In God we trust_ all others pay cash - Jean Shepherd [103]
A spectacular display in a gleaming glass case appeared without warning in the Neo-Mosque lobby of the beloved Orpheum. For extra dramatic effect the lobby had been especially darkened, with strategically placed baby pink, blue, and amber spots focused on the cause of the eventual downfall of Mr. Doppler and the Orpheum, too. Above the case in fuchsia-tinseled letters the simple, stark, meaningful word blazed forth:
FREE!!
The motley throng who gathered in stunned silence on that fateful night stood slack-jawed and bedazzled by the incredible riches displayed before them, and it was all to be theirs, free, just for coming to the movies!
Artistic sights are rare in hamlets of the Midwest, slumbering quietly in the shade of the steel mills, caught in the tangled spider web of endless railroad tracks and groaning under the weight of vast acres of junkyards, but when they do appear the natives respond with voracity. Starving travelers in a wasteland of an artistic desert, they devour each scrap of beauty with a relish that warms the cockles. Tonight was no exception. The Three Stooges forgotten, they stood clogging up the lobby in dark silent clumps of humanity, eyes shining, unbelieving.
Row on row of radiant, magnificent works of pure beauty lay displayed before them, cushioned on dark, blood-red velvet and setting each observer’s soul on fire with instant desire. They stood, silent, almost afraid to believe the evidence before their very eyes. A simple, tasteful placard spelled it out unmistakably so that even the dimmest wit could comprehend:
FREE! FREE!
Beginning next Friday, one piece of this magnificent set of Artistic DeLuxe Pearleen Tableware, the Dinner Service of the Stars, will be presented FREE to each adult woman in attendance. The moviegoer will be able to complete this one hundred and twelve piece set of magnificent dinnerware and enjoy at the same time the finest of movie entertainment.
Signed by the Management: Mr. Leopold Doppler
The amber spot played sinuously and enticingly over cascading ledge upon ledge of pearlescent, sparkling, grape and floral encrusted tureens and platters, saucers and gravy boats, celery holders and soup bowls. It was a display potent enough to bring moisture to the eye of a Middle Eastern caliph.
It would probably have been difficult to knock together a complete set of any kind of dinnerware from among the entire audience of that night. My mother stood gazing at the artistic opulence, her breath coming in short pants, her eyes glowing like coals. Our cupboards were filled with a collection of jelly jars, peanut butter containers, plastic cottage cheese cups, and the assorted eating effluvia of the period. Her prized possession, which she brought out only for State occasions, was a matched Shirley Temple sugar and creamer of dark blue glass. Our silverware consisted of Tom Mix spoons, Clara Bow pickle forks, and a Betty Crocker bread knife with rubber handle and cardboard blade.
Dish Borrowing and Dish Bringing were major social customs in the neighborhood. It was well known that my Aunt Clara had a set of six matched Mexican-motif coffee cups which she carried with her for any full-scale family ceremonial dinner. My mother, on the other hand, was the owner of a magnificent white meat platter with tiny violets spilling over the edges that had provided the underpinning for every turkey dinner in the family for years.
The effect of the Orpheum’s incredible offer, hence, was galvanic. The word spread like the bubonic plague, and by the end of the week of waiting the air had become tense and fretful. It was as though the whole town was waiting for Christmas morning, which, like all great days, approached slowly and creakily.
It was announced in the local paper that, along with the first Free Dish offering, Tarzan and the Pygmies would be shown, along with Selected Short Subjects. Doppler was going all out!
Friday morning dawned crisp and clear. By 7 P.M. a nervous serpentine line wound its way halfway around the block, past the poolroom, the Bluebird Tavern, Nick