by Ken Robinson

When we were kids, pre-teen or just turned teen, we walked from our house just east of Ambaum near Salmon Creek (about halfway between White Center and Burien) to go to the movies. That was in the mid-fifties and the destination was Coy's Highline Theater on 1st Ave. and a 130th Street.

Looking back, it now seems quaint that we walked there, with no expectation of getting a ride from Dad or Mom. If you have a bike, you could take it and leave it outside the theater with little chance it would be stolen. If you did that now, you might as well hand the bike to a stranger. You could have a sign on it that reads "Please steal this bike.

"But I digress. We walked the 2.5 miles happily, watching for dogs, discarded packages of Lucky Strike cigarettes so we could stamp on one and punch the guy with us (thus, a 'lucky strike') or empty 102 Beer cans you could stomp on and then make a clattering noise as you walked.

On these periodic trips, we carried enough money to pay for a movie ticket and maybe a little extra for a box of Milk Duds. The whole outing might have cost less than 50 cents.

We were never in fear that someone might jump out from behind a bush and try to get us to go in car with them or do something untoward. Of course, were boys. We knew girls would not take this path as they were in a protected class then as now but maybe more so.

There were always 'tough' kids at the movie house. They could be identified then the same way millennials can now--by a particular costume that lets everyone know they are special. Then, it was a black leather 'motorcycle' jacket, blue jeans rolled up at the foot above black 'patrol' boots with a beer bottle opener dangling from one side. And slicked longish hair held in place buy grease. The requisite sneer completed the look. In the summer, the jacket was doffed and replaced by a white T-shirt with a package of smokes rolled up in one sleeve at the shoulder. If you were smart, you made a friend with one of these guys to avoid getting picked on.

Still, there were fights. Going to the movies was a social event as much as a reason to see a movie. You saw friends, laughed and cloistered with them and sometimes privately poke fun at other kids there. And sometimes could not avoid a confrontation that morphed into a physical challenge when, for example, you bumped someone and spilled their coke, looked at them too long or looked at their girlfriend.

Tim remembers: I could have learned a lot about love
by Tim-id Robinson
In the middle of the lobby, inside Coy's Highline Theatre a fish pond seemed like a nice attention-getter. The mostly teen audiences were there to watch films like THE BLOB or THE ROBE or any number of double feature westerns with John Wayne, Audie Murphy and especially those Vincent Price thrillers like THE TINGLER. All for 25 cents.

What they did with any spare change was, to flip, toss or spiral their extra coins into the pond, wishing for good luck. At the very least it was to scare the Rainbow Trout, a unique attraction itself. Either way Walt Coy was thebeneficiary of a fairly benign action. He made money.

At his White Center location, in the 40's, the federal government levied a tax on any ticket purchase higher than 10 cents. Walt would have to give the government a penny for every patron. Instead, he built the fish pond, stocked it with the Trout and charged nine cents to see a movie. the extra penny ended up in the pond.

The Highline theatre was a WWII Quonset Hut with an attached building and an apartment upstairs. The lobby had the box office plus the candy, popcorn and soda counter. Pleasant enough. Not pleasant was that fish pond. It needed to be cleaned each week; after the shows. It was loaded with pennies, nickels and dimes, from more generous attendees.

Walt's son Gary, a Highline High student, worked every job at the theatre, including cleaning the pond. Gary recalls the task." I had to scoop the coins, clean off the slime, dry them and count them," he said with chagrin. Walt must have been proud and happy making bank deposits.

Inside, down the darkened aisles, the uniformed ushers helped find one, two, three or four seats together. The sides seats and way back seats were for the "neckers". They could have cared less what was showing on the screen. They just needed a semi-private set of seats. Ushers walked the aisle, looking for the embraced couples. A quick flash from their light meant it was time to break it up. Unless you had a "lookout".

I was a "lookout". But not a very good one. Janelle and her boyfriend commissioned me one night. I was seated directly behind them. Janelle turned to me to ask if I could let them know when the usher was heading down the aisle. Sadly for Janelle, I had a good memory of being "snitched on" by her for a minor incident the year before, in sixth grade at Hazel Valley Elementary.

The movie played. Janelle and her beau embraced. I could hardly contain myself. I waved my arms, bounced in my seat to get the attention of the usher. Within moments he was there with the piercing light. Janelle sneered. I gleamed. Vengeance is sweet. I regret it now since I might have been able to learn something if I had agreed to her request. It was big reason I was sitting alone. I was TIM-id