The Sundance Kid & Me

How many people can pinpoint the precise minute they entered puberty?  I can.

For weeks my sixth grade classmate and best friend, Tricia, had been raving about this great movie her parents had taken her to see. It was Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and she simply couldn’t stop talking about it. It was the best movie ever, she swore. I had to see it, I simply had to.

The problem was, it was rated (the now defunct) M, which in 1970 was the equivalent of today’s PG rating. After begging and pleading and whining and moping, and pulling every pre-teen stunt guaranteed to drive a parent absolutely nuts, my parents agreed I could see the movie. Only, that is, after they interviewed others who confirmed it was indeed acceptable viewing for a 12-year old. And even then I had to promise to sit in the very last row of the theater and in an aisle seat. For a quick exit in case of fire or pervert.

So there I sat by myself on a warm Sunday afternoon inside the Dublin Cinema. It was May 3, 1970 and I was about to see the 2:00 pm matinee of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I was chilled, not so much from the air conditioning as from nerves. I had never seen an M movie and wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

The lights dimmed. The clacking of the projector sounded as the film began rolling, displaying grainy sepia tone images on screen. Instantly I felt a ping of disappointment. $1.50 for a matinee and the movie wasn’t even in color? 

I munched on my Hot Tamales, cursing Tricia for making me sacrifice a sunny spring day to sit in a theater and watch a brown and white movie. And she hadn’t mentioned it was a western. I sighed and settled deeper in my seat.

Once the opening credits were over, the movie shifted to a boring card game in progress as the camera panned the players’ faces. Ugly adult men.

Card Player #2: Well, looks like you just about cleaned everybody out, fella. You haven't lost a hand since you got to deal. What's the secret of your success?

Then the camera zoned in on the stoic, rugged mug of Robert Redford as the Sundance Kid.

Sundance Kid: [pause] Prayer.

My heart stopped. Suddenly this brown and white western with the Sundance Kid was absolutely fascinating. And for the next two hours, internal fireworks began exploding as hereto unleashed hormones now surged through every cell in my body, kick-starting puberty like the launch of Apollo 11 that previous July.

(When that little event took place Tricia and I were outside playing handball. My mother asked us nicely to come in and watch the world’s first lunar landing and I recall saying something like, “thanks but no thanks.” It was only when she yelled at us to come in right now because “…history is being made dammit, and you are going to watch whether you like it or not!” that we reluctantly dragged ourselves in inside and saw man walk on the moon. Big deal. Can we go out and play now?)

Oh but this. What was happening right now was a far bigger moment than Neil Armstrong’s little traipse in space. This, my friend, was puberty.

I was unaware of anything. Of breathing or raging hormones or rockets red glare. I could only sit and stare unblinkingly, absolutely mesmerized as the next two hours flew by. Dumbstruck by that gorgeous man on the silver screen. When the movie was over I returned home in a love-struck stupor. Robert Redford was really old. At least 30. And I was only 12. Could we make it work?  I had to phone Tricia to discuss my newfound feelings.

“Didcha like it?” she asked. Before I could answer she added anxiously, “What did you think of Paul Newman?”  Ah, so puberty had launched for Tricia too. Who cared that at 44, Newman was even older than my new paramour. Tricia and Paul could overcome any obstacles. Just like me and Robert.

That summer Tricia and I saw Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid a half dozen times. And when it left the Dublin Cinema for the Dublin Drive-In, we planted our pubescent bodies on a nearby grassy knoll near Tricia’s home and on warm summer nights, equipped with binoculars, we watched the silent movie from afar. We didn’t need sound anyway.

That fall Tricia and I entered seventh grade. Junior High as it was known back then. And we soon discovered other things that accompany puberty. Like tie-dyed shirts, hot pants, Love’s Baby Soft perfume, slumber parties and rock n’ roll. Eventually Butch and Sundance were replaced with Doug and Mike. And Scott and Richard and Spencer and all those other Junior High boys so young. So immature. But so real.

Today, when I want to remember that one pivotal moment in time, I don’t review yearbooks or peruse old diaries. Instead, I pop in my DVD of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Today still my favorite movie.

And I bid adieu to old age, newfound wrinkles, and burgeoning gray hair. Instead, I’m twelve one more time. With the world at my feet and Sundance by my side.