A Reader (And His Dad) Remember

A Lost Cinemas reader named Max writes in with this story:

"I must tell you how I found your site. I was having dinner with my father who is 78 and in a care facility in Des Moines. Midway through the meal he looked over to the table of folks in the corner of the room and said, 'You see those people? They're going to Red's BBQ.'

"I said, 'What dad? What and where is Red's BBQ?' (I'm 51 and a lifelong Des Moines resident and do not remember Red's.)
'It's by the theater,' he replied.

"After much more questioning about exactly where and when it was he was placing this Red's restaurant, I had to stop because he just couldn't put an answer together. So, when I got home I went online and Googled until I found your marvelous blog!"

Max--though I never have met him in person--lived in my neighborhood near the Capri, took the bus to the Galaxy, and witnessed the implosion of the Paramount in 1979.

Great to hear from you, Max! Thanks for the good words, and I hope to hear more reminiscences from you soon.

A Jolson Tune for the Des Moines

Somehow this song of the south became "successfully introduced" in faraway Polk County Iowa by the Des Moines Theatre's resident organist L. Carlos Meier, pictured here on the cover. The copyright date shown in 1922--a full six years before another Jolson vehicle, the first synch-sound talkie "The Jazz Singer", made its local premiere here at this same theatre.

'State Fair' Returns to Grand Avenue

Check out the Des Moines and Paramount theaters as they begin their long, slow slide into oblivion: it's 1962, and on the Des Moines' marquee is--once again--"State Fair", though alas this is the 1962 remake, which doesn't even take place in Iowa. (Somehow "All I Owe Texas" just doesn't have a good meter to it for singing!) No crowds or amusements filling the streets this time--just typical afternoon traffic.

And next door at the Paramount: "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance"!

These slide scans are courtesy of Tom over at www.trolleybuses.com; go check out his great collection of Des Moines-area trolleybus photos and promo folders here--great stuff!

The Orpheum, as seen from the Hubbell Building

This is, of course, the Orpheum at 210-8th, in the lower-left-hand corner of the picture--not the RKO version later found up that same street at the number 410. 1918 is the date of this postcard view; one wonders what the view might look like today outside that same window, from one of the Hubbell apartments?

"State Fair" Footage News

After much tracking, I finally found out last week that the Fox Movietone News reel (containing the story of the world premiere of "State Fair" at the Des Moines and Paramount in 1945) is still actually owned by: Fox News! The best part of this news, however, is that Fox still holds all the outtakes from this reel, which I am ordering now. Being as only one minute of footage made it to the finished reel, I can only imagine what's contained in the remaining film. More news on this as I get it; you'll be sure to see the best of this in the finished "Lost Cinemas" documentary!

Berchel Sheet Music

When playing piano at home was still the order of the day, sheet music was the preferred mode of music to buy. It often served a double purpose, as in this case, to promote a venue or event in which the song, the writer, or a popular performer of the piece, was featured. With "Bonnie Mary", the songwriter's own company performed the song at the Berchel Theatre, as per the advertising on the front page.

"The Preacher" Hangs On East Locust!

Okay, it's really John Carradine in a bit part as a street bum in the Crown International film "The Hostage"--among many other appearances, you'll probably remember him as the preacher from "The Grapes of Wrath". But here he is, near the beginning of the film, crossing the street on East Locust, as if he had just left a matinee at the Amuzu and decided to wander over to the bar.

And, okay, he wouldn't have been coming from the Amuzu, since this was 1967 and the Amuzu had been closed for 14 years already. But I can dream, can't I?

BBQ In The Ground, 1939

Back in the 1930's, when the Roosevelt Theatre was new, the plan was for the theatre to be fully integrated into a whole complex along 42nd street--conceptual renderings from the time originally showed an apartment complex attached to the theatre, though this apparently never happened. A shopping center just across Rollins took on its namesake (which it retains today), and down below the theatre structure itself was a restaurant: Red's Barbeque. The theatre itself is now of course the Des Moines Community Playhouse, and Red's eventually became Theater in the Ground.

Rialto - Temple of the "Two Abes"

From 1919, we have an ad in the Capitol for the Rialto Theatre, located at 721 Locust, and owned by Abe Frankle and Abe H. Blank. It's worth noting that Blank, in adding a slogan to the street sign for this place, adapted the slogan used by New York City's Rialto: "Temple of the Motion Picture, Shrine of Music and the Allied Arts". Blank's snappier version: "Temple of the Silent Art". The Rialto outlasted its tagline slightly, as it exhibited a short distance into the sound era, but going completely silent--and dark--when its doors closed in 1933.

"Lost Cinemas" Comes To YouTube

Flatteringly, I have been bootlegged--and no, I'm not mad at all.

The "Lost Cinemas" trailer is now available for viewing (in what looks to me to be a crunchier, more compressed version) at www.YouTube.com. All you have to do is search for Lost Cinemas, and voila! There 'tis. (But you saw it here first...right?)

Much thanks to the two people so far who have given it a 5-star rating! Hey guys--when I finally premiere this thing, I hope you're there. (And that you brought your writing pencils!)

The Roosevelt, in 1935

Check out the Roosevelt Theater (or, as you probably know it, the Playhouse) back when it was nearly new in 1935, and check out the Roosevelt Shopping Center, with all its winged billboards.

On the marquee: "Ruggles of Red Cap" starring Charles Laughton--in glorious Technicolor! (Shameless work-related plug, there.)

The Ideal, Recently

The Ideal's latest incarnation, at the same old address of 2447 E. Walnut, is that of an 8-plex apartment building. The new front awning and façade completely obliterate what little was left of the red and black deco tile from its theater days--in fact the only theater element I could see that still remained was the awning supports, still hanging down across the face, holding up nothing.

This photo is from my recent trip back to Des Moines, during which I tried to film/photograph whatever I could find for my documentary--a difficult task since there is even less to find than ever before! The screen at the Plantation was gone, and numerous locations (Eastown/1536, Amuzu, Capitol Drive-In, and others) were vacant lots--not a scrap of rubble to be found. The fine folks at Ed Garner's Autorama were nice enough to let me poke around their RV lot--formerly the Pioneer Drive-In--and shoot the screen there, nearly blocked by 20-odd years of tree growth. (They said the marquee sign was back there somewhere, but I couldn't find it at all.) Oddest of all, the Forest Theater building was constantly in the news--currently the home of Creative Visions, which is being audited very publicly.

On the upside, Des Moines appears to be finally putting some faith in itself again--everywhere, massive construction and renovation. Lots of old downtown buildings converted to living quarters again. New bridges everywhere. A vastly improved MLK parkway. Good going, gang.
Now just get a decent parking lot near the Ingersoll and get that opened up again, and you'll be all right!

Hiland Plan Excerpt

The south elevation (or, as we outside the architectural world call it, "the front view") of the second Hiland theater, as drafted by Wetherell and Harrison in April of 1938. This streamline style was very popular at the time, as was the use of glass bricks in the marquee tower--seen here as criss-cross lines flanking the middle. The idea was that multiple sets of colored lights behind the glass could be turned on alternately, giving the marquee a different appearance for each night.

(Drawing courtesy of Wetherell Ericsson Architecture.)

Trek to the Hills, 1979

December 7, 1979: my girlfriend and I have joined the throng on Crocker's walk around 4pm, in a gigantic line awaiting the premiere of Star Trek's first comeback, "Star Trek: The Motion Picture".

It's cold--we're bundled up and shivering, and other people have brought sleeping bags and little heaters, making the line look like an encampment. Every 10 minutes, a self-designated timekeeper near the front of the line yells out something like, "2 hours and 40 minutes to go!" And everyone cheers. Every time. The cheers are especially large for major markers--"2 hours!"--"1 hourrrrr!"--and when it gets down to the last 5 minutes, it's completely crazy, a call every minute. The street nearly explodes when the call "Doors opening!" comes through. The packs are hoisted, the wallets unpocketed. The line inches inward, into blissful, popcorn-scented warmth.

More cheers as the surprisingly austere main title comes on. And when the Klingon ship first dips into view. A news crew is there filming, as an unrecognizably-made-up Mark Lenard (as the Klingon captain) yells something like "Kreplach!" and photon torpedoes shoot into the mysterious space cloud. It is like the Beatlemanic screenings of "A Hard Day's Night": every time a familiar character hits the screen: screams, applause. Des Moines native Stephen Collins, as Commander Decker, tells Captain Kirk that Kirk doesn't know the Enterprise a tenth as well as he does. "Bull$#*+!!" calls someone from the peanut gallery. Laughs, more applause.

The film goes on, at first indulgent--47 closeups of the refitted Enterprise in porno detail!--then glacial: 7-minute shots of the V'ger cloud intercut with Sulu and Uhura staring wordlessly into its maw. But none of us care. We have all sent our letters to Paramount and Roddenberry over the years, and have just received the fruits of our democratic actions, just in time for Christmas. The pace picks up just in time to give the finale some of the adrenaline of the original series, and then we all spill smiling into the winter night, looking for our cars through puffs of icy breath.

We have seen new Star Trek, with the original cast (and a Des Moines native), on a Cinerama screen, in Dolby surround, at the fabulous River Hills.

Ahhh. Moviegoing!

Documentary Update

My apologies for being so long between posts, but I've been busy--with new materials that have come in for the film project.

First off, Mr. Bob Fridley, of Fridley Theatres and Video, sent me a wonderful box of photos, clippings, ads, and articles from his personal collection--including rare shots of the Capri, Varsity, River Hills and Riviera, and the Lincoln/Holiday. I've been busy scanning and animating these items, and the results thus far have been really exciting for me. And Mr. Fridley has invited me to visit him when I'm in town this August, which should be a real treat.

Mr. Bob Meza, of NBC (heck, just a mile or so away from the Technicolor office in Burbank), has graciously allowed use of his theater photos, most of which cover the demolition of the Riviera and River Hills on--of all dates--September 11, 2001. Smaller versions of these can be seen over here on the Cinematour site.

Last and not least, the wonderful people at Wetherell Ericsson Architecture were gracious enough to dig up a complete set of blueprints for the Hiland Theater that the firm made back in 1938 when it was still the Wetherell-Harrison partnership. These are astounding to see on a number of levels--the detail, the craftsmanship, even the hand-lettered material (with the striking diagonal O's) is something to see. (These plans refer to the second, Moderne-style Hiland at 423 Euclid that exhibited from 1938 to 1967, not the previous house at 3602-6th that opened in 1923 and ran until the second version was constructed.)

I will continue to make posts, and offer a bit of this new material now and then, but there's a lot of work to do still on the doc itself. Please be patient--I promise it will be worth the wait!

And, as ever, if you should happen to stumble on any materials, please let me know--it's likely they will make it into the film somehow!

Popcorn Riot at the Capri, circa 1971

Story time: I think it was around the beginning of Christmas break in 1971 when an ad went out that Place's (the dime store next to Safeway at 42nd and University) was giving away free tickets to kids for a movie to be shown at the Capri, right across the street, as a holiday treat. Free popcorn and pop came with the deal. All you had to do was go to Place's, get your ticket, and go.

I did--to see something called "Where Angels Go, Trouble Follows", which was the 1968 sequel to a Hayley Mills film, "The Trouble With Angels". The plot involved teenage nuns running amok at the St. Francis convent--why someone thought this might appeal to a pre-teen, not-necessarily-Catholic crowds, I'm not sure. (But hey--it hadn't been too long since someone else had thought "The Flying Nun" was a good idea.)

The place was packed. Nuns or no, a free movie was a free movie. And trouble followed: the kids (except me and my friend John) were going berserk, screaming, jumping up and down on the seats, chasing each other up and down the aisles and stairs. A kid from my third grade class, who always played the part of the tough guy, was making full use of his free popcorn--initiating a full-on popcorn-throwing battle with a friend of his I'd never seen before. I don't remember any attempt by the management to try and calm things down--not that they really could have. The mania was too widespread.

Then: the movie. Old nuns, teen nuns, and a school bus paraded across the screen--the only thing I remember was that they mounted a pair of steer horns on the bus' hood at one point. (Such unbridled nunnity!) Strangely, the crowd actually settled down and watched the show without further melee. And two hours later, we left, blinking in Saturday afternoon light--leaving the poor Capri the dirtiest I'd ever seen it. None of us ever talked about it again. And--if I recall rightly--Place's and the Capri never held another free movie there again.

Meanwhile, Further Down 8th Street

Just down a couple blocks from the Empress, the Orpheum was not only running its own slate of vaudeville, but also (according to the small print) offering up the news of the world in that newfangled techonological wonder, the Kinogram.

Live at the Empress

An ad from the Des Moines Capitol newspaper, from when the Empress was predominantly running live vaudeville before becoming a movie house for the rest of its run. (You'll recall it ended up as the Galaxy.)

Note that the meager prices "include war tax"--World War I, that is.

Great Uncle Leo and his Date at the Garrick

As mentioned previously, the Orpheum at 208-8th street eventually reached a checquered point in its history when it became a burlesque house on the Mutual circuit, from 1925 to 1928, before a final attempt to rescue its reputation by becoming The President Theatre just prior to The Crash.

My great uncle, Leo Myron Satterlee (he, that crashed the "State Fair" premiere party some years later) found himself on a date there. He was living with someone who took in roomers, and it was one of these very roomers that led to the date. As Leo tells it:

Pearl [his househost] mentioned that while I was gone, a new theater had opened up in town, and she would like to go. I had never seen this girl [the roomer] before but Pearl said, "why don't we get reservations, make a foursome, and go see the show?" She called the theater but we could not get them for that night, so she made them for the next night. It turned out to be a burlesque stage show with live actors. Some of the skits were pretty risque for that time. I was embarrassed and the girl just slid down and would not look at the stage. She finally left before the show finished. In one of the skits, a man came out carrying a rooster and a lady carrying a kitten... [I think we've all probably heard this joke before!]

This Garrick Theater did not have shows every night of the week and once they advertised a men's-only show about the ravages of venereal disease. It was sponsored by most of the big companies in town, including the company I worked for. One night, several of the fellows got together and went. It showed actual pictures of what happened to the body of a victim. I decided then and there I would never chance such a thing. One of the fellows knew one of the ushers, as they were all volunteers from various places in town. He told us that one night, two girls dressed like boys came and were seated when the head usher got suspicious and challenged them. One of them cocked her head, looked up at him and said, "Yes, we have no bananas."

An S. Barger took over management duties under the Garrick monicker, and Joseph Oppenheimer--of the Mutual Burlesque Association--promised the theater would present "high standard shows", in an attempt to refute the "abuse" the term "burlesque" had suffered of late!

An Ode to Two Drive-Ins

To the right is a photo of a flyer sitting in the rubble of the Capitol Drive-In in the late 1980s--advertising something that was once fairly commonplace for drive-ins to do: Sunday morning open-air church services, with the sermons coming in over the attachable car speakers.

Around that same time, I was going to the S.E. 14th Street Drive-In a lot, and getting a good laugh out of the rocking vans and sudden brake-lights during the show. I thought of the church flyer I'd found at the Capitol site, and was struck by the irony of a place that be a passion pit one night, and then, a few hours later, a redemption spot. The chorus lyric popped right into my head, and then I scribbled down the rest of the lyrics right then, combining the Capitol and the S.E. 14th into a single south-side drive-in experience.

South Side Drive-In Night
(M. Heggen)

Late in the weekend when the sun goes down
Something is starting at the edge of town
The good ol' boys are taking good ol' gals
Out for a good ol' badass time

Cheapest thrills that you have ever seen
Found under a ninety foot asbestos screen
The South Side Drive-In Theater
Was still a legend in its prime

Well who could have known that while the folks at home
Lay dreaming with eyes shut tight
Everybody'd be singin' on Sunday morning
After sinnin' on Saturday night

Temperature's rising as the screen lights up
Whiskey and Fresca from a paper cup
Heartbeats hittin' in overdrive
While the car's just sittin' in park

Shadows moving as the picture shows
Chinese firedrill in the back three rows
Bright eyes winking in the snack bar light
And brake lights blink in the dark

Well who would have guessed that while they did their best
To raise hay with all of their might
Everybody'd be singin' on Sunday morning
After sinnin' on Saturday night

Forty-two winks after the midnight rain
The bottles are empty and the back seat's stained
Boyfriend's heaving in misery
While girlfriend's left in the lurch

Oleo glistens on a paper cup
And catching the light as the sun comes up
The South Side Drive-In Theater
Becomes the South Side Drive-In Church

Well I should have known that way down home
They've their own way of puttin' things right
Everybody was singin' on Sunday morning
After sinnin' on Saturday night

(Copyright 1989 Mark Heggen)

When I recorded the song shortly after (with local scenesters Lonnie Urich on drums and Rick Van Oel on lead guitar), I added a scrap of an honest-to-goodness S.E. 14th intermission film audio, which I'd taped on my boom box one night, tuning in to the drive-in's radio audio. (Listeners might mistakenly note a couple of blasphemous moments in the recording, but offense can only be taken if it's Got that you believe in!)

Here's the link to the mp3: South Side Drive-In Night mp3