Moving Picture World (Jan-Feb 1927)

February 5, 1927 MOVING PICTURE WORLD 411 The Files of Moving Picture World l ears By Charles Edward Hastings LIMPSING the colossal interior of the Roxy Theatre, a few days ago, brought to mind an almost forgotten article that appeared in Moving Picture World during the closing months of 1907 (one of the first issues of this publication), under the heading: “Moving Pictures at Dallas.” “There are now in Dallas,” we read, “more than a dozen — nearly a score, in fact — moving picture shows. They literally line Main and Elm Streets from one boundary of the business district to the other. From early morn till late at night the man whose business keeps him on the streets walks down the sidewalk under a row of big tin horns, which shout into his ears the latest gag, joke or jest, sing the most popular song or whistle the newest ditty. They are the ‘outside performances’ of the moving picture show. They are the prelude or the overture, as it were, to the fifteen minutes’ entertainment promised the prospective patron on the inside “The first moving picture show was opened up in Dallas two or three months ago. At first it was largely an experiment. Patrons were so scarce that two doors were cut in the front entrance and one side of the house turned over to the simple-minded darkey. For some weeks it jogged along and failure loomed up and down the future as prominently as a treasury deficit. Then all of a sudden the ‘craze,’ or whatever it was, struck the city. The public began to attend the moving picture show. First the audiences were largely women and children. Then the men began to drop in ... . They generally came out with smiling faces. “It is almost impossible to walk half a dozen blocks in the business district today without passing a building — often two or three of them — being remodeled and converted into a moving picture theatre. Often they grow up in two or three days ” It would seem that some undercover agent tipped “the row of big tin horns” up North here, for some months later, we read : “Ginton, N. Y. — The Board of Aldermen has refused to allow moving picture shows to exhibit in this town.” The folks in Greenfield, Mass., had a narrow escape, to wit : “Only the action of the Selectmen prevented the town from having two continuous moving picture and illustrated song entertainments this winter. Herbert S. Streeter, a local man, secured a license from the Selectmen, leased the fine Davenport store and proposes to spend about $2,000 for getting ready. Mr. Streeter proposes to call his place of amusement, the Bijou Theatre. G. E. Moulton, of Newburyport, rented the old carriage repository on Federal Street, and proposed to fit the building for a moving picture show. The Selectmen thought one daily afternoon and evening show of this kind was enough and declined to give Mr. Moulton a license.” Our New Jersey correspondent informed us that, in Burlington : “Citizens who opened their eyes in amazement when, one after another, four moving picture shows opened in this city, are still more surprised to find that the craze has not yet reached the limit. A milkman has offered to sell his route cheap in order that he may enter the business, while a prominent painter wants to put up his business as security for the installation of a similar show, and a suburban farmer has taken similar tactics with his property. One candy merchant, ready to capitulate because children spend their nickels with the moving picture man, is seeking to sell out and invest the proceeds for a machine and film.” Miles Brothers, with branches in New York City, Philadelphia, Boston and San Francisco, advertised, in August, 1907 : “Nothing in the history of the M. P. business will equal the great boom that will strike the country, starting with the first cool weather. “By this time next week our New York plant will be in our own new six-story building, No. 259-261-263 Sixth Avenue, between 1 6’th and 1 7th Streets, which will be the largest plant in the world devoted exclusively to the moving picture industry. “We will guarantee to deliver the same day ordered anything in the M. P. line, from a lug to a complete Moving Picture Theatre. “Write us and we’ll send you an invitation to our formal opening. “You can eat, drink and dance with us, and we will make a Moving Picture of you while you wait, and show it to you before you leave.” The guarantee of the Miles Brothers to deliver a theatre in a day (and they KEPT THEIR WORD! had its effect on the proprietors of milk routes, as we see. If you have visited the dazzling Paramount Theatre in New York City, a few lines from Troy, N. Y., may prove of interest : “Trojans have added to their means of amusement a place of novelty and instruction which, beyond doubt, is destined to be a great favorite. It is the ‘Novelty,’ opened by the Novelty Amusement Company (William B. McCollum. President), at No. 324 River Street, Troy, N. Y. . . . It is elegantly fitted uo, and has plush upholstered opera chairs for the accommodation of 200 persons . . . the handsomest and most convenient little theatre in the country.” There were showmen in those days, too. Get this : “Over five hundred people gathered in front of the Luna Theatre (Akron. O.), Saturday evening, March 26, to see Charles Decker, proprietor of the theatre, hauled to the police station in a patrol wagon. Standing in the rear end of the wagon, Decker yelled out to the crowd that he would be back soon. He kept his promise. “Decker is the one man who is fighting the new ordinance passed recently by council, prohibiting the use of phonographs in advertising his show.” It’s a long story, but Decker won his fight. The ordinance was amended to permit the use of his phonograph “within reason,” etc. Meanwhile, Akron watched the fight, and patronized his theatre. Here’s one that came in from Youngstown, O., in April, 1907 : An elderly couple entered a local picture show one morning this week, and, taking seats near the front of the little theatre, folded their hands and waited patiently for the motion pictures to be shown on the canvas. They had been there for half an hour when two electricians entered. “Are you waiting for the show?” one of them asked. “Yes, sir,” replied the man, “we want to see the moving pictures.” “It will be two hours before the performance begins,” explained the workman. “The place is open, now, in order that we may do some wiring.” “Two hours yet did you say?” “Yes, two hours or more.” The man reached under the seat and brought forth a lunch basket. “If that’s the case,” he said, “I guess me and mother will make ourselves comfortable. We drove six miles this morning, and we’re going to see the show before we go home.” Acting before the camera, in those days, had its moments of illusion and disillusionment. From London, England, came this intelligence : “A man named William Zeitz while impersonating a signalman bound to the railroad line by robbers in a moving picture representation of a train-wrecking scene, was killed by a train near Croyden, today (April 20). The train ought to have stopped, but failed to do so, owing to an error in the signalling.” We note (April, 1907) that: “Robert R. Goss, 529 Bronx River Road, The Bronx, New York City, has now plenty of open time. Wishes to connect with some one at once for Summer. If pianist who also sings is needed, would be glad to connect jointly. Can furnish machine and films if so desired. Have fine selection.” Here follows some history: “The ‘Cameraphone’, or talking and mov (Continued on page 445)