Moving Picture World (Jan-Feb 1927)

January 29, 1927 MOVING PICTURE WORLD 331 QyTM BUNCEY was not a Scotchman, nor was he a Jew. In fact, he had sprung from none of the races which are popularly supposed to provide cartoonists and paragraphers with their “tight” jokes. Jim was what Sid Bascom described as a “congenital tightwad.” He bragged that he still had the first dollar he had ever made. He was popularly credited with having the last and all that came in between. It would not be fair to Jim to say that he would not give a dime to save a man from starvation. He never had met a man that hungry. And there was a report that back in 1912 he had let little Billy Powers go in to see the show free when Bill had dropped his dime in the sewer on his way to see the show. But everyone agreed that Jim could squeeze a golden eagle hard enough to force it to lay dimes, and Jim took it as something of a compliment. It was natural enough that Jim should be in the picture business. Here was something that made real money, and called for comparatively small investment. Back in 1910 Jim had converted one of the stores in the Buncey Block into a 290-seater, and when the entire block caved in one winter night because of the weight of snow on the badly repaired roof, he threw up the New Buncey, with a capacity of 1,183. That marked the opening of a new era. Jim had been making money out of his little store show, but he had to hustle to sell his additional seats. That was back in 1922, and Jim had not been really happy since. He cut his expenses to the bone and then dug out the marrow. He cheapened his never very elaborate film service, cut out the illustrated song in favor of a phonograph, and charged the dealer who loaned him his weekly change of discs ten cents a title for advertising. He figured he saved $12 salary and made 60 cents on advertising, but he did not find a gain of $12.60 on his box office sheet. If it had been there, Jim would have found it, for he sold all the tickets himself, not daring to trust anyone else with the money. As he only gave a matinee on Saturday, he could do this without neglecting his other business affairs, his business, mostly mortgage loans, being conducted from the cubbyhole office under the stairway to the balcony. That saved renting an office somewhere, and it served well enough except when John Belding made one of his infrequent calls. John weighed 328 pounds, and he had to sit in the lobby and talk through the doorway. Jim felt that he had reduced his expenses to a minimum, and yet the theatre still showed a tendency to lose. At first, while the house was new, he did a big business. He got a house and a half every night, and on Saturday he sold at least two-thirds of the seats. When business began to slip, Jim retrenched. First he cut out his billboard advertising, and then he trimmed down his newspaper space. The original three-piece orchestra was reduced to two by eliminating the drummer and eventually he cut to a pianist. He had cut from three ushers to one, had changed projectionists to get a boy who was willing to throw in janitor service, and ii did not seem possible to cut much closer, yet the receipts continued to drop. At first it had been an in and out affair, a drop of a couple of dollars this week, a comeback of $1.75 the next, then down again the third week, but the takings never came back to their former mark. It wras when the receipts dropped an entire five dollars in one seven-day period that Tim decided to sell. His first prospective buyer took one look at the audience, a little longer look at Jim and made a ’ine for the railroad station and the next train out, “I’d be too lonesome here,” he said briefly. “I’d have to keep the usher out in the lobby for company.” After a dozen such experiences, Jim decided upon “salting the mine.” He did not dare trust the people with the money to buy tickets, so he had a lot of ticket books printed up and spread them broadcast just before he expected a purchaser. He also went back to the billboards because one visitor gave that as his reason for not buying, and even improved his film service. The result was that the dead head attendance was getting larger and larger, but Jim was on his second supply of free ticket books when he finally made a sale to a breezy hustler from a distant point. He got as much cash as he could, laid the mortgage off to the bank and got from under with the feeling of a man who beats the limited express across the railroad crossing. “And then Jim did something that even he could not explain. He took a vacation; the first he had ever enjoyed since he had gone to work in the sawmill on his twelfth birthday. He had made a small profit on this sale. He had avoided an inevitable loss — and he had just taken a second-hand flivver on a chattel mortgage. He felt that it would be cheap and pleasant to travel : decidedly pleasant not to be around when the ticket books ran out and business at the Buncey dropped to its former eight or ten dollars above the receipts. It was three months before he rolled back into town on three wheels and a tree branch, the latter taking the place of the fourth wheel, which had finally given up the game fight four miles outside the town. It was about 9 o’clock in the evening ; about time for the second show at the Buncey, and he could not resist the temptation to drive past the theatre. Turning up his coat collar and pulling down his hat brim, he turned into the familiar street. To his surprise the lobby was crowded while from the exit alleys there flowed such a stream of humanity as Jim had never seen before. In spite of his precautions, Billy" Peterson, the new owner, standing at the curb, spotted him and gave him a jovial welcome. “No hard feelings,” he cried as he thrust his hand through the broken window of the sedan. “You had starved and cheated them for so long^ that they fairly eat up a good show. But that ticket book stunt was my best streak of luck. You had everyone in town used to coming, and they’ve kept right on coming. Buncey, you’re crooked enough to hide behind a bedspring, but you cheated me into the best deal I ever made in my life. Thanks. Drop in and see a real show sometime. Bet you never saw one when you had the house. So long!”