Dear All,
Thank you again for responding – I am especially touched by your comments Housechecker. Don’t know if this will prod your memory – but my Mom was very Irish – red hair – green eyes and beautiful complexion – and a lot of fun. Dad was too – when he wasn’t busy being the boss or our father. And Mom would have had me and my brother “Stevie” as we called him with her. I am planning to download and post some photos on a web site I use for various purposes – their/our photos might help. I will post the url/address link for the web site just as soon as I get to it which I promise will be next week.
I haven’t thought about that silly singing sword in years…what a hoot!
Barb
In response to your question – no – I am sorry to say – both Dad and Mom have passed away. Dad was killed in a car accident in 1983 at the age of 58. It was hard – we still miss him.
I have some photos of him/Roxy and I also have a web site on homestead.com and am thinking I might post them should anyone be interested. The photos are of course, of people, not the building because – who takes photos of buildings?? But some folks might get a kick out of seeing them. I’ll get to it soon.
Having recently discovered this woderful web site has provided an education for me in learning about the business that was so much a part of my father’s life. His name was Steve Banovich and he started working at the Roxy as a young boy – an usher. He gradually worked his way up to a managerial position and us kids literally “grew up” in the Roxy.
While I don’t have much to offer on the wonders of the growth and evolution of the cinema and the theater business, I would like to share what it was like to think of the Roxy as your own personal play ground. In fact, if it were not for the Roxy, I would not be who I am. My Mom and Dad both worked at the Roxy – Mom was an usherette (I think?? have read no mention of usherettes) but she did work there and obviously, they met and well – 4 kids later, here we are.
Because of holiday times being prime show times, Dad was often not at home during Easter and Christmas, but, Mom took us to him. We always took a taxi from Brooklyn and as we neared those wonderful, shiney brass side doors to the theater (I never, ever remember entering through the front entrance) I knew Dad would soon emerge. We’d come into the theater (my older brother and I) before the public and we had the whole place to ourselves.
One Easter, I imagine I was about 3 or 4, I took leave of my mother’s hand and got it into my head that the huge rug in the rotunda – everything was huge at the Roxy – just needed me to tumble-sault clear across it. Easter dress, hat and all. My mother was horrified – my Dad mildy amused. I’m probably one of the few who can boast having lain right down on the floor beneath that enormous chandelier and looked up at it. It was a sight I will never forget.
We always stopped at the candy concession by the stair case and my Dad always bought us Bon-Bon’s which we were not permitted to eat till we ran up the stairs to his office and were properly seated. That was my mother’s contribution in keeping melted chocolate drips off the Roxy furnishings. Our clothing was another matter but at least she could preserve and protect the Roxy.
While we always loved the movies – Prince Valiant, Lady and the Tramp, Peter Pan, the King and I, I loved the bathroom the best. The ladies room consisted of a number of rooms, the first of which you entered was beautiful. If memory serves me correctly, there were tables with wall mirrors and chairs for the ladies to primp their make-up but my favorite furnishing was a very large couch in the middle of the room. This was no ordinary couch. It resembeled a two-tiered cake with the lower tier providing the seating and the second tier, the back to lean on. I used to take my shoes off and run around and around and around the circular couch till I fell off dizzy. I often emerged from the ladies room looking as if I’d been shot out of a cannon carrying my shoes. My father never asked – I think he really didn’t want to know.
I clearly recall sitting up in the balcony?? to watch the Windjammer and my brother and I were the only two people up there. Why I don’t know – but we felt as if we had the entire theater to ourselves up there. From time to time during the show, an usher would come up and check on us. My Dad had told us we needed to be careful to not shake the cameras (maybe it was his way of keeping us contained) but I do remember tip toeing in and out and feeling very special.
Mom used to tell us that Danny Kaye (he and Mom both having red hair) used to call her his Irish Colleen and he used to playfully chase her up the aisles much to my Dad’s amusemet. Dad also told us when Mom met Jerry Lewis she could not stop laughing in the poor man’s face. She just could not hold it together. She couldn’t even say hello.
I learned to ice-skate at the Roxy and one of the Roxyettes taught me. I don’t remember her name. I do recall that Dad’s friend, Jack Galloway eventually married one of the Roxyettes (I think??) Her name was Mel.
The Roxy was also the place and moment my Mom used to announce their 4th and final pregnancy – my younger brother – to my Dad.
But the Roxy was to be torn down before he or my younger sister ever had a chance to share precious moments in that theater. Dad was with the theater till the end and the only time I had seen him cry to that point in my life was March 29, 1960. He went on to work at Madison Sq. Garden. That was just a job – one he didn’t even like – the Roxy was his life.
Having lost our parents early – Mom was 43 and Dad 58 when they died – having this site to read about what they did not have time to share fully with their children is very special for me. They recalled “The Roxy” as the best time of their lives. It sure was a special time for me.
I am now headed to amazon.com for a copy of “The Best Remaining Seats.”
Good morning Richka,
I’ll get on it. Work has been super busy but I will get to it.
Barb
Dear All,
Thank you again for responding – I am especially touched by your comments Housechecker. Don’t know if this will prod your memory – but my Mom was very Irish – red hair – green eyes and beautiful complexion – and a lot of fun. Dad was too – when he wasn’t busy being the boss or our father. And Mom would have had me and my brother “Stevie” as we called him with her. I am planning to download and post some photos on a web site I use for various purposes – their/our photos might help. I will post the url/address link for the web site just as soon as I get to it which I promise will be next week.
I haven’t thought about that silly singing sword in years…what a hoot!
Barb
Dear Richka,
How nice to hear from you.
In response to your question – no – I am sorry to say – both Dad and Mom have passed away. Dad was killed in a car accident in 1983 at the age of 58. It was hard – we still miss him.
I have some photos of him/Roxy and I also have a web site on homestead.com and am thinking I might post them should anyone be interested. The photos are of course, of people, not the building because – who takes photos of buildings?? But some folks might get a kick out of seeing them. I’ll get to it soon.
Again – thank you for responding!
Barb
Having recently discovered this woderful web site has provided an education for me in learning about the business that was so much a part of my father’s life. His name was Steve Banovich and he started working at the Roxy as a young boy – an usher. He gradually worked his way up to a managerial position and us kids literally “grew up” in the Roxy.
While I don’t have much to offer on the wonders of the growth and evolution of the cinema and the theater business, I would like to share what it was like to think of the Roxy as your own personal play ground. In fact, if it were not for the Roxy, I would not be who I am. My Mom and Dad both worked at the Roxy – Mom was an usherette (I think?? have read no mention of usherettes) but she did work there and obviously, they met and well – 4 kids later, here we are.
Because of holiday times being prime show times, Dad was often not at home during Easter and Christmas, but, Mom took us to him. We always took a taxi from Brooklyn and as we neared those wonderful, shiney brass side doors to the theater (I never, ever remember entering through the front entrance) I knew Dad would soon emerge. We’d come into the theater (my older brother and I) before the public and we had the whole place to ourselves.
One Easter, I imagine I was about 3 or 4, I took leave of my mother’s hand and got it into my head that the huge rug in the rotunda – everything was huge at the Roxy – just needed me to tumble-sault clear across it. Easter dress, hat and all. My mother was horrified – my Dad mildy amused. I’m probably one of the few who can boast having lain right down on the floor beneath that enormous chandelier and looked up at it. It was a sight I will never forget.
We always stopped at the candy concession by the stair case and my Dad always bought us Bon-Bon’s which we were not permitted to eat till we ran up the stairs to his office and were properly seated. That was my mother’s contribution in keeping melted chocolate drips off the Roxy furnishings. Our clothing was another matter but at least she could preserve and protect the Roxy.
While we always loved the movies – Prince Valiant, Lady and the Tramp, Peter Pan, the King and I, I loved the bathroom the best. The ladies room consisted of a number of rooms, the first of which you entered was beautiful. If memory serves me correctly, there were tables with wall mirrors and chairs for the ladies to primp their make-up but my favorite furnishing was a very large couch in the middle of the room. This was no ordinary couch. It resembeled a two-tiered cake with the lower tier providing the seating and the second tier, the back to lean on. I used to take my shoes off and run around and around and around the circular couch till I fell off dizzy. I often emerged from the ladies room looking as if I’d been shot out of a cannon carrying my shoes. My father never asked – I think he really didn’t want to know.
I clearly recall sitting up in the balcony?? to watch the Windjammer and my brother and I were the only two people up there. Why I don’t know – but we felt as if we had the entire theater to ourselves up there. From time to time during the show, an usher would come up and check on us. My Dad had told us we needed to be careful to not shake the cameras (maybe it was his way of keeping us contained) but I do remember tip toeing in and out and feeling very special.
Mom used to tell us that Danny Kaye (he and Mom both having red hair) used to call her his Irish Colleen and he used to playfully chase her up the aisles much to my Dad’s amusemet. Dad also told us when Mom met Jerry Lewis she could not stop laughing in the poor man’s face. She just could not hold it together. She couldn’t even say hello.
I learned to ice-skate at the Roxy and one of the Roxyettes taught me. I don’t remember her name. I do recall that Dad’s friend, Jack Galloway eventually married one of the Roxyettes (I think??) Her name was Mel.
The Roxy was also the place and moment my Mom used to announce their 4th and final pregnancy – my younger brother – to my Dad.
But the Roxy was to be torn down before he or my younger sister ever had a chance to share precious moments in that theater. Dad was with the theater till the end and the only time I had seen him cry to that point in my life was March 29, 1960. He went on to work at Madison Sq. Garden. That was just a job – one he didn’t even like – the Roxy was his life.
Having lost our parents early – Mom was 43 and Dad 58 when they died – having this site to read about what they did not have time to share fully with their children is very special for me. They recalled “The Roxy” as the best time of their lives. It sure was a special time for me.
I am now headed to amazon.com for a copy of “The Best Remaining Seats.”
Barb Banovich-Mroz