Showmen's Trade Review (Jan-Mar 1947)

20 SHOWMEN'S TRADE REVIEW, March 1, 1947 The Brass Tacks of Efficient Picture Theatre Management* UNIQUE ORGANIZER REALLY WORKS By Jack Jackson Tom Steed, the fellow who goes barging around the country with a pack of spooks on his back, dropped in for a visit the other day. Did I say dropped? I should have said "slithered," or better still, "glided." Because Tom arrived in a sparkling brand new Cadillac 1947 model which is enough to tell anybody that the "Spook Show" business is plenty hot 'cause Tom works 50-50 — if he can get it — and thereby cuts his jackpots with the exhibitors. Of course Tom has it on most showmen when it comes to overhead. Those spooks are total abstainers from victuals and the whole gang of them crowd into the glove compartment of the Cadillac when the Sand man calls which reduces the hotel demand to one bed for one guy. Steed has been playing in the Bayou country of lower Louisiana and brings me the kind of news that always makes my listening machine run better. He tells me of the five Condon brothers — each running a theatre in a small community — who are all ardent followers of this series of articles. Tom tells me that the quintette of Condons even keep a file of "Brass Tacks" and refer to it whenever they are confronted with a problem demanding advice on what to do and how to do it. It may be just so much "ear rinse" — but how I love it when it's about me — but the Spook Man tells me a story about Bill Condon, who runs the largest theatre in the largest town (I forgot the name), and his system of remembering the many duties he has to perform each day that could stand copying by no end of theatremen. Here 'tis : Five-Cap System of Theatre Operation Bill Condon points to five caps which he has hung on separate nails in his office. The five are individual headpieces to cover the five distinctly different jobs required in the running of his little theatre — janitor, maintenance man, accountant, buyer and booker, manager. Condon contends that the very sight of the sun-shedders is a constant reminder to fulfill all the duties in each department before doffing one sky-piece for another. In other words he enters his operation in the morning and dons the janitor's gear to sweep out, dust, clean the glass in box-office and on front frames, etc., before reaching for the one that reminds him to look over the lights, seats, accessories, etc. Then he lifts the one that symbolizes the job of getting his accounts in order such as box-office reports, shipping orders, bank deposits, etc. This job finished, he jauntily perches the buyer-booker skimmer on his dome and proceeds with the business of checking coming attractions, filling out the requests for needed short subjects, watching the entertainment balance of his feature bookings and making such calls and writing such letters to the exchanges as are necessary. By keeping the chapeau in place he is able to eliminate a lot of unnecessary phone calls and telegrams due to the constant reminder to work well in advance and let a three-cent stamp do the job whenever possible. By an orderly advance from cap to cap Condon has time to check back over each line of duty carefully before polishing up the manager's lid and getting his best grin in top working order to greet the coin-jinglers as they converge on his box-office. With Condon I understand that the caps are genuine and that he actually does keep them lined up in his little office. With you they can be poker chips, slugs from the corner pin-ball machine or five dish-pans if you prefer. The important point is that they are symbols of organized thinking and working and as such merit a place in the management of every theatre everywhere. I don't happen to have five hats, Bill Condon, but if I did I'd be doffing them all to you for a novel and efficient "reminder" system that will keep managers who see fit to use similar sys *This series copyrighted and must not be produced in part or whole without written permission from Showmen's Trade Review, Inc. tems from seeing five times 500 spots before their eyes that keep them from quickly and efficiently disposing of any duty because of uncertainty as to the completion of other essential chores. I know that a lot of managers of larger operations are going to say: "Well, that idea is okeh for the little fellows who have it all to do themselves but I have an assistant, a treasurer, a booker and a cleaning superintendent." You managers of the big houses need the Condon idea more than he does because your operation is so extensive that it gets out of hand more easily. You should break down the Condon notion of organization into departments and see to it that each head is fully aware of the duties falling on the shoulders of the guy who wears it. Then, if your system is good, you'll be able to hold a five-minute conference with your various lieutenants each morning and, by adhering closely to an organization sheet, be in position to get the answers about everything that has been done — as well as the excuses for what has been neglected — and have an unblurred vision of your entire responsibility. Such information is the finest insurance for the contentment of mind needed to cope with the multitude of genuinely important interviews, conferences, etc. as well as the overall study of present and future business maneuvers. There is no post in the theatre from cashier to stage door and from engineer to projectionist that cannot be adapted to the Condon five-cap system and many of them would and could be more satisfactorily and efficiently handled if twentyfive caps were available. Just to brush up a bit let's break down a few of the jobs that shortage of help, labor turnover, flush business and other obstacles have caused us to "sluff" yet which are of capital importance if we are to hold our own in the days when we have to hustle for business— and that means right now fellows. Cap number one for the cashier is her (Continued on Page 22) Just a Pair of Skates Mrs. J. H. Cunningham, Jr., of Clayton, Mo., called at the Shady Oak Theatre recently for a pair of ice skates left there two years ago by her daughter. She had seen the skates among the lost articles displayed at the theatre a year ago, but had failed to pick them up. Manager Vernon Whitesides was unable to locate the skates and questioned Mrs. Cunningham as to why she had just come for them. Explanation was that her daughter had written from school in Washington that she would like a pair of skates she had seen in a store window. Price was $75. "Goodness, I just had to come to see about that old pair," the mother exclaimed.