Remembering the Capitol Theatre

History - Newark

Remembering the Capitol Theatre

These two stories were published in the Courier-Gazette in October 1990, as part of the "We Remember" series, a project undertaken by Helen Taylor Armitage Walker.

Part 1 by Donald Lee, NHS Class of '40
Spencerport, N.Y.

My first recollection of the Capitol - Theatre, that is - was going to the movie, "The Black Pirate", starring Douglas Fairbanks. Although it was a silent movie, I was reduced to a nervous wreck in the first 10 minutes. As Douglas was busily cutting a swath through the bad guys, my pulse was racing, hands sweating profusely, and my finger nails bitten to the nub. Thus, at the tender age of 4, I was hooked on "Hollywood."

Later, I learned to distinguish the "good guys" from the "bad guys". The "bad" wore black, cheated at cards, leered into the camera and tried to kiss women. The "good" wore white, were honest, looked straight into the camera and kissed their horses. The cowboys in white would kick the ground with their boots, say "Aw, shucks", and ride into the sunset at the finale. This would leave the heroine alone, sad and unmolested waving a fond farewell. It never occurred to me that perhaps that is why she looked so sad.

In 1932, the cowboys lost some of their appeal for me. The good guys like Ken Maynard and Buck Jones started to wear black. But to reveal their true identity, they rode white horses. This was the year "Tarzan, the Ape Man" re-appeared as a "talkie". I was enthralled! Not with Tarzan or Jane, but with Cheetah, the Chimp. He proved smarter than Tarzan and more appealing than Jane. How I longed for a pet like Cheetah to go swinging on the trees through Bailey's Woods.

At the time our family lived in one-half of a large double on the corner of West Maple and Madison. My sister and I would descend into the laboratory and swing on the water pipes, uttering blood-curling screams, trying to emulate Tarzan's "call of the Jungle". Little did we realize how upsetting this was to the tenant of the other half of the double, a Miss Mina Elve, who taught 4th grade at Perkins School. Since her brother owned the house, she had clout. As a result, we soon found ourselves living on West Avenue in a house owned by J. Brill.

Months later my mother said, "Why, you and Marion were even accused of bending the pipes in the basement!"

In my innocence, I proudly announced, "Why, we did. We were playing Tarzan and Jane swinging through the jungle!"

I close the curtain on the rest of the scene.

In 1934 came the dreaded 12th birthday. The price of theatre ticket zoomed from 10 cents to 25 cents. A 150% increase! A financial disaster!

The Capitol employed a doorman with an inbuilt computer chip in his brain. One look and he knew you had reached your 12th year. We tried all kinds of ruses: trying to shrink, walking in backwards, surrounding ourselves with friends. But nothing fooled him. Back to the ticket window to purchase a 25-cent ticket.

During the Saturday afternoon show my bicycle was parked against the wall on West Miller Street. It was surrounded by scores of others - all locked and awaiting their owners to emerge and reclaim them. Often my dog, Stubby, was patiently waiting by my bicycle. How he knew I was in the theatre or which was my bike, I could never fathom. But then, again, look how smart Cheetah was. Then Stubby and I would race home to Crosby Street. Stubby would gallop sideways, at full tilt and always edged me out by a nose.

Next month "King Kong" would be playing the Capitol. Cheetah's giant cousin would chase Fay Wray all over NYC. Ah! What a pet the giant Kong would have made.

Gone is glamour of plush theatres
By Ralph R. Donald

I would like to take this opportunity to thank Don Lee of Spencerport for the fine article on the Capitol Theatre which appeared in the Oct. 12, 1990 issue of the Courier-Gazette. It brought back a lot of memories to me - not only of the theatre but the Lee family as well, as they were my neighbors on Crosby St. for many years.

This nostalgic trip to the Capitol was of special interest to me, having served as Assistant Manager in 1939 thru 1940. Gus DePauw was manager at that time. After completion of my training period, I was than transferred to Schine's Geneva Theatre.

It was mentioned in the article that the Capitol employed a doorman with a built-in computer chip in his brain. That doorman was my wife's grandfather, George Bartholomew, Sr. In addition to the doorman, there were four ushers employed - two for the lower floor and two for the balcony. The ushers' dressing room was in a cubby hole - type of room located beneath the stairs leading up to the balcony. There was a dress code prominently displayed on the wall of the room and a shoe shine was a must before stepping out on the floor. Black shoes were a must. The ushers' uniforms were referred to as "monkey suits" by the boys. They consisted of navy blue "tight" trousers and a grey vest, trimmed in red and gold braid with brass buttons. A white shirt with a black bow tie, completed the outfit. White vests were worn in the summer months.

As to the doorman, he was a different breed. He not only took the tickets but also had full charge of the ushers on the floor. It was his responsibility to see that the ushers picked up any candy wrappers that were carelessly dropped by the patrons. And he made sure the usher stood at attention at the head of his aisle ready to escort the patrons to their seats.

The doorman's uniform consisted of navy blue trousers as the ushers wore. Instead of a vest, he wore a gray coat trimmed in red and gold braid with brass buttons. A cap to match the outfit distinguished him from the ushers. A white shirt and black bow tie completed the outfit. A white coat was standard for summer months.

The only time these uniforms were discarded in favor of formal attire was for the showing of Gone With The Wind. It was a plush affair, as Newark was one of the first theatres in the area to premiere this great film classic (with special road-show prices). The theatre was packed for two straight weeks - two shows a day.

Yes, those were the days - the likes of which we shall never see again. Gone is the glamour of the plush theatres and the showmanship so prevalent in those by-gone days.

(The Capitol Theatre with 1129 seats opened New Year's Eve, Dec. 31, 1925. It was destroyed by fire June 15, 1984.)

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