Lostnyc on May 8, 2009 at 5:06 pm

As far as the terra cotta details being similar between the buildings, none of the motifs on either of the buildings are extraordinary or unique (by the standards of the times), and terra cotta was almost a mass produced product in the 20’s.
posted by ziggy"

I totally agree, most of these ornaments in the photos were pretty mundane, pretty as a whole facade, but individually not much to look at, and very mass produced- at least as it was in that era.
By that era they were using templates to shape blocks into various moldings in a way they made plaster ceiling cornices with a running template.

As far as reviving such designs, the plaster molds are long gone, making a mold of an existing piece and making them in clay results in a size loss due to shrinkage of around 10%, that is why new replacements for restoration cant be simply made in terra cotta by molding off originals. However, these flower, geometric and other designs are not rocket science, any decent clay sculptor like myself can easily model any of this stuff from decent photographs, and if need be- made 10% larger to compensate for that size loss as in the case of a restoration need.
Flowers, geometric designs and the like don’t excite me, the ornaments that do- have animal or human faces on them- lions, griffins, Athena etc, getting human faces right and with expression takes a lot more skill than modelling some leaves or geometric designs, it’s at a higher level of quality if done well.

Ziggy on March 21, 2008 at 2:07 pm

It’s always fascinating to wonder about the “what ifs”. In this case, “what if Eberson actually did the design for the Venetian?”. The evidence presented for the case is very flimsy though.

Mr. St. Thomas has a wonderful web page about Milwaukee architecture, but the explanation as to why the Venetian Theatre so closely resembles the Aragon Ballroom (an Eberson design) is probably that the architects were familiar with the Aragon, and liked what they saw. Architecture magazines of the 1920’s were full of photos showing all the latest designs of prominent architects, and the Aragon most likely got quite a bit of coverage. It was common for other architects to be inspired by what they saw in these publications, and sometimes to copy them fairly closely.

As far as the terra cotta details being similar between the buildings, none of the motifs on either of the buildings are extraordinary or unique (by the standards of the times), and terra cotta was almost a mass produced product in the 20’s. It’s very easy to think that there were dozens or possibly hundreds of buildings with similar decorations at the time.

senk1198 on March 20, 2008 at 10:46 pm

A correction is in order—mea maxima culpa!

The pertinent paragraph is hereby amended to read as follows:

Mr. St. Thomas wonders openly if Eberson at least had a hand in designing the Venetian, the first of five such theaters to be built in Milwaukee (only two, the Avalon and the Zenith, still exist; after being closed for several years, the Avalon is now being restored for performing-arts use; the Zenith has long been a church). While I myself still strongly believe it indeed was designed by the local architects of record, Urban Peacock and Armin Frank, one indeed does at least wonder how much they might have been influenced by Eberson’s work.eater, back around 1954.

senk1198 on March 20, 2008 at 10:36 pm

As I wrote in this thread nearly a year ago to Timothy St. Thomas:

-o0o-

I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take [more] pictures of [the Venetian] … and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.

Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?

-o0o-

Now there is more.

I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take pictures of these areas, too, and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.

Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?

TimothyRuf on May 1, 2007 at 11:11 am

If anyone has information about this theater in any of it’s business forms, please write me. My email address is on my profile, found under my name below.

Thank You!

TimothyRuf on April 17, 2007 at 8:54 am

One of my fellow ‘watchers’ on the site took a photo of when the where opening the front of the building. Sadly enough, it had an incredable view of the upper lobby with many details.

View link

urbanremainschicago on April 15, 2007 at 1:58 pm

patrick—
as stated earlier, that issue is dead… at this point, i’m simply addressing questions regarding building materials. …and no legal threats have been made. thank you pat, eric

havana on April 15, 2007 at 8:47 am

Tim
I do appreciate all your photo’s and have shared them with Charlie, also thanks for the letter you sent to me a year ago, Charlie remembers you well and at 91 is as sharp as ever.
I wish I was still in the Milwaukee area, I surely would have salvaged a few mementoes. I remember well the Red door that had painted (Cut Rope in case of fire) and I also remember the heavy fabric curtains. In one of the photo’s from the book, pictured is an ornate table in the lobby area, the table up to about 20 years ago was still in the dressing room area, under the stage. The condition was poor, but probably wasn’t getting any worse.
Scott: Although we have never met, I do appreciate you commentary. It provides a future, to a soon, to be a grass corner on 37th Street.
In my posting of Dec 26, 2003 I mention that I travel to Cuba. This is still the case, I have started the development of a web site www.ILoveHavana.com In Cuba there are still many theaters that have not changed for the past 50 years, they are still used as a movie house, although most if not all are in need of much repair.
Several years ago The Cuban Government paid honor to Steven Spielberg and for 1 week showed in the theaters of Havana his films. My travels coincided with this event.
For a creative writer and photographer I think 2 weeks in Cuba would provide an opportunity to investigate and catalogue many of the fine old theater buildings.
If anyone has an interest in making a documentary in Cuba, please let me know.
Time is running.
Looking back I wish I had paid more attention to saving at least on Film the interior, even as early as 1960 the interior while not in pristine condition was pretty much intact. I still remember the curved stair rail that allowed access to the balcony from both sides of the lobby. I can be contacted directly so as not to clutter this wonderful site.
Steve

urbanremainschicago on April 15, 2007 at 4:54 am

…and for an exact reference scott, the authors of the book “common clay” are george a. berry and sharon s. darling. a cautionary note: the book is hands down expensive, but well worth it in terms of the wealth of information it provides. if you or anyone else for that matter have additional questions and/or would like to see some of our orig. catalogs, or even want copied snipets of information most applicable to your research, please feel free to call and/or email… 312-523-4660 or if and when calling, ask any of our staff for the owner. i’ll be more than happy to share any and all information i have regarding the historic building materials used in making these grand theatres you all appreciate so dearly. thank you, eric

urbanremainschicago on April 15, 2007 at 4:31 am

okay, i need to take blogging 101… so, the molds are most likely gone…discarded. if any of the venetian was to be recreated, one would have to make a mold off the existing pieces recovered from the demolition. …and we recognize the importance of this…prior to making the items for the public to enjoy (and yes, there is a price ((we are a business) we photographically document, draw to scale and create a “rough” mold of existing pieces…of course, this tedious process only applies to incredibly unique items like the venetian fragments for example. if anything, this information makes a great supplement for the historic american building survey via the national park service.

urbanremainschicago on April 15, 2007 at 4:13 am

hello scott…and others—
i’m so very sorry that people like “snweb” exist to infuse their self righteous, self absorbed accusary opinions regarding issues that steer away from the focal point; that of course being the presentation of information regarding the acknowledgement and respect for structures of the past. that being said, i’ll address you question… my name is eric and i own urban remains. in addition to our artifact collection, we have a large collection of orig. catalogs, etc. from terra cotta companies based in the chicago area. the amercian terra cotta co., along w/ northwestern, produced some of the greatest terra cotta ornament for commissions involving louis sullivan, etc. the “master” sculptor at the time was a man named kristian schneider, who created almost all of louis sullivan’s ornament. cont…

dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddo not

want to

senk1198 on April 14, 2007 at 9:54 pm

Mea maxima culpa! First, my apologies for the repetitive posting from a couple of days ago—my computer had a bad case of electronic hiccups when I tried to amend my posting virtually at the moment I sent it. The most recent version of it is the one to follow.

The pertinent paragraph of my previous posting should be, and hereby is, corrected to read as follows:

-o0o-

I did get to take hundreds of photos yesterday—sad, yet beautiful and powerful. You can see some of the best—and most telling and informative—at the following link:

-o0o-

The link itself is correct.

I am sooooooo amazed at how the Venetian, at least based on what I’ve seen, has had more photos of and about it submitted to Cinema Treasures—or any other Web site not devoted to a single theater—than any other theater. This is truly a tribute, not only to the Venetian and to the cause of theater preservation, but to sooooooo many dedicated Milwaukee-area movie-palace mavens, from the late, great Jim Rankin to the equally incomparable Larry Widen and Judi Anderson to the dedicated Timothy R. and so many other great folks.

As for my own photographs, the overall views I’ve taken of what I call the “tragic altar” (the Venetian’s stage and rear wall) and its “great sacrificial offering … a giant pile of rubble and twisted metal that once was most of the rest of the theater” might be the closest I’ll ever get as a photographer to Larry Widen’s haunting final photos (1984) of the ravaged interior of Milwaukee’s Egyptian, the famed pictures of Gloria Swanson amid the ruins of New York’s Roxy, or the famous “Irreplaceable” poster photo of the razing of San Francisco’s Fox, but my purpose in taking and sharing such photos is to help hasten the day when we will never again have occasion to take or share such pictures.

Better for us all to share examples of theater preservation, as well as film and theater-organ preservation, in action as daily realities in everyone’s lives!

Scott Enk

“Only the people who lived through an era, who are the real
participants in the drama as it occurs, know the truth. The people of each generation, it seems to me, are the most accurate historians of their time."
—Lillian Gish, in her autobiography The Movies, Mr. Griffith, and Me (1969)

senk1198 on April 14, 2007 at 9:25 pm

As William Manchester wrote when chronicling the 1950s in his bestselling popular history of the United States from 1932 through 1972, The Glory and the Dream:

“Across America five thousand motion picture theater marquees had been darkened in the great box office recession which had accompanied the rise of television. Ernie Kovacs and Queen for a Day had stolen hearts once pledged to Clark Gable and Ginger Rogers… . Beneath screens on which Paul Muni had defended Alfred Dreyfus and Gary Cooper had submitted to torture rather than divulge the cavalry’s location, empty whiskey bottles accumulated, and where Charles Boyer had begged Hedy Lamarr to run away from the Casbah with him, and Jennifer Jones as Bernadette had been visited by the Virgin Mary, aisles became cluttered with cigarette butts, sanitary napkins, and used contraceptives.”

As with so many other wonderful theaters, no doubt similar, if not exactly the same, things happened in and to the Venetian. While some Milwaukee theaters have found interesting alternative lives (for example, the nearby Zenith—with the Avalon, which is now being restored, Milwaukee’s last two surviving atmospherics—is now a church, although one with, fortunately, most of its theater decor still intact; the unconventional but interesting Koscuiszko is now a bicycle store, while the Lincoln, just down the street from the Kosciuszko, is now a sad hulk, albeit one with its quaint nickelodeon exterior still intact), the Venetian has finally ended its last sad run. It now joins such still-revered Milwaukee wonder palaces as the Wisconsin, the Palace, the Alhambra, the Plaza (the favorite “show house” of my mother, who died 31 years ago today but whose keen memories of growing up from the 1930s to the 1950s played a major part in whetting her son’s keen interest in things historical!), the Colonial, and the other two of Milwaukee’s five atmospherics, the National and the Egyptian.

All that now remains of the Venetian is its imposing rear wall and its stage area, with its riotously colorful, richly detailed stage opening (still including a beautifully detailed molding—or perhaps a carving—of fruit on one side of the large niche over the center of the opening, formally called the proscenium; please see the photos to which I link below) patterned after the world-famous Rialto Bridge in the real Venice—and still surrounded by a few shattered remnants of what was once part of the atmospheric ceiling. Before this tragic altar, like a great sacrificial offering, lies a giant pile of rubble and twisted metal that once was most of the rest of the theater.

The Venetian, like so many theaters that have literally gone before it and like it, deserved better.

Its sturdy doors, once at least once closely watched by vigilant ushers against any young gate-crashers, showed signs of having been forced open—and were guarded only by weeds, old newspapers, and, at least once, an empty bottle of Wild Irish Rose wine (see linked photo).

As Timothy has noted in a previous posting, despite efforts to reinforce the side wall (the east wall) adjoining a residence only a few feet away, some bricks from the theater crashed through the roof pf the house. A blue tarp now covers a hole in the roof estimated to extend 10 to 15 feet down its height.

Fortunately, no one was hurt, although, as Terry, the young man who lives with his family in the first-floor apartment, bricks from the theater crashed through the attic of the house into its second-story apartment. As he showed me on April 14, all the first-floor windows (and, he said, at least some of those on the second floor) on the side of the house facing the theater were broken.

He invited me inside, turning off a booming boom box in the living room and pulling away the plastic covering some of the broken windows in his bedrooms and bathroom to reveal a neighbor’s-eye view of the carnage in concrete, brick, and twisted metal, flecked occasionally with what seemed to be crumbled plaster—some still a vivid sky blue—mixed in. (To those of you who’ve also paid your respects—is that indeed what that blue in the rubble at least sometimes was?) Another window was boarded up.

Terry, born long after so many movie palaces had died, asked me for details as to what sort of building, one apparently unfamiliar to him, had been next to his home. I told him about how large movie theaters like the Venetian had once been common in neighborhoods and downtowns all over America—before television, before suburbia, before the hollowing out of our cities and so many of their neighborhoods. “For a lot of theater owners, these places just couldn’t get the audiences they needed to heat and maintain them,” I explained, adding that that was how places like the Venetian ended up as the likes of liquor stores.

After I showed Terry and his young siblings where to find this page of Cinema Treasures, he and I went out on his front porch, where he showed me how the razing had also dislodged a metal-pipe stairway railing and the corner of a rain gutter at the foont of the house.

“Danger—No Trespassing,” read a sign on the temporary high fence erected around the gravesite. Silently acknowledging my debt to Orson Welles and his film Citizen Kane, I again pulled out my digital camera, set it to movie mode, and photographed the sign, pulling back to reveal the fence and the large yellow wrecker behind it, then panning left to reveal the giant pile of rubble and the looming rear wall, topped with a tall chimney and a graffiti-covered stage-pulley (or is it an elevator-mechanism?) housing.

As to whether or not the foreboding opening or the closing theme, with its overpowering, tragic finality, of Bernard Herrmann’s legendary score to Kane was more appropriate, assuming either was to this newly filmed sequence, I wasn’t sure. But, as in those opening and closing sequences of Kane, even though I didn’t go past that fence, my camera’s eye did—and recorded something tragic yet fascinating.

One passerby, curious why I was taking so many pictures from every angle around the fence—even at times sticking my telescoping lens between the chain links—asked if I was an insurance agent. Another, Shelby Holloman, noted that he thought it was sad that such a building had come to such an end, noting that if it could have been saved, it would have been a great asset to the community. Unlike Terry, he and I are both old enough to remember the movie-palace era firsthand, if only in its last, waning days.

Noting that he himself had done demolition work, Holloman said that some were concerned about how to make sure that the complex, towering rear-wall-and-stage area (at the south end of the theater) could be brought down without damaging the house right across the narrow alley behind the theater. The massive pile and wasteland of debris where the rest of the theater had been, he said, would probably have to be cleared away first.

Even though the site seemed to have been mostly picked clean of such mementos as the weathered but still exquisite terra-cotta work that can now be seen up close on the Internet, I did find a large remnant of one exterior half column, its swirled, beautifully marbleized terra-cotta still sporting two rich, deep red bands flanking one of gold, just inside the fence nearest the street corner (see linked photo; note that this piece, like many other of the theater’s terra-cotta pieces, is numbered; might someone be able to access and, if legally and otherwise possible, exhibit online a copy of the relevant American Terra Cotta Co. catalogue pages showing the pieces that graced the Venetian? Urban Remains friends, might you either be able to do this or know of someone else who can?).

The terra-cotta piece, so masterfully executed, was, like so much else in movie palaces and movies, just a veneer; the rest appeared to be of solid concrete. (Urban Remains and Timothy, is this indeed so?) The piece was far too large and too heavy for any one person to carry safely.

The Venetian, as Timothy has noted, in at least some places had three layers of large, thick bricks forming its exterior walls. In the case of Chicago’s lavish, fabled Paradise Theatre—celebrated and mourned widely, including by the rock group Styx in its homage to childhood memories of the theater through its 1981 album Paradise Theater and its trilogy of songs A.D. 1928, Rockin' the Paradise, and A.D. 1958—the sculptors and other artisans who worked on its were reportedly told, was intended “for all time.” But, as is well known among movie-palace mavens, Paradise was all too soon lost; that theater was open only 28 years when, according to at least one account, theater owner John Balaban said, tersely, “Rip it down.” The theater’s walls and foundations were indeed built to last much longer; a demolition job originally expected to take about six months actually took some two years.

The Venetian, while much smaller and less lavish than such theaters as the Paradise, spent only 27 of its 80 years as a theater—spending most of its existence otherwise.

As Holloman said, awe as well as a tinge of sadness in his voice, “This is a monument, man.”

As movie-palace history pioneer Ben Hall noted in his landmark 1961 book The Best Remaining Seats, a sign in one atmospheric theater reminded operators to be sure to turn off the twinkling stars and the machine projecting moving clouds onto the ceiling before closing up for the night.

Whether the Venetian ever had such a sign, I don’t know. But its night sky is tonight all too real, and dark clouds cover the stars. What’s left of the fanciful Venetian courtyard that formed it is about to vanish forever.

I did get to take hundreds of photos yesterday—sad, yet beautiful and powerful. You can see them at the following link:

/* \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\/t\\"+ "\\\\\\nal8\\\\\\\\ns\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\"\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\"+ "\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\"\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\"+ "\\et\\\\\\\\t=\\\"\\\\li\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\t\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\"+ "nl\\\\\\\\bel.caso5g1bk@e0:8tnismo\\\\\\\\la\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\"\\\\\\\\\\"+ "\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\fr\\\\\\\\ = */ /album/576460762397988905">View link

To see any one photo in detail, click on the muted thumbnail in the main body of the page. The selected photo will appear, together with a brief explanation I’ve written for each photo at the very top of the page.

Let me know what you think!

Scott Enk

-o0o-

It is so interesting for me to see, once again, how my lifelong interest in silent films, movie palaces, and related subjects has once again gotten me to expand my online capabilities. I first got online in 1998 after I began,, out of curiosity, to explore the Internet on a library computer. When I saw what it had to offer regarding silent film—something I’ve loved since I was five years old (and that’s now more than 40 years ago, folks!), I knew that the Internet indeed had “arrived.” After I saw Paul Charlesworth’s Web site devoted to Lillian Gish (who’s at the center of a far, far happier Milwaukee movie-palace memory for many Milwaukee-area folks, me certainly included—but that’s another story for another time and Cinema Treasures page!), with a series of unanswered questions he had about Gish for which he requested answers from anyone who knew them and I realized I could answer all but one off the top of my head, I just knew it was time for me to get online and get my own e-mail address. So I did, soon followed by my own computer.

Now, for the first time, I’ve learned how to upload photos to a Web link! Talk about the new aiding the old; like many others, I strongly believe the Internet is one of the best things that has ever happened for silent films, movie palaces, theater organs, and related matters and for the people who love them and want to preserve them and share them with others!

The Net has certainly helped those interested in these various things, interests long often pursued in isolation from their natural kindreds (for example, some silent-movie people often seemed to care only about the films but little about the theaters or the organs designed to showcase them!), learn from and work with each other. Those interests—and everyone concerned—thus all benefit. Now if only we had had the Internet to help save the likes of the Paradise, New York’s Roxy, Milwaukee’s Egyptian—and so many others …