Does anyone know whatever became of the large “flaming urns” (as the late, great, and irreplaceable Jim Rankin so well described them above) that once graced the Egyptian’s balcony? These urns, which used brightly colored fabric and internal air blowers to simulate fire decades before this technique again became popular with similar home and business decorations, were once on the “wish list” of my high-school classmate and longtime friend John Pintar when he managed Milwaukee’s Oriental Theatre, back in the early 1980s (shortly before the Egyptian was razed), for restoration and installation in the Oriental. Were the urns among the artifacts from the Egyptian that ended up going to the City of Milwaukee for storage and possible use elsewhere? Or were they bought by private collectors or other parties, or just discarded or lost? —Scott Enk
Another of the great scarab beetles is now restored and presides over the refreshment counter at Milwaukee’s Times Theatre. The Times, if I’m correct, is now owned by Larry Widen, whose famous, haunting photographs of the Egyptian’s interior in its last days alone make his and Judi Anderson’s books Milwaukee Movie Palaces and its update, Silver Screens, worth their price. Mr. Widen and his colleagues continue to do great work for the cause of theater preservation in Milwaukee, having hosted a panel discussion on the topic in early 2011. —Scott Enk
The pertinent paragraph is hereby amended to read as follows:
Mr. St. Thomas wonders openly if Eberson at least had a hand in designing the Venetian, the first of five such theaters to be built in Milwaukee (only two, the Avalon and the Zenith, still exist; after being closed for several years, the Avalon is now being restored for performing-arts use; the Zenith has long been a church). While I myself still strongly believe it indeed was designed by the local architects of record, Urban Peacock and Armin Frank, one indeed does at least wonder how much they might have been influenced by Eberson’s work.eater, back around 1954.
I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take pictures of these areas, too, and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.
Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?
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Now there is more.
“Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone?
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot… ."
—Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi
Nearly a year after Milwaukee’s long-neglected Venetian Theatre, its rotting roof open for years to Wisconsin snows and rains, was torn down, I recently took another look at local urban preservation advocate Tim St. Thomas’s excellent Web page on the history of this building whose death seemed to draw it more attention than it ever got over the decades since it closed as a theater, back around 1954.
Mr. St. Thomas has added some fascinating new material, including some pointing out how certain elements of the Venetian were similar to those of Chicago’s landmark Aragon Ballroom, designed by world-famous “atmospheric” theater architect John Eberson, the leading exponent of that once-popular style of theater, which gave patrons the illusion that they were seated in an open courtyard under the night sky.
Mr. St. Thomas wonders openly if Eberson at least had a hand in designing the Venetian, the first of five such theaters to be built in Milwaukee (only one, the Avalon, still exists; after being closed for several years, it’s now being renovated for performing-arts use). While I myself still strongly believe it indeed was designed by the local architects of record, Urban Peacock and Armin Frank, one indeed does at least wonder how much they might have been influenced by Eberson’s work.
For many years, many of us in the Milwaukee area interested in historic buildings and their preservation, most of whom had long ago given up on any hope of saving the Venetian, wondered what, if anything, was left of the interior. Mr. St. Thomas now includes on his Web site two 2006 photographs from the city of Milwaukee’s historic-preservation department that go a long way toward answering that question—two of the most memorable photographs of their kind I’ve ever seen, tragic yet hauntingly beautiful.
They hit me with much the same force as did such famous images as those of the “dean” of Milwaukee movie-palace historians, Larry Widen, of the ruins of Milwaukee’s Egyptian Theatre, Bruce Sharp’s pictures of Chicago’s incredible Granada Theatre, both in its fading glory and in its heartbreaking ruin shortly before its razing (see http://www.mekong.net/random/theatres.htm),,) or the famous photos of Gloria Swanson amid the ruins of New York City’s fabled Roxy Theatre.
If you haven’t yet seen Mr. St. Thomas’s pages on the Venetian lately, or at all, and want to experience one of the best chronicles of the life, mixed times, and all-too-common prolonged decline and death of a classic neighborhood movie palace ever written, take a look at this link:
As I wrote in this thread nearly a year ago to Timothy St. Thomas:
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I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take [more] pictures of [the Venetian] … and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.
Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?
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Now there is more.
I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take pictures of these areas, too, and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.
Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?
Thanks for all those spectacular photos you’ve shared with us all. (Could you please contact me outside this site at my personal e-mail address if ever you decide to part with any of the pieces of the Venetian you were able to save?)
Milwaukeean Timothy St. Thomas, writing on the Milwaukee Renaissance site’s page on the failed efforts to rehabilitate the Venetian (http://www.milwaukeerenaissance.com/VenetianTheaterProject/HomePage), noted, as you did and your photos document, that the ceiling had fallen to the floor in areas not covered by the remnants of the roof and that he was planning to put a photo showing this on that Web site. The photo that you shared here showing the projection booth and the balcony is apparently now also on Mr. St. Thomas’s page at the Milwaukee Renaissance site, at View link)
Interestingly, however, Mr. St. Thomas also writes of having been able to fulfill a dream he had since childhood when he “had a moment of being in the building shell and standing on the stage.”
I hope that he, you, or someone else was able to take some photographs of whatever was left of the Venetian inside other than the well-documented proscenium and surrounding area and the rear of the auditorium. Even with the side walls and the areas on either side of the stage opening (including the remains of the organ chambers) painted over and no doubt ruined by years of water and other damage, it would be interesting to see what they ultimately looked like. (While Paul Bachowski informed me that he had intended to have the theater auditorium rebuilt in a modern, functional style, with the costs of any attempt to restore it to its original appearance prohibitive, I had wondered to myself about the possibility of at least considering trompe l'oeil painting to recapture at least the aura of the original decor.)
I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take pictures of these areas, too, and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.
Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?
Yes, there indeed was a significant amount of the Venetian’s terra-cotta trim saved—just check the recent postings at the Cinema Treasures Web page on the Venetian at /theaters/2464 There are plenty of pertinent links to photographs of various pieces as well as one to Urban Remains, a Chicago-based firm dealing in various kinds of architectural remnants.
Looking forward to your photos of what you saved—with gratitude from all who love and care about preserving our movie-palace history—
One last correction to my original April 15, 2007, posting to this page: The pertinent paragraph therein should be, and hereby is, corrected to read as follows:
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Fortunately, no one was hurt, although, as Terry, the young man who lives with his family in the first-floor apartment, noted to me, bricks from the theater crashed through the attic of the house into its second-story apartment. As he showed me on April 14, all the first-floor windows (and, he said, at least some of those on the second floor) on the side of the house facing the theater were broken.
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Hey, my training did include journalism—so while I might be a fairly good writer and researcher, I’m not perfect; I do place a very high value, however, on acknowledging and correcting mistakes or ambiguities when they do occur. ‘Night, everyone.
Mea maxima culpa! First, my apologies for the repetitive posting from a couple of days ago—my computer had a bad case of electronic hiccups when I tried to amend my posting virtually at the moment I sent it. The most recent version of it is the one to follow.
The pertinent paragraph of my previous posting should be, and hereby is, corrected to read as follows:
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I did get to take hundreds of photos yesterday—sad, yet beautiful and powerful. You can see some of the best—and most telling and informative—at the following link:
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The link itself is correct.
I am sooooooo amazed at how the Venetian, at least based on what I’ve seen, has had more photos of and about it submitted to Cinema Treasures—or any other Web site not devoted to a single theater—than any other theater. This is truly a tribute, not only to the Venetian and to the cause of theater preservation, but to sooooooo many dedicated Milwaukee-area movie-palace mavens, from the late, great Jim Rankin to the equally incomparable Larry Widen and Judi Anderson to the dedicated Timothy R. and so many other great folks.
As for my own photographs, the overall views I’ve taken of what I call the “tragic altar” (the Venetian’s stage and rear wall) and its “great sacrificial offering … a giant pile of rubble and twisted metal that once was most of the rest of the theater” might be the closest I’ll ever get as a photographer to Larry Widen’s haunting final photos (1984) of the ravaged interior of Milwaukee’s Egyptian, the famed pictures of Gloria Swanson amid the ruins of New York’s Roxy, or the famous “Irreplaceable” poster photo of the razing of San Francisco’s Fox, but my purpose in taking and sharing such photos is to help hasten the day when we will never again have occasion to take or share such pictures.
Better for us all to share examples of theater preservation, as well as film and theater-organ preservation, in action as daily realities in everyone’s lives!
Scott Enk
“Only the people who lived through an era, who are the real
participants in the drama as it occurs, know the truth. The people of each generation, it seems to me, are the most accurate historians of their time."
—Lillian Gish, in her autobiography The Movies, Mr. Griffith, and Me (1969)
As William Manchester wrote when chronicling the 1950s in his bestselling popular history of the United States from 1932 through 1972, The Glory and the Dream:
“Across America five thousand motion picture theater marquees had been darkened in the great box office recession which had accompanied the rise of television. Ernie Kovacs and Queen for a Day had stolen hearts once pledged to Clark Gable and Ginger Rogers… . Beneath screens on which Paul Muni had defended Alfred Dreyfus and Gary Cooper had submitted to torture rather than divulge the cavalry’s location, empty whiskey bottles accumulated, and where Charles Boyer had begged Hedy Lamarr to run away from the Casbah with him, and Jennifer Jones as Bernadette had been visited by the Virgin Mary, aisles became cluttered with cigarette butts, sanitary napkins, and used contraceptives.”
As with so many other wonderful theaters, no doubt similar, if not exactly the same, things happened in and to the Venetian. While some Milwaukee theaters have found interesting alternative lives (for example, the nearby Zenith—with the Avalon, which is now being restored, Milwaukee’s last two surviving atmospherics—is now a church, although one with, fortunately, most of its theater decor still intact; the unconventional but interesting Koscuiszko is now a bicycle store, while the Lincoln, just down the street from the Kosciuszko, is now a sad hulk, albeit one with its quaint nickelodeon exterior still intact), the Venetian has finally ended its last sad run. It now joins such still-revered Milwaukee wonder palaces as the Wisconsin, the Palace, the Alhambra, the Plaza (the favorite “show house” of my mother, who died 31 years ago today but whose keen memories of growing up from the 1930s to the 1950s played a major part in whetting her son’s keen interest in things historical!), the Colonial, and the other two of Milwaukee’s five atmospherics, the National and the Egyptian.
All that now remains of the Venetian is its imposing rear wall and its stage area, with its riotously colorful, richly detailed stage opening (still including a beautifully detailed molding—or perhaps a carving—of fruit on one side of the large niche over the center of the opening, formally called the proscenium; please see the photos to which I link below) patterned after the world-famous Rialto Bridge in the real Venice—and still surrounded by a few shattered remnants of what was once part of the atmospheric ceiling. Before this tragic altar, like a great sacrificial offering, lies a giant pile of rubble and twisted metal that once was most of the rest of the theater.
The Venetian, like so many theaters that have literally gone before it and like it, deserved better.
Its sturdy doors, once at least once closely watched by vigilant ushers against any young gate-crashers, showed signs of having been forced open—and were guarded only by weeds, old newspapers, and, at least once, an empty bottle of Wild Irish Rose wine (see linked photo).
As Timothy has noted in a previous posting, despite efforts to reinforce the side wall (the east wall) adjoining a residence only a few feet away, some bricks from the theater crashed through the roof pf the house. A blue tarp now covers a hole in the roof estimated to extend 10 to 15 feet down its height.
Fortunately, no one was hurt, although, as Terry, the young man who lives with his family in the first-floor apartment, bricks from the theater crashed through the attic of the house into its second-story apartment. As he showed me on April 14, all the first-floor windows (and, he said, at least some of those on the second floor) on the side of the house facing the theater were broken.
He invited me inside, turning off a booming boom box in the living room and pulling away the plastic covering some of the broken windows in his bedrooms and bathroom to reveal a neighbor’s-eye view of the carnage in concrete, brick, and twisted metal, flecked occasionally with what seemed to be crumbled plaster—some still a vivid sky blue—mixed in. (To those of you who’ve also paid your respects—is that indeed what that blue in the rubble at least sometimes was?) Another window was boarded up.
Terry, born long after so many movie palaces had died, asked me for details as to what sort of building, one apparently unfamiliar to him, had been next to his home. I told him about how large movie theaters like the Venetian had once been common in neighborhoods and downtowns all over America—before television, before suburbia, before the hollowing out of our cities and so many of their neighborhoods. “For a lot of theater owners, these places just couldn’t get the audiences they needed to heat and maintain them,” I explained, adding that that was how places like the Venetian ended up as the likes of liquor stores.
After I showed Terry and his young siblings where to find this page of Cinema Treasures, he and I went out on his front porch, where he showed me how the razing had also dislodged a metal-pipe stairway railing and the corner of a rain gutter at the foont of the house.
“Danger—No Trespassing,” read a sign on the temporary high fence erected around the gravesite. Silently acknowledging my debt to Orson Welles and his film Citizen Kane, I again pulled out my digital camera, set it to movie mode, and photographed the sign, pulling back to reveal the fence and the large yellow wrecker behind it, then panning left to reveal the giant pile of rubble and the looming rear wall, topped with a tall chimney and a graffiti-covered stage-pulley (or is it an elevator-mechanism?) housing.
As to whether or not the foreboding opening or the closing theme, with its overpowering, tragic finality, of Bernard Herrmann’s legendary score to Kane was more appropriate, assuming either was to this newly filmed sequence, I wasn’t sure. But, as in those opening and closing sequences of Kane, even though I didn’t go past that fence, my camera’s eye did—and recorded something tragic yet fascinating.
One passerby, curious why I was taking so many pictures from every angle around the fence—even at times sticking my telescoping lens between the chain links—asked if I was an insurance agent. Another, Shelby Holloman, noted that he thought it was sad that such a building had come to such an end, noting that if it could have been saved, it would have been a great asset to the community. Unlike Terry, he and I are both old enough to remember the movie-palace era firsthand, if only in its last, waning days.
Noting that he himself had done demolition work, Holloman said that some were concerned about how to make sure that the complex, towering rear-wall-and-stage area (at the south end of the theater) could be brought down without damaging the house right across the narrow alley behind the theater. The massive pile and wasteland of debris where the rest of the theater had been, he said, would probably have to be cleared away first.
Even though the site seemed to have been mostly picked clean of such mementos as the weathered but still exquisite terra-cotta work that can now be seen up close on the Internet, I did find a large remnant of one exterior half column, its swirled, beautifully marbleized terra-cotta still sporting two rich, deep red bands flanking one of gold, just inside the fence nearest the street corner (see linked photo; note that this piece, like many other of the theater’s terra-cotta pieces, is numbered; might someone be able to access and, if legally and otherwise possible, exhibit online a copy of the relevant American Terra Cotta Co. catalogue pages showing the pieces that graced the Venetian? Urban Remains friends, might you either be able to do this or know of someone else who can?).
The terra-cotta piece, so masterfully executed, was, like so much else in movie palaces and movies, just a veneer; the rest appeared to be of solid concrete. (Urban Remains and Timothy, is this indeed so?) The piece was far too large and too heavy for any one person to carry safely.
The Venetian, as Timothy has noted, in at least some places had three layers of large, thick bricks forming its exterior walls. In the case of Chicago’s lavish, fabled Paradise Theatre—celebrated and mourned widely, including by the rock group Styx in its homage to childhood memories of the theater through its 1981 album Paradise Theater and its trilogy of songs A.D. 1928, Rockin' the Paradise, and A.D. 1958—the sculptors and other artisans who worked on its were reportedly told, was intended “for all time.” But, as is well known among movie-palace mavens, Paradise was all too soon lost; that theater was open only 28 years when, according to at least one account, theater owner John Balaban said, tersely, “Rip it down.” The theater’s walls and foundations were indeed built to last much longer; a demolition job originally expected to take about six months actually took some two years.
The Venetian, while much smaller and less lavish than such theaters as the Paradise, spent only 27 of its 80 years as a theater—spending most of its existence otherwise.
As Holloman said, awe as well as a tinge of sadness in his voice, “This is a monument, man.”
As movie-palace history pioneer Ben Hall noted in his landmark 1961 book The Best Remaining Seats, a sign in one atmospheric theater reminded operators to be sure to turn off the twinkling stars and the machine projecting moving clouds onto the ceiling before closing up for the night.
Whether the Venetian ever had such a sign, I don’t know. But its night sky is tonight all too real, and dark clouds cover the stars. What’s left of the fanciful Venetian courtyard that formed it is about to vanish forever.
I did get to take hundreds of photos yesterday—sad, yet beautiful and powerful. You can see them at the following link:
To see any one photo in detail, click on the muted thumbnail in the main body of the page. The selected photo will appear, together with a brief explanation I’ve written for each photo at the very top of the page.
Let me know what you think!
Scott Enk
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It is so interesting for me to see, once again, how my lifelong interest in silent films, movie palaces, and related subjects has once again gotten me to expand my online capabilities. I first got online in 1998 after I began,, out of curiosity, to explore the Internet on a library computer. When I saw what it had to offer regarding silent film—something I’ve loved since I was five years old (and that’s now more than 40 years ago, folks!), I knew that the Internet indeed had “arrived.” After I saw Paul Charlesworth’s Web site devoted to Lillian Gish (who’s at the center of a far, far happier Milwaukee movie-palace memory for many Milwaukee-area folks, me certainly included—but that’s another story for another time and Cinema Treasures page!), with a series of unanswered questions he had about Gish for which he requested answers from anyone who knew them and I realized I could answer all but one off the top of my head, I just knew it was time for me to get online and get my own e-mail address. So I did, soon followed by my own computer.
Now, for the first time, I’ve learned how to upload photos to a Web link! Talk about the new aiding the old; like many others, I strongly believe the Internet is one of the best things that has ever happened for silent films, movie palaces, theater organs, and related matters and for the people who love them and want to preserve them and share them with others!
The Net has certainly helped those interested in these various things, interests long often pursued in isolation from their natural kindreds (for example, some silent-movie people often seemed to care only about the films but little about the theaters or the organs designed to showcase them!), learn from and work with each other. Those interests—and everyone concerned—thus all benefit. Now if only we had had the Internet to help save the likes of the Paradise, New York’s Roxy, Milwaukee’s Egyptian—and so many others …
One of the Urban Remnants photos—the one of one of those urns that was at the very top of the building—shows just how much work and care went into the Venetian and so many other movie palaces. How many today would be concerned about, much less include, garlands on those urns, a detail that few if any people would see at such a height?
As with the films for which these theaters were built, “they just don’t make them like that any more.”
Thanks again for those sad but fascinating photographs. For many of us, they will be our only chance to see what was left of the Venetian’s interior—and whatever tangible will soon be left of the Venetian itself.
Yes, I, too—as SNWEB indeed has asked above—should have asked, when it was still possible, about whether if it ultimately proved not possible to rehabilitate or otherwise save the Venetian, its priceless terra-cotta trim could have been preserved as a unit or at least in larger units, perhaps to be mounted on another building elsewhere, or whether smaller pieces could have gone to museums—perhaps to the Milwaukee County Historical Society and/or the Milwaukee Public Museum, or that of the Theater Historical Society of America in Elmhurst, Illinois. I hope that those of you who have been able to obtain remnants might at least consider thus donating a piece or two so that future generations can glimpse what we have all too often lost in many cases and places—and be inspired to do all they can to preserve the few vintage theaters we still have.
For those of you who might be interested (and have the money—they aren’t inexpensive to buy), some choice remnants of the Venetian are now for sale by Urban Remains, a Chicago architectural-artifacts firm. You can see photos of these remnants via the following link:
Be sure also to click on the “Theater Building Artifacts” link at the bottom left of the above Web page.
I am still considering going to the Venetian myself some time soon and retrieving whatever I still might be able to.
Tim and all, how can one best do this safely and lawfully? (The demolition photos clearly indicate entry into the site.) Is there someone at the site or elsewhere from whom one must first ask permission to enter?
Two safety concerns that might well apply here to anyone attempting to retrieve theater artifactn in addition to demolition-site-safety and legal matters relate to two materials commonly found in older theaters: asbestos (in those fire curtains and in building insulation) and lead (in paints). What can any of you tell us all as how to best avoid such hazards, much less bringing them with us?
Sad news, but most of us who knew and cared about the Venetian and its fate saw what’s now happened as all but inevitable—including many who deeply hoped that the efforts of Milwaukee urban-renewal advocate Paul Bachowski and his colleagues to renovate the Venetian (and, ultimately, help its decline-ridden neighborhood) would succeed. We had all been awaiting some news on this front, and had hoped it would be good. The news has now come, but it’s not good.
Thanks, Timothy R., for sharing all those powerful photos eith us all. If I can get there some time this weekend or soon afterward, I’ll be trying to get some good pictures myself—and, if possible, share the best ones with you and everyone here.
The pictures might not be quite as dramatic as the famous one of Gloria Swanson amid the ruins of New York’s Roxy or Milwaukee movie-palace maven Larry Widen’s haunting photos of the interior of Milwaukee’s Egyptian shortly before its razing, but they’re nonetheless powerful, especially that closeup of the northwest exterior corner with its brickwork grotesquely twisting. As many of us had long feared and as Mr. Bachowski confirmed to me—and as the pictures and accounts above show—there indeed wasn’t much of the original theater left inside, but what little did remain (get a load of that remnant of wonderful, riotous color on and near the remains of the proscenium!) is still a reminder of the theater’s better days.
A less spectacular photo among the many I’ve taken of the Venetian myself might also summarize all too well what’s been happening to the Venetian for many years that has led to this week’s demolition. Taken in 2004, this photo shows a rear stage entrance that apparently had been the target of someone trying to kick it in at the bottom—and was guarded only by weeds and an empty bottle of Wild Irish Rose wine. This is all too symbolic of what’s happened to a once-festive, happy theater, its neighborhood, and, in many ways, many areas of its city.
“And so, my friends, we’ll say ‘Good night,'
for time has claimed his prize …"
—Styx, A.D. 1958
Thanks for all your input, friends. But don’t thank me—I’ve just spread the word. Thank Paul Bachowski and his partners for their “heavy lifting” through their efforts to renovate the Venetian.
Although I certainly do not speak on behalf of Mr. Bachowski or his organization, he told me earlier today (Monday, February 5) that his deadline for firming up first-stage funding is this Thursday, February 8. Time thus is indeed of the essence—so if anyone “out there,” whether from Milwaukee or elsewhere, knows of any potential sources of grants and/or other possible funding for this project, now is the time to contact him and let him know. To get contact information for him, please see my posting above.
Thanks for all your input, friends. But don’t thank me' I’ve just spread the word. Thank Paul Bachowski and his partners in his efforts to renovate the Venetian.
Although I certainly do not speak on behalf of Mr. Bachowski or his organization, he told me earlier today (Monday, February 5) that his deadline for firming up first-stage funding is this Thursday, February 8. Time thus is indeed of the essence—so if anyone “out there,” whether from Milwaukee or elsewhere, knows of any potential sources of grants and/or other possible funding for this project, now is the time to contact him and let him know. To get contact information for him, click on the link to Milwaukee Renaissance in my main article above.
For the Venetian, might the darkest hour be preceding a new dawn?
To excerpt what Paul Bachowski of MUSIC LLC, Milwaukee Urban Skyline Investment Company, states in a February 1, 2007, posting on the Web site of Milwaukee Renaissance:
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Project Save the Venetian Theatre Launched!
A report by Paul Bachowski, Feb. 1, 2007
Operation Save the Venetian Theatre is underway! Ron Roberts of the [City of Milwaukee] Department of Neighborhood Services has stated that he will hold off on the demolition of the theater if I am able to provide them with a financially supported renovation plan. The buildingâ€\s impressive brick and terracotta facade, brick walls, steel roof structure and concrete floors are all in great shape… . The long road to seeking grants for the restoration of the theater has begun.
At least $200,000 will need to be raised in the next couple months to acquire, stabilize and clean out the building. The replacement of the roof, facade cleanup and lobby area restoration would be the first phase. A non-profit entity will be formed that will oversee the renovation of the building interior and manage fund raising efforts… . With the $200,000 funding in place this year you will see a new facade on the first floor of the building and can stop in daily to watch the renovation of the theater taking shape behind secured windows.
Please help me get the word out as this window of opportunity may not last long. Grant support and partners with money and skills will be crucial.
The redevelopment of the Venetian Theatre will be a major catalyst to the redevelopment of the area… .
Sincerely,
Paul Bachowski
MUSIC LLC
Milwaukee Urban Skyline Investment Company
office/fax: 414â€"374â€"8775
mobile: 414â€"517â€"1277
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Congratulations, thanks, and best of luck, Mr. Bachowski!
You can read Bachowski’s full statement at the following Web address (copy and paste it into your browser window if it turns out not to be a working link):
As much as I love movie palaces, especially those of my hometown of Milwaukee, I, like most theater lovers in our area, had long ago despaired of any chance of saving the Venetian. This has been not only due to the theater’s long lack of use and poor condition but, as other posters to this board have stated, there seemed to be little chance of support for such a building in a neighborhood that has long been in decline. I’ve always hoped that I’d be wrong about this when it comes to the Venetian, and I hope that Bachowski and his colleagues indeed succeed!
Not only would the restoration—or, better yet, the resurrection—of the Venetian be a great outcome in itself for it, its city and neighborhood, and all of the people of its neighborhood and the Milwaukee area. Like the current efforts to bring back Milwaukee’s Avalon (like the Venetian, one of a total of five atmospheric theaters built in Milwaukee), bringing the Venetian back from the brink would be a refreshing change from all the losses of other fine Milwaukee theaters we’ve seen over the last few decades.
Of all Milwaukee movie palaces, the theater whose story has seemed most parallel to the Venetian’s so far might be the Egyptian. Jim Rankin, who chronicled so many Milwaukee theaters on this Web site and elsewhere, would, I’m sure, be elated, as this writer and many others are at this latest news. The rebirth of the Venetian would be a great tribute to him and his efforts. (For those of you who don’t know, Jim, sadly, passed away in January.) Let’s hope we have a different ending—a happy one—for this Milwaukee movie palace!
My thanks to my friend Mike McC. for alerting me to this news and sending me the link. I’m sure there will be much more—I’ll do all I can to keep you posted and invite my fellow Milwaukee-area movie-palace aficionados to do the same!
Does anyone know whatever became of the large “flaming urns” (as the late, great, and irreplaceable Jim Rankin so well described them above) that once graced the Egyptian’s balcony? These urns, which used brightly colored fabric and internal air blowers to simulate fire decades before this technique again became popular with similar home and business decorations, were once on the “wish list” of my high-school classmate and longtime friend John Pintar when he managed Milwaukee’s Oriental Theatre, back in the early 1980s (shortly before the Egyptian was razed), for restoration and installation in the Oriental. Were the urns among the artifacts from the Egyptian that ended up going to the City of Milwaukee for storage and possible use elsewhere? Or were they bought by private collectors or other parties, or just discarded or lost? —Scott Enk
Another of the great scarab beetles is now restored and presides over the refreshment counter at Milwaukee’s Times Theatre. The Times, if I’m correct, is now owned by Larry Widen, whose famous, haunting photographs of the Egyptian’s interior in its last days alone make his and Judi Anderson’s books Milwaukee Movie Palaces and its update, Silver Screens, worth their price. Mr. Widen and his colleagues continue to do great work for the cause of theater preservation in Milwaukee, having hosted a panel discussion on the topic in early 2011. —Scott Enk
A correction is in order—mea maxima culpa!
The pertinent paragraph is hereby amended to read as follows:
Mr. St. Thomas wonders openly if Eberson at least had a hand in designing the Venetian, the first of five such theaters to be built in Milwaukee (only two, the Avalon and the Zenith, still exist; after being closed for several years, the Avalon is now being restored for performing-arts use; the Zenith has long been a church). While I myself still strongly believe it indeed was designed by the local architects of record, Urban Peacock and Armin Frank, one indeed does at least wonder how much they might have been influenced by Eberson’s work.eater, back around 1954.
I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take pictures of these areas, too, and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.
Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?
-o0o-
Now there is more.
“Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone?
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot… ."
—Joni Mitchell, Big Yellow Taxi
Nearly a year after Milwaukee’s long-neglected Venetian Theatre, its rotting roof open for years to Wisconsin snows and rains, was torn down, I recently took another look at local urban preservation advocate Tim St. Thomas’s excellent Web page on the history of this building whose death seemed to draw it more attention than it ever got over the decades since it closed as a theater, back around 1954.
Mr. St. Thomas has added some fascinating new material, including some pointing out how certain elements of the Venetian were similar to those of Chicago’s landmark Aragon Ballroom, designed by world-famous “atmospheric” theater architect John Eberson, the leading exponent of that once-popular style of theater, which gave patrons the illusion that they were seated in an open courtyard under the night sky.
Mr. St. Thomas wonders openly if Eberson at least had a hand in designing the Venetian, the first of five such theaters to be built in Milwaukee (only one, the Avalon, still exists; after being closed for several years, it’s now being renovated for performing-arts use). While I myself still strongly believe it indeed was designed by the local architects of record, Urban Peacock and Armin Frank, one indeed does at least wonder how much they might have been influenced by Eberson’s work.
For many years, many of us in the Milwaukee area interested in historic buildings and their preservation, most of whom had long ago given up on any hope of saving the Venetian, wondered what, if anything, was left of the interior. Mr. St. Thomas now includes on his Web site two 2006 photographs from the city of Milwaukee’s historic-preservation department that go a long way toward answering that question—two of the most memorable photographs of their kind I’ve ever seen, tragic yet hauntingly beautiful.
They hit me with much the same force as did such famous images as those of the “dean” of Milwaukee movie-palace historians, Larry Widen, of the ruins of Milwaukee’s Egyptian Theatre, Bruce Sharp’s pictures of Chicago’s incredible Granada Theatre, both in its fading glory and in its heartbreaking ruin shortly before its razing (see http://www.mekong.net/random/theatres.htm),,) or the famous photos of Gloria Swanson amid the ruins of New York City’s fabled Roxy Theatre.
If you haven’t yet seen Mr. St. Thomas’s pages on the Venetian lately, or at all, and want to experience one of the best chronicles of the life, mixed times, and all-too-common prolonged decline and death of a classic neighborhood movie palace ever written, take a look at this link:
View link
Thanks, Tim!
I don’t know if the city of Milwaukee has any more photos of the Venetian that haven’t yet been shared online, but I’ve been trying to find out!
Scott Enk
As I wrote in this thread nearly a year ago to Timothy St. Thomas:
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I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take [more] pictures of [the Venetian] … and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.
Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?
-o0o-
Now there is more.
I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take pictures of these areas, too, and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.
Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?
Timothy R.—
Thanks for all those spectacular photos you’ve shared with us all. (Could you please contact me outside this site at my personal e-mail address if ever you decide to part with any of the pieces of the Venetian you were able to save?)
Milwaukeean Timothy St. Thomas, writing on the Milwaukee Renaissance site’s page on the failed efforts to rehabilitate the Venetian (http://www.milwaukeerenaissance.com/VenetianTheaterProject/HomePage), noted, as you did and your photos document, that the ceiling had fallen to the floor in areas not covered by the remnants of the roof and that he was planning to put a photo showing this on that Web site. The photo that you shared here showing the projection booth and the balcony is apparently now also on Mr. St. Thomas’s page at the Milwaukee Renaissance site, at View link)
Interestingly, however, Mr. St. Thomas also writes of having been able to fulfill a dream he had since childhood when he “had a moment of being in the building shell and standing on the stage.”
I hope that he, you, or someone else was able to take some photographs of whatever was left of the Venetian inside other than the well-documented proscenium and surrounding area and the rear of the auditorium. Even with the side walls and the areas on either side of the stage opening (including the remains of the organ chambers) painted over and no doubt ruined by years of water and other damage, it would be interesting to see what they ultimately looked like. (While Paul Bachowski informed me that he had intended to have the theater auditorium rebuilt in a modern, functional style, with the costs of any attempt to restore it to its original appearance prohibitive, I had wondered to myself about the possibility of at least considering trompe l'oeil painting to recapture at least the aura of the original decor.)
I thus hope that you, one of your fellow “watchers,” Mr. St. Thomas, or someone else were able to take pictures of these areas, too, and might be able to share them with us all—if not on this Web page or one at the Milwaukee Renaissance Web site, somewhere online.
Seeing as much of the proscenium as we’ve now been able to was a fascinating find—might there be any chance we might yet see more?
Scott Enk
Hi There, Greg—
Yes, there indeed was a significant amount of the Venetian’s terra-cotta trim saved—just check the recent postings at the Cinema Treasures Web page on the Venetian at /theaters/2464 There are plenty of pertinent links to photographs of various pieces as well as one to Urban Remains, a Chicago-based firm dealing in various kinds of architectural remnants.
Looking forward to your photos of what you saved—with gratitude from all who love and care about preserving our movie-palace history—
Scott Enk
One last correction to my original April 15, 2007, posting to this page: The pertinent paragraph therein should be, and hereby is, corrected to read as follows:
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Fortunately, no one was hurt, although, as Terry, the young man who lives with his family in the first-floor apartment, noted to me, bricks from the theater crashed through the attic of the house into its second-story apartment. As he showed me on April 14, all the first-floor windows (and, he said, at least some of those on the second floor) on the side of the house facing the theater were broken.
-o0o-
Hey, my training did include journalism—so while I might be a fairly good writer and researcher, I’m not perfect; I do place a very high value, however, on acknowledging and correcting mistakes or ambiguities when they do occur. ‘Night, everyone.
Scott Enk
Mea maxima culpa! First, my apologies for the repetitive posting from a couple of days ago—my computer had a bad case of electronic hiccups when I tried to amend my posting virtually at the moment I sent it. The most recent version of it is the one to follow.
The pertinent paragraph of my previous posting should be, and hereby is, corrected to read as follows:
-o0o-
I did get to take hundreds of photos yesterday—sad, yet beautiful and powerful. You can see some of the best—and most telling and informative—at the following link:
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The link itself is correct.
I am sooooooo amazed at how the Venetian, at least based on what I’ve seen, has had more photos of and about it submitted to Cinema Treasures—or any other Web site not devoted to a single theater—than any other theater. This is truly a tribute, not only to the Venetian and to the cause of theater preservation, but to sooooooo many dedicated Milwaukee-area movie-palace mavens, from the late, great Jim Rankin to the equally incomparable Larry Widen and Judi Anderson to the dedicated Timothy R. and so many other great folks.
As for my own photographs, the overall views I’ve taken of what I call the “tragic altar” (the Venetian’s stage and rear wall) and its “great sacrificial offering … a giant pile of rubble and twisted metal that once was most of the rest of the theater” might be the closest I’ll ever get as a photographer to Larry Widen’s haunting final photos (1984) of the ravaged interior of Milwaukee’s Egyptian, the famed pictures of Gloria Swanson amid the ruins of New York’s Roxy, or the famous “Irreplaceable” poster photo of the razing of San Francisco’s Fox, but my purpose in taking and sharing such photos is to help hasten the day when we will never again have occasion to take or share such pictures.
Better for us all to share examples of theater preservation, as well as film and theater-organ preservation, in action as daily realities in everyone’s lives!
Scott Enk
“Only the people who lived through an era, who are the real
participants in the drama as it occurs, know the truth. The people of each generation, it seems to me, are the most accurate historians of their time."
—Lillian Gish, in her autobiography The Movies, Mr. Griffith, and Me (1969)
As William Manchester wrote when chronicling the 1950s in his bestselling popular history of the United States from 1932 through 1972, The Glory and the Dream:
“Across America five thousand motion picture theater marquees had been darkened in the great box office recession which had accompanied the rise of television. Ernie Kovacs and Queen for a Day had stolen hearts once pledged to Clark Gable and Ginger Rogers… . Beneath screens on which Paul Muni had defended Alfred Dreyfus and Gary Cooper had submitted to torture rather than divulge the cavalry’s location, empty whiskey bottles accumulated, and where Charles Boyer had begged Hedy Lamarr to run away from the Casbah with him, and Jennifer Jones as Bernadette had been visited by the Virgin Mary, aisles became cluttered with cigarette butts, sanitary napkins, and used contraceptives.”
As with so many other wonderful theaters, no doubt similar, if not exactly the same, things happened in and to the Venetian. While some Milwaukee theaters have found interesting alternative lives (for example, the nearby Zenith—with the Avalon, which is now being restored, Milwaukee’s last two surviving atmospherics—is now a church, although one with, fortunately, most of its theater decor still intact; the unconventional but interesting Koscuiszko is now a bicycle store, while the Lincoln, just down the street from the Kosciuszko, is now a sad hulk, albeit one with its quaint nickelodeon exterior still intact), the Venetian has finally ended its last sad run. It now joins such still-revered Milwaukee wonder palaces as the Wisconsin, the Palace, the Alhambra, the Plaza (the favorite “show house” of my mother, who died 31 years ago today but whose keen memories of growing up from the 1930s to the 1950s played a major part in whetting her son’s keen interest in things historical!), the Colonial, and the other two of Milwaukee’s five atmospherics, the National and the Egyptian.
All that now remains of the Venetian is its imposing rear wall and its stage area, with its riotously colorful, richly detailed stage opening (still including a beautifully detailed molding—or perhaps a carving—of fruit on one side of the large niche over the center of the opening, formally called the proscenium; please see the photos to which I link below) patterned after the world-famous Rialto Bridge in the real Venice—and still surrounded by a few shattered remnants of what was once part of the atmospheric ceiling. Before this tragic altar, like a great sacrificial offering, lies a giant pile of rubble and twisted metal that once was most of the rest of the theater.
The Venetian, like so many theaters that have literally gone before it and like it, deserved better.
Its sturdy doors, once at least once closely watched by vigilant ushers against any young gate-crashers, showed signs of having been forced open—and were guarded only by weeds, old newspapers, and, at least once, an empty bottle of Wild Irish Rose wine (see linked photo).
As Timothy has noted in a previous posting, despite efforts to reinforce the side wall (the east wall) adjoining a residence only a few feet away, some bricks from the theater crashed through the roof pf the house. A blue tarp now covers a hole in the roof estimated to extend 10 to 15 feet down its height.
Fortunately, no one was hurt, although, as Terry, the young man who lives with his family in the first-floor apartment, bricks from the theater crashed through the attic of the house into its second-story apartment. As he showed me on April 14, all the first-floor windows (and, he said, at least some of those on the second floor) on the side of the house facing the theater were broken.
He invited me inside, turning off a booming boom box in the living room and pulling away the plastic covering some of the broken windows in his bedrooms and bathroom to reveal a neighbor’s-eye view of the carnage in concrete, brick, and twisted metal, flecked occasionally with what seemed to be crumbled plaster—some still a vivid sky blue—mixed in. (To those of you who’ve also paid your respects—is that indeed what that blue in the rubble at least sometimes was?) Another window was boarded up.
Terry, born long after so many movie palaces had died, asked me for details as to what sort of building, one apparently unfamiliar to him, had been next to his home. I told him about how large movie theaters like the Venetian had once been common in neighborhoods and downtowns all over America—before television, before suburbia, before the hollowing out of our cities and so many of their neighborhoods. “For a lot of theater owners, these places just couldn’t get the audiences they needed to heat and maintain them,” I explained, adding that that was how places like the Venetian ended up as the likes of liquor stores.
After I showed Terry and his young siblings where to find this page of Cinema Treasures, he and I went out on his front porch, where he showed me how the razing had also dislodged a metal-pipe stairway railing and the corner of a rain gutter at the foont of the house.
“Danger—No Trespassing,” read a sign on the temporary high fence erected around the gravesite. Silently acknowledging my debt to Orson Welles and his film Citizen Kane, I again pulled out my digital camera, set it to movie mode, and photographed the sign, pulling back to reveal the fence and the large yellow wrecker behind it, then panning left to reveal the giant pile of rubble and the looming rear wall, topped with a tall chimney and a graffiti-covered stage-pulley (or is it an elevator-mechanism?) housing.
As to whether or not the foreboding opening or the closing theme, with its overpowering, tragic finality, of Bernard Herrmann’s legendary score to Kane was more appropriate, assuming either was to this newly filmed sequence, I wasn’t sure. But, as in those opening and closing sequences of Kane, even though I didn’t go past that fence, my camera’s eye did—and recorded something tragic yet fascinating.
One passerby, curious why I was taking so many pictures from every angle around the fence—even at times sticking my telescoping lens between the chain links—asked if I was an insurance agent. Another, Shelby Holloman, noted that he thought it was sad that such a building had come to such an end, noting that if it could have been saved, it would have been a great asset to the community. Unlike Terry, he and I are both old enough to remember the movie-palace era firsthand, if only in its last, waning days.
Noting that he himself had done demolition work, Holloman said that some were concerned about how to make sure that the complex, towering rear-wall-and-stage area (at the south end of the theater) could be brought down without damaging the house right across the narrow alley behind the theater. The massive pile and wasteland of debris where the rest of the theater had been, he said, would probably have to be cleared away first.
Even though the site seemed to have been mostly picked clean of such mementos as the weathered but still exquisite terra-cotta work that can now be seen up close on the Internet, I did find a large remnant of one exterior half column, its swirled, beautifully marbleized terra-cotta still sporting two rich, deep red bands flanking one of gold, just inside the fence nearest the street corner (see linked photo; note that this piece, like many other of the theater’s terra-cotta pieces, is numbered; might someone be able to access and, if legally and otherwise possible, exhibit online a copy of the relevant American Terra Cotta Co. catalogue pages showing the pieces that graced the Venetian? Urban Remains friends, might you either be able to do this or know of someone else who can?).
The terra-cotta piece, so masterfully executed, was, like so much else in movie palaces and movies, just a veneer; the rest appeared to be of solid concrete. (Urban Remains and Timothy, is this indeed so?) The piece was far too large and too heavy for any one person to carry safely.
The Venetian, as Timothy has noted, in at least some places had three layers of large, thick bricks forming its exterior walls. In the case of Chicago’s lavish, fabled Paradise Theatre—celebrated and mourned widely, including by the rock group Styx in its homage to childhood memories of the theater through its 1981 album Paradise Theater and its trilogy of songs A.D. 1928, Rockin' the Paradise, and A.D. 1958—the sculptors and other artisans who worked on its were reportedly told, was intended “for all time.” But, as is well known among movie-palace mavens, Paradise was all too soon lost; that theater was open only 28 years when, according to at least one account, theater owner John Balaban said, tersely, “Rip it down.” The theater’s walls and foundations were indeed built to last much longer; a demolition job originally expected to take about six months actually took some two years.
The Venetian, while much smaller and less lavish than such theaters as the Paradise, spent only 27 of its 80 years as a theater—spending most of its existence otherwise.
As Holloman said, awe as well as a tinge of sadness in his voice, “This is a monument, man.”
As movie-palace history pioneer Ben Hall noted in his landmark 1961 book The Best Remaining Seats, a sign in one atmospheric theater reminded operators to be sure to turn off the twinkling stars and the machine projecting moving clouds onto the ceiling before closing up for the night.
Whether the Venetian ever had such a sign, I don’t know. But its night sky is tonight all too real, and dark clouds cover the stars. What’s left of the fanciful Venetian courtyard that formed it is about to vanish forever.
I did get to take hundreds of photos yesterday—sad, yet beautiful and powerful. You can see them at the following link:
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/album/576460762397988905">View link
To see any one photo in detail, click on the muted thumbnail in the main body of the page. The selected photo will appear, together with a brief explanation I’ve written for each photo at the very top of the page.
Let me know what you think!
Scott Enk
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It is so interesting for me to see, once again, how my lifelong interest in silent films, movie palaces, and related subjects has once again gotten me to expand my online capabilities. I first got online in 1998 after I began,, out of curiosity, to explore the Internet on a library computer. When I saw what it had to offer regarding silent film—something I’ve loved since I was five years old (and that’s now more than 40 years ago, folks!), I knew that the Internet indeed had “arrived.” After I saw Paul Charlesworth’s Web site devoted to Lillian Gish (who’s at the center of a far, far happier Milwaukee movie-palace memory for many Milwaukee-area folks, me certainly included—but that’s another story for another time and Cinema Treasures page!), with a series of unanswered questions he had about Gish for which he requested answers from anyone who knew them and I realized I could answer all but one off the top of my head, I just knew it was time for me to get online and get my own e-mail address. So I did, soon followed by my own computer.
Now, for the first time, I’ve learned how to upload photos to a Web link! Talk about the new aiding the old; like many others, I strongly believe the Internet is one of the best things that has ever happened for silent films, movie palaces, theater organs, and related matters and for the people who love them and want to preserve them and share them with others!
The Net has certainly helped those interested in these various things, interests long often pursued in isolation from their natural kindreds (for example, some silent-movie people often seemed to care only about the films but little about the theaters or the organs designed to showcase them!), learn from and work with each other. Those interests—and everyone concerned—thus all benefit. Now if only we had had the Internet to help save the likes of the Paradise, New York’s Roxy, Milwaukee’s Egyptian—and so many others …
One of the Urban Remnants photos—the one of one of those urns that was at the very top of the building—shows just how much work and care went into the Venetian and so many other movie palaces. How many today would be concerned about, much less include, garlands on those urns, a detail that few if any people would see at such a height?
As with the films for which these theaters were built, “they just don’t make them like that any more.”
Tim—
Thanks again for those sad but fascinating photographs. For many of us, they will be our only chance to see what was left of the Venetian’s interior—and whatever tangible will soon be left of the Venetian itself.
Yes, I, too—as SNWEB indeed has asked above—should have asked, when it was still possible, about whether if it ultimately proved not possible to rehabilitate or otherwise save the Venetian, its priceless terra-cotta trim could have been preserved as a unit or at least in larger units, perhaps to be mounted on another building elsewhere, or whether smaller pieces could have gone to museums—perhaps to the Milwaukee County Historical Society and/or the Milwaukee Public Museum, or that of the Theater Historical Society of America in Elmhurst, Illinois. I hope that those of you who have been able to obtain remnants might at least consider thus donating a piece or two so that future generations can glimpse what we have all too often lost in many cases and places—and be inspired to do all they can to preserve the few vintage theaters we still have.
For those of you who might be interested (and have the money—they aren’t inexpensive to buy), some choice remnants of the Venetian are now for sale by Urban Remains, a Chicago architectural-artifacts firm. You can see photos of these remnants via the following link:
View link
Be sure also to click on the “Theater Building Artifacts” link at the bottom left of the above Web page.
I am still considering going to the Venetian myself some time soon and retrieving whatever I still might be able to.
Tim and all, how can one best do this safely and lawfully? (The demolition photos clearly indicate entry into the site.) Is there someone at the site or elsewhere from whom one must first ask permission to enter?
Two safety concerns that might well apply here to anyone attempting to retrieve theater artifactn in addition to demolition-site-safety and legal matters relate to two materials commonly found in older theaters: asbestos (in those fire curtains and in building insulation) and lead (in paints). What can any of you tell us all as how to best avoid such hazards, much less bringing them with us?
Scott Enk
Sad news, but most of us who knew and cared about the Venetian and its fate saw what’s now happened as all but inevitable—including many who deeply hoped that the efforts of Milwaukee urban-renewal advocate Paul Bachowski and his colleagues to renovate the Venetian (and, ultimately, help its decline-ridden neighborhood) would succeed. We had all been awaiting some news on this front, and had hoped it would be good. The news has now come, but it’s not good.
Thanks, Timothy R., for sharing all those powerful photos eith us all. If I can get there some time this weekend or soon afterward, I’ll be trying to get some good pictures myself—and, if possible, share the best ones with you and everyone here.
The pictures might not be quite as dramatic as the famous one of Gloria Swanson amid the ruins of New York’s Roxy or Milwaukee movie-palace maven Larry Widen’s haunting photos of the interior of Milwaukee’s Egyptian shortly before its razing, but they’re nonetheless powerful, especially that closeup of the northwest exterior corner with its brickwork grotesquely twisting. As many of us had long feared and as Mr. Bachowski confirmed to me—and as the pictures and accounts above show—there indeed wasn’t much of the original theater left inside, but what little did remain (get a load of that remnant of wonderful, riotous color on and near the remains of the proscenium!) is still a reminder of the theater’s better days.
A less spectacular photo among the many I’ve taken of the Venetian myself might also summarize all too well what’s been happening to the Venetian for many years that has led to this week’s demolition. Taken in 2004, this photo shows a rear stage entrance that apparently had been the target of someone trying to kick it in at the bottom—and was guarded only by weeds and an empty bottle of Wild Irish Rose wine. This is all too symbolic of what’s happened to a once-festive, happy theater, its neighborhood, and, in many ways, many areas of its city.
“And so, my friends, we’ll say ‘Good night,'
for time has claimed his prize …"
—Styx, A.D. 1958
Thanks for all your input, friends. But don’t thank me—I’ve just spread the word. Thank Paul Bachowski and his partners for their “heavy lifting” through their efforts to renovate the Venetian.
Although I certainly do not speak on behalf of Mr. Bachowski or his organization, he told me earlier today (Monday, February 5) that his deadline for firming up first-stage funding is this Thursday, February 8. Time thus is indeed of the essence—so if anyone “out there,” whether from Milwaukee or elsewhere, knows of any potential sources of grants and/or other possible funding for this project, now is the time to contact him and let him know. To get contact information for him, please see my posting above.
Scott Enk
Thanks for all your input, friends. But don’t thank me' I’ve just spread the word. Thank Paul Bachowski and his partners in his efforts to renovate the Venetian.
Although I certainly do not speak on behalf of Mr. Bachowski or his organization, he told me earlier today (Monday, February 5) that his deadline for firming up first-stage funding is this Thursday, February 8. Time thus is indeed of the essence—so if anyone “out there,” whether from Milwaukee or elsewhere, knows of any potential sources of grants and/or other possible funding for this project, now is the time to contact him and let him know. To get contact information for him, click on the link to Milwaukee Renaissance in my main article above.
Scott Enk
For the Venetian, might the darkest hour be preceding a new dawn?
To excerpt what Paul Bachowski of MUSIC LLC, Milwaukee Urban Skyline Investment Company, states in a February 1, 2007, posting on the Web site of Milwaukee Renaissance:
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Project Save the Venetian Theatre Launched!
A report by Paul Bachowski, Feb. 1, 2007
Operation Save the Venetian Theatre is underway! Ron Roberts of the [City of Milwaukee] Department of Neighborhood Services has stated that he will hold off on the demolition of the theater if I am able to provide them with a financially supported renovation plan. The buildingâ€\s impressive brick and terracotta facade, brick walls, steel roof structure and concrete floors are all in great shape… . The long road to seeking grants for the restoration of the theater has begun.
At least $200,000 will need to be raised in the next couple months to acquire, stabilize and clean out the building. The replacement of the roof, facade cleanup and lobby area restoration would be the first phase. A non-profit entity will be formed that will oversee the renovation of the building interior and manage fund raising efforts… . With the $200,000 funding in place this year you will see a new facade on the first floor of the building and can stop in daily to watch the renovation of the theater taking shape behind secured windows.
Please help me get the word out as this window of opportunity may not last long. Grant support and partners with money and skills will be crucial.
The redevelopment of the Venetian Theatre will be a major catalyst to the redevelopment of the area… .
Sincerely,
Paul Bachowski
MUSIC LLC
Milwaukee Urban Skyline Investment Company
office/fax: 414â€"374â€"8775
mobile: 414â€"517â€"1277
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Congratulations, thanks, and best of luck, Mr. Bachowski!
You can read Bachowski’s full statement at the following Web address (copy and paste it into your browser window if it turns out not to be a working link):
As much as I love movie palaces, especially those of my hometown of Milwaukee, I, like most theater lovers in our area, had long ago despaired of any chance of saving the Venetian. This has been not only due to the theater’s long lack of use and poor condition but, as other posters to this board have stated, there seemed to be little chance of support for such a building in a neighborhood that has long been in decline. I’ve always hoped that I’d be wrong about this when it comes to the Venetian, and I hope that Bachowski and his colleagues indeed succeed!
View link
Not only would the restoration—or, better yet, the resurrection—of the Venetian be a great outcome in itself for it, its city and neighborhood, and all of the people of its neighborhood and the Milwaukee area. Like the current efforts to bring back Milwaukee’s Avalon (like the Venetian, one of a total of five atmospheric theaters built in Milwaukee), bringing the Venetian back from the brink would be a refreshing change from all the losses of other fine Milwaukee theaters we’ve seen over the last few decades.
Of all Milwaukee movie palaces, the theater whose story has seemed most parallel to the Venetian’s so far might be the Egyptian. Jim Rankin, who chronicled so many Milwaukee theaters on this Web site and elsewhere, would, I’m sure, be elated, as this writer and many others are at this latest news. The rebirth of the Venetian would be a great tribute to him and his efforts. (For those of you who don’t know, Jim, sadly, passed away in January.) Let’s hope we have a different ending—a happy one—for this Milwaukee movie palace!
My thanks to my friend Mike McC. for alerting me to this news and sending me the link. I’m sure there will be much more—I’ll do all I can to keep you posted and invite my fellow Milwaukee-area movie-palace aficionados to do the same!
Scott Enk