Fire photos didn’t require footwear

Editor’s note: This column is being reprinted from Aug. 8, 2008. One of the things we miss following Jack’s lost is his vast knowledge of this community, from growing up here to covering his hometown for 40-plus years. No matter the situation, Jack had a story related to it. This one will likely bring back many memories for area moviegoers of a certain era.

It was a Friday night just a couple of weeks ago.

Rachelle was working on page two, paginating for Saturday morning’s edition, when she encountered that week’s Retrospect picture, a local photo from the same week 25 years before.

“It’s the Hines fire,” she said.

And the memories started flooding back.

It was 1983, only a few months after my father’s death. I was still up to my ears coping with that.

It had been a Friday night, just like the one a couple of weeks ago. But it was my night off.

The late, great Tom Casey was managing editor then and we rotated week to week on Friday nights. It was his turn.

Tom put out the paper as usual that night. Then, as I recall him saying, he stopped by Bill’s Big Bar, Bill Long’s establishment across from the post office, to have a couple of beers and chat with Linda the barmaid before heading home.

His apartment in those single days of his life was on East High Street. It was a hot July night, and he slept with the windows open.

The smell of smoke awakened him.

By the time he had grabbed a camera, probably an old Yashica twin-lens reflex, from the office, the fire at the old moviehouse was fully engaged.

I have no idea what time it was at that point. Tom did his best to take pictures and scribble notes that would help us put the story together for Monday’s paper.

After a while, he scooted back to the office for more film.

And he gave me a call.

“The Hines is on fire,” he said. And my heart dropped.

Like tens of thousands of other people, I’d spent long hours in the darkness of that movie house.

It had introduced me to The Three Stooges, Dracula, movie serials, Tex Ritter, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, and more. I’d watched “Star Wars” and “Jaws” and “E.T.” there with my wife after I returned to Jay County. I’d watched Doris Day and Rock Hudson movies with double entendre jokes about sex that, as a kid, I didn’t get. I’d stood in line outside the place to see “Ben Hur.” I’d stared at the clock above the exit on the left, the one with the luminous dial, whenever something mushy or overly emotional was on the screen; it kept me from crying.

It was at the Hines that I met Francis the Talking Mule, Abbott and Costello, Bob Hope, and James Bond.

I was at the scene in minutes, grabbing my own 35 mm camera as I went out the door and hoping I had enough film.

The scene was chaotic and emotional. Projectionist Edward Earhart, who sometimes spent the night in the Hines after a showing, had died in the smoky blaze. Sue Burns, a football coach’s wife and an extremely popular figure with area young people, had been managing the Hines at the time; she was a wreck.

Tom filled me in on details. Dave Marchand, then Tom’s right hand, showed up about the same time I did and took some of the best photographs of the day.

He would also write the account of the fire for Monday’s paper and win statewide honors for his work.

But the moment that came back to me a couple of weeks ago, when Rachelle mentioned the Retrospect picture that Friday night, was when I looked at Tom’s feet.

He had no shoes on.

He had raced from his apartment in the early morning darkness and had been at the scene for hours as firemen worked tirelessly to bring the fire under control and keep it from spreading to adjoining businesses.

No shoes?

No problem.

When there’s a story to report, that’s what matters.

Tom, whose sartorial skills sometimes needed some adjustment, got that one right on the money.