Home Again

Home Again

It’s been years since I stood on this stage. So many memories.

We had our kindergarten graduation on this very stage. The city used to allow the schools and other civic groups to use the stage, as long as it didn’t interfere with the regular programs.

Then we had a Christmas pageant here when I was in the third grade. I got to play an elf. My big break into the world of showbiz!

We came here to see Mary Poppins when I was about eight. The place was full of noisy kids. Same with the matinees we went to, at least a thousand kids in the sixteen-hundred seat theatre, all yelling and throwing candy and popcorn. I was glad I wasn’t on the cleanup crew.

In my teen years, taking my latest date to the movies was required. Up in the balcony, in the dark, it didn’t matter what was playing.

Later, I got a chance to work as the projectionist here. Six floors up, even higher than the nosebleed seats of the top row of the balcony.

I loved that job. Long hours, we ran all summer long with continuous shows. Five shows a day, from two in the afternoon until midnight, seven days a week. No days off. There weren’t any extra projectionists during the summer when all the theatres were open. You couldn’t be sick. Twenty-four hour notice was required if you were going to die. That’s the way the business ran.

Some summers, we ran the same movie for the entire season. I can recite a couple of them, word for word. The Who’s “Tommy” and Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” ran that way. Sometimes no one was there to watch the show, but we ran it anyway to keep on schedule. I often wondered, unless it was raining, why people would want to go inside to watch a movie during a beautiful summer day at the seashore. The boardwalk, the arcades, the rides, so many outdoor things to do.

We had stage shows from time to time. Years ago, live shows onstage were regular presentations. That’s what the theatre had been designed for. Excellent acoustics from any seat on the house.

A large stage made up almost half of the building. It was designed for big shows like you’d see on Broadway. Sixty rails hung from the fly loft above, able to handle any scenery, operated by ropes secured along the wall to stage left. Then the massive light board along the front wall next to the stage opening. On big shows, it took three operators to run the lighting and special effects. No computer controls back then, it was all done by hand.

A big heavy red curtain, sparkling with velour and gold tassles, was still drawn closed between acts. Hidden above, was the old asbestos curtain, a fire safety device once required. It separated the stage from the audience. It used to be lowered and tested at least once a day. It was held up by chains with a couple of lead fuse links, designed to melt during a fire and the curtain would then come down. It was said to come down quickly, almost like a controlled guillotine, so it was best never to stand under it.

In front of the stage was the orchestra pit. Live music from real live musicians. They had access to the pit from a door under the stage so they could come and go without the audience being distracted.

The big proscenium arch enveloped the stage, like a great big ear. Painted gold and featuring molded plaster filigree, it worked both as a visual frame as well as an acoustic “booster” that helped project the sound to the audience. No microphones or amplifiers, just normal speech was all that was required.

I remember having to climb the inside ladder up and around the arch to replace burned out light bulbs. It was a lot of work, but the end result was impressive.

As endlessly fascinating as the stage area could be, there were hidden catwalks above the auditorium and stage, as well as extensive tunnels underneath to handle the utilities. There were also dressing rooms. Somewhat hidden along the theatre’s east wall, two floors of small rooms, with a couple larger rooms for several people.

Two rooms at the end of the lower floor experienced a fire many years before where two dancers died. To this day, the rooms have never been restored and no one wants to go there. There had been a ghost hunter TV show produced in those rooms, claiming ghosts existed in the theatre.

Every old theatre in town had ghosts. It was part of them. A few stagehands and a projectionist died while working and were said to haunt the old venues. A couple others died by natural causes but returned to haunt their former jobsites.

My theatre had three spirits that I know of. One stagehand died after falling from the rigging above the stage. Another was murdered during a robbery attempt on his way home from work. A projectionist died, said from a heart attack, while working. My companion in the projection booth had a taste for whiskey and if he bothered me, leaving a shot of whiskey would be enough to calm him down.

My first night working the booth alone brought some eerie happenings. Things turned off and on by themselves. It freaked me out but there was no way for me to just up and leave without causing problems for me, the theatre and the manager; even the business agent from the projectionist’s union would be called on the carpet if I walked out in the middle of a show.

The other operators and stagehands met at a local bar after work. I went right there, needing a drink after my experiences of that night. The others chuckled about my “initiation”, claiming it was just first-night jitters and my imagination. I was getting angry that no one would believe me. They finally relented and admitted that every old theatre had its share of ghostly residents. You just had to get used to them and they wouldn’t bother you once you accepted they were there.

The old barn suffered from age, the elements, and years of deferred maintenance. Plaster from the ceiling fell onto the seats and the water tank on the roof developed a major leak. The basement tunnels flooded during a storm from the adjacent ocean, causing the utilities to fail.

As the other old theatres were torn down as that area of the city went bad, this theatre was owned by the city and somehow preserved, after successful attempts by local historical groups to save it. Slowly the place was resurrected, crumbling plaster repaired, and the entire auditorium repainted. Stage shows and concerts returned, film festivals were revived, and the high school held its first graduation there after so many years.

Working so many years in this movie palace of 1929, I can’t help but love the place. Here I am, standing at the lip of the stage, looking out into the auditorium, imagining every seat is filled.

I’m home again. Let the show begin.