By SANDRA PAIGE SORELL

POTSDAM -- In 1950s Potsdam when it came to a meeting place for Congdon Campus School kids with a couple of hours of fun, nothing beat the movie theater.

The polio scare and the fear of crowded public places, especially in the summer, were past. We had all been vaccinated against this dreaded, crippling disease by then.

To meet at the local movie theater was a rite of passage beginning in about 5th grade when we were 11 years old -- when girls started to notice boys and boys started to notice girls in that certain way that happens at that stage of life.

In 1950s Potsdam there were two movie theaters: the Rialto and the Roxy. The Rialto was down the street from the venerable Arlington Hotel at 26 Market St. (My grandfather used to stay at the elegant Arlington on his trips to Potsdam as a public relations specialist for the New York Telephone Company--otherwise known as “Ma Bell” back then.)

The Rialto had been around since the early 1920s and showed second rate movies by then, accompanied by stale popcorn. Reputable sources told tales of bats flying around the balcony and so we kids generally avoided the place.

It had been a grand place in its day and the first theater in town. For years each December the Potsdam Police Dept. treated local kids to a free movie and holiday treats there. But by the 1950s the glory days of the Rialto were gone, and the focus had shifted to the new Roxy.

The place to go for us 5th graders was the Roxy Theater on Main Street, located since about 1950 where it is now--across from the parking lot near the Clarkson Inn. The Roxy, independently owned and operated by the Yianoukos family of Potsdam, was clean, modern, and bat-free.

There you could catch the latest Hitchcock thriller like “The Man Who Knew Too Much” or an Oscar & Hammerstein musical like “The King and I.” [“The King and I” happened to be the play our Congdon Campus School class put on in 5th (or 6th?) grade].

The Roxy had one huge screen unlike most theaters today, and when the heavy velvet curtains parted, the excitement was hard to contain. There was also freshly popped popcorn and an extensive selection of candies guaranteed to pull out any loose fillings.

There was one source of frustration, however--that darned soda machine. You put in your coin, pushed your soda selection button (Orange Crush for me), then watched with chagrin as the soda flowed from the spout down the drain while the soda cup came down its shoot sideways or not at all.

After the trip to the snack bar-- both arms loaded with goodies to last through a Saturday double feature -- we would make our way to where our 5th grade buddies sat near the right side wall taking up 2 or 3 partial rows.

Half the class would usually show up on a Saturday to watch a 10-cartoon marathon followed by a main feature with an occasional Warner Bros. (formerly RKO) news reel wedged in between.

I always looked for my current (and very first) crush, John Snyder--an up-and-coming hockey star with a killer smile and a great sense of humor. I can still feel the butterflies in my stomach decades later. Some memories never die. Rest in peace, John.

Having no chaperones at the Roxy was our first foray into the adult world. It was much more than a place to watch a movie--it was a place to talk and laugh with good friends and to feel grown up in the absence of adult supervision.

There was even some occasional hand-holding back then if you could believe it. After all, we were all on the cusp of puberty.

Once in awhile our crowd became too loud and drew the attention of the very serious uniformed movie employee who delighted in ruining your good time by shining a spotlight in your face.

The Roxy was a very important part of growing up in Potsdam in the 1950s, just like the Rialto had been for other kids that came before us.

In the summer the Moonlight Drive-In on the road to Massena was a huge draw for family entertainment starting in 1948.

This theater, also owned by the Yianoukos family, was the place to go on a hot night in an era when most people had no air conditioning at home. The Moonlight offered double features the whole family could enjoy like “Old Yella” or maybe the latest John Wayne Western.

Before we left the house my mom would make my little sister and I brush our teeth and put on our Annie Oakley PJs.

My little sister Judy insisted on also wearing her pink Davey Crockett cap with the fake raccoon tail.

It was a perfect complement to the Annie Oakley PJs.

Then they’d load us into the back of our two-toned gargantuan Pontiac Chieftain station wagon with a pile of pillows and blankets in case we fell asleep. (This inevitably happened before the second feature, but not before a trip to the concession stand for a hot dog or ice cream.)

We’d pull into the drive-in just before dark and stake our place, first removing the speaker from its stand and turning it on to see if it was too scratchy for listening.

If it was acceptable we’d roll down a window and hang the heavy speaker lip over the top edge of the front window.

Sometimes if it was real hot (and there weren’t too many mosquitoes) Mom and Dad would set up their lawn chairs next to the car and watch from outside the car.

I remember I was shocked one sultry summer night when I caught them passing back and forth a bottle containing an adult beverage. The family would pass the time for a couple of hours until the last movie ended and the cars lined up to exit.

It wasn’t uncommon back then to see the trunk pop open in a car in front of you and a pile of kids climb out laughing and jump back inside their car. Sneaking into the drive-in was a big deal back then -- a harmless act of rebellion without many consequences.

Back in the 1950s in the U.S. there were thousands of drive-in theaters as post-World War II dads started to buy more and more cars, and movies escalated in popularity. Now, sadly, there are just a few hundred drive-ins left.

Whether it was the Roxy on Main St. or the Moonlight Drive-In on RT 56, movies provided a chance for families and friends to be together and to share wholesome entertainment at an affordable price.

Life was simple then and so were its pleasures. In the 1950s Potsdam was just the perfect place to be.

Sandra Paige Sorell is a former Potsdam resident who now lives in Delmar