Fred,
I was revamping my telephone contacts and—once again—had to pause on the listing for your Commodore Theatre.
It seems like a million years ago, a veritable lifetime since I was in Portsmouth. The theatre’s classic front styling caused me to stop at the Box Office window and read the newspaper article displayed, detailing your restoration efforts. That’s when you walked up and invited me inside.
You gave me a tour of the place and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the devotion to the project you exhibited. There was also a sense of lingering memories that seemed to exude from the very structure of the building and the interior appointments, so I frequently wondered if I was seeing the present-day version of the theatre, or if my mind’s eye was transporting me into the halcyon days of its prime. As our conversation continued, you asked if I’d lend you a hand with some repairs, to which I agreed.
Over several days, you and I restored some wiring, both electrical and for the table telephones. You even turned me loose to tighten up some of the seating in the balcony. Between the various and sundry projects, you were the consummate host, telling me tales of the original architecture, showing me how the projectors used a continuous loop of film, and explaining how your staff handled the process of catering meals during the showings.
You even allowed me to witness the fruits of your labor, letting me sit in on the current film during the evenings, “Meet Joe Black.” I helped shuttle out food to customers during the feature. It was a wonderful experience for me, and I hope some of what I contributed still remains as an integral part of the theatre’s underpinnings. I’m proud to have shared a tiny slice of its history.
Since then, I’ve retired from the Air Force and taken up residence in Fulton, MO. I work at Callaway nuclear power plant, and I’ve held several different positions over the last 12 years. I’m still a “jack of all trades” and a master of a few of them. My work-a-day world doesn’t often provide the sweep and grandeur, or the historical beauty of such a place where you work, but my memories of the Commodore Theatre are always a fond reminiscence, whenever I am reminded of it.
Bless you abundantly, and thanks for the memory!
TJW
Fred, I was revamping my telephone contacts and—once again—had to pause on the listing for your Commodore Theatre. It seems like a million years ago, a veritable lifetime since I was in Portsmouth. The theatre’s classic front styling caused me to stop at the Box Office window and read the newspaper article displayed, detailing your restoration efforts. That’s when you walked up and invited me inside. You gave me a tour of the place and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe at the devotion to the project you exhibited. There was also a sense of lingering memories that seemed to exude from the very structure of the building and the interior appointments, so I frequently wondered if I was seeing the present-day version of the theatre, or if my mind’s eye was transporting me into the halcyon days of its prime. As our conversation continued, you asked if I’d lend you a hand with some repairs, to which I agreed. Over several days, you and I restored some wiring, both electrical and for the table telephones. You even turned me loose to tighten up some of the seating in the balcony. Between the various and sundry projects, you were the consummate host, telling me tales of the original architecture, showing me how the projectors used a continuous loop of film, and explaining how your staff handled the process of catering meals during the showings. You even allowed me to witness the fruits of your labor, letting me sit in on the current film during the evenings, “Meet Joe Black.” I helped shuttle out food to customers during the feature. It was a wonderful experience for me, and I hope some of what I contributed still remains as an integral part of the theatre’s underpinnings. I’m proud to have shared a tiny slice of its history. Since then, I’ve retired from the Air Force and taken up residence in Fulton, MO. I work at Callaway nuclear power plant, and I’ve held several different positions over the last 12 years. I’m still a “jack of all trades” and a master of a few of them. My work-a-day world doesn’t often provide the sweep and grandeur, or the historical beauty of such a place where you work, but my memories of the Commodore Theatre are always a fond reminiscence, whenever I am reminded of it. Bless you abundantly, and thanks for the memory! TJW