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Literary
February 17, 1936
Henderson Daily Dispatch
Henderson, Vance County, North Carolina
What is this article about?
In New York, Genevieve works as a ticket seller in a movie theater for two years, imagining heroic responses to emergencies like holdups. When robbed by well-dressed men, she faints instead of sounding the alarm, later attributing it to her aversion to being stared at.
Clipping
OCR Quality
98%
Excellent
Full Text
New York, Feb. 17. Small Tales:
There was Genevieve, the girl who sat enshrined in a glass box in the foyer of a movie palace for two years. Matinee and evening day after day and night after night.
"How many, please?"
"You forgot your change, mister"
"The feature starts in five minutes."
"What was it you lost? See one of the ushers about it."
For two years, very likely, Genevieve didn't add to the half-dozen phrases which covered every situation. She was a blonde; year-before-last she had been a brunette and in childhood she probably had been a tow-head. She had a fixed and slightly theatrical smile and she sat in the box, glass on three sides, punching the little ticket release, tapping the change-maker.
There was a burglary alarm which Genevieve could sound with her feet. Sometimes, at night in her furnished room, she would wonder what would happen if stickup men actually descended upon her transparent castle.
She was of an imaginative and melodramatic frame of mind (frequently on her days off she would attend the movie for which she worked on a pass) and she had it all planned. During the Lindbergh kidnaping excitement she scanned all bills carefully, working out what she'd do in case one of them turned up. But none did. Then she went back to plotting her behavior in case of a holdup.
No holdup occurred-for two years. Meanwhile the thousands streamed past her goldfish bowl into the theater and out of it, and along the pavement outside. She liked to tell her friends that she thought women should be able to think and act as quickly and intelligently in emergencies as men. She wasn't afraid.
Then it happened. Quickly quietly-one spring afternoon. The holdup men didn't look like holdup men. They weren't particularly vicious in appearance. They didn't resemble any movie holdup men she had ever gazed upon. Nice, well-dressed chaps who stuck a gun in the little round hole in the glass partition and demanded the money.
And Genevieve fainted dead away, before she even had time to press the burglar alarm.
"It was the way he stared at me," she explained later, a little sheepishly. "I never could stand being stared at. I have hated people to stare at me ever since I was a little girl."
MAYBE IT'S BEEN THERE ALL THE TIME
There was Genevieve, the girl who sat enshrined in a glass box in the foyer of a movie palace for two years. Matinee and evening day after day and night after night.
"How many, please?"
"You forgot your change, mister"
"The feature starts in five minutes."
"What was it you lost? See one of the ushers about it."
For two years, very likely, Genevieve didn't add to the half-dozen phrases which covered every situation. She was a blonde; year-before-last she had been a brunette and in childhood she probably had been a tow-head. She had a fixed and slightly theatrical smile and she sat in the box, glass on three sides, punching the little ticket release, tapping the change-maker.
There was a burglary alarm which Genevieve could sound with her feet. Sometimes, at night in her furnished room, she would wonder what would happen if stickup men actually descended upon her transparent castle.
She was of an imaginative and melodramatic frame of mind (frequently on her days off she would attend the movie for which she worked on a pass) and she had it all planned. During the Lindbergh kidnaping excitement she scanned all bills carefully, working out what she'd do in case one of them turned up. But none did. Then she went back to plotting her behavior in case of a holdup.
No holdup occurred-for two years. Meanwhile the thousands streamed past her goldfish bowl into the theater and out of it, and along the pavement outside. She liked to tell her friends that she thought women should be able to think and act as quickly and intelligently in emergencies as men. She wasn't afraid.
Then it happened. Quickly quietly-one spring afternoon. The holdup men didn't look like holdup men. They weren't particularly vicious in appearance. They didn't resemble any movie holdup men she had ever gazed upon. Nice, well-dressed chaps who stuck a gun in the little round hole in the glass partition and demanded the money.
And Genevieve fainted dead away, before she even had time to press the burglar alarm.
"It was the way he stared at me," she explained later, a little sheepishly. "I never could stand being stared at. I have hated people to stare at me ever since I was a little girl."
MAYBE IT'S BEEN THERE ALL THE TIME
What sub-type of article is it?
Prose Fiction
What themes does it cover?
Social Manners
What keywords are associated?
Short Story
Movie Theater
Ticket Seller
Holdup
Imagination
Fainting
Genevieve
Literary Details
Title
Small Tales
Key Lines
"It Was The Way He Stared At Me," She Explained Later, A Little Sheepishly. "I Never Could Stand Being Stared At. I Have Hated People To Stare At Me Ever Since I Was A Little Girl."
Maybe It's Been There All The Time