KANSAS CITY, KAN. ? A short car ride east on Interstate 70, past the neon marquee of the Boulevard Drive-In Theatre, transports Lawrence resident John Schmidt back in time.

“The nostalgia of it  you kind of forget you’re in the year we’re in,” said Schmidt, 48. “It takes you back when you see some of the people that go to the theater. It’s good old-time fun.”

But it doesn’t take a time machine to pack this drive-in with crowds, the likes of which its 600-space lot hasn’t seen since it first opened in the summer of 1950. A slumping interest in drive-ins that spanned the late ’70s through the early ’90s  years when thousands of drive-ins across the country went dark  has given way to something of a comeback. Carloads of folks seeking cinematic diversion cruise each weekend to this drive-in  one of three in the Kansas City area, eight in Kansas  for the unique experience of watching a movie in a theater where there are more stars overhead than onscreen.

“I think people are tired of sitting at home watching television,” said Wes Neal, who has owned the Boulevard for 16 years but has worked there for 48. “You can sit in the house only so long.”

Of course first-run movies and the state-of-the-art digital sound system Neal installed two years ago don’t hurt the head count either. Memorial Day weekend, crowds flocked to the theater, tucked into the wooded hills of southeast Wyandotte County, to see Spider Man and The Scorpion King on the Boulevard’s 75-by-100 foot screen. Attendance has more than quadrupled since 1996, Neal said.

For Kansas City, Kan., native Chris Martindale, trips to the Boulevard are a little like reliving his childhood.

“My brother took me here. He brought a date. They’d put me on the hood of the car, and they’d make out,” he recalled one recent evening as he cozied up to his wife and three children in the back of the family station wagon. “I’ve loved it ever since.”

A love affair

No one loves this place more than Neal. The retiree spends most of his time here.

Once a week, he takes a long walk around the lot to make sure each of the 600 speakers is working. (Although patrons can tune in DTS sound over their car radios, many still hang the drive-in speakers over their windows.) He trims back the weeds and mows the lawn bordering the tree-lined entrance to the theater. He checks to see if the bathrooms are clean, every light bulb is burning and the snack bar is fully stocked.

“You want people to have the best drive-in experience they can,” he said.

Neal’s enthusiasm for the Boulevard seems to be contagious.

A letter that a Kansas City couple wrote to Neal after visiting the theater, posted inside the snack bar next to a slew of newspaper articles about the Boulevard, reads: “Betty and I had a great time last night. The sound was awesome! We will be back often … What is most gratifying is seeing someone take such pride in what they do.”

Opposite what Neal calls the drive-in’s “Wall of Fame,” sitting on a counter near the back of the snack bar, is a scaled-down model of the Boulevard’s famed marquee  complete with lighting and model hotrods driving past its base  that Neal constructed out of plastic and wood.

“Wes is a die-hard,” said David Glosenger, a projectionist at the Boulevard. “He’s in love with this place.”

Making a comeback

America’s love affair with drive-ins started in the early 1930s, when New Jerseyan Richard M. Hollingshead, experimenting with a Kodak projector and a sheet nailed to trees in his back yard, developed an open-air theater concept that translated into the country’s first drive-in. It opened in 1933 in Camden, N.J. During the ensuing boom, which slowed only during World War II, some 5,000 drive-ins opened across the country.

When the baby boomer generation erupted after the war, drive-ins added playground equipment. Parents  then as now  brought along their pajama-clad tots, who usually didn’t make it through the first half of the double feature before dozing off.

For teenagers, drive-ins became lover’s lanes. Black-and-white photos from the heyday of drive-ins often show sweethearts nestled in vintage automobiles.

In the 1980s, when cable television and VCRs brought Hollywood directly into homes, drive-ins lost their glitter, and attendance plummeted. Open drive-ins began going the way of the dinosaur. Less than 1,000 remained lit while abandoned theaters became overgrown with weeds.

But within the last five years or so, something about drive-in theater culture has started to lure people back. On warm Friday and Saturday nights at the Boulevard, cars roll in early, drop their convertible tops or camp out in lawn chairs, fire up the barbecue grill, play Frisbee and listen to the oldies tunes Neal pumps through the theater’s speakers.

The Boulevard experience

Yes, nostalgia is alive and well at the Boulevard.

Christine and Brian Logan, who live just two miles from the drive-in, ate dinner in their car on a recent evening as they took in the Boulevard experience that they’ve come to enjoy through the years.

“My brother was in a wheelchair in the ’60s. You really couldn’t do much then. We’d come as a family in our station wagon,” Christine Logan said.

“Our kids are all grown up now,” Brian Logan added, “but we keep coming back to the drive-in.”

Those are the kinds of stories Neal likes to hear. He’s certainly not in the drive-in business for the money. In fact, he said, the theater barely breaks even once it pays the cost of the movies  70 percent of what’s collected at the box office on a busy night  and the other expenses associated with keeping the massive theater in working order. (That’s not an easy job. The drive-in is prone to flooding from nearby Turkey Creek.) The drive-in supplements its income by renting out space to vendors on Saturday and Sunday afternoons for a Swap ‘n Shop.

Still, it would be hard to find a cheaper entertainment alternative in town. Neal charges $6 for adults. Children 12 and under are free. It’s a far cry from when admission was just 60 cents  back when Neal worked the 7 p.m. to 3 a.m. shift for $3 a pop  but it beats the price of indoor theaters.

Besides, as far as Neal and his regulars are concerned, watching a movie at a theater by any other name just wouldn’t be as sweet.

“Boy isn’t that pretty?” he asked on a dark night last week, looking toward the pink neon gleam of the Boulevard marquee. It cast a rosy glow back on his face.

At 75, Neal still has stars in his eyes for the Boulevard.