Listlessly roaming the foyer at interval on Saturday afternoons, I could consider these mysterious wonders. On the walls were posters and in glass cases photographs of scenes from coming attractions, and it was here at different times that I spied the much admired Humphrey Bogart and Marilyn Monroe, and the many other icons that Uncle Kevin raved about. To which I was able, reluctantly, to add the list that Rosely drooled over—John Wayne, Robert Mitchum and the like. They were all there to be seen at different times and I considered them deeply, although I still could not imagine how those movies could be different from the ones I was allowed to see.
    The posters for the Saturday afternoon matinee—and indeed those for the coming Ranch Night program—occupied more lowly status by being pinned on a free standing placard that always stood just inside the door. There, as I passed by at any time, I could receive advance notice of next Saturday afternoon’s entertainment, permission pending. And there, one inspirational day, I saw a poster that stopped me in my tracks. There was the weird malignant submarine. There were the men in their strange underwater outfits. There was a man entangled in the tentacles of the giant squid. This, undoubtedly, was the same 20000 Leagues Under the Sea.