For Joe Vogel.
Thanks for posting the information about Maude Humphrey. I must confess that I never saw any of her work before and was delighted to peruse the samples
you included. Her work is charming and certainly is
a perfect example of nineteenth century illustration.
Manhattan Marty.
For MOVIEPLACE
Thanks again, for setting me straight about the Gerber baby. I was always a little suspect about that rumor.
About me? Well, as far as I know, my part is done and I’m waiting to see what’s happening. Unfortunately,
I was unable to obtain some of my best work to include
in the collection. Once a piece goes to a client, it’s usually gone forever and is difficult to recover. Now, comes the hard part,trying to clean up my studio which is upside down.
I’m still enjoying your wonderful site. I found a photo
and notes on West 100 Street, which once again brought back memories. We lived at 70 West 100 Street for a year or two. Central Park west was at the end of the
block, where a clinic stood on the corner. It was called, the Reconstruction Clinic(real name?)and I was
its main patient. Many horror stories I can relate. First, being that I never once received any anesthetic
for any procedure. That’s okay, it only made us stronger.
Be well and “I’ll see you at the movies.”
Manhattan Marty.
For MOVIEPLACE
Thanks for correcting me about the time line Bogart lived at Pomander Walk. I know that his mother was an illustrator. I heard that she did the illustration of
the baby that appears on the Gerber Baby Food jars and
she used baby Bogey as the model. True or not?
Manhattan Marty.
FOR MOVIEPLACE I finally remembered the name of the little side street where Bogart lived as a boy. It’s called Pomander Walk. Am I correct or not? Manhattan Marty.
Movieplace
I don’t know if you saw my notes under the “pictures”
comments. If not, look under the photo of the Riverside marquee featuring Woody Allen’s movies.
I’ve been trying to retrieve the comments I sent during
the period when the cinema treasures site was down.
So far, no luck.
P.S.
I spoke to my son about your tours and gave him your
email address. He does a great deal of entertaining,
so he may be interested.
Manhattan Marty.
For Movieplace
I can’t put down the piece you sent to me. I try doing
other things, then find myself mesmerized among the words and photos time and time, again.
NOTE: I know the very place you are talking about, where Bogey lived as a boy. it is probably the most secret street , if you want to call it that, in the city. As a boy,I used to work, after school (Holy Name
on 97th & Amsterdam) for Al Deluise. He had a produce store on 95th and Columbus. I was an all around helper
and part of my job was to deliver the orders to our
customers. Not all, but the “special folk” who lived
between Broadway and Riverside Drive. So, I knew the area very well. A few of my customers lived in those tiny buildings where Bogey lived as a youngster. Most
people didn’t even know that charming little street was there and it was not opened to the general public. I may be wrong, but I think his parents were a pianist and a surgeon. By the way, Al DeLuise was the uncle of Dom DeLouise who would stop by occasionally. I worked for him at the same time I was an usher at the Riverside. After closing the produce stand, I’d run over to the theater.
Next story will be about Alice Faye, whom I’m sure
you know.
Manhattan Marty.
Movieplace.
First thing I did this morning, even before I had my
cup of Barry’s Irish tea, was crank up “Fred” my computer and read the piece you sent to me about our
immortal (in our minds) movie palaces. And, you asked for my comments about same. As the “cowardly lion once said, "I’m speechless”. What can I say but, I’m overwhelmed with your knowledge, experience and
ability to relate the history of “Our Town” and its
treasures through words and pictures. How can I and every other Movie Buff and true New Yorker ever thank
you for giving us this treasure trove of information
about the “Big Apple', the "Great White Way” and “Tinsel Town”. To paraphrase George M. Cohan, My family thanks you, my friends thank you and I thank you. Of course, I couldn’t read the entire piece in one sitting and I don’t want to. Like a great vintage
glass of wine, it should be read slowly and savored.
Occasionally, I shall write to you and comment on the many things I recognize….which are many. However,
I fear there’s not enough time to talk about all of
the things that you so ably awakened in my memory vault of times past.
Sincerely,
Manhattan Marty.
Hello Movieplace
So glad you posted this note. I have been unable to use
the cinema treasures site for days, do to a problem on their end. Glad to know that you finished your piece about our beloved movie houses. I can’t wait to read it, but shall have to wait until morning. Morpheus beckons and I can’t resist. Had an extremely busy day collecting/organizing my artwork for a retrospective that is being put together. Very exhausting job. I’ll keep you posted.
Nighty night,
Manhattan Marty.
The Rose Theater was a short distance from the apartment building where I lived at 128 W. 102nd Street. I had to leave it to go fight in Korea. When I returned, my home and all the surrounding blocks had been destroyed, razed to make way for a new complex of
housing projects. Nothing was left, except a couple of
churches and schools. When I saw the decimation, I cried. I felt as though we had lost the war and the
enemy had won. My mother had moved to Brooklyn, but I
was never comfortable there.
The Rose was the neighborhood theater, showing mostly
re-runs, but the price was right for people who were just trying to survive the Great Depression. The Rose had a lot of give-away nights, when you’d receive a
prize with the purchase of a ticket. The most popular night was “dish night”. Each give-away featured a
different dish. Maybe you’d get a cup one night and then a dinner plate the next time. Everybody got their full set of china from the Rose. Of course for glass-ware, you’d use the empty jelly jars. Not High
Society, but it worked. All our neighbors gathered at the Rose, where we enjoyed the movies, the talent shows
and the singalongs. Baskets of food were awarded to the folks with the winning tickets, which were life-savers for the hungry families. The above photo shows the street, as it was being dug-up by the WPA workmen,laying new water or sewer pipes. The photo also shows some girls walking and riding bikes. These girls could very well be my two older sisters.
The Rose finally closed it’s doors at the beginning of World War 2. The bricks and mortar may be gone,
but not the memories of that tiny theater that was a part of my community and a part of me. Thanks for the memories, Rose.
It is proper that the two movies appearing on the Riverside’s marquee are Woody Allen’s. He belongs up there, since he was not only a great New Yorker,
though born/raised in Brooklyn, he was part of the Manhattan landscape and a personal favorite of mine.
I practically lived in the Riverside, during the ‘50’s, working as an usher during my High School (Rice) years and as a devoted patron before and after that period. In this photo, you can see a bit of the Nedicks hot dog store. My best friend was the manager and entire staff of this wonderful food emporium.
Without it, I would have starved. My pay, which was
fifty cents an hour for ushering, wasn’t enough to
keep my dog, “Dutchess” alive, never mind a 6ft 2 inch
eating machine. Thanks to my buddy, I ate all my meals at Nedicks, as free-bees and he got to see all our films the same way. As I look at these photos, I swell with nostalgia and a great longing for those
happy days. Yes, things got very good for me in the
later years, as I finished school, survived fighting a
war, came home to enjoy a fantastic career as an Art Director on Madison Avenue, marry my true love and raise a family straight out of the Andy Hardy casting department. Now, in my golden years, when I think about the best times ever,I remember the “old neighborhood and the old gang”. Wonderful times, wonderful memories. By the way, No real New Yorker
ever said Nedicks. It was always lovingly called
“Needicks” with two e(e)s.
To Jerryon103St
I grew up on 102nd Street and practically lived in the Arden, with my brother and our pals. We got all our goodies at Hymies, before we went in to see the shows
(always double features). The bombing of the bar took place in 1952 (not ‘51). It had been an Irish bar for
years, but had become a Puerto Rican bar called the Caribe, just as the Arden was changed to the Caribe, too. The “disturbed Korean vet” was a U.S. Marine Sergeant who was a decorated hero of the Chosen reservoir battle. He was home on Christmas leave, along
with his childhood buddies who were also on leave from the service. They had attended a party and had too
much to drink. One of their sisters had been raped a
few days earlier by a Puerto Rican man. He was caught and arrested, but the soldiers were on a punitive mission of revenge. The more they drank, the more they
lost their reason until they finally went to the Caribe
to exact some punishment. In those days, a good fist-fight was the law of the land. They never intended
to spill blood, but madness finally ruled the moment.
A grenade was thrown, but not by the Sergeant. Not
necessary to say who did threw it. EXPLOSION! Madness!
Soldiers ran out, grabbed a cab and sped off. Police
pursue and overtake cab. Soldiers run…. staggering drunk on foot to 96 St. in front of Holy Name Church
where cops overtakes the sergeant and shoots him in
the back of the head. Sergeant staggers. Cop shoots him a second time in the back of the head. Sergeant
falls onto pavement, calls to his buddies who have
stopped running and are screaming his name. Sergeant dies. Buddies are court marshaled. Cop who did the unnecessary shooting is transferred. Everybody cries,
every looses. Never should have happened. Never would have happened……………but it did.
Manhattan Marty
NOTE: This story is NOT for reproduction or publication.
As I mentioned in an earlier comment,
my apartment house was on the same side of the street as the Rose Theater. What I didn’t mention was the sign “USA WPA”, which was a program instituted by President FDR. It gave work to thousands of men, including my father who lost his lucrative business during the Wall Street Crash. My two older brothers got jobs with the CCC. Their salaries helped to keep our family afloat until the war began and they went into the army. We then had almost five years of ration-
ing and more sacrifice, which was made willfully by all.
The Nemo was on the corner of 110 St. and Broadway.
It was three blocks North of the Lowes Olympia, which
was on 107th and Broadway. The Ascencion R.C. Church
and school were around the corner on 107th, on the North side of the street. Note: George Carlin, the
great comedian, came from that neighborhood.
Reference to the Parkwest theater.
Most of the comments made about this little dirty theater are true. Having lived in the area for most of my childhood, while residing at 70 W.100 St., 786 Columbus Ave. and 128 W. 102 St. I, my siblings and friends spent many happy, scary, adventurous and
always exciting hours in that dark, often cold or hot
magical place, staring up through the cigarette and cigar smoke at that tattered, but always thrilling
screen. There, we escaped the world outside with its
problems of the Great Depression, World War 2, poverty, hunger and a myriad of other problems that we had no control over. In the shadows, we could be kings, heroes, soldiers, explorers and conquerors of the universe….or whatever Hollywood would have us be
and all for a nickle and two pennies. Of course, the
“big people” had to pay an extra dime. Yes, on dish night, you received a dish to add to the many other
dishes you had already collected. Not Royale Dalton, but they were more than serviceable, especially when
there wasn’t much food to put on them anyway. I can relate volumes of stories about that dirty, smelly place, but I still get a thrill when I remember running home from Holy Name School and my pals yelling to each other,“Hey guys,I’ll meet you at "the Dump”.
Thank you for your interest in my birthday, which won’t
be for a few months yet, How wonderful for you to be a guide and to get to roam the Big Apple and enjoy all of it’s charms, history and secrets. I envy you.
As for the plans for the day, my son hasn’t given me a
hint as yet, but I’m sure it shall be spectacular. If
however, he should need any assistance, I will mention
your offer. It has been my pleasure to share these emails with you and to know that there are still some
real “movie goers” out there.
Until next time, enjoy the popcorn and the peanut chews.
FOR MOVIEPLACE THANK YOU FOR EXPRESSING YOUR FEELINGS ABOUT THE LOSS OF THE RIVERSIDE THEATER. IN THAT, WE ARE KINDRED SPIRITS. MY ANSWER TO YOU ABOUT THE MURAL IS, AS A PROFESSIONAL ARTIST, I DO SEE IT AS A GOOD REPRESENTATION OF COLUMBUS APPEALING TO KING FERDINAND AND QUEEN ISABELLA TO SUPPORT HIS VENTURE TO INDIA, OR SO HE THOUGHT.
IT IS SAD TO KNOW THAT THIS FINE MURAL AND SO MANY
OTHER WORKS OF ART HAVE BEEN DELIBERATELY DESTROYED TO MAKE WAY FOR “PROGRESS”.
MY SON KNOWS HOW MUCH I LOVED THAT NEIGHBORHOOD, WHERE I GREW UP. SO, FOR MY EIGHTY FIRST BIRTHDAY,
HE IS TAKING ME BACK FOR WHAT MAY BE MY FINAL TOUR
OF MY “HOME PLACE”. I ONLY WISH IT COULD BE AS IT ONCE WAS….JUST FOR A DAY.
I have fond memories of the Thalia theater. It was
located on ninety fifth street around the corner from the Symphony theater, which was on Broadway. I frequented both these movie houses as a teenager.
The Symphony showed mostly English films and many old
classics. The Thalia showed mostly foreign films and
some silent movies, too. I was enthralled with all of
them and I learned so much about life and the world
from them. I usually went by myself, because most of my friends were not interested in those films. It was not unusual to be sitting next to a celebrity, in the Thalia. I remember seeing Tony Randall and many other actors in that theater and around that area. Our neighborhood was full of people from the stage and screen. Sometimes, when I still walk past that corner I get a sense of loss when I don’t see the little Thalia, tucked in among the dull towering buildings. I know that the Symphony is still providing some civilized entertainment, with book readings, but my old celluloid friends are all gone and I miss them.
Now, in the twilight of my life, I often wonder if the wrecking ball really was a good thing.
I noticed that a few members had a question about a club being near the Riverside Theater, between 95 and 96 streets. Yes, there were two clubs, one on the west side of Broadway and one the east side. One was called the Blue Orchid, but I can’t recall the other
name. This was during the 40s and 50s, but they are probably long gone. The Chinese restaurant, Gong Ho,
was close by, too.
Answers to Movieplace from Mar.27.
As head usher of the Riverside during the late 40’s early 50’s,part of my job was to close and lock the
theater after the last show. Many times, I’d go back stage and upstairs to explore the dressing rooms,etc. that were used by the cast members when the house was still a legitimate theater. Going through the dressing rooms was like a sir-real experience. My flashlight would cast an eerie glow in the rooms, as it pieced the dust and cob webs. Old costumes were still hanging in the closets and brushes, cosmetic jars, etc. were left on the make-up tables. I always felt that I was not alone and the ghosts of yesterday were all around me. I imagined that I could hear the
pit orchestra playing and the audience applauding. To
me, the Riverside wasn’t only a theater, it was a thrilling life experience. When it was raised, part of
me died with it. I shall always cherish those memories
and the many more I treasure, but cannot relate. Too little time and too little space.
In answer to your question....Yes, there was a tunnel under the stage, leading to the pit. Furthermore, the great Max Steiner, was once the conductor of the orchestra, during his early days after arriving in America. I hope this helps you.
The Riverside/Riviera Theaters were a big part of my youth during the 40s and 50s. I was an usher and my sister, Ann, was the cashier, after school hours. My mother was the matron at the Riviera. Most of my friends were ushers/usherettes, too. We were all enamored with the theater one way or another. Most of us were attending
theater schools, such as the High School of Performing Arts, studying acting, dance, directing,etc.. My interest lay in directing/acting.
We were all involved in local amateur theater. I eventually landed on Madison Ave. as an Art Director,
then owner of an ad agency.
Many wonderful memories of the Riverside, include the special "previews" that Mr. Spiros Skouras
would present there and we’d see the great stars of
Hollywood. There’s not too much I don’t remember about
those three great theaters and wonderful times. In fact, I hope to include many of the stories in my book/memoirs.
To be continued.
Manhattan Marty.
For Joe Vogel. Thanks for posting the information about Maude Humphrey. I must confess that I never saw any of her work before and was delighted to peruse the samples you included. Her work is charming and certainly is a perfect example of nineteenth century illustration. Manhattan Marty.
For MOVIEPLACE Thanks again, for setting me straight about the Gerber baby. I was always a little suspect about that rumor. About me? Well, as far as I know, my part is done and I’m waiting to see what’s happening. Unfortunately, I was unable to obtain some of my best work to include in the collection. Once a piece goes to a client, it’s usually gone forever and is difficult to recover. Now, comes the hard part,trying to clean up my studio which is upside down. I’m still enjoying your wonderful site. I found a photo and notes on West 100 Street, which once again brought back memories. We lived at 70 West 100 Street for a year or two. Central Park west was at the end of the block, where a clinic stood on the corner. It was called, the Reconstruction Clinic(real name?)and I was its main patient. Many horror stories I can relate. First, being that I never once received any anesthetic for any procedure. That’s okay, it only made us stronger. Be well and “I’ll see you at the movies.” Manhattan Marty.
For MOVIEPLACE Thanks for correcting me about the time line Bogart lived at Pomander Walk. I know that his mother was an illustrator. I heard that she did the illustration of the baby that appears on the Gerber Baby Food jars and she used baby Bogey as the model. True or not? Manhattan Marty.
FOR MOVIEPLACE
I finally remembered the name of the little side street
where Bogart lived as a boy.
It’s called Pomander Walk.
Am I correct or not?
Manhattan Marty.
Movieplace I don’t know if you saw my notes under the “pictures” comments. If not, look under the photo of the Riverside marquee featuring Woody Allen’s movies. I’ve been trying to retrieve the comments I sent during the period when the cinema treasures site was down. So far, no luck. P.S. I spoke to my son about your tours and gave him your email address. He does a great deal of entertaining, so he may be interested. Manhattan Marty.
For Movieplace I can’t put down the piece you sent to me. I try doing other things, then find myself mesmerized among the words and photos time and time, again. NOTE: I know the very place you are talking about, where Bogey lived as a boy. it is probably the most secret street , if you want to call it that, in the city. As a boy,I used to work, after school (Holy Name on 97th & Amsterdam) for Al Deluise. He had a produce store on 95th and Columbus. I was an all around helper and part of my job was to deliver the orders to our customers. Not all, but the “special folk” who lived between Broadway and Riverside Drive. So, I knew the area very well. A few of my customers lived in those tiny buildings where Bogey lived as a youngster. Most people didn’t even know that charming little street was there and it was not opened to the general public. I may be wrong, but I think his parents were a pianist and a surgeon. By the way, Al DeLuise was the uncle of Dom DeLouise who would stop by occasionally. I worked for him at the same time I was an usher at the Riverside. After closing the produce stand, I’d run over to the theater. Next story will be about Alice Faye, whom I’m sure you know. Manhattan Marty.
Movieplace. First thing I did this morning, even before I had my cup of Barry’s Irish tea, was crank up “Fred” my computer and read the piece you sent to me about our immortal (in our minds) movie palaces. And, you asked for my comments about same. As the “cowardly lion once said, "I’m speechless”. What can I say but, I’m overwhelmed with your knowledge, experience and ability to relate the history of “Our Town” and its treasures through words and pictures. How can I and every other Movie Buff and true New Yorker ever thank you for giving us this treasure trove of information about the “Big Apple', the "Great White Way” and “Tinsel Town”. To paraphrase George M. Cohan, My family thanks you, my friends thank you and I thank you. Of course, I couldn’t read the entire piece in one sitting and I don’t want to. Like a great vintage glass of wine, it should be read slowly and savored. Occasionally, I shall write to you and comment on the many things I recognize….which are many. However, I fear there’s not enough time to talk about all of the things that you so ably awakened in my memory vault of times past. Sincerely, Manhattan Marty.
Hello Movieplace So glad you posted this note. I have been unable to use the cinema treasures site for days, do to a problem on their end. Glad to know that you finished your piece about our beloved movie houses. I can’t wait to read it, but shall have to wait until morning. Morpheus beckons and I can’t resist. Had an extremely busy day collecting/organizing my artwork for a retrospective that is being put together. Very exhausting job. I’ll keep you posted. Nighty night, Manhattan Marty.
The Rose Theater was a short distance from the apartment building where I lived at 128 W. 102nd Street. I had to leave it to go fight in Korea. When I returned, my home and all the surrounding blocks had been destroyed, razed to make way for a new complex of housing projects. Nothing was left, except a couple of churches and schools. When I saw the decimation, I cried. I felt as though we had lost the war and the enemy had won. My mother had moved to Brooklyn, but I was never comfortable there. The Rose was the neighborhood theater, showing mostly re-runs, but the price was right for people who were just trying to survive the Great Depression. The Rose had a lot of give-away nights, when you’d receive a prize with the purchase of a ticket. The most popular night was “dish night”. Each give-away featured a different dish. Maybe you’d get a cup one night and then a dinner plate the next time. Everybody got their full set of china from the Rose. Of course for glass-ware, you’d use the empty jelly jars. Not High Society, but it worked. All our neighbors gathered at the Rose, where we enjoyed the movies, the talent shows and the singalongs. Baskets of food were awarded to the folks with the winning tickets, which were life-savers for the hungry families. The above photo shows the street, as it was being dug-up by the WPA workmen,laying new water or sewer pipes. The photo also shows some girls walking and riding bikes. These girls could very well be my two older sisters. The Rose finally closed it’s doors at the beginning of World War 2. The bricks and mortar may be gone,
but not the memories of that tiny theater that was a part of my community and a part of me. Thanks for the memories, Rose.
Manhattan Marty.
It is proper that the two movies appearing on the Riverside’s marquee are Woody Allen’s. He belongs up there, since he was not only a great New Yorker, though born/raised in Brooklyn, he was part of the Manhattan landscape and a personal favorite of mine. I practically lived in the Riverside, during the ‘50’s, working as an usher during my High School (Rice) years and as a devoted patron before and after that period. In this photo, you can see a bit of the Nedicks hot dog store. My best friend was the manager and entire staff of this wonderful food emporium. Without it, I would have starved. My pay, which was fifty cents an hour for ushering, wasn’t enough to keep my dog, “Dutchess” alive, never mind a 6ft 2 inch eating machine. Thanks to my buddy, I ate all my meals at Nedicks, as free-bees and he got to see all our films the same way. As I look at these photos, I swell with nostalgia and a great longing for those happy days. Yes, things got very good for me in the later years, as I finished school, survived fighting a war, came home to enjoy a fantastic career as an Art Director on Madison Avenue, marry my true love and raise a family straight out of the Andy Hardy casting department. Now, in my golden years, when I think about the best times ever,I remember the “old neighborhood and the old gang”. Wonderful times, wonderful memories. By the way, No real New Yorker ever said Nedicks. It was always lovingly called “Needicks” with two e(e)s.
Manhattan Marty.
To Jerryon103St I grew up on 102nd Street and practically lived in the Arden, with my brother and our pals. We got all our goodies at Hymies, before we went in to see the shows (always double features). The bombing of the bar took place in 1952 (not ‘51). It had been an Irish bar for years, but had become a Puerto Rican bar called the Caribe, just as the Arden was changed to the Caribe, too. The “disturbed Korean vet” was a U.S. Marine Sergeant who was a decorated hero of the Chosen reservoir battle. He was home on Christmas leave, along with his childhood buddies who were also on leave from the service. They had attended a party and had too much to drink. One of their sisters had been raped a few days earlier by a Puerto Rican man. He was caught and arrested, but the soldiers were on a punitive mission of revenge. The more they drank, the more they lost their reason until they finally went to the Caribe to exact some punishment. In those days, a good fist-fight was the law of the land. They never intended to spill blood, but madness finally ruled the moment. A grenade was thrown, but not by the Sergeant. Not necessary to say who did threw it. EXPLOSION! Madness! Soldiers ran out, grabbed a cab and sped off. Police pursue and overtake cab. Soldiers run…. staggering drunk on foot to 96 St. in front of Holy Name Church where cops overtakes the sergeant and shoots him in the back of the head. Sergeant staggers. Cop shoots him a second time in the back of the head. Sergeant falls onto pavement, calls to his buddies who have stopped running and are screaming his name. Sergeant dies. Buddies are court marshaled. Cop who did the unnecessary shooting is transferred. Everybody cries, every looses. Never should have happened. Never would have happened……………but it did.
Manhattan Marty
NOTE: This story is NOT for reproduction or publication.
As I mentioned in an earlier comment, my apartment house was on the same side of the street as the Rose Theater. What I didn’t mention was the sign “USA WPA”, which was a program instituted by President FDR. It gave work to thousands of men, including my father who lost his lucrative business during the Wall Street Crash. My two older brothers got jobs with the CCC. Their salaries helped to keep our family afloat until the war began and they went into the army. We then had almost five years of ration- ing and more sacrifice, which was made willfully by all.
Manhattan Marty.
The Nemo was on the corner of 110 St. and Broadway. It was three blocks North of the Lowes Olympia, which was on 107th and Broadway. The Ascencion R.C. Church and school were around the corner on 107th, on the North side of the street. Note: George Carlin, the great comedian, came from that neighborhood.
Manhattan Marty
Reference to the Parkwest theater. Most of the comments made about this little dirty theater are true. Having lived in the area for most of my childhood, while residing at 70 W.100 St., 786 Columbus Ave. and 128 W. 102 St. I, my siblings and friends spent many happy, scary, adventurous and always exciting hours in that dark, often cold or hot magical place, staring up through the cigarette and cigar smoke at that tattered, but always thrilling screen. There, we escaped the world outside with its problems of the Great Depression, World War 2, poverty, hunger and a myriad of other problems that we had no control over. In the shadows, we could be kings, heroes, soldiers, explorers and conquerors of the universe….or whatever Hollywood would have us be and all for a nickle and two pennies. Of course, the “big people” had to pay an extra dime. Yes, on dish night, you received a dish to add to the many other dishes you had already collected. Not Royale Dalton, but they were more than serviceable, especially when there wasn’t much food to put on them anyway. I can relate volumes of stories about that dirty, smelly place, but I still get a thrill when I remember running home from Holy Name School and my pals yelling to each other,“Hey guys,I’ll meet you at "the Dump”.
Manhattan Marty.
For MOVIEPLACE
Thank you for your interest in my birthday, which won’t be for a few months yet, How wonderful for you to be a guide and to get to roam the Big Apple and enjoy all of it’s charms, history and secrets. I envy you. As for the plans for the day, my son hasn’t given me a hint as yet, but I’m sure it shall be spectacular. If however, he should need any assistance, I will mention your offer. It has been my pleasure to share these emails with you and to know that there are still some real “movie goers” out there. Until next time, enjoy the popcorn and the peanut chews.
Manhattan Marty.
FOR MOVIEPLACE
THANK YOU FOR EXPRESSING YOUR FEELINGS ABOUT THE LOSS
OF THE RIVERSIDE THEATER. IN THAT, WE ARE KINDRED SPIRITS. MY ANSWER TO YOU ABOUT THE MURAL IS, AS A PROFESSIONAL ARTIST, I DO SEE IT AS A GOOD REPRESENTATION OF COLUMBUS APPEALING TO KING FERDINAND
AND QUEEN ISABELLA TO SUPPORT HIS VENTURE TO INDIA,
OR SO HE THOUGHT.
OTHER WORKS OF ART HAVE BEEN DELIBERATELY DESTROYED TO
MAKE WAY FOR “PROGRESS”.
HE IS TAKING ME BACK FOR WHAT MAY BE MY FINAL TOUR OF MY “HOME PLACE”. I ONLY WISH IT COULD BE AS IT ONCE WAS….JUST FOR A DAY.
MANHATTAN MARTY
I have fond memories of the Thalia theater. It was located on ninety fifth street around the corner from the Symphony theater, which was on Broadway. I frequented both these movie houses as a teenager. The Symphony showed mostly English films and many old classics. The Thalia showed mostly foreign films and some silent movies, too. I was enthralled with all of them and I learned so much about life and the world from them. I usually went by myself, because most of my friends were not interested in those films. It was not unusual to be sitting next to a celebrity, in the Thalia. I remember seeing Tony Randall and many other actors in that theater and around that area. Our neighborhood was full of people from the stage and screen. Sometimes, when I still walk past that corner I get a sense of loss when I don’t see the little Thalia, tucked in among the dull towering buildings. I know that the Symphony is still providing some civilized entertainment, with book readings, but my old celluloid friends are all gone and I miss them. Now, in the twilight of my life, I often wonder if the wrecking ball really was a good thing.
I noticed that a few members had a question about a club being near the Riverside Theater, between 95 and 96 streets. Yes, there were two clubs, one on the west side of Broadway and one the east side. One was called the Blue Orchid, but I can’t recall the other name. This was during the 40s and 50s, but they are probably long gone. The Chinese restaurant, Gong Ho, was close by, too.
Answers to Movieplace from Mar.27. As head usher of the Riverside during the late 40’s early 50’s,part of my job was to close and lock the theater after the last show. Many times, I’d go back stage and upstairs to explore the dressing rooms,etc. that were used by the cast members when the house was still a legitimate theater. Going through the dressing rooms was like a sir-real experience. My flashlight would cast an eerie glow in the rooms, as it pieced the dust and cob webs. Old costumes were still hanging in the closets and brushes, cosmetic jars, etc. were left on the make-up tables. I always felt that I was not alone and the ghosts of yesterday were all around me. I imagined that I could hear the pit orchestra playing and the audience applauding. To me, the Riverside wasn’t only a theater, it was a thrilling life experience. When it was raised, part of me died with it. I shall always cherish those memories and the many more I treasure, but cannot relate. Too little time and too little space.
Manhattan Marty.
The Riverside/Riviera Theaters were a big part of my youth during the 40s and 50s. I was an usher and my sister, Ann, was the cashier, after school hours. My mother was the matron at the Riviera. Most of my friends were ushers/usherettes, too. We were all enamored with the theater one way or another. Most of us were attending theater schools, such as the High School of Performing Arts, studying acting, dance, directing,etc.. My interest lay in directing/acting. We were all involved in local amateur theater. I eventually landed on Madison Ave. as an Art Director, then owner of an ad agency.
would present there and we’d see the great stars of Hollywood. There’s not too much I don’t remember about those three great theaters and wonderful times. In fact, I hope to include many of the stories in my book/memoirs. To be continued. Manhattan Marty.