The Glorious Loew's 175th Street Theater -- 4140 Broadway

photograph by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

In 1939 Thomas Lamb was far from his birthplace in Dundee, Scotland, on many levels.  In 1883 he arrived in New York at the age of 12 and went on to study architecture at the Cooper Union.  Eventually, after working as a buildings inspector for the City, he established his architectural office, Thomas W. Lamb Inc.

Lamb would make his name with the advent of motion pictures.  His first commission for a theater came in 1909 from motion picture magnate William Fox.  Within eight years he had designed three more motion picture theaters on Times Square.

By the 1920s movie theaters were rightfully deemed “palaces.”  And among the foremost architects of these lavish structures was Lamb.  Before his death in 1942 he would have designed more than 170 theaters.

When the Great Depression hit, Hollywood responded by cranking out carefree musicals and comedies with elaborate sets and lavish costumes.  Busby Berkeley’s Gold Digger series, for instance, offered depression-weary audiences an escape from the gloomy world outside the theater doors.  Even the lyrics in one of the Gold Digger songs, “We’re in the Money,” pretended the financial crisis was over with lines like:

“Old man Depression, you are through. / You’ve done us wrong.”

 and

“We never see a headline about a breadline today.  / And when we see the landlord, we can look that guy right in the eye.”

In 1929 Thomas Lamb would assist in diverting movie-goers’ minds from their troubles.  That year his Loew’s 175^th Street theater was built at No. 4140 Broadway, between West 175^th and 176^th Streets.  Nothing the architect had designed before could outdo this latest extravaganza.

photograph by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

As if with gleeful abandon, Lamb’s wildly exotic design drew from nearly a dozen architectural styles.  Although The New York Times, on February 21, 1930, said “The house’s style of architecture is Indo-Chinese;” it went far beyond even that broad description.  The terra cotta façade—which smacked of a Cambodian or Thai temple--included elephants and Buddhas; and inside Moorish and Byzantine elements coexisted with stylized Rococo and splashes of Art Deco.

photograph by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

As he did most often, Lamb used Harold Rambusch, of the Rambusch Decorating Company to lavish the interiors.  Rambusch and Lamb shared an important theory about motion picture theater design—the audience should be drawn into grander and grander spaces.

In writing about the rehabilitation of vintage theaters, Janis Barlow of Janis A. Barlow Associates quoted Lamb who, in 1929, said “To make our audience receptive and interested, we must cut them off from the rest of the city life and take them into a rich and self-contained auditorium, where their minds are freed from their usual occupations and customary thoughts…it does not seem wise to bring the people directly into the full richness and intensity of the decorative scheme, so it is customary to work up to this intensity through various stages.”

On February 22, 1930 the theater opened with tremendous fanfare.  More than 1,000 Boy Scouts marched up Broadway from 170^th Street to the theater.  “The parade represented the march of Washington’s army to defend New York against the Hessians,” reported The New York Times the following day.  Once in place, the assembled scouts watched the hoisting of the American flag on the roof of the theater.

Movie goers that day would see the screening of Norma Shearer in Their Own Desire.   The interior decorations, however, very well may have been the real show.  As the patrons entered the lobby they were surrounded by gold ornamentation, and red carpeting and hangings.  Intricate carvings encrusted the walls and ceiling.  The newel post lamps of the grand staircase were upheld by elephants.  At the top of the staircase was a gigantic mural featuring a bas relief Art Deco goddess.

Depression-weary movie goers escaped into an exotic fantasy -- photo https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/return-film-to-the-united-palace 

And, as Lamb and Rambusch intended, if the audience was awed by the lobby, they were blown away by the cavernous, richly decorated 3,400-seat auditorium.  Behind the pierced wall carvings were changing colored lights that created a magical kaleidoscope of changing hues.  Once they settled into their red plush seats, the cares of the Great Depression outside were temporarily forgotten.

Behind the filigree walls, lights constantly changed colors creating a mesmerizing effect -- photo by Tammy Lo

As with all the great movie palaces of the time, audiences were treated to organ music prior to the screening.  The size of a theater’s pipe organ was a source of pride as well as a marketing tool for competing motion picture companies.  The Loew’s 175^thStreet Theatre boasted a Robert Morton twin-chambered “Wonder Organ.”

On Labor Day, 1943 Local Union 802 filed for a $12 weekly wage increase for movie theater organists.  Nearly a year later, on August 19, 1944, the War Labor Board approved the increase.  “The new scale of $92 per week affects only one musician at present, Henrietta Cameron employed at Loew’s 175^thStreet Theater,” reported Billboard on August 26.  Henrietta received a windfall along with the increase.  “Miss Cameron has collected over $550 in retroactive pay from Loew’s,” the periodical said.  The organist was now earning a gross weekly salary of about $1,150 in today's dollars.

For another decade, before television kept families at home instead of at the movies, Loew’s 175^th Street Theater screened first run motion pictures, Saturday serials, and newsreels.  Fans left the auditorium teary-eyed after watching Judy Garland in A Star is Born, smiled through Five Little Peppers at Home, thrilled at Son of Monte Cristo. 

 

photograph by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

As movie audiences thinned, Loew’s got creative.  In 1964 it screened live sports events such as the Liston-Clay heavyweight championship bout on in February; and the New York Giants and Redskins game at Yankee Stadium on September 25^th.  On September 26th The New York Times reported “Pete Rozelle, the commissioner of the National Football League, watched the first quarter of the contest from a seat at the rear of the orchestra of Loew’s 175^th Street theater, at Broadway.”

Tickets did not come cheaply.  The $6 cost to see the close-circuit coverage at Loew’s was the same price as the most expensive seat at Yankee Stadium (about $45 today).

Creativity did not save the majestic theater as a movie house.  In 1969, after the last screening of 2001, a Space Odyssey, the theater was closed.  It was quickly purchased by the Reverend Ike, considered to be the first black televangelist.  No store-front church, his United Palace had the funds to maintain the structure in its full glory.  Rather than alter the interiors Rev. Ike commissioned full-scale renovations that brought back the priceless Rambusch interiors.

In the early 2000s the church offered the auditorium as leased space.   Here audiences saw concerts by artists like Bob Dylan, Adele, the Allman Brothers, Neil Young and others.

Then, in June 2012, the United Palace of Cultural Arts—a nonprofit arts and cultural center—was created at the Palace.  The center hosts community arts programs, provides a venue for local artists to create and exhibit their work, and hosts events like the master workshop for elementary school students by the New York Philharmonic.

The church added the somewhat regrettable belfry; but was otherwise unusually sympathetic in the building's care -- photograph by Nicolas Lemery Nantel / salokin.com

Thomas Lamb’s extraordinary motion picture palace miraculously survives—one of America’s relatively few intact gems from the golden age of theater design.

The 1920 Apollo and Times Square Theatres--223 W 42nd Street

By the time that World War I erupted in Europe, the theater district had essentially left 23^rd Street and relocated around Longacre Square; recently renamed Times Square.  On June 22, 1919 The New York Times reported on the coming of two more theaters.

“The two new houses now in course of construction are to be known as the Times Square and the Forty-second Street.  They are to be located on the north side of West Forty-second Street, adjoining the Lyric Theatre and directly across the street from the New Amsterdam Theatre.”

Brothers Edgar and Archibald Selwyn had founded the theatrical production company The Selwyns.  Their two new theaters would be unusual in that they would appear to be a single structure.  The Selwyns had commissioned architects De Rose & Persira to design their theaters, with George L. Keister acting as consulting architect.  The completed structure would resemble a colonnaded 18th century English "terrace" with a rusticated granite base supporting a grand classically-inspired loggia.

Winged beasts incorporated in the carved capitals blend with the classical motif of the frieze.  One section of the bronze grill, left, survives.

The Times remarked “The new structures represent the last word in theatres.  Each contains numerous innovations.  Perhaps the most important improvement to be noted in connection with the new building will be what in effect amounts to air cushions built on the street sides.  The result will be to render the auditoriums practically soundproof.”

The theaters would share a large marquee, adding to the illusion of a single structure.  The Times Square, entered at the right, had a seating capacity of 1,200 while the Forty-Second Street Theatre (quickly renamed The Apollo) could seat 1,100.

The construction of the theaters was a major undertaking.  “The negotiations leading to the purchase of the property and the erection of the theatres, which involves an investment of close to two million dollars…is one of the largest theatrical enterprises undertaken in the city in several years,” said The Times.

A month before The Times article, the Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide had reported that construction had been resumed after being “halted by the war.”  “It is hoped to have them completed and ready for occupancy by the opening of the autumn theatrical season.”

The Apollo opened on November 17, 1920 with “the youthful” Oscar Hammerstein’s musical comedy, Jimmie.  The New York Times noted “The Apollo will be devoted exclusively to musical shows.” 

“There is a story about a homeless waif defrauded of her inheritance,” said the newspaper of Jimmie. “To say nothing of the girls.” 

Despite the assertion that only musical shows would play here, the following year Lionel Barrymore opened in MacBeth.  Like Jimmie, it was not well received.  In 1922 the Selwyn’s staged the first of a few plays with mostly black actors.  Sidney Bechet and Alberta Hunter appeared in How Come. 

In the meantime the Selwyns had scored a coup when they enticed Florence Reed to leave her producer and open The Times Square on October 5, 1920 in The Mirage.  "Edgar Selwyn has evolved a play which he believes to be suited to Miss Reed, and since he is one of the producers in the case it would not be surprising to find this the piece in which Miss Reed opens the Times Square,” announced The Times on Jun 13, 1920.

Channing Pollack’s The Fool opened at the Times Square Theater on October 23, 1922.  One young actress, Sara Sothern was deemed by Theatre magazine to be “outstandingly fine” while judging the rest of the cast to be “creditable but not startling.”  The 27-year old starlet would eventually be forgotten for anything other than being mother to Elizabeth Taylor.

Andre Charlot’s Revue of 1924 opened on January 9 “With three of the most popular London revue comedians as its starts,” said The New York Times.  Called “Frequently brilliant in idea and thoroughly English,” it starred Beatrice Lillie and Gertrude Lawrence.

Gertrude Lawrence as she appeared in Charlot's Revue of 1924 photo by White Studio from the Collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GIUPTAD&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

The Selwyns took a chance when they opened The God of Vengeance next door at the Apollo on February 19, 1923.  As John H. Houchin points out in his Censorship of the American Theatre in the Twentieth Century, “The God of Vengeance contained more than enough provocation for censors.  Aside from the theme of homoerotic love, it dealt with prostitution, took place in a brothel, and clearly implied…that the respectable ‘upstairs’ was supported by the sordid ‘downstairs.’”

Critics called the play sickening and it quickly garnered the attention of authorities.  On March 7, 1923 The Times reported “Two managers and twelve members of the cast of the tragedy, ‘God of Vengeance,’ now being presented at the Apollo Theatre in West Forty-second Street, were indicted yesterday for violating the penal code in giving an alleged indecent, immoral and impure theatrical performance.”

It took jurors only 90 minutes to convict the players.  Before releasing the defendants on $300 bail, Judge McIntyre said he was pleased with the verdict which would have a “wholesome effect on the theatrical profession.”  He added it “the time had come when the drama must be purified.”

The Apollo Theatre got back to presenting lighter fare and in 1924 opened George White’s Scandals.  White had danced in Florenz Ziegfeld’s Follies before producing his own revues in 1919.  The Scandals would feature scores of box office draws like Ann Pennington, comedians Willie and Eugene Howard and Harry Richman, dancer Ray Bolger, and Ed Wynn. 

Mae Clark appeared with Ed Wynn in "Manhattan Mary," a sketch in Scandals photo by Edward Thayer Monroe from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GIUPTAD&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

On August 4, 1924 a woman in the audience of Scandals left her seat to get a drink of water.  Unfortunately, she was unaware of the difference between a paper cup dispenser and a fire alarm box.  The Times reported the following day that “In a few minutes West Forty-third Street, in the rear of the theatre, was jammed with fire apparatus and curious crowds.”

Theater attendant Katie Lorenson explained “The woman broke open the door of the fire-alarm box and turned the hook.  I met her as she and two other women were returning to their seats upstairs.  She said: ‘I was thirsty and I thought that red thing in there was the cover of an apparatus which would release a drinking cup.  When I turned it, one of my friends here told me that I had sent in a fire alarm.  Don’t tell anybody until I get back in my seat.’”

Astonishingly, Deputy Fire Chief Ross “viewed the 1,500 spectators at the show through a hole in the scenery and satisfied himself that they had not paid the slightest attention to the clanging of the gongs of the fire apparatus as it drove up to the stage entrance.”

The Times Square Theatre was home to several hits, including The Front Page which opened in 1928, directed by George S. Kaufman and ran for 281 performances.  Another hit was George Gershwin’s Strike Up The Band which opened in January 1930 and ran for 191 performances, followed by Noel Coward’s Private Lives.  It opened on January 27, 1931 and lasted for 256 performances.  Katherine Cornell appeared here in A Bill of Divorcement.

Noel Coward and Gertrude Lawrence in Private Lives at The Times Square Theatre -- photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

The Depression years hit Broadway hard and theater owners scrambled to draw customers.  In 1934 the owner of The Apollo, Max R. Wilner and his Okaybud Corporation, filed for a license to operate the theater as a burlesque house.  Commissioner Paul Moss refused the request.  Moss testified “that the type of show given by Wilner at the Irving Place Theatre, which he expected would be offered at the Apollo, is ‘raw.’”

Wilner appealed and Supreme Court Justice Koch reversed Moss’s decision.  It was the end of legitimate theater at the Apollo.  But in 1937 Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia put an end to all burlesque licenses and the last burlesque show at the Apollo was in November that year.  The following year the Apollo Theatre screened motion pictures only.

The conversion of the Apollo to a movie theater followed the lead of the Times Square Theatre three years earlier.  On April 13, 1934 The Times had reported “A five-year lease has just been signed whereby Harry and William Brandt will show continuous movies here; in the house that in recent years held Noel Coward’s ‘Private Lives’ and “Clear All Wires.’  This season, however, it has remained dark.”

In the 1930s both theaters had become movie houses -- photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

The conversion was not without its troubles.   In 1935 disgruntled members of the Allied Motion Picture Operators Union picketed movie houses and on August 15 they chose the Times Square.  Before the night was over 17 pickets were arrested--15 charged with disorderly conduct, one with assault and another with interfering with an arresting officer.

In October 1936 the theater was a target again when, with nearly all the 1,100 seats filled, there was a loud explosion near the orchestra.  “Members of the audience said afterward that it sounded like a pistol shot, and many thought there had been a shooting.  Word passed around that some one had attempted suicide, and most of the spectators, curious to learn what had happened, kept their seats,” said The Times on October 11.

And then the smell came.  The explosion was a home-made tear gas bomb that sent the patrons rushing into the street.  “Tears were streaming from the eyes of men and women, and others, who had left hats, coats and other belongings inside, were undecided whether to brave the fumes to retrieve their belongings or remain in the fresh air.”

In reporting the incident, The Times called the Times Square Theatre “a second-run motion picture house.”

Delicate carving recalling the 18th century Adams style go unnoticed by 42nd Street pedestrians.

The Apollo Theatre avoided similar labor troubles by screening mostly foreign films.  Movies like the Russian drama Lenin in October played in July 1938; and the French film Thunder Over Paris starring Erich Von Stroheim premiered June 27, 1940.  Russian films were a favorite here.  The foreign productions with their English subtitles brought in an unexpected audience.  Variety noted on May 7, 1947 that The Apollo had become a favorite for the deaf.  The subtitles made movie-going enjoyable those who relied on them to follow the plot.

The 42^nd Street area around Times Square became crime-ridden and sleazy in the second half of the 20^th century.  The Times Square Theatre, once filled with patrons in evening clothes, was repeatedly robbed at gun point throughout the 1950s.  The Apollo was briefly used as a night club in the 1970s; but that effort, too, failed.

The area around the theaters had grown seedy in 1984 -- photo by Andreas Fieininger from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult&VBID=24UP1GIUPTAD&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=894

The elegant classical-fronted theaters sat empty and neglected; and was finally condemned.  In 1990 the City and State reclaimed the property and in 1992 was given “protection” by the New 42^nd Street organization.  The interiors of the Apollo were gutted to become part of the often renamed Ford Center for the Performing Arts; the Hilton; the Foxwoods Theatre; and finally in 2014 the Lyric Theatre.

non-credited photographs taken by the author
many thanks so Sean Khorsandi for suggesting this post

The 1903 Lyric Theater -- 213 West 42nd Street

“The year 1903 will certainly go on record as the banner year for building theatres in New-York City,” wrote the New-York Tribune Illustrated Supplement.  Indeed, at the turn of the last century there was no longer any question that the theater and entertainment district had abandoned 23^rd Street and was rapidly entrenching itself around Times Square.

On July 12, 1903, at the time of the Tribune’s assessment, there were six new theaters already under construction and three more planned to begin before the end of the year.  Among the flurry of rising theaters was the Lyric, being built by real estate developer Eugene C. Potter. 

Just a few months earlier Potter had found himself scurrying to lease the house.  It was conceived as the venue for Reginald DeKoven’s American School of Opera.  But midway into construction the opera school failed.  The Shubert Brothers came to the rescue; and to counter the competition of so many new theaters, the brothers pulled an ace from their sleeve—Richard Mansfield.

The handsome and talented Mansfield was a matinee idol and a guaranteed box office draw.  Born in Germany, he started his successful stage career in London.  There suffered through a public relations disaster in 1888 when, while he was playing the title role in the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,he was accused of being Jack the Ripper.  By now, however, the ugly incident was behind him and he was one of the most popular actors in New York.

A cabinet card, created by using double-exposure, depicted Richard Mansfield in his dual role as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde -- from the collection of the Library of Congress

The 10-year contract was not easily gotten and in order for the Shuberts to snag the somewhat arrogant thespian, architect V. Hugo Koehler was forced to slightly alter the plans. On March 31, 1903 The New York Times said “Before he would sign contracts to that effect, however, he stipulated that the star dressing room and some plans in the stage should be immediately changed to suit his ideas.”

The New-York Tribune reported “One of the peculiarities of the Lyric is a dressing room fitted up with a private bathroom, which, under contract, must be used only by Richard Mansfield himself, and must be hermetically sealed during such periods as Mr. Mansfield is away on tour and some other attraction plays in the theatre.”  The Shuberts, too, would make concessions.  “The managers also assert that in order to secure Mansfield as a permanent attraction each season they were compelled to sign a contract stipulating that no other serious dramatic actor or offering could be presented, but that light musical attractions must be the exclusive bill when Mansfield was on tour.”

Having secured Mansfield, plans could go forward.   Koehler studied theater plans and instituted ground-breaking changes to facilitate the flow of patrons, and easy egress in case of fire.  The entrance was on 42^ndStreet in the comparatively narrow frontage—the width of a brownstone home—embellished with limestone carvings and neo-classical motifs.  Two bas relief angels lounged in the spandrels of the two-story arched opening, one holding the mask of Tragedy, the other Comedy.

Patrons entered “simply a lobby leading into the side of the auditorium proper,” said the Tribune.  The relatively small lobby area exploded into the large auditorium which stretched through to 43^rd Street.  Following the production, theater-goers would exit through the more expansive 43^rdStreet side—thus enabling a much faster emptying of the theater.  Interestingly, the architectural treatment of this facade bore little resemblance to the 42^nd Street entrance.  Neo-classical wreaths, here executed in terra cotta, mimicked the copper wreath surmounting the 42^nd street cornice; but the red and white brick, limestone and terra cotta 43^rd façade shared little else.

A complex class and iron canopy protected patrons in 1903.  photo by Wurts Bros., from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWB6TESV&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

Reflective of the theater’s name, the ornamental iron railing at the top floor was composed of lyres.  In the arches above the three central windows over the entrance were busts of William Schwenck Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan (the famous Gilbert & Sullivan team); and (too late to change) Reginald DeKoven.

The immense proscenium arch had been cast as a single piece of solid steel by the Milligan Brothers firm in Brooklyn.  Once it was constructed the task of getting it into Manhattan and the construction site was tackled.  On March 27, 1903 the Brooklyn Bridge was shut down as “the enormous solid steel proscenium arch of the theatre” was carefully and slowly transported across the East River.

The completed theater opened on October 12, 1903 with Mansfield playing in Old Heidelberg.  The American Almanac shortly afterward described the new venue.  “Its seating capacity is 1,700, and the style of the whole structure is classic-Renaissance in decorations and finishing.  The color scheme is apple green and Rose du Barry in combination.  The walls of the lower floors, together with the boxes, are covered with rich brocaded silk, and Rose du Barry in color.  The retiring rooms are of similar tones and the whole theatre is simple in its decoration and art.”

Apparently Mansfield was draw enough.  The marquee does not mention the name of the play.  photo by Byron Co., from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWB6TESV&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

The New York Times was especially impressed with the entrance and exit corridors.  “They are both on the side of the hall, not at the end, which is entirely different from any other theatre in New York…They are easily accessible to the audience in case of any accident.  There can be no hurrying about, not knowing where to go—the corridors are right there, some twenty feet wide and staring everybody in the face.”

The day following the opening, The New York Times theater critic applauded Mansfield’s performance.  “It was reasonably certain at the outset that Mr. Mansfield, with his exceptional facility as an artist, and the unusual resources at his command both as actor and stage manager, would endeavor to make his production of ‘Heidelberg’ such a one as would reflect credit upon himself…and at the same time lend new beauty to the play, as far as English-speaking audiences are concerned.”

The theater was still under construction when Byron Company took this photo in 1903.  from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York http://collections.mcny.org/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&VBID=24UAYWB6TESV&SMLS=1&RW=1280&RH=915

The critic was also appreciative of the Lyric’s seating, saying “the seats, with broad aisles facilitating easy entrance and exit, are quite comfortable enough to occasion thanksgiving on the part of those who have often suffered from the lack of just such accommodations.”

Mansfield was the main draw for the Lyric; but the Shuberts managed to book other top-named talent.  In 1904 Otis Skinner played Petruchio in The Taming of the Shrew.  “Mr. Skinner was interrupted over and over again by applause that could not wait apparently until he had finished his lines,” reported The Times on January 19, 1904.  A week earlier Douglas Fairbanks Sr. and Wilton Lackaye had opened in The Pit.

The Shuberts continued to intersperse Mansfield’s appearances with money-makers.  Minnie Maddern Fiske, most often simply billed as “Mrs. Fiske,” was widely considered the most important actress of the American theater.    She took the stage here in 1906.  Tyrone Power, Sr. and William Faversham played in Julius Caesar six years later.

As the United States was pulled into World War I, patriotism flourished at a time when changes in entertainment were taking place.  In 1918 the Lyric complement live theater with motion pictures.  On April 14 theNew-York Tribune noted “’Over the Top,’ with Sergeant Arthur Guy Empey, begins its third week at the Lyric Theatre to-day, and announcement is made by Albert E. Smith, president of the Vitagraph Company, that the big screen story will continue indefinitely.”  Audiences not only saw the nationalistic motion picture, they heard live addresses by journalists and military men.

New-York Tribune, April 14, 1918 (copyright expired)

The films offered here were not just about the war.  On June 30 that same year the “photodrama” What Are You Going to Do With Us? premiered.  “It is described as filmdom’s first fact photoplay of the countless tragedies of the world’s women of the Third Estate, the story basing it being literally a transcript from the life incident to the crusade for a cleaner city of San Francisco,” explained the New-York Tribune.

After the war the Lyric alternated live shows with motion pictures.  Throughout the 1920s audiences would see Fred and Adele Astaire, The Cocoanuts with a score by Irving Berlin, the Marx Brothers and Margaret Dumont, and in 1928 the musical version of The Three Musketeers produced by showman Florenz Ziegfeld.

The Great Depression would signal the end of the Lyric’s successes.  The last was Cole Porter’s Fifty Million Frenchmen which featured hit songs like “You Do Something to Me.”  The Lyric’s last attempt at legitimate theater was Run, Little Chillun! which opened on March 1, 1933.

The grand theater, through financial necessity, became a motion picture house.  The interiors remained essentially unchanged throughout the decades until wide-screen movies prompted the owners to remove nine of the original boxes.  Although the Brandt Brothers—William, Harry, Louis and Bernard—hoped to reestablish the Lyric as a legitimate theater in 1979; it was not to be.  They refurbished the facades but the unsafe, unclean condition of 42^nd Street in the 1970s, along with the general financial troubles of Broadway in general, prevented their plan.

In 1985 the architecture of the Lyric had been boarded over.  photograph by JGKlein

Inside, the beautiful Lyric Theater had little changed since its doors opened in 1903.  But the 42^ndStreet Redevelopment organization condemned the structure.  Shuttered, the theater’s heat was shut off, and deterioration set in.

Despite the historic preservation movement that, by now, was taking firm hold in New York City; in 1996 Canadian Garth Drabinsky negotiated with the 42^nd Street Redevelopment group, who gave him permission to destroy the old Lyric Theater.  The two facades were preserved and the Ford Center for the Performing Arts was erected between them.

photo by Americasroof

Today V. Hugo Koehler’s two exteriors survive.  Behind the walls, however, the glorious interiors of green and rose are gone; replaced by clean lines of little interest.

non-credited photographs taken by the author

The Lost Maxine Elliott's Theatre -- No. 109 W. 39th Street

A postcard depicted the newly-opened theater in 1909.

The daughter of a sea captain, Jessie Carolyn Dermot was born in Rockland, Maine on February 5, 1868.  Jessie was not destined for the quiet life of a Victorian New England housewife.    At the age of 15 she was enrolled in the Notre Dame Academy in Roxbury, Massachusetts.

While on a trip to New York City shortly thereafter, the teenager met attorney George A. MacDermott, who was in his 30s.  After their brief marriage, Jessie enrolled in acting classes.  Her instructor, Dion Boucicault, gave her the stage name Maxine Elliott.   By the mid-1890s Maxine was touring the country and drawing large audiences; not because she was an especially good actress, but because of her extraordinary beauty.

She married her co-star, Nathan Goodwin in February 1898 and the pair continued to tour together.  All the while Maxine Elliott’s personal fortune increased.   She was firmly established as a star when she appeared in September 1903 in Her Own Way, by Clyde Finch.  This time her husband did not share the stage with her.  The smash hit traveled to London where her performance prompted King Edward VII to request an introduction.  Whispered rumors suggesting a sexual relationship between the couple would follow Maxine for the rest of her life.

Cabinet card from the collection of the New York Public Library

Maxine Elliott was not merely a pretty face.  She was a shrewd businesswoman and in 1906, after returning to New York, took over the management of her finances.  Two years later, she divorced Nat Goodwin, and began negotiations with brothers Lee and Samuel Shubert in a brash—some would say shocking—venture.  Maxine wanted to own and manage her own theater.   A woman operating such a business was essentially unheard of at the time.

By now the entertainment district had begun the migration from 23^rd Street to the former Longacre Square neighborhood (newly renamed Times Square).   Lee Shubert purchased the four “tenements, with stores” at Nos. 105 to 113 West 39^th Street in May 1908.  The Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guidenoted “The property is going to be improved with a theatre and will be called the Elliott Theatre, after Maxine Elliott.”

The Shubert-Elliott partnership prompted yet another rumor.   Many suggested that Maxine’s share of the investment came from J. P. Morgan who was not only a close friend, but a rumored lover.  The Record & Guide, by the way, got the name of the proposed theater wrong.  The Shuberts suggested the name “The Maxine Elliott Theatre,” but Maxine resolutely resisted.  She insisted on “Maxine Elliott’s Theatre.”  The apostrophe, she realized, made the clear distinction between a theatre named in honor of an actress, and one owned and managed by her.

A 1908 publicity photo posed Maxine with a pickax breaking ground for the new theater -- The Sketch, September 30, 1908 (copyright expired) 

It seems to have been Maxine herself who chose the Chicago architectural firm of Marshall & Fox to design the building.   Just one month after the property was purchased, the announcement was made that “The construction is to be of stone terra cotta and brick, and will cost in the neighborhood of $300,000.”  That figure would translate to about $7.8 million today.

 

The architects were instructed to use the Petite Trianon as a model -- photo by Myrabella / Wikimedia Commons

The Record & Guide noted “When the playhouse is completed next January Miss Elliott will become the manager of it, and will be the first woman star in New York to own a playhouse and have it named for her…and hers will be one of the finest of the small modern theatres, in the city.”

Maxine directed the architects to model the façade on the Petite Trianon.  Not content with limestone, brick or granite for her upscale structure, she insisted on white Dover marble.   In September 1908, as the structure rose, The Sketch described what theater-goers might expect.

“The interior decorations are decidedly novel, the woodwork being a deep old ivory, forming panels which are filled with a glowing old gold brocade of the tint which is commonly known as castor brown.  The stalls—which, in accordance with the American custom cover the whole of the floor—are very roomy chairs, so that the comfort of the audience is certain, and it will be studied in every way.”

 

Architects' and Builder's Magazine, September 1909 (copyright expired)

Months later, after the building was dedicated, Architects’ and Builders’ Magazine added to the description of the 900-seat playhouse.  “The lobby of the theatre, entirely finished, walls and ceiling, in a white veined Vermont marble is about 10 feet wide…In the lobby the lighting fixtures are handsomely designed and are of cast bronze, gold plate, as are all the others in the house.”

In the basement was the gentlemen’s smoking room with its oak furniture, the check room and toilet (“finished in old Ivory tints with paneled walls, outlined with mouldings of circassion Walnut").  The ladies’ dressing room was also on this level, furnished in Louis XVI reproductions, and the orchestra pit, hidden from the audience—“the sound of the music being wafted through a leafy screen which takes the place of the usual apron placed before the stage,” explained Architects’ and Builders’ Magazine.

Maxine's dressing room was, in fact, a several-room suite -- Burr McIntosh Monthly, April 1909 (copyright expired)

A large crystal chandelier hung above the audience, carrying on the French motif.   The critic writing for Architects’ and Builders’ did not care for it.  “In the criticism of the lighting, it might be said that the central chandelier, although a very beautiful piece of work in itself, is a relic of archaism in theatre construction that might well have been omitted.  It is therefore to be hoped that the owners of the theatre will avail themselves of an opportunity in the near future to do away with this feature and to cover the auditorium ceiling with some soft and indefinite mural painting, lighted indirectly from above the heavy cornice which frames the ceiling panel.”

Burr McIntosh Monthly, April 1909 (copyright expired)

The Burr McIntosh Monthly spoke about Maxine’s close involvement with the interior decoration and the building’s safety.  “It is scarcely necessary to say that the womanly thoughtfulness and care and taste which have been lavished on the public part of this notable structure have been as freely and generously expended to secure the comfort and safety of those behind the scenes…Really, Miss Maxine Elliott’s theatre makes one wish that they owned it for a home, and no greater testimony to its artistic perfection or of the womanly care which has been bestowed upon its details could be paid it.”

Putnam’s Magazinemade special note of the Maxine’s thrust for sexual equality in erecting the theater.  “In the first place, it is the only theatre ever built in this city by a woman and managed by a woman.”  It added “She intends it primarily for women ‘stars.’  When she herself acts there, her plays will be by women, if women can give her what she wants.  ‘The Chaperon,’ with which she opened the theatre, was written by a woman, being Miss Marion Fairfax’s second production.  Miss Elliott has installed women ushers—an innovation in this country.”

The glistening white structure stood in stark contrast to a pile of street debris in 1909 -- photograph Library of Congress

The magazine suggested that Maxine’s ground-breaking endeavor would change the face of Broadway.  “The success of the Maxine Elliott Theatre has incited other actresses to go and do likewise, and I hear that we are soon to have an Annie Russell Theatre. It may be that in time we shall have none but theatres that are emblazoned with the names of ‘stars.’”

As Putnam’smentioned, the theater opened in 1909 with Maxine starring in The Chaperon.   Not long after, Maxine donated the use of the theater for “a suffrage matinee” on March 31.  She also paid for the orchestra.  Three plays were staged for the benefit of the Equality League of Self-Supporting Women:  Before the Dawn, A Woman’s Influence, and How the Vote Was Won.

The matinee was organized by Beatrice Forbes-Robertson, daughter of the great English actor Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson, considered one of the finest thespians of the day.   Not only did Mrs. Charlotte Perkins Gilman recite a suffrage poem during one of the intermissions and Mrs. Stanton Blatch speak; but Beatrice managed to get her esteemed father to speak as well.

Maxine returned to London later that year, leaving the management of the theater to the Shuberts.  She could not have known that in her absence the President of the United States would be in the audience of her new theater.

On December 30, 1909 Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson was back at Maxine Elliott’s Theatre; now performing in The Passing of the Third Floor Back.  President Taft was in town, as were several members of his family from Ohio.  The entire group decided to take in the show.

“Before his arrival at the theatre Thirty-ninth Street was lined with policemen from Broadway to Sixth Avenue,” reported The New York Times the following day, “and after he had entered his box there were officers in the lobby, on the sidewalk, and even in the auditorium of the house.  A line of Secret Service men prevented any access to the stage box in which the President and his party sat.”

In anticipation of the President’s visit, his boxes were draped in the American and Presidential flags.  “When the President entered the theatre, at exactly 8:30 o’clock, the orchestra played “America,” and the audience, already in place, stood until he was seated.”

Between the second and third acts Forbes-Robertson was brought to the Presidential box for introductions.  “After the performance the President entered his automobile and was driven to the Pennsylvania Station in Jersey City, where he took the midnight train for Washington.”

Maxine Elliott returned to New York in 1910 and appeared in The Inferior Sex.   A year later the theater was once again the venue of a suffragist benefit.  On January 18, 1911 women from the highest ranks of New York society took to the stage in a series of tableaux representing historic women.  Mrs. Charles Dana Gibson appeared as Motherhood, mimicking the Raphael Madonna.  Mrs. William K. Vanderbilt was Joan of Arc and Mrs. Gould portrayed Catherine of Russia.  Mrs. Archibald Mackay posed in “Discovery of Radium or Mme. Currie in Her Laboratory.”

The women in the audience were no less elevated with names like Goelet, Sloane, Morgan, Harriman, Mills, Whitney, Lydig and De Koven.

A performance in the theater later that year would be less polite.  When Irish playwright John Millington Synge’s The Playboy of the Western World opened at Maxine Eilliott’s Theatre on November 27, 1911 a riot broke out.   The play had already been staged in other cities and protestors who felt it portrayed the Irish badly, were now ready.

The New York Times reported on the mayhem.  When an actor “in the humble dress of the Irish peasant” delivered the line “I killed my father a week and a half ago for the likes of that,” the audience yelled “Shame! Shame!”

“A potato swept through the air from the gallery and smashed against the wings.  Then came a shower of vegetables that rattled against the scenery and made the actors duck their heads and fly behind the stage setting for shelter.

“A potato struck Miss MaGee, and she, Irish like, drew herself up and glared defiance.  Men were rising in the gallery and balcony and crying out to stop the performance.  In the orchestra several men stood up and shook their fists.”

When the stage manager insisted that the actors continue, the “tumult broke out more violently than before, and more vegetables came sailing through the air and rolled about the stage.  Then began the fall of soft cubes that broke as they hit the stage.  At first these filled the men and women in the audience and on the stage with fear, for only the disturbers knew what they were.”

They were stink bombs.

Policemen streamed in from the streets; and men and women alike were hauled out onto the street.  “Even while the police were at work missiles kept striking the stage, and the actors, with one eye on them, were going on with their parts.  A potato struck Miss MaGee and rolled to the wings.  Lady Gregory, who has followed the play about on its troublesome course, picked it up and said she would keep it as a token of her visit to this country.”

The Times opined “It will be the greatest of pities if such rowdyism as last night’s is not speedily put down, for apart from its own despicable character it may be the means of preventing many people from enjoying what is really a very remarkable piece of dramatic literature.”

In 1913 Maxine scored a great success in Joseph and His Brethren in London.  Suspecting that she had achieved the high point of her career, she decided to exit gracefully while on top.  She acted sporadically for the next few years; then in February 1920 she appeared for the final time in her own theater, playing in Trimmed in Scarlet.

She retired to Europe, spending much of her time in her Riviera chateau.  The international beauty entertained royalty and celebrities, growing corpulent—weighing 200 pounds at the time of her death on March 5, 1940.

In the meantime, Maxine Elliott’s Theatre had continued to thrive.  Here Jeanne Eagels opened in Rain, Ethel Barrymore starred in The Constant Wife, and Helen Hayes thrilled audiences in Coquette.  Plays by renowned playwrights like Henrik Ibsen, Noel Coward, John Galsworthy and George Bernard Shaw opened here.

But before long  the theater district passed Maxine Elliott’s Theatre.  By the time of the Great Depression few theaters remained south of 42^nd Street.  In 1930 Martha Graham, Doris Humphrey, Charles Weidman and Helen Tamiris (who went only by her last name) formed The Dance Repertory Theatre and the group made Maxine Elliott’s Theatre its home.

When it opened here on January 6, 1930 The New York Timescalled it “an unqualified success” and said “Not since the memorable debut of La Argentine last season has such a brilliant audience assembled for a dance performance.”  Three days later Martha Graham gave her Dance Without Music.

The Dance Repertory Theatre would share the venue with stage plays and in 1931 Judith Anderson appeared here in Luigi Pirandello’s play As You Desire Me.  On November 20, 1934 Lillian Hellman’s tragedy The Children’s Hour opened.  It would run for an amazing 691 performances, finally closing on July 4, 1936.

With the closing of The Children’s Hour the theater was leased to the Federal Theatre Project.  Trouble came to the Maxine Elliott’s Theatre the following year when Orson Wells began rehearsals of The Cradle Will Rock, produced by John Houseman.  Violent labor unrest gripped the nation.  The play’s story about the push to organize a union in the steel town, some thought, hit too close to home at a time when tensions and emotions were raw.

The WPA, which was funding the play, feared that the pro-union message may cause lawmakers to cut back its funding.  Four days before the play was slated to open on June 16 a memorandum from the WPA put it off .  On June 15 WPA police took over the Maxine Elliott Theatre to make sure the play did not open.

Defiantly Wells and Houseman marched the entire troupe and ticket-holding audience 20 blocks north to the empty Venice Theatre.  Reportedly, thousands joined the impromptu march and the theater aisles were packed with those unable to find a seat.  Following the performance, the cast went back to the Maxine Elliott Theatre in order to comply with WPA rules regarding absences.

Following the closing curtain of The Lady Who Came to Stay in January 1941 the out-of-place theater sat empty for nearly two years.  It was used as a radio station in 1941 and in November the following year The New York Times mentioned “there had been talk about tearing it down.”

But by 1948 Martha Graham was back, sharing the theater with The Experimental Theatre.  On February 9 that year The Times made a passing remark about “A company of talented Negro players” who were part of the third production of the Experimental Theatre’s season.

Still owned by the Shubert and Elliott estates, the once-grand playhouse was converted to a CBS television studio in 1949.  Here Ed Sullivan’s Toast of the Town shows were aired.  Then in 1956 the Elliott heirs sold their portion to the Shubert estate, which rapidly liquidated the property.  The old theater, an anachronism among soaring Garment District loft buildings, had outlived its usefulness.

By the second half of the 20th century the white marble building was surrounded by lofts.  photo from the collection of the New York Public Library

On February 21, 1960 The New York Times wrote “The demolition last month of a theatre landmark on West Thirty-ninth Street to make way for another office building was unnoticed by most New Yorkers.

“The building was Maxine Elliott’s Theatre, and though the city seemed indifferent—the theatre had not been important for many years—some people remembered its old elegance and the beautiful woman who gave it her name.”