I thought my comments had become lost in the Internet cosmos. Heartening to see them posted.
National General Corp. was the owner of the Orpheum Theatre in 1969. I found an offer on eBay of a press photo of Rex Hopkins being honored for 25 years with National General. That was in March, 1967. Hopkins being with National General for 25 years then meant he joined the company when it was formed as a spinoff from Twentieth-Century Fox when movie production and distribution were separated by decree. Hopkins is being given something. A watch? Something that cliched?
1967 is notorious (to some) as the year of the lowest movie attendance in U.S. history.
After a steady decline for 17 years, attendance fell off a cliff in 1967, down by 50% from the prior year.
Anyway, good to make a connection with someone who remembers those time-hazed days.
In my salad days, I was Assistant Manager of the Orpheum Theatre, a title more impressive than the job. I took tickets; cleaned up blemishes on the premises, like gum on the carpet (I can can still smell the cleaning solution); took the box office count at the end of each shift. etc. Ah, the box office count. Why didn’t the till match the ticket count? Hmmm…
Rex Hopkins was the Portland Manager for whomever owned the Orpheum in the
late 1960’s. A gaunt, dignified presence presiding over the sunset years of movie
palaces. Scattered viewers during the week where once there had been crowds, not
much better on weekends. Movie soundtracks tending to echo in sparsely attended
matinees.
One of my tasks was to climb up to the projection booth to wake up the dozy projectionist,
older than Rex Hopkins, who would sometimes miss the reel change,
leaving a bright, blank screen.
The projectionist, Fredsie, had been in the movie exhibition biz since the silents.
He had come up with a design to extend the life of the carbon rods in projectors,
(yes, still carbon arc in the late 60s), but no one had been interested. When I wasn’t
occupied with details of running the theatre, Fredsie would regale me with stories of
the Good Old Days . An interesting eyewitness to things I had only read about.
One of the interesting things about being around the Orpheum was going backstage
to the old dressing rooms from the vaudeville days. Imagining the performers putting on
makeup, joking with each other, or maybe not joking (backstage drama). Again, adding
some immediacy to things of the past.
One day, there was work being done to upgrade the screen and the sound system.
Who would be working on that but my drama teacher from high school. “What are
you doing here,” he asked. (I had graduated just the year before.) I was too polite
to ask him the same question. Obviously he was picking up some bucks. Must have
been a member of IATSE, so the bucks were pretty good. I lost track of him after that.
I thought my comments had become lost in the Internet cosmos. Heartening to see them posted.
National General Corp. was the owner of the Orpheum Theatre in 1969. I found an offer on eBay of a press photo of Rex Hopkins being honored for 25 years with National General. That was in March, 1967. Hopkins being with National General for 25 years then meant he joined the company when it was formed as a spinoff from Twentieth-Century Fox when movie production and distribution were separated by decree. Hopkins is being given something. A watch? Something that cliched?
1967 is notorious (to some) as the year of the lowest movie attendance in U.S. history. After a steady decline for 17 years, attendance fell off a cliff in 1967, down by 50% from the prior year.
Anyway, good to make a connection with someone who remembers those time-hazed days.
In my salad days, I was Assistant Manager of the Orpheum Theatre, a title more impressive than the job. I took tickets; cleaned up blemishes on the premises, like gum on the carpet (I can can still smell the cleaning solution); took the box office count at the end of each shift. etc. Ah, the box office count. Why didn’t the till match the ticket count? Hmmm…
Rex Hopkins was the Portland Manager for whomever owned the Orpheum in the late 1960’s. A gaunt, dignified presence presiding over the sunset years of movie palaces. Scattered viewers during the week where once there had been crowds, not much better on weekends. Movie soundtracks tending to echo in sparsely attended matinees.
One of my tasks was to climb up to the projection booth to wake up the dozy projectionist, older than Rex Hopkins, who would sometimes miss the reel change, leaving a bright, blank screen.
The projectionist, Fredsie, had been in the movie exhibition biz since the silents. He had come up with a design to extend the life of the carbon rods in projectors, (yes, still carbon arc in the late 60s), but no one had been interested. When I wasn’t occupied with details of running the theatre, Fredsie would regale me with stories of the Good Old Days . An interesting eyewitness to things I had only read about.
One of the interesting things about being around the Orpheum was going backstage to the old dressing rooms from the vaudeville days. Imagining the performers putting on makeup, joking with each other, or maybe not joking (backstage drama). Again, adding some immediacy to things of the past.
One day, there was work being done to upgrade the screen and the sound system. Who would be working on that but my drama teacher from high school. “What are you doing here,” he asked. (I had graduated just the year before.) I was too polite to ask him the same question. Obviously he was picking up some bucks. Must have been a member of IATSE, so the bucks were pretty good. I lost track of him after that.
Time and the river, etc.