Yay Irvington!

Irwin [a good WFMU DJ] also worked in the glamorous sex industry, at an "art cinema," when "art" was code for "boobies." I pumped Irwin for more, and here's what he had to say:


At 21, I spent a summer as assistant manager for a porn house -- the Art Cinema, on Springfield Avenue, in Irvington NJ, at a time when non-Hispanic whites predominated in that neighborhood. Today my 97-year-old aunt lives nearby in a seedy senior complex, so I pass through every two weeks. What was the Art is now a social service agency of sorts. I don't glance at it nostalgically.

I'm wondering, really, if the story is all that interesting. I've reflected, and frankly, there isn't anything scandalous, colorful, exciting, or even remotely sensationalistic about the job. It was, in many ways, a most uneventful gig. I can't think of a single anecdote worth relating. Not one! I did my work, got paid, and kept out of trouble. I hardly ever watched the movies, which were XXX-grade, though unrated -- really cheesy fringe-o'-the-biz flicks with washed-out color, dopey wah-wah funk soundtracks, and 25th-rate plots as excuses for gism-squirts every ten minutes. The patrons were suburbanites -- often couples -- fated to learn how unsexy porn could be. The popcorn was artificially flavored. The candy was overpriced. Just like now. The "raincoat brigade" didn't show up. One responsibility after the patrons went home was to sweep between the seats, and I never came across wadded up Kleenex -- just overturned popcorn buckets and spilled Coke cups. The aisles were stickier than the Knitting Factory floor at 2 a.m.

The last job in the evening was to climb a ladder and change plastic letters on the marquee.