The Grand Old Dames

I was re-reading Alan Morrison's comment on my entry about "Dr. Phil and SEX." Alan talks about the Stanford Theater and how owner David Packard likes to show old films using orginal equipment. That would be terrific to see!

I used to go to Laemmle's Music Hall Theater in Beverly Hills because it was an old theater that had been maintained so well over the years. It had a big screen and wasn't cramped like the newer "mini-theaters." The last time I went there was a few years back. Unfortunately, the great old theater had been converted into three "mini-theaters." Ugh!

There is another I go to once in awhile on LaBrea a block or so south of Melrose, the Regent Showcase. The last time I was there was to see the re-release of "The Sorrow and the Pity." Woody Allen did a splendid job having it restored. I found it hard to believe that almost 30 years had passed since I saw "The Sorrow and the Pity" in Chicago when it was first released. The Regent Showcase has been recently restored to its old glory, looking as fit as a fiddle.

In Santa Monica, I sometimes go to the Aero Theater on Montana Street, another old neighborood movie theater that has been maintained so well over the years. New pictures are shown their a couple of months after their release, which means the Aero charges the lowest prices in town. Many movie stars live nearby, so not surprisingly, you often see them going to the Aero. They don't mind saving a few bucks either!

In January 1994, I was at the Aero one Sunday afternoon watching "Gettysburg," a film that lasted about three hours. My friend, actor Richard Jordan, played Brig. Gen. Lewis A. Armistead. Richard was two years older than me and died the previous year of a brain tumor. He was only 55. "Gettysburg" was Richard's last film.

About 3:30, there was an earthquake that scared the hell out of the audience. Some left, but many of us stayed to see the ending. When it was over, I walked down Montana Sreet toward the ocean. I noticed a woman from the theater walking ahead of me. Suddenly, there was another earthquake. It felt like the sidewalk rose up and slapped me in my legs. I fell down. So did the woman ahead of me. I got up and ran to her. She was crying.

"I just can't get used to these," she said. "I've lived here all my life and they still scare the hell out of me." We walked together to Ocean Avenue, then she turned west to go home.

Early the next morning, about 4:30, I felt a jolt like none before or since. It was so strong that I fell out of bed. The bookcases were swaying back and forth and many books fell off. Fortunately, none of the bookcases fell. This was the infamous Northridge Earthquake.

L.A. and its old movie theaters survived the Northridge Earthquake.

All of these movie theaters, ironically, are relatively small and resemble the old Roxy Theater in Berwyn, Illinois, where I grew up. Like the Aero, the Roxy showed movies after they appeared in the downtown theaters and then the main neighborhood theaters. My buddies and our families and neighbors didn't mind waiting awhile to save some money. The Roxy closed it doors about 30 years ago.

I also remember going to the large movie theaters in downtown Chicago in the 1940s, sometimes with both of my parents, sometimes with just my mother to catch a matinee. In those days, some of the Chicago theaters in the Loops still offered stage shows.

I remember one time in the late 1940s riding the Bluebird bus downtown one morning with my mother and Aunt Dorothy to see Frankie Laine at the Chicago Theater. The line stretched down State Street a few feet and then down the alley for a block to Wabash Avenue, then snaked up Wabash to Lake Street and almost back to State Street.

The main floor and every balcony of the Chicago Theater was packed to the gills with screaming women--including my mother and my aunt! When Frankie Laine came onstage, they went bananas!

Funny how things haven't really changed all that much! Except the earthquakes!