One of those 1960s' sex romps delivering more tease than T's, "What a Way to Go," was playing in Atlanta's finest movie theatre when "A Hard Day's Night" and "McHale's Navy" came to town. Top heavy with perky stars, no one could fault The Fabulous Fox passing on the singers and the sailors for the swingers.
Weeks later, we presented "What a Way to Go" at my employer's Emory Theatre.
I spent a long Saturday in the basement, spray-painting 450 or so large metal alphabet letters fire-engine red to spruce up the neon marquee over the street entrance.
I listened to Shirley MacLaine and her lover boys cuddling and smooching, show after show, as the soundtrack squeezed through the cracks in the wooden auditorium floor above my head. The package was a perfect, ear-opening mating lesson for a 12-year-old lad: the birds and the bees and the buzz.
Inhaling can after can of spray paint fumes can do that.
And explains why to this day before I sex romp, I shake it vigorously until I hear a tiny ball roll around inside.
Special thanks to Stan Malone
