I was sitting around the other day with a little time on my hands, contemplating why so many people in Cleburne make sport of trashing the school system, when it dawned on me that what they need is a time-consuming hobby.

Like going to movies.

But that presents a problem, unless they’re inspired to catch “Hannah Montana: The Movie,” “Monsters vs. Aliens,” “Obsessed” and other Academy Award-quality celluloid at the six-screen Cinemark on West Henderson.

If only this were 1930 at the Palace, which was located at 5 E. Henderson, where Carole Lombard and Robert Armstrong headlined in “The Racketeer.”

As late as January 1991, you could even meander to the Esquire at 209 N. Main and treat yourself to a double bill of “White Palace” and “Ghost.”

The reason I know that is because that was the Esquire’s very last marquee attraction. After the place shuttered, I wrote a hazily romantic essay to mark the occasion.

It started something like, “I wouldn’t worry about a shoe factory or a branch-line railroad shutting down, but newspapers and movie theaters are different.”

The Esquire is presently a vacant lot, like too much of Cleburne’s past.

Technically the Esquire Twin in its final years, the Esquire was doomed because of the public’s demand for multiplex cinema fare such as the Cinemark. But Cleburne wasn’t always that way.

The motion picture industry, minus sound, of course, invaded the town in 1904 with the opening of the Best Theatre.

W.A. McDonald unveiled the Rex Theatre at 105 E. Henderson. Then came the Majestic, the Garden, the Yale, the Texas and the Palace.

It was a different downtown then. The streets were mobbed with men, women and children, all demanding to be entertained in ways that did not involve such popular pasttimes as cursing, screaming, running stoplights and campaigning for public office.

In 1924, F.A. Chavey managed the Palace — seating capacity 45.

The Cleburne directory of the same year lists R. Landess as proprietor of the Yale — capacity 622 — at 109 S. Caddo.

McDonald was proprietor of the Rex — capacity 500 — at 107 E. Henderson through 1925. C.C. Conger managed the Rex in the mid ’20s.

After McDonald’s death in 1926, Mrs. Norma C. McDonald took control with Conger as manager.

In 1927, the Rex and the Yale were sold to a Dallas syndicate. In 1929, Griffith Amusements Co. bought the Yale. In 1928, Thomas Caraway managed the Yale, and S.E. Queen managed the Palace.

In April 1930, in a large advertisement in the Morning Review, Cleburne Theatres Inc. announced the re-opening of The Palace.

“Completely renovated and made clean and comfortable,” the ad trumpeted. “Will be Texas’ lowest priced first run talking picture theatre. Daily 1 p.m. to 11 p.m. Any seat anytime. Children 10 c. Adults 20 c.”

George Limerick operated both the Palace and Yale in 1938. Video Theatres took over the Yale, Palace and Chief Drive-In, at 1811 E. Fort Worth Hwy., in 1949.

A seldom remembered theatre called the Joy was located on South Main. It allegedly showed second-run Tarzan movies.

The Esquire Theatre building went up in 1951 and opened May 3 of the same year.

By 1954, the Esquire, Yale and Chief were all under the management of Johnson County native Clyde Young.

Nelson Myers managed the Esquire from 1960-76. R.B. Miller, assistant manager of the Yale immediately after World War II, preceded and followed Myers as Esquire manager. Miller additionally managed the Chief.

The Texas and Palace were favorite haunts of Cleburne native and Times-Review alumnus Jim Browder.

“The Texas and Palace were within a half block of the courthouse,” Browder told me. “The Palace was unique. When you went in, the screen was behind you. The Palace and the Texas ran serials on Saturdays. I was attracted to the Texas because it was the most low-rent theatre in existence. And it had the best serials. I went every Saturday.”

Browder probably still has a little piece of Texas history, a ticket from the ’40s.

“Not a stub, a whole ticket,” he said. “Wanda Peacock [former Times-Review proofreader] sent it to me. She found it in some of her old stuff. It’s an adult ticket. The price is 17 cents. That’s 15 cents plus two cents tax.”

Unlike some of the rat-hole theaters, The Esquire was pure class. If you didn’t like the movie, you could admire the artistically upholstered walls.

It was so sophisticated that people actually deposited chewing gum in a trash bin instead of under a seat.

Perhaps the highpoint of the Esquire’s history was the mid-’60s movie “Indian Paint,” starring Johnny Crawford and Jay (Tonto) Silverheels.

It was filmed near Rio Vista, with Cleburnites cast as extras. Naturally, they all came to see the otherwise forgettable film four or five times.

“We had the film booked for a week,” Myers said in 1991. “We wound up playing that picture for six weeks. Everybody kept coming back. It was unbelievable. The thing went on and on.”

Another Esquire hit was “Smokey and the Bandit,” starring Burt Reynolds.

“Back in those days, you brought in a film at a percentage or a flat fee,” Miller said. “That movie came to us for $20 a week. Nobody knew anything about the movie. It was one of the biggest sleepers you ever saw.

“But after three nights, it packed the house for every show, and we held it over. We played it 10 weeks at the Esquire, and then I sent it out to the [Chief] drive-in. We broke all records everywhere.

“We played that movie for 15 weeks. Everybody else was paying through the nose. We had the option to hold it over as many times as we desired. We had two shows every night and four on Saturdays and Sundays.”

The Yale was the granddaddy of Cleburne entertainment, unless you count Brown’s Opera House.

“The Yale had an orchestra pit,” Miller said. “It was an old-timey theatre.”

The Yale proved relatively entertaining in the 1990s and into the new millennium in ways it probably never intended.

It housed the Times-Review sports department and photographic darkroom, on a second floor constructed by late publisher William Rawland when he purchased the sliver of the Yale that included the original stage.

The second floor of the Times-Review has one thing in common with the majority of Cleburne’s movie theaters today. It’s permanently closed for business.