In response to some of the comments above—Lost is quite right. The Ed Sullivan Theater opened as the Hammerstein in 1927 (Cary Grant, when he was still known as Archie Leach, appeared in Golden Dawn, the first show to play there.) However, CBS RADIO started broadcasting from the theater about ten years later after Major Bowe’s switched from NBC to CBS. The CBS Radio Playhouse, or whatever it was called, was converted for televison in 1950 and was called CBS Studio 50. As it happens, The Honeymooners did originate from this facility when it was part of Jackie Gleason’s CBS television program, but the stand-alone half-hour version of The Honeymooners were filmed a few years later at the Adelphia on 54th Street (which became the George Abbott Theatre.) And contrarary to popular opinion, in 1948, when Ed Sullivan’s Toast of the Town first went on the air, it originated from the Maxine Elliott Theater on 39th Street and stayed for a couple of years before moving to Studio 50. I know this is confusing, but I think I have tmy chronology correct. But the question I have is why are these postings on the New Yorker’s page???
There are also shots of the Roxy’s interior at the Smithsonian in DC, The Museum of the City of New York, The New-York Historical Society and that movie theater archive in Chicago.
If my memory serves me, there are lots of interior shots of the Roxy at the Library at Lincoln Center in the Billy Rose Collection as well as in the Library of Congress. Also, I some some nice ones in my archives…but I don’t have a website so I have no way of posting them, alas.
The theaters I couldn’t remember were the Film Forum on Houston Street in New York City. The man who programs Film Forum 2, where they have the revivals, is Bruce Goldstein:
He could be the “white knight” who could save the Mayfair/DeMille/Embassy for Cinerama and 70 MM revivals, if he hasn’t thought of it already. The other possibility could be Disney. They do very well with the El Capitan in Hollywood (which is run for them by Pacific Theaters.) Those little “stage shows” they do along with their movies don’t require a stage house—although they do use most of the stage now—but the shows they produced when they first took over theater were mounted down stage in front of the screen. (They had to be as someone had the dumb idea of installing permanent plaster wall in back of the screen when they renovated the theater.
Anyway…it is just an idea.
Bravo Andy… a great letter and a great idea, but Donald Trump might not be the best person to send it to. From what I can see, having watched The Apprentice a few times, Mr. Trump is only interested in making money. And lots of it, so your Cinerama at the Mayfair idea might not have the profit potential Mr. Trump is looking for. I hope I’m wrong, but a more likely organization to impliment your great idea would be the man who runs the wonderful revival house below Canel Street, I can’t think of his name, or the Lincoln Center Film Society—or even the Museum of Modern Art’s film department. You should write to them too, should Mr. Trump pass.
This theater was CBS’s first color television studio in New York. It was taken over by CBS in 1954. (In fact, it was the second, but it was the first CBS facility to use RCA color cameras, as opposed to their converted black and white cameras that were used for CBS’s own color television system, which was abandoned in 1951.) Probaby the most famous program to originate from this facility, CBS Studio 72, was the live 1957 color broadcast of Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella. If you want to know more about the early years of color television, check out this link: http://www.novia.net/~ereitan/index.html
This following was to be part of a book I was compiling about Times Square. The book never happened, but I thought I would share the some of its contents which I hope will be of interest to the readers of this website:
Ironically, Major Bowes, who was to become one of radio’s most famous personalities, didn’t want to broadcast portions of the Capitol’s stage shows, as he thought that audiences might not come to the theater if they could hear the show for free at home. But it was Roxy who saw radio’s promotional value and prevailed. On November 19, 1922, WEAF broadcast the American premiere of Richard Strauss' tone poem, “Ein Heldenleben,” live from the Capitol’s stage with Erno Rapee conducting. The Capitol’s brass band had been replaced by a symphony orchestra when Roxy took over. The broadcasts were carried on the NBC Blue Network and spawned a series of Sunday night broadcasts from the theater, with Roxy describing the action on stage. Because of these broadcasts, the Capitol became the most famous theater in America and Roxy’s fame grew as well. Roxy’s Gang, as the program was called, stayed on the air until 1926, when he left to oversee the construction of the theater that would bear his name, the radio program became Major Bowes' Capitol Theatre Family Hour with the Major as host.
Writer William A. Schudt’s account of a visit to one of the broadcasts appeared in the Radio Program Weekly in 1927.
“Good evening Capitol Family!” It was just seven-twenty o'clock when the familiar voice of Major Edward Bowes broke the silence of the studio in the basement of the Capitol Theatre on Fifty-first Street and Broadway.
We attempted to enter the Capitol Theatre from the main entrance on Broadway….we say attempted, since that is all we could possibly do. Tell It to the Marines was the picture playing at the time, and although the theatre itself was packed, even to the lobby, a line of people more than a block in length patiently awaited the chance to peer at the renowned Lon Chaney doing his stuff as a super Marine should.
After some little time we decided that we might get somewhere if we consulted one of the prettily uniformed ushers who kept the line of movie fans in a perfect arc twisting itself into Fiftieth Street.
We did consult him, asking “Where, pray tell us, fellow, may we gain entrance to the broadcast studio.” You’d ’ve thought we had just signed his death sentence…he gasped and drew back several paces and stared at us in amazement. “Oh,” he exclaimed, “You cannot get in there…! You will have to obtain a special permit from the National Broadcasting Company before you can get into the studio."
Into the Capitol and behind the scenes we ambled, passing the doorkeeper who eyed use suspiciously. Doorkeepers always did eye us suspiciously. The broadcast studio of the theatre is located in the basement just below the stage. This studio was located in other parts of the building but the engineers of WEAF found that this new location proved acoustically perfect, without draperies of anything that might beautify it. The ceiling is concrete, a pipe here and there passes through the partitioned off section of the studio…."we could beautify it all right,” said one of Major Bowes' assistants after we had questioned him as to the reason for the bare-appearing studio.
As the hour approached seven-twenty o'clock, Major Edward Bowes entered the studio and greeted us cordially. And there, over in the corner was Ralph “Wentworth,” that person behind that popular voice, heard frequently over WEAF and its associated stations. Wentworth introduced the Capitol program, presenting Major Bowes who immediately took up the program, announcing the features appearing at the theatre at the time and then taking up in detail the discussion of selections to be played by the Capitol Grand Orchestra, direct from the stage of the theatre.
For the next few minutes we sat around the studio listening to the loud speaker which is set up for the purpose of letting the Major know just when to prepare for his studio program….this, however, is not really a necessity since the programs are timed during the rehearsal so that every artist broadcasting on the Capitol program knows just how long he, or she, will be on the air. Every announcement is timed with a the aid of a stop-watch, and there is no deviation from this time, either!
After WEAF switched us, by way of microphone, back to the studio, the Major stepped briskly forth, faced the “mike,” and with one hand rested against the concrete wall announced the opening feature of the program which was the well known Tilly Indianer, who rendered on the piano, Tarantella, “Venezia e Napoli” by Franz Liszt. Following this we got a good look at Nina Gorden and then she turned her head toward the microphone and rendered, very beautifully too, the little selection, “Mister Bear.” Miss Gorden always accompanies herself on the piano when she sings this number. And then, along came Westwell Gorden, singing “You In a Gondola,” by Coningsby Clark.“
All the while these artists were rendering various types of entertainment, the studio orchestra was silently setting up in the rear of the spacious studio. The orchestra had just concluded its presentation in the theatre. David Mendoza, the leader of the orchestra, took his place with the baton and immediately following Bowe’s announcement came "The Beautiful Galathea, ” by Von Suppe.
There were so many prominent artists there that we were quite confused at first. We became anxious after a while, even inquisitive. We had just asked one of the members of the Capitol staff where our very versatile Caroline Andrews was keeping herself, when suddenly, as if by magic, she appeared on the scene…. and just in time too, for the Major had her scheduled to do the next number on the program. She sang “The Lark.” This selection, incidently, was the first she sang on the radio some three years ago when she broadcast with Roxy and his Gang.
Dr. Billy Axt….my, we certainly can’t forget him, can we? Dr. Billy was tickling the ivories. We don’t just recall under what circumstances, though, but he did the numbers very well.
And of course there is Marjorie Harcum who sang, “Mammy’s Little Kinky-Headed Boy,” just a little better than we have heard anyone sing it for three and three-fifths years.
Perhaps you’ve listened to the tweet-tweet of the birds in some of the orchestra selections given by the Capitol Studio orchestra….if you have, it certainly will interest you to know that David Gusikoff, the vibraphone player, is the “bird."
While the program continues, now and then, a member, or sometimes several members as the case may be, of the ballet corps peer into the studio between parted portieres. Now and then one will enter and quietly sit on one of the benches on the farther side of the room.
It is the Capitol Family. Everyone is friendly. They are just one large group of happy people working in unison to make everyone else just as happy as they!
:
About ten years ago, i saw an ad, I think it was in Variety, wherever it was, a guy named Bob Meyer was offering his mimeographed recollections of his time at the Roxy. And here they are for your viewing pleasure:
An Usher’s Private Thoughts
“Going in now for the last complete stage and screen presentation starring Martha Stewart and the Blackburn Twins and Bette Davis in All About Eve. (One more hour to go. Boy, am I hungry.).
"Good evening, Miss Merman, your tickets are at the executive entrance, just down the street. There is an elevator to take you to your seat. ” (I hope we all go Chinese tonight. I can just taste HO-HO’s dim sum right now.)
“The last stage presentation has just started. The best remaining seats are in the rocking chair loge!” I’ve been out here almost four hours. I hope they assign me to the backstage elevator tomorrow.
“Your tickets are at the executive entrance, Mr. Winchell. You don’t want to walk down the street? Just one moment, I’ll have someone escort you past the ticket-taker.”
(There goes a real pain in the ass.)
“Going in now for the feature presentation only. There is a ten minute wait in the rotunda until the stage presentation ends. (I have to remember to give a quarter to the guy who went to the deli for my share of the bologna and cheese sandwiches and the nickel he loaned me for the Pepsi machine.)
“The last showing of All About Eve starring Bette Davis is about to begin. All remaining seats are in the balcony. Good evening Miss Ritter. Its only been on a few minutes. I’ll walk you in myself. I am just going off duty.” (What a sweetheart. She’s the best thing in the picture. I can’t wait to get out of this damn uniform.)
ODE TO MY AMA MATER
Four horses, five dogs and a monkey encircled
Twin midgets in a cakewalk finale
One horse fell in the pit, the show had to quit
And the monkey bit a dog in the alley
Liz Taylor was trampled at the premiere of Giant
Police came along with the press
It could have been staged, it was promptly front paged
There’s No Business Like Show Business had its stars at the opening
Among them, Johnnie Ray, a nice fella
When those soxers called bobby, tore off his clothes in the lobby
Someone quickly found him an umbrella
A black cape worn over and long-johns worn under our uniform was norm
During those long Winters we waited for Spring
A cardboard collar and shirt, all this stuff really hurt
These were a few of my least favorite things
Our answer to TV was CinemaScope, the entire industry turned out to see
Spyros Skouras lauded its inventor and what he had done
The Frenchman who gave us what promised to save us
Expressed something, but no one understood either one
Jacketless gentlemen and ladies in slacks
Were politely refused admission
One didn’t foxy about out the rules at the Roxy
They were upheld in the finest tradition.
ODE TO MY ALMA MATER IV (and final)
Any gratuities were strictly verboten
All of our services were done with a smile
Sometimes this infuriated those then
With reputations of a generous style
One such was Miss Sophie Tucker
“The Last of the Red Hot Mamas"
Who chased after me with the yell
of a trucker
In a mink coast and lounging pajamas
All I did was show her to a seat
She stuck five dollars into my jacket
I accepted it in quiet defeat
Giving up both the chase and the ticket
Mrs. Sylvia Sullivan, who was Ed’s wife,
Had reported some jewelry lost
The sentiment giving her much strife
She seemed less concerned of its cost
Remembering where she sat was no conquest
I combed the area with my flashlight
Sure enough, between the cushion and armrest
Were the gems which were causing her plight
I turned them in they called her directly
She asked my name and sent a messenger most zealous
Bringing a thank you note and check with him just for me
But the latter through earned was returned by a manager most jealous.
Well, in 1960 it finally came down
Someone had Gloria Swanson pose in a gown
LIFE took a picture, Bosley Crowther wrote a book
When I pass where it was, I still steal a look
And remembering the schooling I got
Make me realize that I owe a lot
To the Roxy which sooner than later
Usher me, to a life in the theater.
And below were some of the movies that played at the Center:
The film version of Philip Barry’s play The Animal Kingdom, plus a vaudeville show was the opening attraction, but within six months, the “New” Roxy, as the theater was being advertised, dropped vaudeville as to not compete with the Radio City Music Hall.
Among the new movies to open at the “New” Roxy were No Other Woman, Song of the Eagle, and Diplomaniacs. Although King Kong opened at both Rockefeller Center theaters simultaneously, the RKO/New Roxy was soon reduced to showing second-runs. Little Women and State Fair moved over from the Music Hall and to add to the New Roxy’s problems, the owners of the “old” Roxy (on Seventh Avenue) sued to force the “New” Roxy on Sixth Avenue to change its name — a judge ruled that the Roxy name belonged to the theater, not the man! So the RKO Roxy became the RKO Center until RKO studios went into receivership in 1934. Then the the letters “RKO” were removed from the marquee and the Center became a legitimate theater.
As we know from the posts above, the Center (a/k/a RKO Roxy) was built as a movie theater but it was also home to musicals, operettas, ice shows, operas, ballet and for one play, in addition to being an NBC Radio and television studio in the 1950s.
(The list below comes from the Internet Broadway Database.)
The Great Waltz
Musical
Lyrics by Desmond Carter; Book by Moss Hart; Music by Johann Strauss, Jr. & Johann Strauss, Sr.. Sep 22, 1934
The Great Waltz
Musical (with its re-written book)
Book by Caswell Garth, Ernst Marischka, Moss Hart, A. M. Willner and Heinz Reichert;
Lyrics by Desmond Carter; Music by Johann Strauss, Jr. and Johann Strauss, Sr..
Aug 5, 1935
White Horse Inn
Musical
Book by Hans Mueller; Lyrics by Irving Caesar; Music by Ralph Benatsky.
Oct 1, 1936
Virginia
Musical
Music by Arthur Schwartz; Book by Laurence Stallings and Owen Davis; Lyrics by Albert Stillman. Sep 2, 1937
The American Way
Play
Written by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart.
Jan 21, 1939
The American Way
Play,
Written by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart;
Background music by Oscar Levant.
Jul 17, 1939
Swingin' The Dream
Musical
Book by Gilbert Seldes and Erik Charell; Lyrics for “Oh, You Crazy Moon” by Johnny Burke; Lyrics for “Jeepers Creepers” by Johnny Mercer; Music by Jimmy Van Heusen; Lyrics by Eddie de Lange; Lyrics for “Hold Tight-Hold Tight” by Willie Spotswood; Lyrics for “My Melancholy Baby” by George A. Norton; Lyrics for “Way Down Younder in New Orleans” by Larry Clinton; Lyrics for “Ol' Man Mose” by Zilner T. Randolph.
Nov 29, 1939
It Happens on Ice
Special, Original, Broadway
Music by Vernon Duke, Fred E. Ahlert and Peter De Rose; Lyrics by Albert Stillman.
Oct 10, 1940
It Happens on Ice
Music by Vernon Duke, Fred E. Ahlert and Peter De Rose; Lyrics by Albert Stillman.
Jul 15, 1941
Stars on Ice
Ice revue
Jul 2, 1942
Carmen
Opera
Music by Georges Bizet. Apr 26, 1944
La Traviata
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave.
Apr 27, 1944
Aida
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Antonio Ghislanzoni.
Apr 28, 1944
Faust
Opera
Music by Charles Gounod.
Apr 29, 1944
Rigoletto
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave.
Apr 29, 1944
La Bohème
Opera
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica.
Apr 30, 1944
Il Trovatore
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Salvatore Cammarano.
Apr 30, 1944
La Tosca
Opera
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica.
May 1944
Cavalleria Rusticana
Opera
Music by Ruggiero Leoncavallo and Pietro Mascagni; Libretto by Ruggiero Leoncavallo, Giovanni Targioni-Tozzetti and Guido Menasci.
May 1944
Pagliacci
Opera
Music by Ruggiero Leoncavallo and Pietro Mascagni; Libretto by Ruggiero Leoncavallo, Giovanni Targioni-Tozzetti and Guido Menasci.
May 1944
Hats Off to Ice
Ice revue
Music by John Fortis and James Littlefield; Lyrics by John Fortis and James Littlefield. Jun 22, 1944
Icetime
Ice revue
Music by John Fortis and James Littlefield; Lyrics by John Fortis and James Littlefield. Jun 20, 1946
Icetime of 1948
Ice revue
Music by John Fortis and James Littlefield; Lyrics by John Fortis and James Littlefield. May 28, 1947
La Traviata
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave.
Apr 14, 1948
Rigoletto
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave.
Apr 14, 1948
Madame Butterfly
Opera
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica. Apr 14, 1948
La Bohème
Oprea
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica.
Apr 14, 1948
The Barber of Seville
Opera
Music by Gioacchino Rossini; Libretto by Cesare Sterbini.
Apr 14, 1948
Aida
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Antonio Ghislanzoni.
Apr 14, 1948
Il Trovatore
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Salvatore Cammarano.
Apr 14, 1948
La Tosca
Opera
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica.
Apr 14, 1948
Cavalleria Rusticana
Opera
Music by Ruggiero Leoncavallo and Pietro Mascagni; Libretto by Ruggiero Leoncavallo, Giovanni Targioni-Tozzetti and Guido Menasci.
Apr 14, 1948
Pagliacci
Opera
Music by Ruggiero Leoncavallo and Pietro Mascagni; Libretto by Ruggiero Leoncavallo, Giovanni Targioni-Tozzetti and Guido Menasci.
Apr 14, 1948
Faust
Opera
Music by Charles Gounod.
Apr 14, 1948
Howdy, Mr. Ice
Ice revue
Music by Alan Moran and Albert Stillman; Lyrics by Alan Moran and Albert Stillman.
Jun 24, 1948
Howdy, Mr. Ice of 1950
Ice revue
Music by Alan Moran and Albert Stillman; Lyrics by Alan Moran and Albert Stillman.
Mr. Rankin: What was posted here was only a rough draft so some of the text and captions were neither edited nor rewritten yet, which would have been done had the book come to pass. It was done this way mainly for the designer, not for publication.
Here is some more from my Roxy chapter from my book on Times Square that did not come to pass: (I’m sorry for the length and misspellings…it was never edtited…and if it is too boring…just skip ahead.
Caption for photo of the Roxy’s CinemaScope screen:
CinemaScope was demonstrated at the Roxy in April 1953 for the first time. An invited audience of reporters, exhibitors and other members of the film industry saw clips from The Robe and How to Marry a Millionaire, plus some aerial footage of New York’s skyline and the winter sports at Sun Valley.
Cinerama was big hit when it opened at the Broadway Theatre in 1952. But the process was expensive and impractical, requiring three projectors in three separate projection booths, (as well as three projectionists and a controlling engineer at each performance.) In addition, seats had be removed from the ochestra floor to accomodate the big curved screen and the three projection booths.
3 D was also popular in 1952, but it required special glasses that caused eye strain and headachs and the novelty soon wore off.
Caption for color poster for The Robe:
In the early 1950s, when television was beginning to keep audiences at home, it took spectacle and technical innovation to get them back to the theaters. The Robe provided both, breaking box office records at the Roxy, and everywhere else it played.
Promoted as “the modern miracle you see without glasses,” CinemaScope was the best publicized of the new processes, but was really just a poor man’s version of Cinerama. And it was not new, having been invented in 1927 by Henri Chretien in France. Chretien had been seen Abel Gance’s Napolian which was shot in TK a primitive three camera process. and he was inspired to come up with a similar, but more practical solution. Cretian’s anamorphic lens had been optioned by England’s Rank Organization, but after their option lapsed, it was was picked up by 20th Century Fox. CinemaScope required a special lens on the camera that compressed the image during filming. Another lens on the projector unsqueeze it when the film was shown on a wide, slightly curved, screen, two and a half times wide as it was high. The complete the CinemaScope experience, a four-track stereophonic sound could be installed Fox made the process available to the other studios, and they all used it for some of their productions, with the exception of Paramount and Republic. But many directors did not care for the proportions. Fritz Lang said it was only good for"snakes and funerals,“ and George Stevens thought it was would be best for "class photographs.” William Wyler had more serious reservations, “Nothing is out of the screen, and you can’t fill it,” he went on, “You either have a lot of empy space, or two people taking and a flock of others surrounding them who hav nothin to do with the scene. Your eyes wonder just out of curiosity."
The first CinemaScope feature to be released was Fox’s The Robe, which had its premiere at the Roxy on September 16, 1953. (How to Marry a Millionaire was finished first, but Fox decided that The Robe would be better as the first release.) Most of the studio’s productions were shot in the process until 1967, when In Like Flint marked the end of the process.. Fox as well as most of the other studios had long since switched to the Panavision lens, creating a similar effect, but with a sharper image with better depth of field..
Caption for ad for Carousel at the Roxy
CinemaScope doubled the width of the screen to an aspect ratio 2.55:1, but few theaters could accommodate screens with those proportions. CinemaScope 55, which had a 55.6 millimeter camera negative, exposing a negative twice as high and wide as 35mm CinemaScope, but it was used only twice, for Carousel and The King and I, both of which opened at the Roxy. Two years later, Fox abandoned CinemaScope 55 for their big pictures in favor of Todd-AO. the 70 mm process.
In a couple of years, after the novelty of CinemaScope wore off, stage shows returned to the Roxy. National Theaters, which took over Fox’s lease after the consent decree forced the studios to sell their theaters, appointed Robert C. Rothafel, the nephew of Roxy, as the manager in 1955. “We hope to stage shows every bit as lavish as those originated by my uncle,” the young Rothafel explained, “except we won’t try to put that number of people on stage or in the pit. Do you realize his shows included a chorus of 100 voices, 36 Roxyettes, a corps de ballet of 20, and in the pit there was a symphony orchestra of more than 100 men!” “Happy Holiday, Anywhere, U. S. A., ” was the title of his first show. It was well received by the critics and audiences seemed to enjoy it as well.
Former Olympic star, Sonya Kaye, appeared in a 45 minute ice show with a company of 39 singers and skaters, and a 24-piece orchestra with The Rains of Ranchipur on the screen. Fox’s TK, combined with stage shows played at the Roxy for the next three years until Windjammer, a kind of travelogue photographed in a new process called Cinemiracle was booked in 1958. There was no stage show and seating was cut in half. It was not a success and stage shows returned to the Roxy, when the 1958 film version of Damn Yankees. At that time the Roxy was sold to Rockefeller Center, but Robert Rothafel had formed a company to lease it back and was trying to run it himself, but with a new approach, described as “youthful and modern.” Too little and too late. The Gazebo was the last film and stage show combination. Then there some reissues, The Cain Mutiny with On the Waterfront.
The final night was uneventful. There were no stars, no ceromony, On March 29,1960, the last ticket was sold at 10:35 p.m., and then after a final showing of The Wind Cannot Read, the final movie to play at the theater, about 300 people filed silently into the night, most unaware that the Roxy was closing for good.
Three years later, after Pennsylvania Station was demolished, The New York Times printed an editorial which might also be applied the destruction of the Roxy,.
“…..we will probably be judged not by the monuments we build, but by those we have destroyed.”
Caption: Eliot Elisofon photographed Gloria Swanson in the ruins of what had been the Roxy’s rotunda. This 1960 photograph was the inspiration (“rubble in the daylight”) for producer/director Hal Prince’s staging concept for Follies (1971), the Stephen Sondheim/James Goldman musical.
One can still get a glimpse of the Roxy in the movie The Naked City (1948), which had several sequences shot in the rotunda.
I conducted the interview below which was to be included in my Roxy chapter…if anyone is interested….
Confessions of a Gae Foster Roxyette:
My father had reared me with the idea that all women should be financially independent. There weren’t many careers a woman could have in the 1920s, so I decided I would be a dancer. I always wanted to go to New York, but I really never had aspirations to be a star. “Don’t go to New York,” my dancing teacher warned, “You can’t even BUY a job.” The year was 1931—it was the Depression.
Scared, I went anyway. My mother went with me. It took about four months of day-long looking, exchanging information—networking, I think they call it now—going to “calls,” etc. I finally landed a job—it was a 33-week tour that played presentation houses across the country and into Canada and was produced by Leon Leonidoff, one of the producers at the Roxy Theater. We returned in September 1932 and I then worked with a vaudeville act that was playing out-of-the-way places like Canarsie in Brooklyn.
I was literally down to my last nickel when one of the girls I was rehearsing with (there were rehearsal jobs for things that never opened) told me about a call for dancers at the Roxy—actually the call was for only one dancer—and it came down to the two of us; when they called up the line, between shows, and tried to place us, she did not fit anywhere, so I got the job.
After two or three days of rehearsal, I started working at the Roxy on Christmas week 1932. That lasted for one month—and I was out. The Roxy had changed regimes—Mary Read who was the producer—she was one of the original Tiller girls and John Tiller’s favorite dancer
—Tiller was the one who invented precision dancing—then she was out and Fanchon and Marco took over. I tried out again, and again I was chosen.
Our daily life was: on stage, dressed in rehearsal clothes and on our marks—we each had a number—at nine a.m. Thirty seconds late and you were given a penalty: one week out without pay. Since the pay at the beginning was only $27.50—Fanchon and Marco took out their 35 per cent agent fees—that made it $26.13, which was a lot more then but wasn’t very much. After the NRA took effect, our “take” was $30.
We would rehearse until eleven; the house opened at 11 a.m. There were also costume fittings, or if things hadn’t gone well on stage, we would go up to the rehearsal room on the fifth floor. Then lunch, out, at Hanson’s Drug Store at Seventh Avenue and 51st Street. We would come back, put on our makeup—the first show was generally between 1:00 and 1:30 and lasted for 35 or 40 minutes. We usually did three numbers and then we would rehearse some more. We would do another show and at about five, go to dinner and then back to do the dinner show; we rehearsed some more, for about an hour and a half, and then we did ANOTHER show. We were free between 10:30 and 11:00—makeup off, in street clothes, and home by 11:30. I usually ate a “night” lunch and was in bed between 1:30 and 2:00. We ate four meals a day.
We did not have much social life. The theater was your life. There was no time for outside friends, and there were no “stage door Johnnies” at the Roxy Theater. If anyone was there, it was someone who knew one of the girls, not someone who was hoping to meet one. We had no time for the high life. If you tried night-clubbing for a couple of hours after all those shows, you wouldn’t be there the next morning.
Sometimes on Friday nights, to relax after our long opening day, we went to where the good shows were, the MGM pictures over at the Capitol Theater. They had midnight shows and we would be transported into another world by watching Clark Cable and Joan Crawford. Later, we worked for five or six weeks and then got five days free, but you would practically lose touch with all of your friends. I think that was about the deadliest part of working at the Roxy: confinement to one life and to one group of people, week after week, month after month, year after year. It took a lot out of you.
But it was glamorous in a way, because our costumes were so very beautiful. Bonnie Cashin was our designer; she later became quite a famous fashion designer. And it was such fun to get into them. When the lights come on and the music started playing—yes, there was something about it that got you. To me, it was the same thing as a college education: It prepared you for living. It was a great discipline.
I hadn’t been in it very long, perhaps two years, when I knew that the theater was not to be my life’s work. In 1938, I went to Columbia University for night courses in journalism and to the Traphagen School of Fashion to study fashion journalism. I had been married in 1937 to a civil engineer who went off to exotic places around the world. I realized that if I wanted to be with him, I could write anywhere—even where I could not dance—so I became a writer.
In 1976, I was visiting my friend Dorothy Dunlop in New York. We had danced together at the Roxy when she was known as “Orchid”; then she was head of the workroom in the Roxy’s wardrobe department. We had gone to church one Sunday morning and afterwards, walking down Seventh Avenue, went into a pancake place for brunch. As we were chatting away, we realized we were sitting on the spot where the Roxy’s lobby had been—a fitting place for our reunion.
Betty O'Neal Gibony worked at the Roxy until 1939 when she became a writer. In 1945 she moved to New Castle, Indiana, where she still lives.
In 1988 I was writing a book about Times Square. It ALMOST was published, but for reasons beyond my control, it did not happen. The design layout scheme was cost prohibitive and there were other problems as well, but that’s another story. Here are the opening paragraphs from the Roxy chapter— the photos are missing. The book was meant to be a heavly illlustrated with over 1000 pix, which was part of the problem……
The ROXY
The 1920s were a decade of flamboyance. Herbert Lubin, a film producer turned real estate developer, who was intoxicated by the spirit of the times, wanted to build “the most sumptuous theater in the world†on the corner of 50th Street and Seventh Avenue. To help him realize his dream, Lubin lured "Roxy” Rothafel away from the Capitol by offering to name what was to be known as the “Cathedral of the Motion Picture,†after Roxy—as well as by giving him complete control of the design and operation of the theater— plus a share of the profits. But Rothafel’s grandiose ideas coupled with architect Walter Ahlschlager’s extravagant plans, were too much for Lubin’s pocketbook (the cost of the theater escalated from $6,000,000 to $10,000,000) so a week before the Roxy was was to open, Lubin sold his interest to William Fox, head of the Fox Theater chain and the Fox Film Corporation.
Caption: The main entrance was leased from the adjoining Manger Hotel, which was renamed the Taft in 1932.
Caption: There were six boxoffices in the outer lobby.
Caption: The Roxy was often referred to as the “Cathedral of the Motion Picture,” and its 50th Street facade was said to resemble the Cathedreal at Valladolid in Italy.
Caption: “Harold, I see my theater like the insisde of a great bronze bowl,” Roxy told Harold Rambusch, the theater’s decorator. “Every thing in tones of antique gold. Warm. Very, very rich. Gorgeous.”
Caption: (for the shot of the rotunda)
For twenty-five cents anyone could spend a couple of hours in this palacial setting. The rotunda (ushers reportedly would get sacked if they called it a “lobby”).and the adjoining foyers could hold 2,500 patrons who might have to wait as long as an hour before being seated in the auditorium. Twelve green marble columns supported a dome from which this twenty-foot chandelier was suspended. The oval-shaped rug was said to be the world’s largest and heaviest.
(The best rotunda pic can be found at the Smithsonian.)
Caption (for ground floor plan): Walter Ahlschlager’s placement of the auditorium made good use of the Roxy’s irregular plot. The stage, 60 feet deep by 70 feet wide, was divided into four sections, two of which were equipped with elevators. The musicians were seated on an elevator that could be raised up to stage level. When the Roxy opened, there were three Kimbal organ consoles as well as 100 muscians in the pit.
Caption: Most theaters had projection booths directly above the balcony; at the Roxy, they were in front of the mezzenine, insuring a bright and distortion-free picture as the projectors were only 100 feet from the screen. The Roxy’s 5,920 seats looked down upon the stage, enabling the entire audience to see the feet of the dancers.
(Photo and neg of proscenium and stairs in photo file B NYPL. Best clipping file for the Roxy is MWEZ + n.c.20,278 and there is a good collection of Partington’s performance shots filed under
MFL + n.c. 1829. Early pictures of Roxy are in MFL + n.c.1830)
Backstage, there were five floors of dressing rooms, a costume workroom, rehearsal halls, a projection room, a cafeteria, as well as a hospital, gymnasium, barber shop, plus Roxy’s broadcasting studio.
Even at eleven dollars a seat, the opening night was a sell-out. Gloria Swanson, star of The Loves of Sunya,“ the first motion picture to be shown, recalls the event in her 1980 autobiography:
A limousine arrived for Henri and me at seven-thirty, [Swanson was married to Henri, Marquis de la Falaise, at the time] and the short drive from Sixth Avenue and Fifty-eighth Street to the theater at Seventh Avenue and Fiftieth Street — ordinarily less than five minutes by car — took half an hour, owing to the traffic congestion caused by the sea of people that had been building up around the theater since late afternoon. Policeman on horseback spotted our car and slowly cleared the way for us. The driver told Henri that Mayor Walker had put a hundred extra cops on just for the opening and the cops had told him that the crowd in the street numbered well over ten thousand.
When we pulled up under the marquee and got out of the car, a tremendous roar went up. In the blinding glare of a double row of kleig lights trained on the shiny new building, I turned and waived, and before I could turn again and enter the theater, an unstoppable wave of people surged forward and almost knocked us over. In spite of the efforts of the police, we had to fight our way into the lobby in order not to be crushed against the closed doors and walls.
Inside the monumental foyer, in front of an inclined bank of red and white carnations that spelled out his name, Roxy stood with his family, being photographed with celebrities. Henri and I joined them to kiss and shake hands with the people we knew in a steady blaze of flash powder. Roxy had pulled out all the stops. The parade of notables included four U.S. Senators, three U.S. Generals, three consul generals, two borough presidents, the governor of New Jersey, and the minister of Lithuania, as well as Adolph Ochs, Mrs. Otto Kahn, and Mr. and Mrs. Jimmy Walker. The crowd almost broke down the doors when Charlie Chaplin tried to sneak in unnoticed, and they went wild again when they recognized Harold Lloyd and his wife. We stood there for twenty minutes and greeted an endless stream of people with engraved invitations: the Shuberts, Irving Berlin, Lois Wilson, Sport Ward, Hope Hampton, Tommy Meighan, Joe Schenck, Walter Wanger, Wil Hays — even Jesse Lasky. Then we all took our seats down front in the great auditorium, and the show began.
Chimes were the first thing one heard on opening night. After the third note, the auditorium went black. Then a spotlight picked up a mysterious figure dressed in a monk’s robe who read the invocation:
“Ye portals bright, high and majestic, open to our gaze the path to Wonderland, and show us the realm where fantasy reigns, where romance, where adventure flourish. Let every day’s toil be forgotten under thy sheltering roof—O glorious, mighty hall—thy magic and thy charm unite us all to worship at beauty’s throne…Let there be light!”
And was there light. And how! The Roxy’s lighting plant had three times the capacity of any other theater and used enough power to light a city of a quarter of a million.
(Include a short description of the first show. (or the program)
As the first nighters were filing out, Roxy proudly exclaimed, “Take a look at this stupendous theater, it’s the Roxy and I’m Roxy and I’d rather be Roxy than John D. Rockefeller or Henry Ford!”
Thanks BillH. Right you are. Newman’s score for “Bernadette” must have been the first not use the traditional Fox fanfare, as it came out in 1943. Thanks again :–)
Sorry to go “off-topic,” this being the Roxy site and all, but I read some of the other posts regarding the history of the Fox fanfare as well as the first film to include the “CinemaScope extention,” so, I was wondering if someone knew the first Fox film NOT use Alfred Newman’s fanfare? My best guess was “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir,” which had a score by Bernard Herrmann. Does anyone know for sure? Thanks.
P. S.
After the Roxy was demolished in 1960, some of the plush Roxy seats were moved to the New Yorker Theater on Broadway and 89th Street. Something else, if anyone has any interest, I will post an interview I did with a former Gae Foster Roxyette who worked at the theater in the late 30s into the early 40s.
In response to some of the comments above—Lost is quite right. The Ed Sullivan Theater opened as the Hammerstein in 1927 (Cary Grant, when he was still known as Archie Leach, appeared in Golden Dawn, the first show to play there.) However, CBS RADIO started broadcasting from the theater about ten years later after Major Bowe’s switched from NBC to CBS. The CBS Radio Playhouse, or whatever it was called, was converted for televison in 1950 and was called CBS Studio 50. As it happens, The Honeymooners did originate from this facility when it was part of Jackie Gleason’s CBS television program, but the stand-alone half-hour version of The Honeymooners were filmed a few years later at the Adelphia on 54th Street (which became the George Abbott Theatre.) And contrarary to popular opinion, in 1948, when Ed Sullivan’s Toast of the Town first went on the air, it originated from the Maxine Elliott Theater on 39th Street and stayed for a couple of years before moving to Studio 50. I know this is confusing, but I think I have tmy chronology correct. But the question I have is why are these postings on the New Yorker’s page???
There are also shots of the Roxy’s interior at the Smithsonian in DC, The Museum of the City of New York, The New-York Historical Society and that movie theater archive in Chicago.
If my memory serves me, there are lots of interior shots of the Roxy at the Library at Lincoln Center in the Billy Rose Collection as well as in the Library of Congress. Also, I some some nice ones in my archives…but I don’t have a website so I have no way of posting them, alas.
The theaters I couldn’t remember were the Film Forum on Houston Street in New York City. The man who programs Film Forum 2, where they have the revivals, is Bruce Goldstein:
He could be the “white knight” who could save the Mayfair/DeMille/Embassy for Cinerama and 70 MM revivals, if he hasn’t thought of it already. The other possibility could be Disney. They do very well with the El Capitan in Hollywood (which is run for them by Pacific Theaters.) Those little “stage shows” they do along with their movies don’t require a stage house—although they do use most of the stage now—but the shows they produced when they first took over theater were mounted down stage in front of the screen. (They had to be as someone had the dumb idea of installing permanent plaster wall in back of the screen when they renovated the theater.
Anyway…it is just an idea.
Bravo Andy… a great letter and a great idea, but Donald Trump might not be the best person to send it to. From what I can see, having watched The Apprentice a few times, Mr. Trump is only interested in making money. And lots of it, so your Cinerama at the Mayfair idea might not have the profit potential Mr. Trump is looking for. I hope I’m wrong, but a more likely organization to impliment your great idea would be the man who runs the wonderful revival house below Canel Street, I can’t think of his name, or the Lincoln Center Film Society—or even the Museum of Modern Art’s film department. You should write to them too, should Mr. Trump pass.
This theater was CBS’s first color television studio in New York. It was taken over by CBS in 1954. (In fact, it was the second, but it was the first CBS facility to use RCA color cameras, as opposed to their converted black and white cameras that were used for CBS’s own color television system, which was abandoned in 1951.) Probaby the most famous program to originate from this facility, CBS Studio 72, was the live 1957 color broadcast of Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella. If you want to know more about the early years of color television, check out this link: http://www.novia.net/~ereitan/index.html
This following was to be part of a book I was compiling about Times Square. The book never happened, but I thought I would share the some of its contents which I hope will be of interest to the readers of this website:
Ironically, Major Bowes, who was to become one of radio’s most famous personalities, didn’t want to broadcast portions of the Capitol’s stage shows, as he thought that audiences might not come to the theater if they could hear the show for free at home. But it was Roxy who saw radio’s promotional value and prevailed. On November 19, 1922, WEAF broadcast the American premiere of Richard Strauss' tone poem, “Ein Heldenleben,” live from the Capitol’s stage with Erno Rapee conducting. The Capitol’s brass band had been replaced by a symphony orchestra when Roxy took over. The broadcasts were carried on the NBC Blue Network and spawned a series of Sunday night broadcasts from the theater, with Roxy describing the action on stage. Because of these broadcasts, the Capitol became the most famous theater in America and Roxy’s fame grew as well. Roxy’s Gang, as the program was called, stayed on the air until 1926, when he left to oversee the construction of the theater that would bear his name, the radio program became Major Bowes' Capitol Theatre Family Hour with the Major as host.
Writer William A. Schudt’s account of a visit to one of the broadcasts appeared in the Radio Program Weekly in 1927.
“Good evening Capitol Family!” It was just seven-twenty o'clock when the familiar voice of Major Edward Bowes broke the silence of the studio in the basement of the Capitol Theatre on Fifty-first Street and Broadway.
We attempted to enter the Capitol Theatre from the main entrance on Broadway….we say attempted, since that is all we could possibly do. Tell It to the Marines was the picture playing at the time, and although the theatre itself was packed, even to the lobby, a line of people more than a block in length patiently awaited the chance to peer at the renowned Lon Chaney doing his stuff as a super Marine should.
After some little time we decided that we might get somewhere if we consulted one of the prettily uniformed ushers who kept the line of movie fans in a perfect arc twisting itself into Fiftieth Street.
We did consult him, asking “Where, pray tell us, fellow, may we gain entrance to the broadcast studio.” You’d ’ve thought we had just signed his death sentence…he gasped and drew back several paces and stared at us in amazement. “Oh,” he exclaimed, “You cannot get in there…! You will have to obtain a special permit from the National Broadcasting Company before you can get into the studio."
Into the Capitol and behind the scenes we ambled, passing the doorkeeper who eyed use suspiciously. Doorkeepers always did eye us suspiciously. The broadcast studio of the theatre is located in the basement just below the stage. This studio was located in other parts of the building but the engineers of WEAF found that this new location proved acoustically perfect, without draperies of anything that might beautify it. The ceiling is concrete, a pipe here and there passes through the partitioned off section of the studio…."we could beautify it all right,” said one of Major Bowes' assistants after we had questioned him as to the reason for the bare-appearing studio.
As the hour approached seven-twenty o'clock, Major Edward Bowes entered the studio and greeted us cordially. And there, over in the corner was Ralph “Wentworth,” that person behind that popular voice, heard frequently over WEAF and its associated stations. Wentworth introduced the Capitol program, presenting Major Bowes who immediately took up the program, announcing the features appearing at the theatre at the time and then taking up in detail the discussion of selections to be played by the Capitol Grand Orchestra, direct from the stage of the theatre.
For the next few minutes we sat around the studio listening to the loud speaker which is set up for the purpose of letting the Major know just when to prepare for his studio program….this, however, is not really a necessity since the programs are timed during the rehearsal so that every artist broadcasting on the Capitol program knows just how long he, or she, will be on the air. Every announcement is timed with a the aid of a stop-watch, and there is no deviation from this time, either!
After WEAF switched us, by way of microphone, back to the studio, the Major stepped briskly forth, faced the “mike,” and with one hand rested against the concrete wall announced the opening feature of the program which was the well known Tilly Indianer, who rendered on the piano, Tarantella, “Venezia e Napoli” by Franz Liszt. Following this we got a good look at Nina Gorden and then she turned her head toward the microphone and rendered, very beautifully too, the little selection, “Mister Bear.” Miss Gorden always accompanies herself on the piano when she sings this number. And then, along came Westwell Gorden, singing “You In a Gondola,” by Coningsby Clark.“
All the while these artists were rendering various types of entertainment, the studio orchestra was silently setting up in the rear of the spacious studio. The orchestra had just concluded its presentation in the theatre. David Mendoza, the leader of the orchestra, took his place with the baton and immediately following Bowe’s announcement came "The Beautiful Galathea, ” by Von Suppe.
There were so many prominent artists there that we were quite confused at first. We became anxious after a while, even inquisitive. We had just asked one of the members of the Capitol staff where our very versatile Caroline Andrews was keeping herself, when suddenly, as if by magic, she appeared on the scene…. and just in time too, for the Major had her scheduled to do the next number on the program. She sang “The Lark.” This selection, incidently, was the first she sang on the radio some three years ago when she broadcast with Roxy and his Gang.
Dr. Billy Axt….my, we certainly can’t forget him, can we? Dr. Billy was tickling the ivories. We don’t just recall under what circumstances, though, but he did the numbers very well.
And of course there is Marjorie Harcum who sang, “Mammy’s Little Kinky-Headed Boy,” just a little better than we have heard anyone sing it for three and three-fifths years.
Perhaps you’ve listened to the tweet-tweet of the birds in some of the orchestra selections given by the Capitol Studio orchestra….if you have, it certainly will interest you to know that David Gusikoff, the vibraphone player, is the “bird."
While the program continues, now and then, a member, or sometimes several members as the case may be, of the ballet corps peer into the studio between parted portieres. Now and then one will enter and quietly sit on one of the benches on the farther side of the room.
It is the Capitol Family. Everyone is friendly. They are just one large group of happy people working in unison to make everyone else just as happy as they!
:
About ten years ago, i saw an ad, I think it was in Variety, wherever it was, a guy named Bob Meyer was offering his mimeographed recollections of his time at the Roxy. And here they are for your viewing pleasure:
An Usher’s Private Thoughts
“Going in now for the last complete stage and screen presentation starring Martha Stewart and the Blackburn Twins and Bette Davis in All About Eve. (One more hour to go. Boy, am I hungry.).
"Good evening, Miss Merman, your tickets are at the executive entrance, just down the street. There is an elevator to take you to your seat. ” (I hope we all go Chinese tonight. I can just taste HO-HO’s dim sum right now.)
“The last stage presentation has just started. The best remaining seats are in the rocking chair loge!” I’ve been out here almost four hours. I hope they assign me to the backstage elevator tomorrow.
“Your tickets are at the executive entrance, Mr. Winchell. You don’t want to walk down the street? Just one moment, I’ll have someone escort you past the ticket-taker.”
(There goes a real pain in the ass.)
“Going in now for the feature presentation only. There is a ten minute wait in the rotunda until the stage presentation ends. (I have to remember to give a quarter to the guy who went to the deli for my share of the bologna and cheese sandwiches and the nickel he loaned me for the Pepsi machine.)
“The last showing of All About Eve starring Bette Davis is about to begin. All remaining seats are in the balcony. Good evening Miss Ritter. Its only been on a few minutes. I’ll walk you in myself. I am just going off duty.” (What a sweetheart. She’s the best thing in the picture. I can’t wait to get out of this damn uniform.)
ODE TO MY AMA MATER
Four horses, five dogs and a monkey encircled
Twin midgets in a cakewalk finale
One horse fell in the pit, the show had to quit
And the monkey bit a dog in the alley
Liz Taylor was trampled at the premiere of Giant
Police came along with the press
It could have been staged, it was promptly front paged
There’s No Business Like Show Business had its stars at the opening
Among them, Johnnie Ray, a nice fella
When those soxers called bobby, tore off his clothes in the lobby
Someone quickly found him an umbrella
A black cape worn over and long-johns worn under our uniform was norm
During those long Winters we waited for Spring
A cardboard collar and shirt, all this stuff really hurt
These were a few of my least favorite things
Our answer to TV was CinemaScope, the entire industry turned out to see
Spyros Skouras lauded its inventor and what he had done
The Frenchman who gave us what promised to save us
Expressed something, but no one understood either one
Jacketless gentlemen and ladies in slacks
Were politely refused admission
One didn’t foxy about out the rules at the Roxy
They were upheld in the finest tradition.
ODE TO MY ALMA MATER IV (and final)
Any gratuities were strictly verboten
All of our services were done with a smile
Sometimes this infuriated those then
With reputations of a generous style
One such was Miss Sophie Tucker
“The Last of the Red Hot Mamas"
Who chased after me with the yell
of a trucker
In a mink coast and lounging pajamas
All I did was show her to a seat
She stuck five dollars into my jacket
I accepted it in quiet defeat
Giving up both the chase and the ticket
Mrs. Sylvia Sullivan, who was Ed’s wife,
Had reported some jewelry lost
The sentiment giving her much strife
She seemed less concerned of its cost
Remembering where she sat was no conquest
I combed the area with my flashlight
Sure enough, between the cushion and armrest
Were the gems which were causing her plight
I turned them in they called her directly
She asked my name and sent a messenger most zealous
Bringing a thank you note and check with him just for me
But the latter through earned was returned by a manager most jealous.
Well, in 1960 it finally came down
Someone had Gloria Swanson pose in a gown
LIFE took a picture, Bosley Crowther wrote a book
When I pass where it was, I still steal a look
And remembering the schooling I got
Make me realize that I owe a lot
To the Roxy which sooner than later
Usher me, to a life in the theater.
And below were some of the movies that played at the Center:
The film version of Philip Barry’s play The Animal Kingdom, plus a vaudeville show was the opening attraction, but within six months, the “New” Roxy, as the theater was being advertised, dropped vaudeville as to not compete with the Radio City Music Hall.
Among the new movies to open at the “New” Roxy were No Other Woman, Song of the Eagle, and Diplomaniacs. Although King Kong opened at both Rockefeller Center theaters simultaneously, the RKO/New Roxy was soon reduced to showing second-runs. Little Women and State Fair moved over from the Music Hall and to add to the New Roxy’s problems, the owners of the “old” Roxy (on Seventh Avenue) sued to force the “New” Roxy on Sixth Avenue to change its name — a judge ruled that the Roxy name belonged to the theater, not the man! So the RKO Roxy became the RKO Center until RKO studios went into receivership in 1934. Then the the letters “RKO” were removed from the marquee and the Center became a legitimate theater.
As we know from the posts above, the Center (a/k/a RKO Roxy) was built as a movie theater but it was also home to musicals, operettas, ice shows, operas, ballet and for one play, in addition to being an NBC Radio and television studio in the 1950s.
(The list below comes from the Internet Broadway Database.)
The Great Waltz
Musical
Lyrics by Desmond Carter; Book by Moss Hart; Music by Johann Strauss, Jr. & Johann Strauss, Sr.. Sep 22, 1934
The Great Waltz
Musical (with its re-written book)
Book by Caswell Garth, Ernst Marischka, Moss Hart, A. M. Willner and Heinz Reichert;
Lyrics by Desmond Carter; Music by Johann Strauss, Jr. and Johann Strauss, Sr..
Aug 5, 1935
White Horse Inn
Musical
Book by Hans Mueller; Lyrics by Irving Caesar; Music by Ralph Benatsky.
Oct 1, 1936
Virginia
Musical
Music by Arthur Schwartz; Book by Laurence Stallings and Owen Davis; Lyrics by Albert Stillman. Sep 2, 1937
The American Way
Play
Written by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart.
Jan 21, 1939
The American Way
Play,
Written by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart;
Background music by Oscar Levant.
Jul 17, 1939
Swingin' The Dream
Musical
Book by Gilbert Seldes and Erik Charell; Lyrics for “Oh, You Crazy Moon” by Johnny Burke; Lyrics for “Jeepers Creepers” by Johnny Mercer; Music by Jimmy Van Heusen; Lyrics by Eddie de Lange; Lyrics for “Hold Tight-Hold Tight” by Willie Spotswood; Lyrics for “My Melancholy Baby” by George A. Norton; Lyrics for “Way Down Younder in New Orleans” by Larry Clinton; Lyrics for “Ol' Man Mose” by Zilner T. Randolph.
Nov 29, 1939
Gizelle
Special, Original, Broadway Jan 12, 1940
It Happens on Ice
Special, Original, Broadway
Music by Vernon Duke, Fred E. Ahlert and Peter De Rose; Lyrics by Albert Stillman.
Oct 10, 1940
It Happens on Ice
Music by Vernon Duke, Fred E. Ahlert and Peter De Rose; Lyrics by Albert Stillman.
Jul 15, 1941
Stars on Ice
Ice revue
Jul 2, 1942
Carmen
Opera
Music by Georges Bizet. Apr 26, 1944
La Traviata
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave.
Apr 27, 1944
Aida
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Antonio Ghislanzoni.
Apr 28, 1944
Faust
Opera
Music by Charles Gounod.
Apr 29, 1944
Rigoletto
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave.
Apr 29, 1944
La Bohème
Opera
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica.
Apr 30, 1944
Il Trovatore
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Salvatore Cammarano.
Apr 30, 1944
La Tosca
Opera
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica.
May 1944
Cavalleria Rusticana
Opera
Music by Ruggiero Leoncavallo and Pietro Mascagni; Libretto by Ruggiero Leoncavallo, Giovanni Targioni-Tozzetti and Guido Menasci.
May 1944
Pagliacci
Opera
Music by Ruggiero Leoncavallo and Pietro Mascagni; Libretto by Ruggiero Leoncavallo, Giovanni Targioni-Tozzetti and Guido Menasci.
May 1944
Hats Off to Ice
Ice revue
Music by John Fortis and James Littlefield; Lyrics by John Fortis and James Littlefield. Jun 22, 1944
Icetime
Ice revue
Music by John Fortis and James Littlefield; Lyrics by John Fortis and James Littlefield. Jun 20, 1946
Icetime of 1948
Ice revue
Music by John Fortis and James Littlefield; Lyrics by John Fortis and James Littlefield. May 28, 1947
Carmen
Opera
Music by Georges Bizet; Libretto by Ludovic Halévy and Henri Meilhac.
Apr 14, 1948
La Traviata
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave.
Apr 14, 1948
Rigoletto
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave.
Apr 14, 1948
Madame Butterfly
Opera
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica. Apr 14, 1948
La Bohème
Oprea
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica.
Apr 14, 1948
The Barber of Seville
Opera
Music by Gioacchino Rossini; Libretto by Cesare Sterbini.
Apr 14, 1948
Aida
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Antonio Ghislanzoni.
Apr 14, 1948
Il Trovatore
Opera
Music by Giuseppe Verdi; Libretto by Salvatore Cammarano.
Apr 14, 1948
La Tosca
Opera
Music by Giacomo Puccini; Libretto by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica.
Apr 14, 1948
Cavalleria Rusticana
Opera
Music by Ruggiero Leoncavallo and Pietro Mascagni; Libretto by Ruggiero Leoncavallo, Giovanni Targioni-Tozzetti and Guido Menasci.
Apr 14, 1948
Pagliacci
Opera
Music by Ruggiero Leoncavallo and Pietro Mascagni; Libretto by Ruggiero Leoncavallo, Giovanni Targioni-Tozzetti and Guido Menasci.
Apr 14, 1948
Faust
Opera
Music by Charles Gounod.
Apr 14, 1948
Howdy, Mr. Ice
Ice revue
Music by Alan Moran and Albert Stillman; Lyrics by Alan Moran and Albert Stillman.
Jun 24, 1948
Howdy, Mr. Ice of 1950
Ice revue
Music by Alan Moran and Albert Stillman; Lyrics by Alan Moran and Albert Stillman.
Mr. Rankin: What was posted here was only a rough draft so some of the text and captions were neither edited nor rewritten yet, which would have been done had the book come to pass. It was done this way mainly for the designer, not for publication.
Here is some more from my Roxy chapter from my book on Times Square that did not come to pass: (I’m sorry for the length and misspellings…it was never edtited…and if it is too boring…just skip ahead.
Caption for photo of the Roxy’s CinemaScope screen:
CinemaScope was demonstrated at the Roxy in April 1953 for the first time. An invited audience of reporters, exhibitors and other members of the film industry saw clips from The Robe and How to Marry a Millionaire, plus some aerial footage of New York’s skyline and the winter sports at Sun Valley.
Cinerama was big hit when it opened at the Broadway Theatre in 1952. But the process was expensive and impractical, requiring three projectors in three separate projection booths, (as well as three projectionists and a controlling engineer at each performance.) In addition, seats had be removed from the ochestra floor to accomodate the big curved screen and the three projection booths.
3 D was also popular in 1952, but it required special glasses that caused eye strain and headachs and the novelty soon wore off.
Caption for color poster for The Robe:
In the early 1950s, when television was beginning to keep audiences at home, it took spectacle and technical innovation to get them back to the theaters. The Robe provided both, breaking box office records at the Roxy, and everywhere else it played.
Promoted as “the modern miracle you see without glasses,” CinemaScope was the best publicized of the new processes, but was really just a poor man’s version of Cinerama. And it was not new, having been invented in 1927 by Henri Chretien in France. Chretien had been seen Abel Gance’s Napolian which was shot in TK a primitive three camera process. and he was inspired to come up with a similar, but more practical solution. Cretian’s anamorphic lens had been optioned by England’s Rank Organization, but after their option lapsed, it was was picked up by 20th Century Fox. CinemaScope required a special lens on the camera that compressed the image during filming. Another lens on the projector unsqueeze it when the film was shown on a wide, slightly curved, screen, two and a half times wide as it was high. The complete the CinemaScope experience, a four-track stereophonic sound could be installed Fox made the process available to the other studios, and they all used it for some of their productions, with the exception of Paramount and Republic. But many directors did not care for the proportions. Fritz Lang said it was only good for"snakes and funerals,“ and George Stevens thought it was would be best for "class photographs.” William Wyler had more serious reservations, “Nothing is out of the screen, and you can’t fill it,” he went on, “You either have a lot of empy space, or two people taking and a flock of others surrounding them who hav nothin to do with the scene. Your eyes wonder just out of curiosity."
The first CinemaScope feature to be released was Fox’s The Robe, which had its premiere at the Roxy on September 16, 1953. (How to Marry a Millionaire was finished first, but Fox decided that The Robe would be better as the first release.) Most of the studio’s productions were shot in the process until 1967, when In Like Flint marked the end of the process.. Fox as well as most of the other studios had long since switched to the Panavision lens, creating a similar effect, but with a sharper image with better depth of field..
Caption for ad for Carousel at the Roxy
CinemaScope doubled the width of the screen to an aspect ratio 2.55:1, but few theaters could accommodate screens with those proportions. CinemaScope 55, which had a 55.6 millimeter camera negative, exposing a negative twice as high and wide as 35mm CinemaScope, but it was used only twice, for Carousel and The King and I, both of which opened at the Roxy. Two years later, Fox abandoned CinemaScope 55 for their big pictures in favor of Todd-AO. the 70 mm process.
In a couple of years, after the novelty of CinemaScope wore off, stage shows returned to the Roxy. National Theaters, which took over Fox’s lease after the consent decree forced the studios to sell their theaters, appointed Robert C. Rothafel, the nephew of Roxy, as the manager in 1955. “We hope to stage shows every bit as lavish as those originated by my uncle,” the young Rothafel explained, “except we won’t try to put that number of people on stage or in the pit. Do you realize his shows included a chorus of 100 voices, 36 Roxyettes, a corps de ballet of 20, and in the pit there was a symphony orchestra of more than 100 men!” “Happy Holiday, Anywhere, U. S. A., ” was the title of his first show. It was well received by the critics and audiences seemed to enjoy it as well.
Former Olympic star, Sonya Kaye, appeared in a 45 minute ice show with a company of 39 singers and skaters, and a 24-piece orchestra with The Rains of Ranchipur on the screen. Fox’s TK, combined with stage shows played at the Roxy for the next three years until Windjammer, a kind of travelogue photographed in a new process called Cinemiracle was booked in 1958. There was no stage show and seating was cut in half. It was not a success and stage shows returned to the Roxy, when the 1958 film version of Damn Yankees. At that time the Roxy was sold to Rockefeller Center, but Robert Rothafel had formed a company to lease it back and was trying to run it himself, but with a new approach, described as “youthful and modern.” Too little and too late. The Gazebo was the last film and stage show combination. Then there some reissues, The Cain Mutiny with On the Waterfront.
The final night was uneventful. There were no stars, no ceromony, On March 29,1960, the last ticket was sold at 10:35 p.m., and then after a final showing of The Wind Cannot Read, the final movie to play at the theater, about 300 people filed silently into the night, most unaware that the Roxy was closing for good.
Three years later, after Pennsylvania Station was demolished, The New York Times printed an editorial which might also be applied the destruction of the Roxy,.
“…..we will probably be judged not by the monuments we build, but by those we have destroyed.”
Caption: Eliot Elisofon photographed Gloria Swanson in the ruins of what had been the Roxy’s rotunda. This 1960 photograph was the inspiration (“rubble in the daylight”) for producer/director Hal Prince’s staging concept for Follies (1971), the Stephen Sondheim/James Goldman musical.
One can still get a glimpse of the Roxy in the movie The Naked City (1948), which had several sequences shot in the rotunda.
I conducted the interview below which was to be included in my Roxy chapter…if anyone is interested….
Confessions of a Gae Foster Roxyette:
My father had reared me with the idea that all women should be financially independent. There weren’t many careers a woman could have in the 1920s, so I decided I would be a dancer. I always wanted to go to New York, but I really never had aspirations to be a star. “Don’t go to New York,” my dancing teacher warned, “You can’t even BUY a job.” The year was 1931—it was the Depression.
Scared, I went anyway. My mother went with me. It took about four months of day-long looking, exchanging information—networking, I think they call it now—going to “calls,” etc. I finally landed a job—it was a 33-week tour that played presentation houses across the country and into Canada and was produced by Leon Leonidoff, one of the producers at the Roxy Theater. We returned in September 1932 and I then worked with a vaudeville act that was playing out-of-the-way places like Canarsie in Brooklyn.
I was literally down to my last nickel when one of the girls I was rehearsing with (there were rehearsal jobs for things that never opened) told me about a call for dancers at the Roxy—actually the call was for only one dancer—and it came down to the two of us; when they called up the line, between shows, and tried to place us, she did not fit anywhere, so I got the job.
After two or three days of rehearsal, I started working at the Roxy on Christmas week 1932. That lasted for one month—and I was out. The Roxy had changed regimes—Mary Read who was the producer—she was one of the original Tiller girls and John Tiller’s favorite dancer
—Tiller was the one who invented precision dancing—then she was out and Fanchon and Marco took over. I tried out again, and again I was chosen.
Our daily life was: on stage, dressed in rehearsal clothes and on our marks—we each had a number—at nine a.m. Thirty seconds late and you were given a penalty: one week out without pay. Since the pay at the beginning was only $27.50—Fanchon and Marco took out their 35 per cent agent fees—that made it $26.13, which was a lot more then but wasn’t very much. After the NRA took effect, our “take” was $30.
We would rehearse until eleven; the house opened at 11 a.m. There were also costume fittings, or if things hadn’t gone well on stage, we would go up to the rehearsal room on the fifth floor. Then lunch, out, at Hanson’s Drug Store at Seventh Avenue and 51st Street. We would come back, put on our makeup—the first show was generally between 1:00 and 1:30 and lasted for 35 or 40 minutes. We usually did three numbers and then we would rehearse some more. We would do another show and at about five, go to dinner and then back to do the dinner show; we rehearsed some more, for about an hour and a half, and then we did ANOTHER show. We were free between 10:30 and 11:00—makeup off, in street clothes, and home by 11:30. I usually ate a “night” lunch and was in bed between 1:30 and 2:00. We ate four meals a day.
We did not have much social life. The theater was your life. There was no time for outside friends, and there were no “stage door Johnnies” at the Roxy Theater. If anyone was there, it was someone who knew one of the girls, not someone who was hoping to meet one. We had no time for the high life. If you tried night-clubbing for a couple of hours after all those shows, you wouldn’t be there the next morning.
Sometimes on Friday nights, to relax after our long opening day, we went to where the good shows were, the MGM pictures over at the Capitol Theater. They had midnight shows and we would be transported into another world by watching Clark Cable and Joan Crawford. Later, we worked for five or six weeks and then got five days free, but you would practically lose touch with all of your friends. I think that was about the deadliest part of working at the Roxy: confinement to one life and to one group of people, week after week, month after month, year after year. It took a lot out of you.
But it was glamorous in a way, because our costumes were so very beautiful. Bonnie Cashin was our designer; she later became quite a famous fashion designer. And it was such fun to get into them. When the lights come on and the music started playing—yes, there was something about it that got you. To me, it was the same thing as a college education: It prepared you for living. It was a great discipline.
I hadn’t been in it very long, perhaps two years, when I knew that the theater was not to be my life’s work. In 1938, I went to Columbia University for night courses in journalism and to the Traphagen School of Fashion to study fashion journalism. I had been married in 1937 to a civil engineer who went off to exotic places around the world. I realized that if I wanted to be with him, I could write anywhere—even where I could not dance—so I became a writer.
In 1976, I was visiting my friend Dorothy Dunlop in New York. We had danced together at the Roxy when she was known as “Orchid”; then she was head of the workroom in the Roxy’s wardrobe department. We had gone to church one Sunday morning and afterwards, walking down Seventh Avenue, went into a pancake place for brunch. As we were chatting away, we realized we were sitting on the spot where the Roxy’s lobby had been—a fitting place for our reunion.
Betty O'Neal Gibony worked at the Roxy until 1939 when she became a writer. In 1945 she moved to New Castle, Indiana, where she still lives.
In 1988 I was writing a book about Times Square. It ALMOST was published, but for reasons beyond my control, it did not happen. The design layout scheme was cost prohibitive and there were other problems as well, but that’s another story. Here are the opening paragraphs from the Roxy chapter— the photos are missing. The book was meant to be a heavly illlustrated with over 1000 pix, which was part of the problem……
The ROXY
The 1920s were a decade of flamboyance. Herbert Lubin, a film producer turned real estate developer, who was intoxicated by the spirit of the times, wanted to build “the most sumptuous theater in the world†on the corner of 50th Street and Seventh Avenue. To help him realize his dream, Lubin lured "Roxy” Rothafel away from the Capitol by offering to name what was to be known as the “Cathedral of the Motion Picture,†after Roxy—as well as by giving him complete control of the design and operation of the theater— plus a share of the profits. But Rothafel’s grandiose ideas coupled with architect Walter Ahlschlager’s extravagant plans, were too much for Lubin’s pocketbook (the cost of the theater escalated from $6,000,000 to $10,000,000) so a week before the Roxy was was to open, Lubin sold his interest to William Fox, head of the Fox Theater chain and the Fox Film Corporation.
Caption: The main entrance was leased from the adjoining Manger Hotel, which was renamed the Taft in 1932.
Caption: There were six boxoffices in the outer lobby.
Caption: The Roxy was often referred to as the “Cathedral of the Motion Picture,” and its 50th Street facade was said to resemble the Cathedreal at Valladolid in Italy.
Caption: “Harold, I see my theater like the insisde of a great bronze bowl,” Roxy told Harold Rambusch, the theater’s decorator. “Every thing in tones of antique gold. Warm. Very, very rich. Gorgeous.”
Caption: (for the shot of the rotunda)
For twenty-five cents anyone could spend a couple of hours in this palacial setting. The rotunda (ushers reportedly would get sacked if they called it a “lobby”).and the adjoining foyers could hold 2,500 patrons who might have to wait as long as an hour before being seated in the auditorium. Twelve green marble columns supported a dome from which this twenty-foot chandelier was suspended. The oval-shaped rug was said to be the world’s largest and heaviest.
(The best rotunda pic can be found at the Smithsonian.)
Caption (for ground floor plan): Walter Ahlschlager’s placement of the auditorium made good use of the Roxy’s irregular plot. The stage, 60 feet deep by 70 feet wide, was divided into four sections, two of which were equipped with elevators. The musicians were seated on an elevator that could be raised up to stage level. When the Roxy opened, there were three Kimbal organ consoles as well as 100 muscians in the pit.
Caption: Most theaters had projection booths directly above the balcony; at the Roxy, they were in front of the mezzenine, insuring a bright and distortion-free picture as the projectors were only 100 feet from the screen. The Roxy’s 5,920 seats looked down upon the stage, enabling the entire audience to see the feet of the dancers.
(Photo and neg of proscenium and stairs in photo file B NYPL. Best clipping file for the Roxy is MWEZ + n.c.20,278 and there is a good collection of Partington’s performance shots filed under
MFL + n.c. 1829. Early pictures of Roxy are in MFL + n.c.1830)
Backstage, there were five floors of dressing rooms, a costume workroom, rehearsal halls, a projection room, a cafeteria, as well as a hospital, gymnasium, barber shop, plus Roxy’s broadcasting studio.
Even at eleven dollars a seat, the opening night was a sell-out. Gloria Swanson, star of The Loves of Sunya,“ the first motion picture to be shown, recalls the event in her 1980 autobiography:
A limousine arrived for Henri and me at seven-thirty, [Swanson was married to Henri, Marquis de la Falaise, at the time] and the short drive from Sixth Avenue and Fifty-eighth Street to the theater at Seventh Avenue and Fiftieth Street — ordinarily less than five minutes by car — took half an hour, owing to the traffic congestion caused by the sea of people that had been building up around the theater since late afternoon. Policeman on horseback spotted our car and slowly cleared the way for us. The driver told Henri that Mayor Walker had put a hundred extra cops on just for the opening and the cops had told him that the crowd in the street numbered well over ten thousand.
When we pulled up under the marquee and got out of the car, a tremendous roar went up. In the blinding glare of a double row of kleig lights trained on the shiny new building, I turned and waived, and before I could turn again and enter the theater, an unstoppable wave of people surged forward and almost knocked us over. In spite of the efforts of the police, we had to fight our way into the lobby in order not to be crushed against the closed doors and walls.
Inside the monumental foyer, in front of an inclined bank of red and white carnations that spelled out his name, Roxy stood with his family, being photographed with celebrities. Henri and I joined them to kiss and shake hands with the people we knew in a steady blaze of flash powder. Roxy had pulled out all the stops. The parade of notables included four U.S. Senators, three U.S. Generals, three consul generals, two borough presidents, the governor of New Jersey, and the minister of Lithuania, as well as Adolph Ochs, Mrs. Otto Kahn, and Mr. and Mrs. Jimmy Walker. The crowd almost broke down the doors when Charlie Chaplin tried to sneak in unnoticed, and they went wild again when they recognized Harold Lloyd and his wife. We stood there for twenty minutes and greeted an endless stream of people with engraved invitations: the Shuberts, Irving Berlin, Lois Wilson, Sport Ward, Hope Hampton, Tommy Meighan, Joe Schenck, Walter Wanger, Wil Hays — even Jesse Lasky. Then we all took our seats down front in the great auditorium, and the show began.
Chimes were the first thing one heard on opening night. After the third note, the auditorium went black. Then a spotlight picked up a mysterious figure dressed in a monk’s robe who read the invocation:
“Ye portals bright, high and majestic, open to our gaze the path to Wonderland, and show us the realm where fantasy reigns, where romance, where adventure flourish. Let every day’s toil be forgotten under thy sheltering roof—O glorious, mighty hall—thy magic and thy charm unite us all to worship at beauty’s throne…Let there be light!”
And was there light. And how! The Roxy’s lighting plant had three times the capacity of any other theater and used enough power to light a city of a quarter of a million.
(Include a short description of the first show. (or the program)
As the first nighters were filing out, Roxy proudly exclaimed, “Take a look at this stupendous theater, it’s the Roxy and I’m Roxy and I’d rather be Roxy than John D. Rockefeller or Henry Ford!”
Thanks BillH. Right you are. Newman’s score for “Bernadette” must have been the first not use the traditional Fox fanfare, as it came out in 1943. Thanks again :–)
Sorry to go “off-topic,” this being the Roxy site and all, but I read some of the other posts regarding the history of the Fox fanfare as well as the first film to include the “CinemaScope extention,” so, I was wondering if someone knew the first Fox film NOT use Alfred Newman’s fanfare? My best guess was “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir,” which had a score by Bernard Herrmann. Does anyone know for sure? Thanks.
P. S.
After the Roxy was demolished in 1960, some of the plush Roxy seats were moved to the New Yorker Theater on Broadway and 89th Street. Something else, if anyone has any interest, I will post an interview I did with a former Gae Foster Roxyette who worked at the theater in the late 30s into the early 40s.