The New York State Exhibitor (1933)

B Page 12 Augl0'33 YOUR T H EA TRE The Private Letter to Mr. Bill Box-Office* (In this , the sixth of a series of letters, WillB Okay reviews his messages in general and points out problems that may arise in operation.) I’VE COVERED the front of your theatre in previous let¬ ters and the back, too. I’ve checked with you all ways and sideways. But I’m not through. Everything in a theatre costs money. Its value is governed by sustained longevity. Negli¬ gence usually makes anything costly, because instead of an article lasting one year, as is expected, it often must be replaced in three months. Consequently, I’d like you to make another check-up trip in your own theatre. LET US PRESUME that your theatre was originally con¬ structed for legitimate or vaudeville presentations. It is now a sound house. You agree that it cost a great deal of money to equip dressing rooms. The investment, in fact, in fixtures, mirrors, etc., involves a tremendous amount. How long has it been since you, yourself, have gone back stage and looked over these dressing rooms? Are the rooms cleaned regularly? DO YOU KNOW whether the sign man, stage hands or musicians have annexed a room or two for their recreation purposes? You can’t charge a man with ingratitude or negligence because he lays down a lighted cigarette on the table and it burns or chars an inlaid table corner. ARE VISITORS allowed back stage? Do conferences take place in these rooms? Do you permit “tired” employees to take a short nap on one of the couches? In the first place, the time you are paying for is being borrowed from you and never repaid. And again, what would that tired employee do if the theatre originally had no back-stage dressing room? IN A CERTAIN THEATRE, on a Saturday night, I called on the manager, unceremoniously and unheralded. In plain English, the manager did not expect me. It was the opening day of one of the big pictures of the product contracted for by the boss, who owned many other theatres. I visited the manager’s office and naturally, inquired for him. The assistant, whom we regarded as a perfect “Yes-man” and well qualified to be the fourth assistant director on any film lot, politely informed me that his superior was in the theatre. So I walked in and looked around. I waited, impatiently. My particular reason for going there was to discover the public’s reaction to a picture, upon which many disagreed from the box-office viewpoint. WHEN I ARRIVED in the theatre it was 8.15. Convinced that the manager was not on the floor or in the balcony, I occu¬ pied an aisle seat on the extreme left of the last row because it was nearest to the office. I sat there until the last show con¬ cluded. Patrons left, lights throughout the house were being extinguished. I sauntered back into the manager’s office and again asked for him. The “yes-man” gave me the same reply as when I first inquired. It was too pitiful to even laugh at the stupid effort to “cover up” a very delinquent manager. My errand was unimportant, but I was curious about the manager’s absence. At 11.25 the theatre owner ’phoned for the receipts. The assistant supplied the information. The owner asked for the manager. The “yes-man’s” usual reply. The owner simply said “Get him.” THREE MINUTES LATER the manager walked into the office. The owner asked, “How was business?” The manager, not having the slightest idea about the receipts, answered, “Not so hot.” I felt sorry for the theatre owner. To finish this little episode, the manager later admitted to me that he had been asleep back-stage. A comfortable couch in the star’s dressingroom evidently inspired him to seek rest he did not have the night before. On a later visit, I inspected that dressing-room and found it filthy and in a dilapidated condition. I wondered what would happen if the owner walked into the manager’s office sometime and announced that the vaudeville policy would be resumed and that acts were on their way to open in the next few days. Wouldn’t that manager have a helluva time explain¬ ing? Would he be able to have those rooms in condition for acts to move right in, on fifteen or twenty hours’ notice? If painting were required, would it dry in sufficient time not to interfere with performers? How much would it cost to get everything in tip-top shape? CHECK-UP ON THOSE rooms now! Just a minute, while we’re on the stage. Take another minute and look up at the rigging loft. Does your stage man go up there at least once each week, to check-up on the ropes and at the same time keep the rigging loft clean? Think for a minute: It’s true you’re not using the rigging, but you’ll admit that dirt accumulates, and plenty of it, anywhere, especially in the loft. AFTER ALL, you have dead weight hanging. Ropes rot easily, break and someone is hurt. Suppose a silent scene in your talkie was being projected on the screen and a set of lines broke. A drop falls to the stage floor, sideways, so that some part of it is easily visible to your audience. How will you pre¬ vent an ensuing panic? I asked you before to look up at your rigging loft. Now I suggest that you go up yourself. Examine the rigging yourself. WOULDN’T YOU BE SURPRISED to discover that the down spouts are clogged with accumulated trash? Rain water can’t come down, so it stays up there on your roof. Oh, sure, it will eventually be evaporated by the sun, and when it is you’ll find a roof beyond repair, rotted by heat and moisture. It’ll be too late to save even the surface. BESIDES, the roof becomes a haven for mosquitoes and a lot of other useless bugs. Even mosquitoes have transitory in¬ clinations. They get inside of your theatre. If you think that the heat is pulling you into the red, wait ’till a troop, or even a patrol, of mosquitoes decides to come in and look at your show and personally taste the blood of your patrons. You’ll go so far in the red you’ll think it’s heliotrope or something else. I WON’T ASK YOU to go on the roof again in this series of letters, so I invite you to take a peek, glance or even a good look at the fans, if they’re up on the l’oof. Are the fans being constantly and regularly watched? Does that same fellow oil all parts properly? How are the belts? Are they slack and making a flopping, rattling, annoying noise? What about the motor? WHAT’S THE CONDITION of the roof around the motor and the fans? Is there a sag of some kind because of the strain? This is purely a protective measure. You protect, first, your patrons. You protect the theatres from possible suits because of accidents. You protect the investment of your theatre and you practically eliminate any possibility of subsequent damage and injury. IN MY NEXT LETTER I’ll cover the subject of manager and vital matters pertaining to you. Your friend, (Signed) Everything WILLB OKAY. *Watch for the seventh of this series of letters in the September YOUR THEATRE. It will deal with the manager. Save these letters. They make an excellent file.