Run Silent, Run Deep

Yesterday I watched a movie on TV titled Run Silent, Run Deep, a WWII submarine movie. The film was released in 1958 and starred Clark Gable and Burt Lancaster. I have seen the movie about three or four times in my life. I first saw it in 1958 with my father. I was 7 years-old at the time. We went to a theater in downtown Columbus, Ohio to view it. I’m not sure which particular theater however. There were about four of them in operation in downtown Columbus at the time.

Truth is; I remember nothing more than seeing the movie in a big, downtown theater with my dad in the seat next to me. I don’t remember if I had popcorn, or a soda. My father was one cheap guy but I’m going to guess that if he was going to take the trouble to take the two of us to a downtown movie theater to see a movie, he would be willing to spring for popcorn. He might have even coughed up the money for a Coke for me.

My father and I never did much together when I was a boy growing up. We never played catch nor did he shoot hoops with me on our driveway basketball court. I don’t think he ever helped me with my homework. But we went to a couple of Jets minor league baseball games, and four movies. As a family we went to perhaps a dozen or so flicks, but as for just my father and I, there were a total of four. I remember the names of each. The last one was in 1967, The Blue Max. It featured the sultry Ursula Andress, and the film had some adult themes, even some partial nudity. I was 16 then and consequently was very entertained. I’m sure my dad was entertained too.

I wish I could tell my father that I not only just saw Run Silent, Run Deep on television, but that I remember him and me seeing it at the theater 54 years ago. But my father died over 20 years ago, so I can’t. But I know what my father would say. He would look at me for a few seconds, murmur something like “Really? Huh,” and then in an indifferent manner, state that he couldn’t really remember. Ironically, my father did not run silent, run deep, especially in matters of retrospection.

It might seem kind of odd, but there is something mildly amusing about having a sudden desire to tell a departed love one something, something that would not in any way interest that deceased person. But the reality is; I know that my father simply would not care about the activities of one isolated evening in 1958.

I can only reassure myself with the belief that we both liked the movie all those years ago. And I'm pretty sure we did.