Fright Night with Vincent Price (9) – Summer vacation in Fair Lawn was heaven. Although I guess most kids outside of my hometown probably felt the same way. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere, other than the one day each year Dad had set aside. No, you didn’t go away on vacation with eleven kids. Still, the mere fact that I didn’t have to get up early to go to school made this time of year worthwhile all by itself.  

In the summertime, I woke up whenever I woke up. There was no one calling up to me to get ready for school, disturbing my well-earned sleep. Even though Mom wasn’t cooking me breakfast like on a school day, eating Grand Union’s version of Fruit Loops or Cocoa Puffs wasn’t a bad tradeoff for freedom.

Naturally, I had to make sure I did my chores before I was entitled to that freedom. Once they were done, however, the day was all mine. Part of that privilege included going up to the fields where a summer camp recreation trailer had opened for business. It wasn’t very big, maybe 10 or 12 feet long, and the brightly colored side panels opened up like a hot dog truck at a carnival. Except instead of hot dogs or popcorn, there were all sorts of games to play. 

Basketballs, footballs, and Frisbees were all there for the taking. Plus, all sorts of board games, many of which we didn’t have at home. Trouble, Chutes & Ladders, Candy Land, and Monopoly were all within arm’s reach. My favorite was Monopoly, but that wasn’t a good one-day game. A single contest could last several days if you actually wanted to finish it. 

Of course, there was checkers, a nine-year-old’s version of chess. It might not seem like a strategic game to the uninitiated, but an experienced player like myself knew otherwise. Why else would they create a tournament for us camp goers? As with all games, whether it was baseball, football, or a simple board game, I always wanted to win. Growing up in a large family like ours, everything was a competition. So, I was well-prepared for this event.

The only thing I didn’t understand was the age brackets they came up with. The youngest one ranged from 5 to 8 years old, while the oldest was 13 and up. I fell in the middle 9- to 12-year-old group. Since John was 12, I was glad he didn’t come to camp. He was great at checkers, and I could never beat him. It didn’t seem fair that a nine-year-old should play a 12, as they’d have three more years of checker-playing experience under their belt. Only there was nothing I could do about it, other than not play. That was definitely not going to happen.

The tournament started, and I won my first two games pretty easily. I was surprised by my opponent’s lousy play. They didn’t seem to understand the simple moves of checkers around the board, or the importance of getting “kinged.” My third game was against a ten-year-old, who did put up a bit of a fight. Still, it took me only ten minutes to send him home with tears in his eyes. My last challenger was a 12-year-old red-headed girl with a smug look on her freckled face. 

Since she had a three-year advantage, no one gave me much of a chance. I took this personally. Each move seemed to take an hour, as we both carefully weighed every decision. I could see her originally cocky face grow more and more worried, as the game was pushing close to 15 minutes. We each had only a few pieces left when I was finally trapped. I grudgingly gave up. 

The funny thing was, she seemed more relieved than excited to beat me. As she was handed the coveted plastic gold trophy. I felt mostly disappointed. Yet strangely, the other kids almost treated me like I was the winner. I guessed because they weren’t expecting me to put up such a fight. Even though I’d lost, it actually became the highlight of my summer camp.

The rest of that hot New Jersey summer was for swimming in the pool, playing wiffle ball in the backyard, biking to the fields, and playing lots of tag. Sunday night was the time for charcoal-grilled hamburgers and hot dogs, along with many, many gulps of sugary Kool-Aid. But every once in a while, Mom gave us a special Friday night treat: A trip to the Paramus Drive-In movie theater. 

Not to say that regular Friday nights were terrible. They could be okay, as long as fish sticks weren’t involved. Even on those nights, Mom would try to make up for the sorrowful seafood. She would either bring us to Carvel for cones or give us her own invention: ice cream on waffles. 

Foodtown ice cream was ideal for this since it came in cardboard boxes. Mom would take it out of the carton and slice rectangular slabs of the Neapolitan dessert with a sharp knife. Once the waffles had been toasted, she’d lay the perfectly sized ice cream between two pieces and create a homemade ice cream sandwich. 

But the drive-in was the real treat, for a few reasons. 

First, it would only happen two or three times all summer long. Second, the price of the movie was per car-load, not per person. Mom could cram five or six of us seat-beltless kids into the station wagon, and the cost wouldn’t change. This was a real bargain for any family, but especially ours. Third, I was watching a movie on a gigantic outdoor screen. It was a truly fantastic experience that became even more so when I first met The Abominable Doctor Phibes.

The detestable doctor (as if there was any other kind), was played by an actor named Vincent Price. Late in his career, he became known mostly for portraying evil characters in scary movies. This one was no different. I sat watching the goings on in my pajamas, while eating homemade popcorn and Grand Union cookies. Cherry Kool-Aid washed it all down.

I couldn’t really follow the plot very well, but something happened to make the not-so-good doctor pretty unhappy, and he was out for revenge! The scene that made the biggest impact on me was the one in a hospital room. Dr. Phibes was not only good with medical equipment, but power equipment as well. He took out a drill and put a hole through the ceiling from the room above. 

He then lowered a long plastic tube until it hovered about an inch from the head of his unconscious patient. What looked like pancake syrup dripped through the tube and onto his victim’s face. How he didn’t wake up from that goo was amazing enough. What was even more incredible was the army of ravenous roaches that landed on his head and promptly ate his face off!

Dr. Phibes continued to perform other heinous acts, and my stomach began to feel a bit queasy. I’m not sure if it was his fault or mine, since he wasn’t the one stuffing my face with junk food. When the movie was over, Margie, Terry, and Mary were asleep in the back of the car. They dreamt snugly with the pillows and blankets Mom had packed earlier. Not John and me. We were ready for another show. One that didn’t come, at least not that night.

We managed to get back to the drive-in a couple of more times that summer. We’d always play around the giant screen until it was almost dark, waiting for that week’s feature to begin. Although we saw other scary movies, none could match the exhilaration of the abominable doctor. After that summer, there was one thing I was certain of:

I would never sleep through a Vincent Price movie for the rest of my life.