Friends, Family, and Similar Monsters

July 17th, 2026

Over five decades occupying two continents, five cities, and two prisons I was paving my pop-nerd highway by third grade. Summer 1976, seeing "King Kong" Dino De Laurentis' first full color version six times, twice wasn't on account of fresh obsessions with 10-story beasts, gorgeous young Aryans Jessica Lange and Jeff Bridges, nor an epic fight where our Ape King busted my nightmare fuel - a snake colossus - in half. Less terrifying for its proportions, if you asked me or my overstuffed poor little rich pal "Big" Joe Turner we cosigned in the '90s that spiders the size of VW Beetles are scarier than those big as buses somehow.

These viewings were based on locale, like Peter Sellars' "Pink Panther" sequel showing upstairs. Weeks later I learned the animated animal only showed up in the credits with that perfect Henri Mancini score and was livid. One decade later its genius caught up with me and five or so minutes of cartoon Pink sufficed.

Suffering cousins Kellie and her baby sister Kim would "Little Engine" me up roughly 30 winding carpeted steps, my 6- hitting-7 kneecaps behaved like baby rattlers, pre-pube voice vibrating. What did me in was right of the staircase opening. An oval space maybe 20' wide encased by a matching white hardwood rail. Movie-goers peering down to the lobby and concession stand inhaled rising buttery aromatics with clicks and splashes of soda fills. Showcasing what heights we'd scaled, I refused another step.

Arcade Theatre stood by her neighbor, downtown cousin Columbia. Screen wrapped in under-lit Art Deco gold and silver flora with jewelry-esque patterns, interest and me both lost in weak moments of weekly matinees studying it. My Saturday through Sunday accomplices swung from girl-cousins to my homonymous unalike besties Shayne, a sporty guy I liked more than a friend sometimes, and Shane, my peer who in the early 2000's still couldn't say so. Blissful balance for that then chubby effeminate nerd. Rewinding, I spent 5 decades trying to Xerox it.

Inside the Arcade fiery-headed freckly "Kim-bo", a year my senior, stood visibly annoyed. Mature-for-10 Kellie wrapped her arm around me, leading us through ornate double-doors to the downstairs rerun. Sweet and soft, our blonde babysitter was a miniature of "yellow-haired" Mom in those predicaments.

Dad's basket case mother Juanita, A.K.A. Mee-Mee cautioned me about flying solo into Columbias men's room. Beside its doorway was their vending machine where a paper cup dropped into this little window after plunking a quarter in. Separately side-to-side off options from 4" wide plastic push-buttons would eject pop and ice. Prosthetic "arms" stabilized the product, halting spillage. Each visit this robot marvel blew my mind. Pecking this screen now I'm still amazed. It tasted distinct, like the McDonalds soft drink where alchemy's greater than that gargantuan straw.

Mee-Mee said old coots in the urinals would want to touch my "pee-pee". Laughing about her warnings through reckless teens, I wound up housed with roughly 600 akin types by 45. Miss Julia, a serial divorcee, juxtaposed Bible-banger, sweetheart telephone operator, and Mom's best buddy Joy's mother scoured her precious kids' bared bottoms with Listerine after outings to those movie-houses. Acorns mayhap making Redwood Forest later OCD.

Paducah Drive-In, my top space and method contained one Kong episode. Nothings gorgeous like a moving picture beside a night sky backdrop I read "genius grant" writer/cartoonist/serial Letterman guest/NPR fixture Lynda Barry say. I 1000% agree. Partner-in-crime before going criminal Kim Hayden brought a boxy little TV/VCR combo scored in a raffle to her driveway capturing that appeal boy-howdy successfully. Post-release I'm getting my over-sized outside screen, Lord willing. Our late aforementioned Joe Turner had a projector. Watching scary flicks on his white garage wall Springs through Falls, Halloween was epic for his hood's munchkins. Loving entertaining like he loathed housekeeping, the fact he died a toothless hoarding hermit is proof positive anybody can produce a prison from anything, even "old" money.

Paducah Drive-In had its South Twin where I squeezed in another big gorilla event across from the falsely named Paducah Mall. Roughly 10 shops anchored by Woolworth's rough-cut kid Woolco, same-aged subdivision block-mate and "lyin' little fatass" Dad said often, Sean's mom Shirley dealt in toys there. Bringing home any item suffering a dented package birthed a collection impregnating a double-wide walk-in closet about as big as my boudoir. Sean was the first divorce brat I ever met getting me thinking "Say, could WE get one of them?". Qualified too as first I "did things" with, figuring mechanics out with him and a stack of his grouchy stepdad's Hustlers.

Woolco's parking lot was my balcony. As my folks studied clothes and electronics I'd stage a bellyache, viewing bloody boobie shows across the road. Begging Dad for a Friday night South Twin junket, I was a horror-junkie after the '76 ape-alanche. From my mandatory monthly "Famous Monsters Of Filmland" fanzine I learned about a creature-feature called "Squirm" but arrival saw the kiss of death, a red-boxed "R" upon the marquee. My tiny heart shattered. So bad hard-assed Gary Wayne caved, buying his porky little film freak a ticket with its edict: shut eyes in a mammary event.

Tossing back smuggled Cokes with an enormous brown paper grocery bag full of Mazola-popped corn drowned and caked in butter and salt, we settled in, amped for terror. Handed by his fisherman pal a Chinese-takeout-looking container roughly 10 minutes in, the recipient's face got smothered in flesh-eating worms and blood. GAME OVER. I belted a panic siren my notably irate six-bucks-poorer papa never heard before, leaving us whipping up dust out the pea-gravel driveway post-haste. To now, I'm bad with about all creeping creatures and legless life.

Mee-Mee's little old lady big sister Dessie was visiting from nearby Arlington for the week. When Dad detailed at Mom and her my meltdown, unamused she kept without (verbal) judgement, the old gal came to me. Tiny hand to smaller shoulder, her smile-lined mouth offered "I reckon that R stands for rough!". Under-appreciated is an appropriate adjective for this angel.

"Squirm" came on an in-prison ClearTunes TV I surrendered an extorted 300.00 for the whole 13" of. Lasting no longer Friday evening 45 years later on the Comet network, sometimes I screw up and picture it when I eat. Next time I'm out to drop a stone or two I'll recall that trick.

Dad didn't tread waters of "Must be 17 To Enter Without Adult Parent Or Guardian" cinema with #1 son again until the onset of the 1980s. Visiting my Mammy and Pa-Pa on a weeknight while Mom checked out patrons at Gore's Big Star supermarket her baby bro, arguably best friend in a tie, and fellow Kong nut (guy sculpted an alarmingly detailed action-scene version from clay I was promised one day - time will tell) Robert raved to a breathless duo of Dad and me about "An American Werewolf in London". Bent-kneed on the rug aping a transformation scene to beat the band, G.W. realized halfway through he couldn't rob me of this adults-aimed cultural moment.

At Lone Oak Middle School the day of Werewolf Night, some kid excessively raved about the joint. Not only its "meta-gore-phosis" but the pre-teen golden bough - NUDITY. Plenty from Brit starlet Jenny Agutter, but Dr. Pepper commercial icon and voice behind one-hit pop smash "Makin' It" David Naughton got exposed too. Movies of the '80s have notoriety for bazoombas a'plenty, but "dude-ity" was conspicuously absent. All I could picture for the remaining day was the "I'm a Pepper enthusiast's bared butt.

Occurring to me that day in Old Man Wilson's Algebra class: those folks Kellie and Kim hipped me to in the back of their mom Onetia's Chevette on the beltline bridge - boys with boyfriends and girls with other girls - maybe that's me on account of I could give a rat's rump regarding that European lady's breasts now. Going through my paces, muscular man-buns held me spellbound, impatiently wishing to High Heaven 7:30 would happen.

Every level the film never failed to please. John Landis' genre classic remains rivetingly original, an abstraction of a Universal pioneer our eyes stayed stapled to the screen of from minute one. My pop, bless his heart, covered my upper face at Ms. Agutter's shower-slicked amplitude but kept open as Waffle House for the forbidden fruit of Naughton's naughty bits. Coverage inspiring a trademark line from an English kiddie to a Bobby: "A nay-kid A-mare-ican mahn stole my buh-LEWN". Exiting the Arcade re-birthed, unfortunately this was our finale. Gary Wayne shot himself April, 1982. My next venture was with Robert days past Dad's demise. "Porkys". My eyes went fingerless to a pansexual buffet, freedom I hope Dad found too.

Back past Kong, horror and monsters were rivaled by comics. Godzilla had a 1970's Marvel title for a minute where he fought with and alongside characters like The Champions, a Whitman's Sampler of super-types: Hercules, Black Widow, Angel and Iceman of the X-Men, and Ghost Rider. Today still everything in that description bubbles with cool excitement. Those days all for 35¢ at any gas station, pharmacy, grocery or department store nowadays 5 bucks at comic specialty shops. Those other spaces lost the best brat stabilizers before the iPhone erased any residual attention spans.

Japan's lizard titan's '50's maiden film still has its beauty mark - after a rash of inexplicable natural disasters along the Pacific, the American cut of that sensation has " Perry Mason" lead Raymond Burr flanked by terrified natives booking down a mountain where slowly he spies something rising over its peak. Revealed is the full dome of a monstrous screeching reptile to his immobilized disbelief. Actually scary in a deluge of flicks Dad never failed to call "The Muppet Movie" issued with the same contempt I give all "Chucky" projects and likewise redundant sequels. Killing joy for juniors is a serious responsibility of "fans".

Weekend late-nights West KY's PBS affiliate played classic Universal Monster shows. Trivia-bearing intros had the come-on of a very honest used car salesman, qualities of a nerd-next-door I wanted from their excellent host. Halloween he was decked like Dracula by Lugosi, a straightforward anti-hambone delivery making it charmingly hysterical. Less gallows than talk show hostess Wendi Williams dolled up like the Statue of Liberty to the torch, eyes rolling back in her heavily cosmetic head that smacked the floor in a Grave's induced collapse. Laughing is tasteless, but the costume seemed evidence of God deserving a Best Comedy award at the Daytime Emmy's. That lady was mean to cleft palette sufferers, giving my tastelessness clear validation, correct?

Busted in second grade by newly minted teacher and Baptist fundy Judith Knott (by year's end this doll called me "liar", "scum", then tossed in "mentally retarded sexual deviant" on Mom's conference putting Betty in the bed a whole day, maybe jealous over Judy's spot-on labeling talents) while reading a Kong fanzine smuggled like a nudie mag in a Bible with my schoolbook. She remaindered it to my custody luckily likely likewise sick of seeing my folks.

Horror Festivals wear me to pieces. I met "Naked Dr. Pepper Werewolf" Davy Naughton at a Scare-Fest I haunted a few years prior to prison. Corrals of black clothed fair-goers gave me vertigo rendering me (rarely) speechless meeting an older, less-shapely-than-myself at 56 Papaw type I wish sometimes I'd coaxed into a bathroom quickie I could write about. Awkwardly we locked eyes a brief eternity knowing something behind my muteness was trapped, like his impact on my life? Grey matter turning sawdust, face suspended til I slunk out from nonplussing silence inside chaos. I swam then through a sea of black lipstick, purple hair, and back fat to those sunny skies and Starbuckses of downtown Lexington, briefly blissful. One fleeting moment suspended in gossamer.

Writing from the microwave room of a warehouse with 1200 beds and dejected humans filling them a decade gone with one year left, I know it's the way of almost every beast.