What Movies Gave Me

The first time I saw a movie, I was four or five years old in Syria. My mother and aunt took me. I was so scared, I peed in my pants. I still remember that.

Another time, I was visiting my cousins. They were teenagers—maybe sixteen or seventeen. I was six. They wanted to take me to the movies, but they had no money. We rode a bicycle. One cousin snuck in through the back door and let us in. I was terrified we’d get caught. It was a cowboy movie with Rod Cameron. I remember the music. It was beautiful.

Later, we moved to Beirut. My mother and aunt took me to another movie—Blood and Sand. Tyrone Power. Rita Hayworth. Directed by Rouben Mamoulian. I was scared of the bull’s head on the mantle. My mother whispered, “It’s just a movie. You’re safe.” I fell in love with Rita Hayworth. I planned to marry her. She sang Verde Luna—a Spanish song I still hear in my mind. Years later, I recorded it from the TV so I could hold onto that feeling.

As I got older, my brother would ask my father for money to go to the movies. I cried—I wanted to go too. My mother gave him the money only if he took me. That’s how I got to see the movies.

I saw many films in Beirut. A Walt Disney movie with Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah. The Jungle Book. I dreamed about those movies. They stayed with me.

In the 1950s, we moved to America. I had no friends. No TV. Just a radio. I listened to all the shows. They felt real. Later, when they came to TV, I already knew them.

I had no job. I was going to school. I collected soda bottles—2 cents each. Hoffman Soda bottles were 5 cents. Finding one was like finding gold. Movies cost 17 cents during the week, 25 cents on weekends. Weekends were hard. But movies were everything.

They helped me dream. They helped me escape. I followed movie stars. Doris Day—I had a crush on her. Her voice was soft and beautiful.

Movies took me away from loneliness. When I sat in the theater, I was somewhere else. Somewhere better.

I want to thank the movie industry. You gave me joy. You gave me comfort. You gave me hope.

Movies were a big part of my life.

Now I’ve finished my memoir. I dream it could become a movie—so someone else can feel what I felt.

Movies don’t seem to mean the same to kids today. I used to dress up, take a date, go to Times Square. It was a big event. A celebration.

I don’t know if kids today will ever feel that magic.

But I did.

And I’ll never forget it.