The Saturday Serial, Part 1.

May 1940

The back room of the Palais' Cinema's movie house

was not a glamorous spot by any stretch of the imagination.

As far as the entertainment industry went, the

palais was strictly in the retail end of the spectrum. Local folks, mostly kids, out to squeeze

every last minute of entertainment that could possibly be wrung out of a nickel. That was what

kept the lights on. There were no red carpet

walks here, and no fabulous celebrities came to call. Except perhaps tonight, Don Fenton thought,

as he set out on his midnight rounds, turning off lights. If they got his message,

tonight just might be a different kettle of fish altogether.

Fenton was starting to stoop with age, but in his day he had clearly been a big man.

He still carried himself like a man of action, in spite of the fact that there was little adventure to be had,

keeping the palais open through good times and bad. From ticket taker, to projectionist, to chief

bottle washer. He wore a great many hats, but the one that had always given him the most pleasure

was the one that enticed no-paying customers at all into

the lobby of his movie house, though it often brought in a lot of foot traffic of a different sort

back in the day. From down the hall, Fenton could hear a sudden sound from his little office,

a hiss of papers rustling madly as if caught in a sudden

gale, and he grinned in spite of himself. That office window of his opened into the alley

north of Bloor, and the wind boomed down it something fierce. If someone had opened it long enough to slip in, they would cause a

ruckus, no matter how quiet they thought they were. Fenton knew from the sound that his daily

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