By 1968 or ‘69, after growing up in the 'burbs, I decided it was time to check out these so-called 'art’ films I had heard about. Where else to go but Bleecker St? I subwayed into the city and spent the afternoon at a double bill of RED DESERT and LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD. I staggered out dizzy, thrilled, disoriented, exalted, confused — and determined to be a film major.
Gay hanky-panky in the upper reaches of the Queens? Not while I guarded the purple carpet and enforced the “Balcony Closed” sign in the mid-60s. And certainly not while my dad was among the gendarmie from the 105 who kept the back of the balcony safe for democracy (and the occasional nap).
The right photo shows one of the oddest features of the Queens — the fire-door-to-nowhere, which can be seen just under the water towers. I discovered this unnerving nook on a self-conducted off-duty tour of backstage. Pushing open a fire-door, I found myself eight stories up, on a tiny, distinctly rusty iron slat platform rather tentatively bolted to the wall and connected to nothing else. I discovered the true meaning of ‘acrophobia,’ and hightailed it back inside. I’m amazed it’s still there after 40 years.
Greg, could that have been the same Mr. Hansen who managed the Queens (and hired me) in ‘63? Tall slim dour-looking fellow. Smiled when he was unhappy.
Greg — your Wagnerian [or Hammersteinian] nightmare of a matron sounds just like barrel-shaped old Mrs. Frey with grey skin and a Bloody Mary bun atop her head, who was Commandant of Kiddies during my tenure. Perhaps she’s immortal. I hear her speaking (barking, really) with a German accent, though this may be an unreliable traumatized memory.
I graduated from St Greg’s in 1960. Might I have known any of your siblings? Check out queenspix.com for interesting shots of the old nabe, including PS 133 standing alone like a monolith amid many empty lots and unpaved streets.
It most likely was. Tall redheaded guy. In my day the gendarmie preferred the back of the balcony. We’d give them a swing of our Century flashlight if some sergeant came snooping.
Do I remember correctly that the right third of the house, by the mgr’s office, was the Young Adult section? Always wise to have NYPD blue on hand.
Where on 249 St? I lived on 85 Ave off 246 St. Spent a year at PS 133 before St Greg’s opened.
Are the 105 and PS 33 still across the street? I’ll bet the staff of most schools these days wish they had a hundred cops nearby'
When you sent the photo to Cinema Treasures, what response did you get? For as long as I’ve been a member here, photo submissions have been closed. Did you have better luck?
BTW, my dad worked at the 105th Precinct, so some of the folks at the website may have known him as the cop-on-the-beat. (That’s how I got the job at the Queens, heh heh.)
Dorothy… have you located your Queens snapshots? We’re waiting breathlessly. Was one of your doormen a fellow named Schaeffer or Wilkins? They’re the only two I can recall who were young enough to have spanned our two eras. Maybe.
Holy bass pedal, Batman! Are you telling me the Queens had a bigger organ than the fancy-schmancy Valencia? Take that, Loewe’s! Go Century! Is it still there?
In my era, the candy stayed put in the stand, which had folding panels that closed and locked.
Prowling around in our off-hours, we found relics of the vaudeville and silent movie era. Under the covered orchestra pit was a dusty neglected organ. Behind the faux-tapestry to the right of the screen were the pipes and the forced-air percussion apparatus. Backstage there were rooms full of what seemed to be bits of costumes, carpets, and settings. All that was missing was a phantom.
By 1963 the dickies were gone — we wore our own white shirts — and so was fresh popcorn. The back half of the ushers' room was gated and locked, with a dozen or so bags of popped popcorn stored. The stuff was poured right into the top of the machine.
There was a turntable in the manager’s office, but I think the music was usually controlled from the booth. Our regular afternoon operator was a big Floyd Cramer fan. If I never hear ‘Wildwood Flower’ again I’ll die a happy man.
Ah yes, the rope hoist. Part of our Tuesday night close routine was helping the operator lug the cans down to the lobby, where the movie fairy would swap them overnight for the next double feature. Meanwhile the electrician was up on a 15' ladder changing the marquee. We also changed the printed schedules in the little wall slots.
The “ushers” room was on the mezzanine under the left balcony staircase. We shared it with huge bags of “fresh-popped” popcorn. On the many afternoons when the balcony was empty, you could scrunch down in the far left corner of the loge and see the manager’s office — and sneak a smoke.
Backstage was fascinating — the clunky metal door, and the huge dimmers that you needed both hands and feet to operate.
Warren, that’s a great story about the fight in the projection booth. As I recall, the only access to the booth was via a vertical ladder up the wall after climbing stairs to the top landing of the balcony. No wonder those guys got testy.
Greg, those were great days indeed — and I learned more about movies from watching them 20 times than from any textbook. Our Asst. Manager part of the time I was there was Tom Bien, a Hungarian stage actor who had fled Hungary after the failed revolution of ‘56. I ran into him a few years later, managing the movie house that used to be next door to Maxwell’s Plum in Manhattan (anyone recall its name?).
This is all a revelation to me. On a dollar bill it says “The United States of America” but on a quarter it says only “United States of America.” In which of these places do I live? I feel woozy.
The year and the slogan and the word fragment as well as the exorbitant prices would indicate television — but that illustration is surely a table radio, not a TV.
Assuming both halves of the bill were Warner Bros. releases, I compared the marquee to the entire output (76) of the studio for 1948, according to the IMDB. I couldn’t figure out the bottom of the bill either.
The most amazing thing about the Avalon photo is the price of the radios in the ad, circa 193x. $179 for a dinky tabletop model? $595 for ‘other models?’ Radio was quite a luxury.
The splendor of the Valencia stood in stark contrast to the drab and uninviting Alden directly across the street. What disappointment we felt when a picture we wanted to see was booked at the Alden! After the long bus ride from Bellerose, and the permanent gloomy twilight under the Jamaica Avenue el, we often abandoned our plans and went to the Valencia, regardless of what was playing. The Alden used to sponsor special showings for kids sponsored, I guess, by local merchants. We were never too eager to attend, knowing we would sit there in the dank auditorium and dream of the Valencia, so near and yet…
Your maxi-matron sounds a lot like old Mrs Frye, who terrorized the brats at the Queens, a few miles away in Queens Village. I have a vague memory that she floated among nearby nabes like the Bellerose — so she may have been your Argo battleaxe. Or maybe Century somehow attracted all the old Wagnerian horrors looking for work.
I lived in Bellerose from 1949-67, and phoned the theatre all the time. It was a straight dial until area codes were instituted about ‘63. After that a recording would tell you to dial 516. Nassau county. And I remember the street signs — Jericho southside, Jamaica northside. We were not confused.
Computer stupidity be damned. A pox on advertising. The Bellerose is in Nassau County, on Jericho Turnpike. Say goodnight, Gracie.
Too true. The half of Apocalypse Now I saw in focus was a stunning experience.
I worked for Century Theatres in the 60s (I was an usher at the Queens) back in the days of single-screen theatres, union projectionists operating carbon-arc projectors, managers who regularly checked image and sound, and ushers who maintained law & order. Today that sounds like an impossible paradise. The only theatre I’ve been in recently that upholds these standards is Cinestudio in Hartford CT.
By 1968 or ‘69, after growing up in the 'burbs, I decided it was time to check out these so-called 'art’ films I had heard about. Where else to go but Bleecker St? I subwayed into the city and spent the afternoon at a double bill of RED DESERT and LAST YEAR AT MARIENBAD. I staggered out dizzy, thrilled, disoriented, exalted, confused — and determined to be a film major.
kenf
Gay hanky-panky in the upper reaches of the Queens? Not while I guarded the purple carpet and enforced the “Balcony Closed” sign in the mid-60s. And certainly not while my dad was among the gendarmie from the 105 who kept the back of the balcony safe for democracy (and the occasional nap).
The right photo shows one of the oddest features of the Queens — the fire-door-to-nowhere, which can be seen just under the water towers. I discovered this unnerving nook on a self-conducted off-duty tour of backstage. Pushing open a fire-door, I found myself eight stories up, on a tiny, distinctly rusty iron slat platform rather tentatively bolted to the wall and connected to nothing else. I discovered the true meaning of ‘acrophobia,’ and hightailed it back inside. I’m amazed it’s still there after 40 years.
He probably got dour after I went to work there. I have that effect on employers.
Greg, could that have been the same Mr. Hansen who managed the Queens (and hired me) in ‘63? Tall slim dour-looking fellow. Smiled when he was unhappy.
Greg — your Wagnerian [or Hammersteinian] nightmare of a matron sounds just like barrel-shaped old Mrs. Frey with grey skin and a Bloody Mary bun atop her head, who was Commandant of Kiddies during my tenure. Perhaps she’s immortal. I hear her speaking (barking, really) with a German accent, though this may be an unreliable traumatized memory.
I graduated from St Greg’s in 1960. Might I have known any of your siblings? Check out queenspix.com for interesting shots of the old nabe, including PS 133 standing alone like a monolith amid many empty lots and unpaved streets.
It most likely was. Tall redheaded guy. In my day the gendarmie preferred the back of the balcony. We’d give them a swing of our Century flashlight if some sergeant came snooping.
Do I remember correctly that the right third of the house, by the mgr’s office, was the Young Adult section? Always wise to have NYPD blue on hand.
Where on 249 St? I lived on 85 Ave off 246 St. Spent a year at PS 133 before St Greg’s opened.
Are the 105 and PS 33 still across the street? I’ll bet the staff of most schools these days wish they had a hundred cops nearby'
Dorothy, thanks for the tip about the QV website.
When you sent the photo to Cinema Treasures, what response did you get? For as long as I’ve been a member here, photo submissions have been closed. Did you have better luck?
BTW, my dad worked at the 105th Precinct, so some of the folks at the website may have known him as the cop-on-the-beat. (That’s how I got the job at the Queens, heh heh.)
Dorothy… have you located your Queens snapshots? We’re waiting breathlessly. Was one of your doormen a fellow named Schaeffer or Wilkins? They’re the only two I can recall who were young enough to have spanned our two eras. Maybe.
I just found a photo of the Queens/Chaminade Austin at:
http://www.nytos.org/chaminade.htm
As you say, Robbie, rather plain-looking. But Jayne Meadows v. Ruth Buzzy? Egad. A nightmarish choice.
Holy bass pedal, Batman! Are you telling me the Queens had a bigger organ than the fancy-schmancy Valencia? Take that, Loewe’s! Go Century! Is it still there?
In my era, the candy stayed put in the stand, which had folding panels that closed and locked.
Prowling around in our off-hours, we found relics of the vaudeville and silent movie era. Under the covered orchestra pit was a dusty neglected organ. Behind the faux-tapestry to the right of the screen were the pipes and the forced-air percussion apparatus. Backstage there were rooms full of what seemed to be bits of costumes, carpets, and settings. All that was missing was a phantom.
By 1963 the dickies were gone — we wore our own white shirts — and so was fresh popcorn. The back half of the ushers' room was gated and locked, with a dozen or so bags of popped popcorn stored. The stuff was poured right into the top of the machine.
There was a turntable in the manager’s office, but I think the music was usually controlled from the booth. Our regular afternoon operator was a big Floyd Cramer fan. If I never hear ‘Wildwood Flower’ again I’ll die a happy man.
Ah yes, the rope hoist. Part of our Tuesday night close routine was helping the operator lug the cans down to the lobby, where the movie fairy would swap them overnight for the next double feature. Meanwhile the electrician was up on a 15' ladder changing the marquee. We also changed the printed schedules in the little wall slots.
The “ushers” room was on the mezzanine under the left balcony staircase. We shared it with huge bags of “fresh-popped” popcorn. On the many afternoons when the balcony was empty, you could scrunch down in the far left corner of the loge and see the manager’s office — and sneak a smoke.
Backstage was fascinating — the clunky metal door, and the huge dimmers that you needed both hands and feet to operate.
Ah, yes.
Warren, that’s a great story about the fight in the projection booth. As I recall, the only access to the booth was via a vertical ladder up the wall after climbing stairs to the top landing of the balcony. No wonder those guys got testy.
Greg, those were great days indeed — and I learned more about movies from watching them 20 times than from any textbook. Our Asst. Manager part of the time I was there was Tom Bien, a Hungarian stage actor who had fled Hungary after the failed revolution of ‘56. I ran into him a few years later, managing the movie house that used to be next door to Maxwell’s Plum in Manhattan (anyone recall its name?).
This is all a revelation to me. On a dollar bill it says “The United States of America” but on a quarter it says only “United States of America.” In which of these places do I live? I feel woozy.
The year and the slogan and the word fragment as well as the exorbitant prices would indicate television — but that illustration is surely a table radio, not a TV.
Assuming both halves of the bill were Warner Bros. releases, I compared the marquee to the entire output (76) of the studio for 1948, according to the IMDB. I couldn’t figure out the bottom of the bill either.
The most amazing thing about the Avalon photo is the price of the radios in the ad, circa 193x. $179 for a dinky tabletop model? $595 for ‘other models?’ Radio was quite a luxury.
As I recall, Lakeville & Jericho was at least a mile to a mile and a half from the Nassau-Queens border. Or do I misremember?
The splendor of the Valencia stood in stark contrast to the drab and uninviting Alden directly across the street. What disappointment we felt when a picture we wanted to see was booked at the Alden! After the long bus ride from Bellerose, and the permanent gloomy twilight under the Jamaica Avenue el, we often abandoned our plans and went to the Valencia, regardless of what was playing. The Alden used to sponsor special showings for kids sponsored, I guess, by local merchants. We were never too eager to attend, knowing we would sit there in the dank auditorium and dream of the Valencia, so near and yet…
Your maxi-matron sounds a lot like old Mrs Frye, who terrorized the brats at the Queens, a few miles away in Queens Village. I have a vague memory that she floated among nearby nabes like the Bellerose — so she may have been your Argo battleaxe. Or maybe Century somehow attracted all the old Wagnerian horrors looking for work.
There are a couple of interesting references to the Bellerose in the Creedmoor Civic News —
http://www.creedmoorcivic.org/news/Mar99.htm
http://www.creedmoorcivic.org/news/May00.htm
So much for truth in advertising.
I lived in Bellerose from 1949-67, and phoned the theatre all the time. It was a straight dial until area codes were instituted about ‘63. After that a recording would tell you to dial 516. Nassau county. And I remember the street signs — Jericho southside, Jamaica northside. We were not confused.
Computer stupidity be damned. A pox on advertising. The Bellerose is in Nassau County, on Jericho Turnpike. Say goodnight, Gracie.
Just my luck I draw the one who’s cross-eyed.
Too true. The half of Apocalypse Now I saw in focus was a stunning experience.
I worked for Century Theatres in the 60s (I was an usher at the Queens) back in the days of single-screen theatres, union projectionists operating carbon-arc projectors, managers who regularly checked image and sound, and ushers who maintained law & order. Today that sounds like an impossible paradise. The only theatre I’ve been in recently that upholds these standards is Cinestudio in Hartford CT.