was THE END of Sonny’s big plan to turn Cross Bay into slime street. That would have killed Howard Beach as a viable community too.
Fr. Harrigan would just not join in on the modern slippery slope to moral decay which we are now firmly set upon in our contemporary moral crisis. To my mind, that was a good thing.
The bulk of the theatre is now occupied by a body shop. I had some business there about nine years ago. On the wall of the shop was a press clipping from a local newspaper, possibly the old The Long Island Press. The article was a description of opening night of The Howard Beach Theatre. It described the silent movie which was shown and the orchestra which provided the accompaniment for the film.
I was in that theatre as a kid. I remember the dirt! I also remember that the owners wanted to show a purportedly imprudent movie. The pastor of Our Lady of Grace, the local Catholic church, mentioned it in his homily one Sunday and encouraged the parishoners to stop the showing of filth in our neighborhood. That was either Fr. Hardy, or Fr. Harrigan, I forget which.
After that mass, my mom took me to Stals Bakery which was across the street from the theatre for some kaiser rolls. That was a Sunday tradition in my house. I just remember being afraid of the crowd and the commotion in front of the theatre.
From the distance, and cold light of the early 21st century, this story may seem as if my Mom was a bad parent. That is not the point of this story. If you can think back to a simpler time in Ozone Park where nothing bad ever happened, here is the tale.
It was a summer Saturday 1962, I was six years old, and my sister was eight. My mother had to go on an errand, and she decided to let us spend the day at The UA Crossbay. The main feature was “The Longest Day.†Not exactly kiddie fare. My mom gave my sister the money and gave her strict instructions to wait for her on the bench, which then existed on the triangle in front of the theatre. The bench faced west towards Woodhaven Blvd. It was a plan. It should have worked. It would have gotten her in trouble these days, but back in 1962, life was different.
My sister was wearing shorts. Back in those days, the UA Crossbay, and a lot of other theatres had a modesty rule against ladies wearing shorts to their establishments. I guess that it is the same kind of rule that they use in Afghanistan where women may only wear those birkas in public.
The manager in his suit and tie saw my sister in her shorts and refused admittance to her on the basis of her attire. I said that if my sister can’t go in, I am not going in. We held hands and crossed Liberty Avenue to the bench on the triangle. We sat there until everyone had entered the theatre. The show must have started. I guess that the manager felt like a real fool enforcing that no shorts rule against an eight year old and her six-year-old brother. He sheepishly ambled across Liberty Avenue and told us that it was OK; we could come in and see the movie. Before I could say “YIPEE!†and race across Liberty Avenue, my sister dug her heels in and firmly told the manager that she was staying right there and waiting for her mother. She did not want to see their movie. The manager slunk away like the evil minded little jerk that he was.
We sat there watching cars zoom up and down Cross Bay/Woodhaven, Liberty/Rockaway for at least six hours. Barley talking. I never counted so many cars before. It was among the worst days of my little life. My mom was angry with the manager, but proud of us for sitting like little statues for such along time. She never did anything like that again.
There is a distinct tinge of sadness now almost half a century later that the UA Crossbay is now gone, I have moved far away to the wilds of central New Jersey, the manager of public morals must have gone to his just reward, and the world is such a different place. Whatever happens to the UA Crossbay property, I hope that it is a good thing, and a nice place for children and a place where all goes well.