The Exhibitor (Nov 1938-May 1939)

BM-8 BETTER MANAGEMENT AN USHER GIVES HIS IMPRESSIONS A Service Staff Member Records Some Reactions Which Should Be of Interest By Harry Duncan ( EDITOR’S NOTE: Harry Duncan is a theatre usher in a small town of 8,000 in the center of a farming community. The theatre is part of a small circuit. Duncan’s manuscript, unsolicited, was sent to this department and should be of particular interest in the light of the Editors’ comments on "Selling Seats through Courtesy and Personal Contact between Patron and Staff.”) USHERING in the movies isn’t quite what I expected. But in the two years that I have been an usher in a theatre in — shall we say — Middletown, somewhere in the eastern part of the United States, I have learned many things which were to my advantage on subjects other than ushering. I would like to say right here, though, that experience as an usher will benefit everyone in many ways. I often hear the phrase, "The customer is always right,” but when it comes to movies, the customer is generally wrong. Although most of our patrons know where they want to sit, very few of them sit there anyway. One lady never sits in the same place twice, although she insists that she must sit in the back row. About the time that the show starts, she has moved several times, and finally sits near the front. Most ptople aren’t particular which row they sit in, but are more concerned over whether or not the seats are too near the front. Saturday Night THAT IS WHERE the fun comes in. I can recall many times, especially Saturdays, when we have had very large audiences. About seventhirty or eight o’clock the people begin coming in in large groups, demanding "Six seats in the center,” or "Eight seats in the back row.” The show has started at seven o’clock, and by now the only seats left, except well-scattered singles, are down front, where you have to twist your neck one way or another to see the extra-large image on the screen. Funny People People are funny creatures in the movies. They say "I can sit anywhere,” and "I’m not particular where I sit.” They complain and blame me because I don’t give them seats where they want them. Some people, generally elderly ladies, will follow me down the aisle and then stop, saying "I want to sit here.” No amount of persuasion will prove to them that there are no seats there. They insist on climbing over the people and eventually finding out for themselves that they can t sit there. Some people complain that they can’t sit on the side. Others are just as fussy about sitting in the center. I know several men who would rather stand for two hours than sit on the side. Others are particular about the back row. If they can’t sit there, they 11 stand — and I, having no sympathy for people that particular, leave them strictly alone. We have one girl who comes to see almost every show. In fact, since I have been there, I can remember only five or six shows that she has missed. I am sorry to say that the girl is sub-normal, which causes her actions. She sits on the front row, always in the same seat, and is the most ardent rooter for the hero and heroine of the screen that ever I have seen. She has that type of piercing laugh peculiar to subnormal people. It reminds me of the laugh of a madman. Before the show starts she moves from one customer to another, talking to them about anything and everything. Once a customer shows interest she is stuck there until the show starts. The Complaints THE FIRST CUSTOMERS who complain wait until they get down front to decide whether or not they want to sit there. In the meantime, no one sitting in back of them can see the screen. They call my attention to it — as if I didn’t know that the others were in the way — and when I attempt to move those standing they resent it. So they go back and stand at the head of the aisle, right where I am supposed to keep the aisle clear. Any effort to move them, no matter how politely, usually results in more complaint to the manager about my attitude toward the customers. I recall one man distinctly, oh, very distinctly. He came, the first time I remember seeing him, with his wife. All the doubles were down front. He grumbled about that. I got a single for his wife and showed him another. He grumbled about that and refused the seat. Then he went back and stood in my way at the head of the aisle. When I politely asked him to move he began his comments about me and the way I was ushering. By now I have learned to leave that kind of person alone; so I went about my business, ushering several more people to seats. Then he asked for his money back. The box-office makes refunds; so I told him to go out there. It was hard for me to keep from laughing at him, for he was attracting attention for such a silly reason. He continued his tirade. Finally he demanded, "Well, are you going to give me my money back or not?” So I calmly opened the door and told him that he would have to see the manager who was standing just outside the door. Just what he told the manager I don’t know, but I’m still working here. I think he came back twice by himself after that, each time repeating his previous performance. I guess he got tired of bawling me out, though, for I haven’t seen him for a long time. Not that I mind that, of course. However, that kind comes only once in a while. Some people refuse to let me usher them because they don’t want me to have to walk all the way down the aisle and back just for them. Nice people, but I’m glad they all aren’t like that, or the theatres wouldn’t need ushers. Some people I have gotten to know quite well and I can take them to the very seat that they want. Ushering people isn’t such a bad job if you have an even temper and are patient. On Patience PATIENCE is important at the theatre. On Saturdays we run continuously, starting at 12.30. All the children come in then, and that’s when I need my patience. Even though they come in every week, and have done so for several years, they still keep running up and down the aisles, asking What time is it?” "How much more time until we start?” or "When do we start?” Sometimes I think we should charge the children the adult prices in order to pay for the trouble that they cause. Some adults make their own trouble, though. Even though I have the greatest respect and sympathy for the elderly and the crippled people. I wish they would come to the theatre before the show stam. There are two elderly ladies who usually come on Saturdays, and always in the middle of the feature picture, who cause us particular annoyance. They don’t trust me; in fact they ignore all the ushers. One takes out a little flashlight and shines it into each person’s face until she finds empty seats. The other one stands in the back, calling to the first one, and she doesn’t whisper. When the first one has found seats, she calls back to the second one. They talk back and forth while they are going down the aisle. Dumb Questions DUMB QUESTIONS are common-place things in any theatre, and our theatre is no exception. One family has lived near the theatre for years, and its members are regular attendants at our shows, usually coming in between seven and seven-ten. The newsreel is always the first on our show, beginning at seven o’clock. But these people always complain if the news is on when they come in. All features are of different lengths, in time, that is, so naturally they start at different times. I remember several weeks ago in particular. We played "Kentucky” on Monday and Tuesday. It was a long feature, so it went on very early after seven. Several people came in at about 7.45, and were disappointed because the feature was on. I told them that it was long and had gone on early. On Wednesday we played "Devil’s Island,” which runs only an hour. The same people came in earlier and complained again because the feature wasn’t just starting. Then the next three days we played "Sweethearts,” which ran 115 m'nutes. And so each week comes and goes with the same customers continually asking the same dumb questions. The feature starting time, incidentally, is published in the daily paper. I remember one customer, a lady, who came in while a cartoon was on and asked if that was the feature. I guess people just don’t think. Some really believe we should start the show when they get there, not before, or not after. Reserved seats offer few problems. The hardest thing about them is to get normal, intelligent people to believe that the ropes and "RESERVED” signs on the ropes on several rows of seats mean that they cannot sit there. One time I reserved four rows of seats in the balcony for a school group. I got the best seats in the balcony and personally escorted the group to them. Imagine my surprise when they scattered and went away up to the top instead of near the front of the balcony where I had expected them to go. But that is the advantage of filling reserved seats while it is dark. The people can’t see, so they have no choice but to follow the usher. Children WE DO THAT with children, too. When we know that we will have a crowd, we usher all the children down front. They go whether they like it or not, because we must hold all the seats we can in the back for the older folks. I remember a few times when we have had to put the children two in one seat in order to make more room for the crowd. In the balcony the ushers put the customers on the steps when crowded. Naturally people are momentarily blinded when they first enter a dark theatre from the bright sunlight, but that’s what we ushers have lights for. Sometimes I think that the customers consider an usher only a piece of furniture that stands in a corner and tries to look pretty in a nice uniform with brass buttons on it. But I do see all the pictures. Not once, but anywhere from two to eight times do I see the same film. So I don’t miss much in pictures. And a uniform comes in handy sometimes, too. I don’t mind even if I do have to pay another man to take my place when I have a date. And, believe it or not, I don’t go to the movies on my night off. April 19, 1919