I noticed that some of us also enjoyed the Fox Palos Verdes.
I also worked there, and I wrote about some interesting times which I’ve posted on that page. I hope you’ll come there and join in with your comments.
I don’t think the Fox Palos Verdes was managed by a single person from opening to closing. Mr. K was not the first manager. The first manager was a young blond fellow with a flat-top. He was husky and, at best, was in his twenty’s. I’m sorry I can’t remember his name.
In 1964, while I was working at the Fox Redondo, I transferred temporarily to PV to be the Assistant Manager for a short time to learn the management routines so the manager could take a vacation some weeks later. I also worked during the grand opening of the theater where, below the kleig lights, Charlton Heston made a personal appearance that night. He was not happy being there, was rude, and he sped off as quickly as he could, refusing to give autographs. I was angry at him for years after that.
It was that year that the chain’s bookers suffered the consequences of their bid for “Goldfinger” to play at the Fox PV for 10 weeks. That was the longest I had ever heard of a movie playing at the same theater in the South Bay. I think part of the deal was to only keep five percent of the box office for the first seven weeks or so. The movie had a huge opening, but there were weeks and weeks of an empty auditorium. It was truly boring working there during the “Goldfinger” run.
It was during that time while I was the filling in for the manager, that the janitor at the Fox Palos Verdes completely lost his mind. He locked himself inside the theater, put chains and padlocks on the doors, and sported a holstered gun. Standing inside, he screamed obscenities and danced like an idiot. When I showed up to open that morning, I thought I was going to be murdered. The police managed the situation quietly, not like today, where there would have been a SWAT team and snipers involved.
Why did the janitor go nuts? Probably because of a combination of a few too many drugs, and delusions of grandeur. He was a member of a union that previously had strong mob ties. You didn’t mess around with the janitors. While he was surely unstable to begin with, he felt untouchable, and able to do anything he wanted. And what he wanted to do was to fire up the projectors and watch movies while he cleaned the theater in those early morning hours while he was alone on the job. From what I’ve heard, the projectionists' union was also a strong-armed association at the time, but for all I know, it could have been the same union. Someone who knows can help me out on that point.
During my days as assistant, while training with the manager before his vacation, I observed what led to that final day of janitorial chaos. The manager was trying to catch the janitor running the projectors, or at least gather some proof of the dirty deeds. The manager only had complaints from the projectionist that someone was running the films, and there was nobody else that could be dong it. But each time, the janitor denied the charges, mostly with four-letter words. The manager knew the janitor was lying. The janitor knew there was no proof. They cussed at each other, but that’s as far as it went. The janitor felt the union would back him up. Go ahead and just try to fire him!
The manager set a trap. He hid a clock that was plugged into a projection room outlet, which could only get power when the lights were turned on. He wanted to know how long the janitor was in the room and whether it was longer than necessary to do the normal nightly cleaning.
Thus, the game began. Each day, the manager would check and reset the clock and then smugly tell me how much time was spent in the projection room by the janitor the previous night. He kept notes, and he started charting. He was a bit obsessed. I kept out of it. He was also talking with higher management about the problem and trying to keep the projectionist from quitting or starting a war. I think he was much more worried about the projectionist walking out because someone else was messing with his machines.
During the peak of this janitor-manager feud, the manager’s vacation began, and I was left to be in charge. I wasn’t concerned about the janitor. I didn’t think about the problem. At least not until a few days later. That’s when the janitor found the hidden clock, and he suddenly figured out why the manager was not only accusing him of the misdemeanor but also telling him how long he was doing it each night.
But, of course, the manager was on vacation, and I was left to take the heat when this discovery of the clock put the janitor over the edge. I was without a clue that morning when I arrived to find the doors chained together from the inside. I could not figure out what was happening. The janitor didn’t even come to mind. I left to find a phone. I don’t remember who I called, the vacationing manager or my Fox Redondo manager. Then I drove back to the theater. This time the janitor was waiting inside, dancing a jig and singing, “You want to play games?” and “Now what are you going to do?”
Then I noticed the gun he was wearing. I moved to a safer location and waited, no doubt thinking about what other type of employment might get me through college.
I’m not going to make up the ending to this story, and the exact outcome is a lost memory to me. I do remember the police arriving in a single patrol car and even the vacationing manager showing up. I also remember a lot of yelling back and forth between the chained glass doors. But as to what else happened that day, or what became of the janitor, I can’t recall. If you were that first manager, or even the crazy janitor, I’d like to hear your side of this bizarre tale.
My name is Bruce Berns. Many of my memories have been noted as “MY LIFE AT THE FOX” on the Cinema Treasures site at the Fox Redondo page: /theaters/2128_0_2_0_C/
and I invite you to join us at there for some nostalgic memories of Redondo Beach at the Fox Redondo.
Tricia: 75 cents! Admission, popcorn and a Coke. And to think, you spent all that on high-profit items, too. Hold on, gang. Next thing in theaters may be pay toilets.
Schrader….I do have several hundred posters and their stills from the 1960’s. I sold zillions when I lived at my college dorm in ‘67, but I still have some great ones left, from Elvis to Disney. But I’m not interested in bookmarks or other memorabilia. Perhaps we could discuss some other goods or services to trade for them!
Schrader….I’m glad I’m not alone remembering Danny, whether here when talking about the Fox Redondo,or anywhere. Thanks for telling me. What school? When was that? Where’s Fallbrook?
Thanks to all of you for not complaining about my longer comments. While “the book” doesn’t look like it’s likely to be written, this has been the place for me to recall those sweet memories of my life for over a decade at the Fox Redondo. And knowing that some of you were there, and that we share the same mental images, creates a unique kinship among us. Writing and posting here has been therapeutic for me, and, I hope, not too self-centered to bore any of you. When I write down more of my memories, I hope you’ll overlook the self-indulgent aspect, and rediscover some lost Fox Redondo memories of your own. —Bruce
(More of) MY LIFE AT THE FOX
In the early 60’s, an off-duty, but uniformed, Redondo Beach police officer was often hired for weekend nights. You’re smart enough to know what he was there for, and because he was meant to be visible, we seldom needed assistance to handle any troublemakers. The officer that I remember being there most often for that job was named Danny Ashcraft. I felt very close to Danny, and he was the third and last person who assumed permission to call me “Brucie Boy”.
For me, working as doorman after a feature started, was the most boring of jobs, and while Danny, in full uniform, was free to move about, he often just stood and talked to me. He would tell me his exploits as an officer, and I’d ask, no doubt, stupid questions. I don’t remember any particular lessons from him, but felt like a family member with Danny, and I missed him when I grew up and moved away from the Fox Redondo.
There was one other semi-regular, private, off-duty cop that I remember, but I’m sorry to say, not his name. He was a funny fellow, talkative with just a hint of a country twang, always joking, and was never in uniform nor armed. He was sort of a scrawny guy and seemed to have more problems to handle than Danny did. As I look back on it, I’m sure that’s because of the lack of a uniform. He must have had a badge on his belt, but I don’t recall that, and I don’t think in those days that an off-duty officer had to necessarily identify themselves as being one before saying to a patron, “You’ve been told to shut up five times tonight. Open your mouth again, and I’m going to toss you outside.”
That was probably the most often used phrase by any of the private officers. I do remember one time when this scrawny cop dragged a gorilla-sized guy out to the street and mashed his face into the cement for about 15 minutes while waiting for a patrol car to arrive. He didn’t even carry handcuffs. I was very impressed that night and all of the times when he grabbed a punk by the back of the neck and tossed him through the front door.
Of course, these days, I suppose that private, off-duty police may be required to be a bit more polite. Remember, as I said before, in those days, an usher carrying his flashlight was considered an authority figure commanding at least a minimum of respect. But those days were coming to an end fast, and it was the beginning of a time when higher numbers of rowdy adults would think a geeky teenager, wearing an ill-fitting jacket and crooked, clip-on bow-tie, was worth ignoring.
Kids, of course, were easy to scare straight. But I can remember only a handful of times when I had to use the threat of throwing an adult out if they did not stop whatever it was they were doing. Of those, it only came to that end a few times. Most likely, they continued their offenses because they didn’t believe I could do it. They were right. I couldn’t. I was just a geeky teenager in an ill-fitting jacket and a clip-on bow-tie. I got Danny to do it. And Danny did it with a single finger, and a come-hither motion, so as not to disturb others. They respected him, but they gave me murderous looks. But I was armed…with a flashlight and Danny. And hey, at this point, I had my own private bodyguard to walk those guys out to the street! Was I scared? No, only once, when a jerk came back, but he only came close enough to yell that he would be waiting for me after work. I could see him later that night, still waiting. I was no fool. I hope he waited all night. I walked the one block home after exiting from back stage.
Many years later I stopped in at the Redondo Beach Police Department to see if Danny was still around. He wasn’t. I’ve forgotten about him until recently. He was an extra nice and quiet man who did his job well. I miss him all over again.
My name is Bruce Berns. If you worked at the Fox Redondo in the 50’s or 60’s I’d like to hear from you.
Sally, thanks for mentioning the Biltmore Hotel! I had forgotten about it until I saw your message. That’s another great memory brought back to me by someone I’ve never met. Aren’t we a bunch of not-so-strange strangers!
(More of) MY LIFE AT THE FOX
Something that most us wouldn’t even try to remember about the Fox
Redondo was its intermission music. There were only a few times when
special films were delivered along with required music for playing
during intermission, but the rest of the time, for all the years I was
a part of the Fox, the exact same music was played over and over
again. It was a piano solo of a Cole Porter medley, up tempo and
bubbly. I listened to it from about 1954 through 1969, and of course,
I heard it several times in a day in my teen years, when I was
actually earning a salary there. Eventually, it started to drive me
nuts. I was hearing it even when I wasn’t at the theater! Why, I
would ask? Why can’t we get a little more modern with the music? I
had no concept of legalities or royalties, and while I was brought up
with the older, familiar music and styles, I still just wanted to
hear something else, something more fun to listen to. I started
dropping hints, and after several weeks, that turned into whining. Finally, I was given
permission to bring in a record from home, but only if the boss could
preview it before we opened that day.
This may seem to be a pretty mundane subject to anyone else. I, on
the other hand, could hardly sleep the night before. I had visions of
eventually bringing in all of my favorite and most unusual records.
It certainly wouldn’t sound like any old-fashioned intermission any
more. I might just have patrons enjoying the music so much that they
didn’t care if the movie ever started!
I decided to bring in my album of electronic music, created on the
Moog synthesizer. I couldn’t wait to hear this very different and
unique electronic music through those speakers behind the screen.
Those speakers were the size of Volkswagens, and this was going to be
so great! I had visions of patrons coming out to the lobby to say,
“Wow, what’s that great, new, upbeat and modern music you’re playing.
Who’s wonderful idea was that? You gave him a raise, didn’t you?”
The next day, I had to wait for the projectionist to arrive before
going into the booth. That projection booth, as in other theaters,
was the most off-limit place for anyone other than the projectionist.
Anyone but me anyway. Unbeknownst to the others working there, I knew
every inch of the room. I had been exploring that sacred place since
I was nine, but only when I was alone or with a trusted friend who was
receiving one of my private and secret tours. I had no scarier
thought than to be caught in that room if I was not invited. Of
course, I was invited many times over the years, and my questions were
answered as I observed the duties of a projectionist as they were
performed in the fifty’s and sixty’s.
I think that the Cole Porter medley may have been played on a
reel-to-reel machine, but right now I can’t imagine how a tape would
not have been completely worn out after years of daily multi plays,
and I can’t summon a mental picture of what type of machine was use.
I’m willing to say don’t remember clearly what type of playback device
was used, and maybe one of you can recall that for me. I do know
that it was not a record player. There certainly was a turntable
there, and I wanted it to be in use that day, but there was no needle
dropping for intermissions normally.
Mac, the projectionist arrived. Mac had a cigarette with a half-inch
ash surgically attached between his lips. He didn’t like people very
much, and he was going to need a lot of encouragement, if not begging, to
make this unexpected change in his normal routine. It seemed to me to
be a very little thing at the time. But the turntable would need to
be dusted and leveled, and this was not solid state equipment. In
fact it was a very lo-tech booth. Vacuum tubes and the carbon-arc
projectors heated the room like a sauna, and there were no modern
electronics or anything we would consider small scale today. Wires
and plugs had to be switched around, and let’s face it, just moving an
ash tray in this relatively tiny room that was occupied by the same
man for many years, could cause a verbal response so caustic it might
bleach your hair. But here again, I made it happen, because it was
me, Brucie Boy, the kid who grew up asking Mac questions, and I was now
asking for this gigantic favor. And I did get him to agree, although
I think I learned a few new words that day.
Well, I can tell you, like my other ideas, my new, updated
day-at-the-movies experience with modern, upbeat music was a total
bust. The music sounded absolutely horrible. I mean, truly like crap.
The turntable’s needle was probably better suited for 78 rpm records, and it sounded like it was cutting a new groove as it played. Moreover, the sound system simply wasn’t tuned to handle the frequency output. Things were probably not hooked up correctly, and Mac wasn't
about to lift a finger for any troubleshooting to perfect my stupid idea, and the more I screamed to turn up the volume or adjust the frequency responses, the more distorted the noise became. I was crushed, and the preview time was ending. The others on staff who were getting ready to open looked at me like I was nuts. While I was yelling uselessly at Mac, with the house lights up, they watched me running like a mad man, up and down the empty aisles and lobby steps, from balcony to orchestra, trying to find a spot where the music actually sounded like music instead of a garbage truck. They want to know why the hell was I thinking of playing that kind of noise in the theater? We spent the rest of that day, and subsequent years, listening to the Cole Porter Medley.
My name is Bruce Berns. If you were a part of the Fox Redondo in the 50’s or 60’s, I would like to hear from you.
(More of) MY LIFE AT THE FOX
During the mid- to late-fifties, the kiddy matinees on Saturdays were a staple at the Fox Redondo. Most of the time, the movies were of the Abbot & Costello, Bowery Boys type, along with some shorts, cartoons and serials. It was amazing how often the same features and shorts would show up, but nobody complained. We saw Elroy Hearsh movies and sang along with Smoky the Bear. The afternoon, filled with films having short run times, allowed for plenty of mischief and visits to the candy counter, and that made the company happy. Kids had big decisions to make on such days. Just how much can be bought, and how long will it last, with the twenty-five or thirty cents they got from mom to spend on candy?
For about two years in the mid- to late fifties, when I was around 12 years old, there was also some on-stage entertainment offered by one Roy Gordon, an stout, gray-haired fellow who would play games and give away prizes during the extended Saturday intermissions. Of one thing I am certain. Gordon didn’t really like kids. My free run of the backstage area allowed me to lurk in the shadows and to hear his comments when off stage. His language was for adults until the spotlight hit him. But he did a good job and made all us kids happy during his performances. I’m guessing he was an old timer from the vaudeville days and happy to still be in show business. He worked a circuit of theaters on the weekends, but I don’t know exactly which ones he visited. Some of you may remember his coming to other theaters in the Los Angeles area.
At one point, with Dr. Pepper as the main sponsor, and with local businesses joining in, Roy Gordon promoted a long running contest with weekly drawings for prizes, some as nice as bicycles. One drawing ticket was given to each person attending the show that day, and tickets could be obtained from many of the downtown merchants on their own terms, and most importantly, you could get one drawing ticket for every two Dr. Pepper bottle caps you brought to the show that day. Toward the end of the weekly contests, this was changed to one for one. You could keep your tickets for future week’s drawings as well.
Prizes could also be won by earning the right to join Roy on stage to play some simple games. Roy would choose kids in the audience to come up and play the games in two different ways. The first was to use a pocket mirror, shining the spotlight in a kid’s face and saying, “Okay, you can come up.” This would be done with four or five kids each week. In truth, most of those chosen with the mirror were the kids that hounded Gordon when he arrived at the theater. They would hang on him, begging to be picked during the show. He usually gave in, and ended up picking them “at random” if he could find them in their seats during his bit. But there was often a kid or two he overlooked or couldn’t find, and they would end up crying, feeling hurt and betrayed. They would tackle him as he left, and he would make his usual insincere promise of, “Next week, Honey.”
I, on the other hand, ended up on stage more often than all the other kids. The second way to win the chance to participate in the on-stage games was to guess the name of a song. Roy would play the song on his accordion. There was just one problem with this. He could barely play, and he didn’t know the songs children new. He would explain the rules, that the first to call out the name of his song could come up and play a game. Then the hush would come as he would play something like “Slaughter On Tenth Avenue.” Nobody? So he would try others, like “My Blue Heaven” or “Cocktails For Two.” Now this is where I became a long-time, friendly enemy to Gordon. I came from a musical background, and I knew every song Roy could play by the time I was eight. I knew every song Roy couldn’t play, too. So week after week, he kept hearing my squeaky voice yelling out in the darkness something like, “THE SHEIK OF ARABY!” and he would say, “You again!” I was on stage most of the times he pulled out that accordion, and I had to bite my tongue several times after he finally sought me out to ask if I would give the other kids a chance in return for some future reward. But that’s a different story.
Once on stage, the game was often as simple as rhyming a word that Roy would say within three seconds. Do it, and he would drop a dime in a cup and give another word. Sometimes he would just shake the cup and not drop the dime. Either he couldn’t resist the con, or was short on dimes, but I watched him do that many times. Rhyme his words too well, and he would pull out one of his favorite game stoppers, like “balcony” or “orange.” But a kid could win sixty or seventy cents to spend on more candy, and there were no complaints, even though you knew you had been double-crossed. When he pulled such tricks on me, we both knew what was going on.
As for the prizes from ticket drawings, I had a tremendous advantage over the other thousand or so kids each week. First of all, my “work”, which took an hour or two on Saturday mornings, longer if I wanted to wait for others so I could show off, meant that I was in attendance for every drawing. Second, downtown Redondo Beach was my territory, and the participating merchants all knew me, and I sweet-talked most of them into giving me a few tickets. But third, and most impressive of all, was my resolve to find every Dr.Pepper bottle cap in town. There were two liquor stores just across the street from the Fox, one owned by my grandparents. Any bottle caps in the catch-bin there, as well as in the other store, were mine! I made my daily pickups.
One day I enlisted my older cousin with a car to take me to every liquor store we could find from Torrance to Manhattan Beach. I remember spilling the caps out on the back seat floor, sifting through them for the Dr. Peppers. Each week, my supply of drawing tickets increased. Because they came from different sources, it was nearly impossible to find a single number called out during the drawings in time to claim the prize. I lost a couple of prizes simply because I couldn’t find the right stub in time. So eventually, with hundreds of tickets, I put them in numerical order, stapled them to cardboard sheets, and paid other kids a few cents each, assigning them boards to check after each number was called out. It was my own little enterprise, and it paid off, since over time I won two bicycles and a half dozen other nice prizes and cash.
Kiddy matinees will always be happy memories for me, and I’m sure for you as well. And somewhere up there, Roy Gordon may be looking down and saying, “Come on, Bruce, what rhymes with ‘balcony’?” My name is Bruce Berns. If you worked at the Fox Redondo in the 50’s or 60’s I would especially like hearing from you, and all others who would like to share their Fox Redondo memories.
(More of) MY LIFE AT THE FOX
I think it was during the holidays somewhere around 1961, and a Disney film was booked at the Fox Redondo. A first-run Disney film would mean a full house for each showing. There was no practice of clearing the house between runs, and kids would sometimes stay all day. We would began announcing, “First ten rows only,” to those in the ticket line. This wasn’t quite true, since little kids who liked sitting that close would often break away from their friends or siblings and fill these rows before taking good seats elsewhere, even the doubles and triples. There were over 1,300 seats,but some kids would rather sit right at the screen than in the last row of the balcony. The noise factor, especially during a packed Disney matinee, was quite loud. Kids had to speak louder just to hear each other over the rustle of so many candy wrappers. And the aisles were seldom empty, with a steady flow of children walking to and from the concession stand, bathrooms or just wandering. They were immediately blinded by an usher’s flashlight and scolded if they ran. That worked until they returned, running again.
One thing that National General management did especially right during packed house runs, was to hire plenty of help, and beside the doorman and those assigned to the candy counter, there would always be ushers stationed inside keeping the peace, usually one each at the top of the center aisles downstairs, and another two upstairs between the loge and balcony. Among their duties was to always light a path to vacant seats for those entering who were blinded by the darkness. Splitting parties up when the house was full was a busy and stressful duty for young ushers trying to do professional jobs. People entering at the top of the aisle would naturally stop and wait for their eyes to adjust, but in doing so would block the view of those in the last aisles. So speed in finding them seats, especially in their blinded state, was where we took pride in our jobs.
Even with the most rowdy of crowds, I do not remember ever stopping the movie at the Fox Redondo. There would always be enough ushers on staff during such times, and we would simply walk toward the screen and back to the aisle tops. In those days, this was enough to keep the peace. The ushers with their flashlights actually commanded respect due to fear of reprimand. Times were certainly much simpler then. Within only three or four years, those innocent times were gone, and a private duty police officer would be needed, more often for show than need of force, to keep the peace.
You may remember that the Strand Theater, three blocks South, was a different world. The manager, named Polis, a sour, self-important sort of man, never paid for the additional staff needed to keep the peace. Kids would nearly tear the place apart on weekend matinees, and it was close to a ritual for Polis to stop the film and stand spotlighted on the stage with a microphone, and threaten to close the show if the kids wouldn’t stop throwing popcorn boxes and quiet down. I think he like the attention he got doing this, and he took his time ranting and repeating himself. It never changed anything for more than a few minutes, and there were times when he would stop the movie two or three times. I mention all this in praise to the management of the Fox Redondo and others in the chain that were not so cheap as to avoid having adequate staff.
While ticket sales for the blockbusters, like “Babes in Toyland” and other holiday films, were obviously good, the bid made by theater management to the distributors for the rights to exhibit big films could leave very little profit when the run was finished. Nearly all of the ticket sales in the first week, or even weeks, were not kept by the theater. But as Manager Bill Mauck taught me early on, the business was there for selling candy, with popcorn and drinks being the largest profit makers. All the rest of our show business was to funnel the patron to the concessions, and cleaning up kiddy vomit was just part of the price paid to sell the candy. You may recall the free “kiddy matinees” with all cartoons or “Mighty Joe Young” a few times each year at the Fox. Now you know why they were free. Concession sales from a packed house was good business. That’s probably not changed a lot, considering the price of popcorn, drinks and candy at theaters today! Earlier, I recall popcorn costing a dime, with butter 15-cents. I remember it rising to 15/25, 20/30, 35/50 and so on. It was real butter,too, kept in the freezer backstage. It wasn’t uncommon during such busy runs for Mr. Mauck to give me a few dollars and send me to the market, because butter supplies would be exhausted, and the Fox Hermosa could not afford to lend what they had. Butter was one of the few items not under the heavy inventory control. If a patron said, “Extra butter, please,” they would get it. Eventually, different colored popcorn boxes helped to keep inventory control of the butter. And extra butter had an extra charge.
Popcorn, surprisingly, was under very heavy inventory control. The boxes probably cost more than their contents, and the boxes were used to keep track of inventory. They were counted and compared to the number of bags of pre-popped corn delivered and sold. If the percentages were off, the staff would be scolded for supposedly eating too much themselves or for loosing boxes. Bill Mauck never accused anyone of stealing or giving popcorn away, but we were always warned that it was the boxes themselves that were inventoried, and to keep close track of them. Of course we understood if we were to eat the popcorn we were to use another type of container or a used popcorn box. During a Disney-type week, it wasn’t uncommon to order a hundred or more of the large popcorn-filled bags, but we did not have enough space to store them in the candy room, and had to take them upstairs to a break room used by employees, which you may have noticed just outside the manager’s office. I remember one very huge movie opening where even that room could not hold all the bags ordered, and we simply left them sitting in the upstairs lobby between the two restrooms.
During one of these house-packing days, I was working a shift as doorman, talking with Manager Bill Mauck, and the subject of concession sales techniques and subliminal advertising came up. We already knew the science of where to put which boxes of candy behind the glass, and not long before, upper management sent new instructions for selling drinks. They told us when a patron asked for a soft drink, our response was now always to be “Regular?” This immediately increased the sales of the large size drinks and decreased the sales of the small size. We were amazed at the amount of change, and therefore profit, from this technique. Mauck and I were wondering if there were ever any techniques within the films, like single frames or even other more subliminal techniques designed to increase concession sales. Then I said if we could only pipe the smell of the popcorn into the house we could sell tons of it.
He laughed and agreed. When the popcorn was extra hot, and the breeze was flowing the right way, it did fill the house with its delicious odor. We’ve all had the experience of first smelling the irresistible odor of popped corn, and being unable to resist buying some. Mauck had a twinkle in his eye, and said it would probably work. I kidded, suggesting we take bags of corn backstage and down to the room holding the giant fan that circulated the air throughout the theater. I said we’ll let it blow the smell into the house. Then we could see if our home-made subliminal suggestion would work. Well, theater managers are paid a percentage of concession sales, and Mauck actually agreed to give it a shot! In fact he laughed. I only saw Bill Mauck laugh to the point of tears a couple of times over the years. It was not a common sight to see him with more than a warm grin of a smile, but when he did smile enough to show his gold tooth, everybody’s mood changed for the better. Today’s laugh was not to tears, but the mood was jovial. After all, we had a packed house, concession sales were tremendous, and that had a direct effect on his earnings.
As for our popcorn experiment, things could have been easier if the corn was popped on the premises, but remember, it was delivered pre-popped and cold in giant bags. But there was little doubt in my mind that this was going to work, and we set to the task. We needed a very large box to dump the bags of corn into, the idea being to set it as close to the fan as we could manage. By the late afternoon our experiment was running, the furnace was on, the popcorn wafting. And it turned out to be a complete failure.
Our problem was simple: The corn itself had to be very hot to give off its wonderful aroma. Cold or cool corn is actually chewy and has a stale odor. But our experiment produced no odor at all inside the house. Even all that corn sitting in the small fan room could not do the job without a strong heat applied to the kernels. Of course, we probably looked strange walking the aisles, sniffing the air for the next hour, but we just had to give it all a try. We did agree the idea was sound. We just didn’t have the equipment. Of course, in today’s hi-tech world, I wouldn’t be surprised if a tiny chemical drop of artificial odor is frequently used to sell popcorn and pleasures in theaters or other places.
My name is Bruce Berns. If you worked at the Fox Redondo in the 50’s or 60’s I’d especially love to hear from you.
Ha! That’s funny. Yes, I’m pretty sure. There were never any other pests either, though I would have expeted roaches and other insects. Considering all the unused, cold, dark, underground rooms, I’m surprised that there were no cobwebs and such.
To manwithnoname: Have no worry. The hot dogs were kept frozen in a deep freeze backstage. Surprisingly, there was never a sight of rodents in the candy storage room, nor droppings. I guess there was so much to feed on in that crawl space under the seats, that they didn’t need to seek out new territory.
LIFE AT THE FOX REDONDO
As I wrote earlier, I was a fixture at the Fox Redondo for about 13 years, starting at age eight in 1954 as the “official” popcorn box folder…for free admittance. I stole the job from an 18 year old comic book geek, mainly because no one had ever seen boxes folded so quickly, especially by such a cute little kid, and I could fold a case of 500 boxes in about 10 minutes when showing off. I would often have races with older kids, the teens that were working there. I never lost…ever. It was my only champion feeling. I suppose that made me as much a geek as the prior fellow. Normally I would just sit in the storage room, and while staring with drooling awe at hundreds of cases of candy, I would fold up the whole week’s delivery of boxes at once. Thus, I earned the right to enter the theatre at will..and to even bring a friend! I considered myself a pretty important little boy at that time. So did my friends!
Not long after earning entrance privileges, I had the run of the place, especially in the early hours before opening to the public, when I could explore the dark and dangerous bowels of the building and even crawl between the walls and ceilings, walk the catwalks and explore the hidden rooms, and even the multi-level rooftops. This was my second home, and I was determined to know every inch and to discover all its secrets. My parents were comfortable knowing where I was, and the small town atmosphere predicted my safety.
After I finally got my teen work permit, there was no way of removing me from the Fox. Managers, assistants, and staff came and went. I stayed. With my family’s three businesses across the street on Pacific Avenue and my home within sight a block away on Carnelian, this triangular patch of ground became my personal territory that I was quite willing to share with anyone who cared to visit. The Fox, of course, was already there when I came to Redondo in 1946, but it had yet to be remodeled. I remember when it was quite normal to dress up to go to the show. You didn’t see much casual dressing for movies then. Most men wore suits and ties to the movies. The earliest admission price that I remember for children was seven cents. Then nine cents. When, at some point, it reached seventy-five cents for kids, I thought it was absurd. But what the heck did I care? I could come and go at will, and the privilege was eventually extended to the Strand Theater, the Fox Hermosa and the La Mar in Manhattan. Later on I could get a pass for nearly any theatre in the National General or Mann chains. Except for the Strand Theatre, I walked the 16-foot ladders to change the marquees at the Redondo, Hermosa and Manhattan Beach theatres once I was old enough. I think I got about $7 extra in pay for doing that. The La Mar in Manhattan, which was on a hill, wasn’t worth it, and I soon said no more…too scary.
Over the years, there were several types of other business located in the attached stores on either side of the Fox Redondo, with the Chamber of Commerce, noted in earlier comments, as being the most remembered and captured in photos. I recall the names of no others, except Lacy’s Ice Cream Parlor which opened on the East side of the building in the early sixties. Lacy tried hard to make it a nostalgic and fun place, but by that time, downtown foot traffic just wasn’t enough to sustain the business. I briefly stepped in to run the little shop when Mr. Lacy went on vacation. It took me years to recover from the daily overdoses of chocolate and maraschino cherries.
I thought I would mention some of the lesser known things about the Fox Redondo. And so as to not monopolize this area, I’ll take it one item at a time. Today, I’ll tell you about an embarrassing problem the theater faced.
In the late 50’s, the Fox Redondo was plagued with mice. At one point, they were running down the aisles and over people’s feet while they watched the movie. Employees tried to act surprised each time a patron would come out to complain. The janitor set mouse traps at night, which were nearly always full the next day, but it did not relieve the rising problem. On weekend mornings, I would have fun tripping the few traps that were untouched before someone on staff would remove them for the day. It seemed to be only mice. I never saw rats inside the theatre, although they were probably there as well, since I did chase rats, some the size of Chihuahuas, that lived among the rocks right outside.
You can imagine the scene that some people made, with their demands for refunds. Of course, the show must go on, and eventually professional exterminators were called in to take care of the problem. But that plan backfired horribly.
Below the seats and sub floor was an area which was accessible to a kid like me by crawling on my stomach, and it held a seemingly endless feast for vermin, consisting of old popcorn, candy and an unbroken layer of sticky stuff you don’t want to know about. And while it had plenty of rodent droppings, it also held loose change that had fallen between floorboards, and there was enough of that to encourage a kid like me to take a flashlight and make the crawl from time to time. With the exterminators now gone, the poisoned, dead mice began to decompose in this area. My crawling searches under the floor for fallen change quickly stopped.
Anyone familiar with the smell of rotting flesh will understand that it was not an expected part of an evening at the movies, although the kiddy matinees which filled the theater on the weekends produced no complaints at all. The kids couldn’t hear the movie over all the chatter, and apparently couldn’t smell the dead mice over all their popcorn and candy. Or they just didn’t care.
While management considered ways of cleaning up the problem, they did their best to keep the place open by using gallons of a very strong, industrial-strength deodorizer. But this temporary cure was as bad as the original problem, with a super Pine-Sol kind of smell that would catch in your throat like vapors of ammonia. The West or ocean side of the theater was especially bad, although I’m not sure why. So now there was the smell of rotting flesh as well as the overpowering deodorizer. It clung to the floors, walls and carpets. During this time, it was a nightly routine for a patron to come storming out of the theater asking what the hell the stench was and demanding a refund. They were right, of course, and met with a smile, an apology and the refund if they did not accept the offer of moving to a “private” seat in the loge or balcony, which were areas that were normally kept closed unless higher attendance warranted their opening.
Those that sat it out, to me, were nuts. It took months for the smell of death to vanish, but the medicinal smell of the stench-removing chemicals that were now soaked into the flooring and sub flooring lingered lightly for years. I never crawled under the floor again. For those of you that may have worked at the theater in later years and wondered what that unique odor of the place was, this is your answer. It never completely went away.
Next time, I’ll tell about a better, and much more enjoyable smell at the Fox Redondo. My name is Bruce Berns. If you worked at the Fox Redondo during any part of the 50’s and 60’s, I would especially love hearing from you.
Bob Mauck,
I’ve been hoping you would discover this sight and offer your comments!
News of your father’s and brother’s passing brought me tears. I have stated throughout my life that it was your father that molded my personality, and he has had the strongest influence on my ways to this day. Like the Fox Redondo, he was one of a kind. I worked with Bill Jr., too, and have only the fondest memories of him and his quiet and humorous ways.
I was there that day in ‘56 that Bill started managing the Fox Redondo, and I became “Brucie Boy” to him when he was in a good mode. And I was there when he moved on. Because for several years, I spent more time at the Fox than at home, his transfer was very depressing for me. In our daily contact, he taught me a lot about working with people as well as teaching me more mundane things. I still think of him every time I must stand up for long periods of time, since he taught me how to avoid discomfort!
Bob, do you have any of the “scrapbooks” he kept of his promotions? He proudly showed me these in the 60’s. There could be several snapshots of the Fox that we’ve all be hoping to uncover.
I’m glad you found the sight, and hope you share more memories with us all. I’d also love to talk to you about some of our mutual friends and long-term employees that you may remember.
You and I did a lot of exploring deep in the bowels of that wondrous old vaudeville house,and we do indeed share some great memories of Old Redondo.
My name is Bruce Berns (), and I’d like to hear from anyone connected with the Fox Redondo…on this site or by email.
Terrance, yes that is the El Ja Arms, a classic hotel in its time. I think a president may have stayed there once. It was way to spooky for me as a kid. Although my brother and I “ran” that corner and every rooftop of the block in the 50’s, the El Ja Arms, then occupied in its last years mostly by transients, was too dark and scary for us. Our hotel, the Del Mar, was around the corner to the South on Pacific Avenue. I’m familiar with every business that was on that block from 1946 through the 60’s. The site you offered has some great old shots! Thanks
Terrance…Hmmm, you got the chandelier, I got a piece of concrete! If it’s one of the chandeliers in the interior shots you’ve seen, I can tell you that I once walked above it in the crawl, and I may have cleaned and changed its bulbs! For a week or two before Hitchcock’s “The Birds” ran, I kept our Myna Bird “Smoky” in his cage in a corner of the lobby to advertise the upcoming movie, but he wouldn’t shut up during the shows running, and there were a lot of complaints! For “Hatri,” I was dressed in safari garb, and rode an elephant through the downtown streets of Redondo. For “5 Weeks In A Balloon,” I dropped balloons (with passes in them) from a small plane we hired.“ The exterior shots of the Fox look as thought they were taken almost in front of my family’s business across the street, the Del Mar Cleaners. They also owned the Del Mar Hotel above it, and Del Mar Liquor next door. I once had a snapshot of the lobby somewhere, but have yet to located it after all these years. I’m still hoping to find it for all interested. Thanks for the memories!
I “worked” at the Fox Redondo for about 13 years, starting by folding popcorn boxes around 1954 under the watchful eye of Manager, Scottie. When I was old enough to work legally, I spent more time there than at home, which was only a block away. Later, under the Manager, Bill Mauck, I learn what it was to be a showman. In the 60’s, we would ballyhoo openings with stunts and giveaways, and Mauck was a pro at getting attention to his openings. I stayed with the Fox, working both full and part time until I was about 21 years old, even driving to work at night after moving to college in the San Fernando Valley. I knew, and still remember, every square inch of that wonderful, one- time vaudeville palace. I crawled under the sub floor in search of loose change as a kid, and climbed the rafters above the chandeliers as an adult. I filmed the building of King Harbor form its rooftop. I explored the abandoned organ pipes then covered with gilding, and took girlfriends for tours of the spooky, long empty dressing rooms in the deep underground of the backstage area. All the original equipment of a bygone area remained, from painted drop curtains to the antiquated lighting board. What history that building held! I can still see my ring of keys and know each for their function, from the box office to the fuse box panel! I walked the 16' ladder (for an extra $7.50 per week) to change the marquee. “Living” at the fox in the 50’s and 60’s offered me status as a teen, and by the way, I will still accept a challenge to be dethroned as the Fastest Popcorn Box Folder In The World! It was my home away from home where I saw many, many ushers, managers, and assistants come and go through those years. Of course, I saw every movie that played the Fox for two decades. In my more ambitious years I considered writing a book about my adventures, both during and after, operating hours there. Even after I left and lost touch with those that still ran the Fox, I felt it was my roots, my home. It was difficult to return and not recognize any employees. I still have the posters from every movie that played the Fox Redondo in the 60’s. I networked with friends at other theatres to allow me courtesy passes throughout Los Angeles' Fox, then Mann theatres. Paying for my first admission to a movie theatre around 1974 was personally devastating and humiliating!
I now have only a piece of concrete as a souvenir of the Fox Redondo as my home and my youth which are inseparably linked. And I still have a great memory of seeing the huge, white building from my house. If you looked very hard at it’s faded paint, the Fox would allow its past to show through: On the East side, from one end of the building to the other, in 5-foot tall letters were the nearly invisible words, “TALKING PICTURES.” My Name is Bruce Berns. If you
were a part of that era at the Fox with me, I would love to hear from you.
I noticed that some of us also enjoyed the Fox Palos Verdes.
I also worked there, and I wrote about some interesting times which I’ve posted on that page. I hope you’ll come there and join in with your comments.
I don’t think the Fox Palos Verdes was managed by a single person from opening to closing. Mr. K was not the first manager. The first manager was a young blond fellow with a flat-top. He was husky and, at best, was in his twenty’s. I’m sorry I can’t remember his name.
In 1964, while I was working at the Fox Redondo, I transferred temporarily to PV to be the Assistant Manager for a short time to learn the management routines so the manager could take a vacation some weeks later. I also worked during the grand opening of the theater where, below the kleig lights, Charlton Heston made a personal appearance that night. He was not happy being there, was rude, and he sped off as quickly as he could, refusing to give autographs. I was angry at him for years after that.
It was that year that the chain’s bookers suffered the consequences of their bid for “Goldfinger” to play at the Fox PV for 10 weeks. That was the longest I had ever heard of a movie playing at the same theater in the South Bay. I think part of the deal was to only keep five percent of the box office for the first seven weeks or so. The movie had a huge opening, but there were weeks and weeks of an empty auditorium. It was truly boring working there during the “Goldfinger” run.
It was during that time while I was the filling in for the manager, that the janitor at the Fox Palos Verdes completely lost his mind. He locked himself inside the theater, put chains and padlocks on the doors, and sported a holstered gun. Standing inside, he screamed obscenities and danced like an idiot. When I showed up to open that morning, I thought I was going to be murdered. The police managed the situation quietly, not like today, where there would have been a SWAT team and snipers involved.
Why did the janitor go nuts? Probably because of a combination of a few too many drugs, and delusions of grandeur. He was a member of a union that previously had strong mob ties. You didn’t mess around with the janitors. While he was surely unstable to begin with, he felt untouchable, and able to do anything he wanted. And what he wanted to do was to fire up the projectors and watch movies while he cleaned the theater in those early morning hours while he was alone on the job. From what I’ve heard, the projectionists' union was also a strong-armed association at the time, but for all I know, it could have been the same union. Someone who knows can help me out on that point.
During my days as assistant, while training with the manager before his vacation, I observed what led to that final day of janitorial chaos. The manager was trying to catch the janitor running the projectors, or at least gather some proof of the dirty deeds. The manager only had complaints from the projectionist that someone was running the films, and there was nobody else that could be dong it. But each time, the janitor denied the charges, mostly with four-letter words. The manager knew the janitor was lying. The janitor knew there was no proof. They cussed at each other, but that’s as far as it went. The janitor felt the union would back him up. Go ahead and just try to fire him!
The manager set a trap. He hid a clock that was plugged into a projection room outlet, which could only get power when the lights were turned on. He wanted to know how long the janitor was in the room and whether it was longer than necessary to do the normal nightly cleaning.
Thus, the game began. Each day, the manager would check and reset the clock and then smugly tell me how much time was spent in the projection room by the janitor the previous night. He kept notes, and he started charting. He was a bit obsessed. I kept out of it. He was also talking with higher management about the problem and trying to keep the projectionist from quitting or starting a war. I think he was much more worried about the projectionist walking out because someone else was messing with his machines.
During the peak of this janitor-manager feud, the manager’s vacation began, and I was left to be in charge. I wasn’t concerned about the janitor. I didn’t think about the problem. At least not until a few days later. That’s when the janitor found the hidden clock, and he suddenly figured out why the manager was not only accusing him of the misdemeanor but also telling him how long he was doing it each night.
But, of course, the manager was on vacation, and I was left to take the heat when this discovery of the clock put the janitor over the edge. I was without a clue that morning when I arrived to find the doors chained together from the inside. I could not figure out what was happening. The janitor didn’t even come to mind. I left to find a phone. I don’t remember who I called, the vacationing manager or my Fox Redondo manager. Then I drove back to the theater. This time the janitor was waiting inside, dancing a jig and singing, “You want to play games?” and “Now what are you going to do?”
Then I noticed the gun he was wearing. I moved to a safer location and waited, no doubt thinking about what other type of employment might get me through college.
I’m not going to make up the ending to this story, and the exact outcome is a lost memory to me. I do remember the police arriving in a single patrol car and even the vacationing manager showing up. I also remember a lot of yelling back and forth between the chained glass doors. But as to what else happened that day, or what became of the janitor, I can’t recall. If you were that first manager, or even the crazy janitor, I’d like to hear your side of this bizarre tale.
My name is Bruce Berns. Many of my memories have been noted as “MY LIFE AT THE FOX” on the Cinema Treasures site at the Fox Redondo page: /theaters/2128_0_2_0_C/
and I invite you to join us at there for some nostalgic memories of Redondo Beach at the Fox Redondo.
Tricia: 75 cents! Admission, popcorn and a Coke. And to think, you spent all that on high-profit items, too. Hold on, gang. Next thing in theaters may be pay toilets.
Schrader….I do have several hundred posters and their stills from the 1960’s. I sold zillions when I lived at my college dorm in ‘67, but I still have some great ones left, from Elvis to Disney. But I’m not interested in bookmarks or other memorabilia. Perhaps we could discuss some other goods or services to trade for them!
Schrader….I’m glad I’m not alone remembering Danny, whether here when talking about the Fox Redondo,or anywhere. Thanks for telling me. What school? When was that? Where’s Fallbrook?
Terrance….Yes, I do! Beside Roy Gordon’s weekly live entertainments there were other Saturday live distractions, most unadvertised.
Thanks to all of you for not complaining about my longer comments. While “the book” doesn’t look like it’s likely to be written, this has been the place for me to recall those sweet memories of my life for over a decade at the Fox Redondo. And knowing that some of you were there, and that we share the same mental images, creates a unique kinship among us. Writing and posting here has been therapeutic for me, and, I hope, not too self-centered to bore any of you. When I write down more of my memories, I hope you’ll overlook the self-indulgent aspect, and rediscover some lost Fox Redondo memories of your own. —Bruce
(More of) MY LIFE AT THE FOX
In the early 60’s, an off-duty, but uniformed, Redondo Beach police officer was often hired for weekend nights. You’re smart enough to know what he was there for, and because he was meant to be visible, we seldom needed assistance to handle any troublemakers. The officer that I remember being there most often for that job was named Danny Ashcraft. I felt very close to Danny, and he was the third and last person who assumed permission to call me “Brucie Boy”.
For me, working as doorman after a feature started, was the most boring of jobs, and while Danny, in full uniform, was free to move about, he often just stood and talked to me. He would tell me his exploits as an officer, and I’d ask, no doubt, stupid questions. I don’t remember any particular lessons from him, but felt like a family member with Danny, and I missed him when I grew up and moved away from the Fox Redondo.
There was one other semi-regular, private, off-duty cop that I remember, but I’m sorry to say, not his name. He was a funny fellow, talkative with just a hint of a country twang, always joking, and was never in uniform nor armed. He was sort of a scrawny guy and seemed to have more problems to handle than Danny did. As I look back on it, I’m sure that’s because of the lack of a uniform. He must have had a badge on his belt, but I don’t recall that, and I don’t think in those days that an off-duty officer had to necessarily identify themselves as being one before saying to a patron, “You’ve been told to shut up five times tonight. Open your mouth again, and I’m going to toss you outside.”
That was probably the most often used phrase by any of the private officers. I do remember one time when this scrawny cop dragged a gorilla-sized guy out to the street and mashed his face into the cement for about 15 minutes while waiting for a patrol car to arrive. He didn’t even carry handcuffs. I was very impressed that night and all of the times when he grabbed a punk by the back of the neck and tossed him through the front door.
Of course, these days, I suppose that private, off-duty police may be required to be a bit more polite. Remember, as I said before, in those days, an usher carrying his flashlight was considered an authority figure commanding at least a minimum of respect. But those days were coming to an end fast, and it was the beginning of a time when higher numbers of rowdy adults would think a geeky teenager, wearing an ill-fitting jacket and crooked, clip-on bow-tie, was worth ignoring.
Kids, of course, were easy to scare straight. But I can remember only a handful of times when I had to use the threat of throwing an adult out if they did not stop whatever it was they were doing. Of those, it only came to that end a few times. Most likely, they continued their offenses because they didn’t believe I could do it. They were right. I couldn’t. I was just a geeky teenager in an ill-fitting jacket and a clip-on bow-tie. I got Danny to do it. And Danny did it with a single finger, and a come-hither motion, so as not to disturb others. They respected him, but they gave me murderous looks. But I was armed…with a flashlight and Danny. And hey, at this point, I had my own private bodyguard to walk those guys out to the street! Was I scared? No, only once, when a jerk came back, but he only came close enough to yell that he would be waiting for me after work. I could see him later that night, still waiting. I was no fool. I hope he waited all night. I walked the one block home after exiting from back stage.
Many years later I stopped in at the Redondo Beach Police Department to see if Danny was still around. He wasn’t. I’ve forgotten about him until recently. He was an extra nice and quiet man who did his job well. I miss him all over again.
My name is Bruce Berns. If you worked at the Fox Redondo in the 50’s or 60’s I’d like to hear from you.
Sally, thanks for mentioning the Biltmore Hotel! I had forgotten about it until I saw your message. That’s another great memory brought back to me by someone I’ve never met. Aren’t we a bunch of not-so-strange strangers!
(More of) MY LIFE AT THE FOX
Something that most us wouldn’t even try to remember about the Fox
Redondo was its intermission music. There were only a few times when
special films were delivered along with required music for playing
during intermission, but the rest of the time, for all the years I was
a part of the Fox, the exact same music was played over and over
again. It was a piano solo of a Cole Porter medley, up tempo and
bubbly. I listened to it from about 1954 through 1969, and of course,
I heard it several times in a day in my teen years, when I was
actually earning a salary there. Eventually, it started to drive me
nuts. I was hearing it even when I wasn’t at the theater! Why, I
would ask? Why can’t we get a little more modern with the music? I
had no concept of legalities or royalties, and while I was brought up
with the older, familiar music and styles, I still just wanted to
hear something else, something more fun to listen to. I started
dropping hints, and after several weeks, that turned into whining. Finally, I was given
permission to bring in a record from home, but only if the boss could
preview it before we opened that day.
This may seem to be a pretty mundane subject to anyone else. I, on
the other hand, could hardly sleep the night before. I had visions of
eventually bringing in all of my favorite and most unusual records.
It certainly wouldn’t sound like any old-fashioned intermission any
more. I might just have patrons enjoying the music so much that they
didn’t care if the movie ever started!
I decided to bring in my album of electronic music, created on the
Moog synthesizer. I couldn’t wait to hear this very different and
unique electronic music through those speakers behind the screen.
Those speakers were the size of Volkswagens, and this was going to be
so great! I had visions of patrons coming out to the lobby to say,
“Wow, what’s that great, new, upbeat and modern music you’re playing.
Who’s wonderful idea was that? You gave him a raise, didn’t you?”
The next day, I had to wait for the projectionist to arrive before
going into the booth. That projection booth, as in other theaters,
was the most off-limit place for anyone other than the projectionist.
Anyone but me anyway. Unbeknownst to the others working there, I knew
every inch of the room. I had been exploring that sacred place since
I was nine, but only when I was alone or with a trusted friend who was
receiving one of my private and secret tours. I had no scarier
thought than to be caught in that room if I was not invited. Of
course, I was invited many times over the years, and my questions were
answered as I observed the duties of a projectionist as they were
performed in the fifty’s and sixty’s.
I think that the Cole Porter medley may have been played on a
reel-to-reel machine, but right now I can’t imagine how a tape would
not have been completely worn out after years of daily multi plays,
and I can’t summon a mental picture of what type of machine was use.
I’m willing to say don’t remember clearly what type of playback device
was used, and maybe one of you can recall that for me. I do know
that it was not a record player. There certainly was a turntable
there, and I wanted it to be in use that day, but there was no needle
dropping for intermissions normally.
Mac, the projectionist arrived. Mac had a cigarette with a half-inch
ash surgically attached between his lips. He didn’t like people very
much, and he was going to need a lot of encouragement, if not begging, to
make this unexpected change in his normal routine. It seemed to me to
be a very little thing at the time. But the turntable would need to
be dusted and leveled, and this was not solid state equipment. In
fact it was a very lo-tech booth. Vacuum tubes and the carbon-arc
projectors heated the room like a sauna, and there were no modern
electronics or anything we would consider small scale today. Wires
and plugs had to be switched around, and let’s face it, just moving an
ash tray in this relatively tiny room that was occupied by the same
man for many years, could cause a verbal response so caustic it might
bleach your hair. But here again, I made it happen, because it was
me, Brucie Boy, the kid who grew up asking Mac questions, and I was now
asking for this gigantic favor. And I did get him to agree, although
I think I learned a few new words that day.
Well, I can tell you, like my other ideas, my new, updated
day-at-the-movies experience with modern, upbeat music was a total
bust. The music sounded absolutely horrible. I mean, truly like crap.
The turntable’s needle was probably better suited for 78 rpm records, and it sounded like it was cutting a new groove as it played. Moreover, the sound system simply wasn’t tuned to handle the frequency output. Things were probably not hooked up correctly, and Mac wasn't
about to lift a finger for any troubleshooting to perfect my stupid idea, and the more I screamed to turn up the volume or adjust the frequency responses, the more distorted the noise became. I was crushed, and the preview time was ending. The others on staff who were getting ready to open looked at me like I was nuts. While I was yelling uselessly at Mac, with the house lights up, they watched me running like a mad man, up and down the empty aisles and lobby steps, from balcony to orchestra, trying to find a spot where the music actually sounded like music instead of a garbage truck. They want to know why the hell was I thinking of playing that kind of noise in the theater? We spent the rest of that day, and subsequent years, listening to the Cole Porter Medley.
My name is Bruce Berns. If you were a part of the Fox Redondo in the 50’s or 60’s, I would like to hear from you.
(More of) MY LIFE AT THE FOX
During the mid- to late-fifties, the kiddy matinees on Saturdays were a staple at the Fox Redondo. Most of the time, the movies were of the Abbot & Costello, Bowery Boys type, along with some shorts, cartoons and serials. It was amazing how often the same features and shorts would show up, but nobody complained. We saw Elroy Hearsh movies and sang along with Smoky the Bear. The afternoon, filled with films having short run times, allowed for plenty of mischief and visits to the candy counter, and that made the company happy. Kids had big decisions to make on such days. Just how much can be bought, and how long will it last, with the twenty-five or thirty cents they got from mom to spend on candy?
For about two years in the mid- to late fifties, when I was around 12 years old, there was also some on-stage entertainment offered by one Roy Gordon, an stout, gray-haired fellow who would play games and give away prizes during the extended Saturday intermissions. Of one thing I am certain. Gordon didn’t really like kids. My free run of the backstage area allowed me to lurk in the shadows and to hear his comments when off stage. His language was for adults until the spotlight hit him. But he did a good job and made all us kids happy during his performances. I’m guessing he was an old timer from the vaudeville days and happy to still be in show business. He worked a circuit of theaters on the weekends, but I don’t know exactly which ones he visited. Some of you may remember his coming to other theaters in the Los Angeles area.
At one point, with Dr. Pepper as the main sponsor, and with local businesses joining in, Roy Gordon promoted a long running contest with weekly drawings for prizes, some as nice as bicycles. One drawing ticket was given to each person attending the show that day, and tickets could be obtained from many of the downtown merchants on their own terms, and most importantly, you could get one drawing ticket for every two Dr. Pepper bottle caps you brought to the show that day. Toward the end of the weekly contests, this was changed to one for one. You could keep your tickets for future week’s drawings as well.
Prizes could also be won by earning the right to join Roy on stage to play some simple games. Roy would choose kids in the audience to come up and play the games in two different ways. The first was to use a pocket mirror, shining the spotlight in a kid’s face and saying, “Okay, you can come up.” This would be done with four or five kids each week. In truth, most of those chosen with the mirror were the kids that hounded Gordon when he arrived at the theater. They would hang on him, begging to be picked during the show. He usually gave in, and ended up picking them “at random” if he could find them in their seats during his bit. But there was often a kid or two he overlooked or couldn’t find, and they would end up crying, feeling hurt and betrayed. They would tackle him as he left, and he would make his usual insincere promise of, “Next week, Honey.”
I, on the other hand, ended up on stage more often than all the other kids. The second way to win the chance to participate in the on-stage games was to guess the name of a song. Roy would play the song on his accordion. There was just one problem with this. He could barely play, and he didn’t know the songs children new. He would explain the rules, that the first to call out the name of his song could come up and play a game. Then the hush would come as he would play something like “Slaughter On Tenth Avenue.” Nobody? So he would try others, like “My Blue Heaven” or “Cocktails For Two.” Now this is where I became a long-time, friendly enemy to Gordon. I came from a musical background, and I knew every song Roy could play by the time I was eight. I knew every song Roy couldn’t play, too. So week after week, he kept hearing my squeaky voice yelling out in the darkness something like, “THE SHEIK OF ARABY!” and he would say, “You again!” I was on stage most of the times he pulled out that accordion, and I had to bite my tongue several times after he finally sought me out to ask if I would give the other kids a chance in return for some future reward. But that’s a different story.
Once on stage, the game was often as simple as rhyming a word that Roy would say within three seconds. Do it, and he would drop a dime in a cup and give another word. Sometimes he would just shake the cup and not drop the dime. Either he couldn’t resist the con, or was short on dimes, but I watched him do that many times. Rhyme his words too well, and he would pull out one of his favorite game stoppers, like “balcony” or “orange.” But a kid could win sixty or seventy cents to spend on more candy, and there were no complaints, even though you knew you had been double-crossed. When he pulled such tricks on me, we both knew what was going on.
As for the prizes from ticket drawings, I had a tremendous advantage over the other thousand or so kids each week. First of all, my “work”, which took an hour or two on Saturday mornings, longer if I wanted to wait for others so I could show off, meant that I was in attendance for every drawing. Second, downtown Redondo Beach was my territory, and the participating merchants all knew me, and I sweet-talked most of them into giving me a few tickets. But third, and most impressive of all, was my resolve to find every Dr.Pepper bottle cap in town. There were two liquor stores just across the street from the Fox, one owned by my grandparents. Any bottle caps in the catch-bin there, as well as in the other store, were mine! I made my daily pickups.
One day I enlisted my older cousin with a car to take me to every liquor store we could find from Torrance to Manhattan Beach. I remember spilling the caps out on the back seat floor, sifting through them for the Dr. Peppers. Each week, my supply of drawing tickets increased. Because they came from different sources, it was nearly impossible to find a single number called out during the drawings in time to claim the prize. I lost a couple of prizes simply because I couldn’t find the right stub in time. So eventually, with hundreds of tickets, I put them in numerical order, stapled them to cardboard sheets, and paid other kids a few cents each, assigning them boards to check after each number was called out. It was my own little enterprise, and it paid off, since over time I won two bicycles and a half dozen other nice prizes and cash.
Kiddy matinees will always be happy memories for me, and I’m sure for you as well. And somewhere up there, Roy Gordon may be looking down and saying, “Come on, Bruce, what rhymes with ‘balcony’?” My name is Bruce Berns. If you worked at the Fox Redondo in the 50’s or 60’s I would especially like hearing from you, and all others who would like to share their Fox Redondo memories.
(More of) MY LIFE AT THE FOX
I think it was during the holidays somewhere around 1961, and a Disney film was booked at the Fox Redondo. A first-run Disney film would mean a full house for each showing. There was no practice of clearing the house between runs, and kids would sometimes stay all day. We would began announcing, “First ten rows only,” to those in the ticket line. This wasn’t quite true, since little kids who liked sitting that close would often break away from their friends or siblings and fill these rows before taking good seats elsewhere, even the doubles and triples. There were over 1,300 seats,but some kids would rather sit right at the screen than in the last row of the balcony. The noise factor, especially during a packed Disney matinee, was quite loud. Kids had to speak louder just to hear each other over the rustle of so many candy wrappers. And the aisles were seldom empty, with a steady flow of children walking to and from the concession stand, bathrooms or just wandering. They were immediately blinded by an usher’s flashlight and scolded if they ran. That worked until they returned, running again.
One thing that National General management did especially right during packed house runs, was to hire plenty of help, and beside the doorman and those assigned to the candy counter, there would always be ushers stationed inside keeping the peace, usually one each at the top of the center aisles downstairs, and another two upstairs between the loge and balcony. Among their duties was to always light a path to vacant seats for those entering who were blinded by the darkness. Splitting parties up when the house was full was a busy and stressful duty for young ushers trying to do professional jobs. People entering at the top of the aisle would naturally stop and wait for their eyes to adjust, but in doing so would block the view of those in the last aisles. So speed in finding them seats, especially in their blinded state, was where we took pride in our jobs.
Even with the most rowdy of crowds, I do not remember ever stopping the movie at the Fox Redondo. There would always be enough ushers on staff during such times, and we would simply walk toward the screen and back to the aisle tops. In those days, this was enough to keep the peace. The ushers with their flashlights actually commanded respect due to fear of reprimand. Times were certainly much simpler then. Within only three or four years, those innocent times were gone, and a private duty police officer would be needed, more often for show than need of force, to keep the peace.
You may remember that the Strand Theater, three blocks South, was a different world. The manager, named Polis, a sour, self-important sort of man, never paid for the additional staff needed to keep the peace. Kids would nearly tear the place apart on weekend matinees, and it was close to a ritual for Polis to stop the film and stand spotlighted on the stage with a microphone, and threaten to close the show if the kids wouldn’t stop throwing popcorn boxes and quiet down. I think he like the attention he got doing this, and he took his time ranting and repeating himself. It never changed anything for more than a few minutes, and there were times when he would stop the movie two or three times. I mention all this in praise to the management of the Fox Redondo and others in the chain that were not so cheap as to avoid having adequate staff.
While ticket sales for the blockbusters, like “Babes in Toyland” and other holiday films, were obviously good, the bid made by theater management to the distributors for the rights to exhibit big films could leave very little profit when the run was finished. Nearly all of the ticket sales in the first week, or even weeks, were not kept by the theater. But as Manager Bill Mauck taught me early on, the business was there for selling candy, with popcorn and drinks being the largest profit makers. All the rest of our show business was to funnel the patron to the concessions, and cleaning up kiddy vomit was just part of the price paid to sell the candy. You may recall the free “kiddy matinees” with all cartoons or “Mighty Joe Young” a few times each year at the Fox. Now you know why they were free. Concession sales from a packed house was good business. That’s probably not changed a lot, considering the price of popcorn, drinks and candy at theaters today! Earlier, I recall popcorn costing a dime, with butter 15-cents. I remember it rising to 15/25, 20/30, 35/50 and so on. It was real butter,too, kept in the freezer backstage. It wasn’t uncommon during such busy runs for Mr. Mauck to give me a few dollars and send me to the market, because butter supplies would be exhausted, and the Fox Hermosa could not afford to lend what they had. Butter was one of the few items not under the heavy inventory control. If a patron said, “Extra butter, please,” they would get it. Eventually, different colored popcorn boxes helped to keep inventory control of the butter. And extra butter had an extra charge.
Popcorn, surprisingly, was under very heavy inventory control. The boxes probably cost more than their contents, and the boxes were used to keep track of inventory. They were counted and compared to the number of bags of pre-popped corn delivered and sold. If the percentages were off, the staff would be scolded for supposedly eating too much themselves or for loosing boxes. Bill Mauck never accused anyone of stealing or giving popcorn away, but we were always warned that it was the boxes themselves that were inventoried, and to keep close track of them. Of course we understood if we were to eat the popcorn we were to use another type of container or a used popcorn box. During a Disney-type week, it wasn’t uncommon to order a hundred or more of the large popcorn-filled bags, but we did not have enough space to store them in the candy room, and had to take them upstairs to a break room used by employees, which you may have noticed just outside the manager’s office. I remember one very huge movie opening where even that room could not hold all the bags ordered, and we simply left them sitting in the upstairs lobby between the two restrooms.
During one of these house-packing days, I was working a shift as doorman, talking with Manager Bill Mauck, and the subject of concession sales techniques and subliminal advertising came up. We already knew the science of where to put which boxes of candy behind the glass, and not long before, upper management sent new instructions for selling drinks. They told us when a patron asked for a soft drink, our response was now always to be “Regular?” This immediately increased the sales of the large size drinks and decreased the sales of the small size. We were amazed at the amount of change, and therefore profit, from this technique. Mauck and I were wondering if there were ever any techniques within the films, like single frames or even other more subliminal techniques designed to increase concession sales. Then I said if we could only pipe the smell of the popcorn into the house we could sell tons of it.
He laughed and agreed. When the popcorn was extra hot, and the breeze was flowing the right way, it did fill the house with its delicious odor. We’ve all had the experience of first smelling the irresistible odor of popped corn, and being unable to resist buying some. Mauck had a twinkle in his eye, and said it would probably work. I kidded, suggesting we take bags of corn backstage and down to the room holding the giant fan that circulated the air throughout the theater. I said we’ll let it blow the smell into the house. Then we could see if our home-made subliminal suggestion would work. Well, theater managers are paid a percentage of concession sales, and Mauck actually agreed to give it a shot! In fact he laughed. I only saw Bill Mauck laugh to the point of tears a couple of times over the years. It was not a common sight to see him with more than a warm grin of a smile, but when he did smile enough to show his gold tooth, everybody’s mood changed for the better. Today’s laugh was not to tears, but the mood was jovial. After all, we had a packed house, concession sales were tremendous, and that had a direct effect on his earnings.
As for our popcorn experiment, things could have been easier if the corn was popped on the premises, but remember, it was delivered pre-popped and cold in giant bags. But there was little doubt in my mind that this was going to work, and we set to the task. We needed a very large box to dump the bags of corn into, the idea being to set it as close to the fan as we could manage. By the late afternoon our experiment was running, the furnace was on, the popcorn wafting. And it turned out to be a complete failure.
Our problem was simple: The corn itself had to be very hot to give off its wonderful aroma. Cold or cool corn is actually chewy and has a stale odor. But our experiment produced no odor at all inside the house. Even all that corn sitting in the small fan room could not do the job without a strong heat applied to the kernels. Of course, we probably looked strange walking the aisles, sniffing the air for the next hour, but we just had to give it all a try. We did agree the idea was sound. We just didn’t have the equipment. Of course, in today’s hi-tech world, I wouldn’t be surprised if a tiny chemical drop of artificial odor is frequently used to sell popcorn and pleasures in theaters or other places.
My name is Bruce Berns. If you worked at the Fox Redondo in the 50’s or 60’s I’d especially love to hear from you.
Ha! That’s funny. Yes, I’m pretty sure. There were never any other pests either, though I would have expeted roaches and other insects. Considering all the unused, cold, dark, underground rooms, I’m surprised that there were no cobwebs and such.
To manwithnoname: Have no worry. The hot dogs were kept frozen in a deep freeze backstage. Surprisingly, there was never a sight of rodents in the candy storage room, nor droppings. I guess there was so much to feed on in that crawl space under the seats, that they didn’t need to seek out new territory.
LIFE AT THE FOX REDONDO
As I wrote earlier, I was a fixture at the Fox Redondo for about 13 years, starting at age eight in 1954 as the “official” popcorn box folder…for free admittance. I stole the job from an 18 year old comic book geek, mainly because no one had ever seen boxes folded so quickly, especially by such a cute little kid, and I could fold a case of 500 boxes in about 10 minutes when showing off. I would often have races with older kids, the teens that were working there. I never lost…ever. It was my only champion feeling. I suppose that made me as much a geek as the prior fellow. Normally I would just sit in the storage room, and while staring with drooling awe at hundreds of cases of candy, I would fold up the whole week’s delivery of boxes at once. Thus, I earned the right to enter the theatre at will..and to even bring a friend! I considered myself a pretty important little boy at that time. So did my friends!
Not long after earning entrance privileges, I had the run of the place, especially in the early hours before opening to the public, when I could explore the dark and dangerous bowels of the building and even crawl between the walls and ceilings, walk the catwalks and explore the hidden rooms, and even the multi-level rooftops. This was my second home, and I was determined to know every inch and to discover all its secrets. My parents were comfortable knowing where I was, and the small town atmosphere predicted my safety.
After I finally got my teen work permit, there was no way of removing me from the Fox. Managers, assistants, and staff came and went. I stayed. With my family’s three businesses across the street on Pacific Avenue and my home within sight a block away on Carnelian, this triangular patch of ground became my personal territory that I was quite willing to share with anyone who cared to visit. The Fox, of course, was already there when I came to Redondo in 1946, but it had yet to be remodeled. I remember when it was quite normal to dress up to go to the show. You didn’t see much casual dressing for movies then. Most men wore suits and ties to the movies. The earliest admission price that I remember for children was seven cents. Then nine cents. When, at some point, it reached seventy-five cents for kids, I thought it was absurd. But what the heck did I care? I could come and go at will, and the privilege was eventually extended to the Strand Theater, the Fox Hermosa and the La Mar in Manhattan. Later on I could get a pass for nearly any theatre in the National General or Mann chains. Except for the Strand Theatre, I walked the 16-foot ladders to change the marquees at the Redondo, Hermosa and Manhattan Beach theatres once I was old enough. I think I got about $7 extra in pay for doing that. The La Mar in Manhattan, which was on a hill, wasn’t worth it, and I soon said no more…too scary.
Over the years, there were several types of other business located in the attached stores on either side of the Fox Redondo, with the Chamber of Commerce, noted in earlier comments, as being the most remembered and captured in photos. I recall the names of no others, except Lacy’s Ice Cream Parlor which opened on the East side of the building in the early sixties. Lacy tried hard to make it a nostalgic and fun place, but by that time, downtown foot traffic just wasn’t enough to sustain the business. I briefly stepped in to run the little shop when Mr. Lacy went on vacation. It took me years to recover from the daily overdoses of chocolate and maraschino cherries.
I thought I would mention some of the lesser known things about the Fox Redondo. And so as to not monopolize this area, I’ll take it one item at a time. Today, I’ll tell you about an embarrassing problem the theater faced.
In the late 50’s, the Fox Redondo was plagued with mice. At one point, they were running down the aisles and over people’s feet while they watched the movie. Employees tried to act surprised each time a patron would come out to complain. The janitor set mouse traps at night, which were nearly always full the next day, but it did not relieve the rising problem. On weekend mornings, I would have fun tripping the few traps that were untouched before someone on staff would remove them for the day. It seemed to be only mice. I never saw rats inside the theatre, although they were probably there as well, since I did chase rats, some the size of Chihuahuas, that lived among the rocks right outside.
You can imagine the scene that some people made, with their demands for refunds. Of course, the show must go on, and eventually professional exterminators were called in to take care of the problem. But that plan backfired horribly.
Below the seats and sub floor was an area which was accessible to a kid like me by crawling on my stomach, and it held a seemingly endless feast for vermin, consisting of old popcorn, candy and an unbroken layer of sticky stuff you don’t want to know about. And while it had plenty of rodent droppings, it also held loose change that had fallen between floorboards, and there was enough of that to encourage a kid like me to take a flashlight and make the crawl from time to time. With the exterminators now gone, the poisoned, dead mice began to decompose in this area. My crawling searches under the floor for fallen change quickly stopped.
Anyone familiar with the smell of rotting flesh will understand that it was not an expected part of an evening at the movies, although the kiddy matinees which filled the theater on the weekends produced no complaints at all. The kids couldn’t hear the movie over all the chatter, and apparently couldn’t smell the dead mice over all their popcorn and candy. Or they just didn’t care.
While management considered ways of cleaning up the problem, they did their best to keep the place open by using gallons of a very strong, industrial-strength deodorizer. But this temporary cure was as bad as the original problem, with a super Pine-Sol kind of smell that would catch in your throat like vapors of ammonia. The West or ocean side of the theater was especially bad, although I’m not sure why. So now there was the smell of rotting flesh as well as the overpowering deodorizer. It clung to the floors, walls and carpets. During this time, it was a nightly routine for a patron to come storming out of the theater asking what the hell the stench was and demanding a refund. They were right, of course, and met with a smile, an apology and the refund if they did not accept the offer of moving to a “private” seat in the loge or balcony, which were areas that were normally kept closed unless higher attendance warranted their opening.
Those that sat it out, to me, were nuts. It took months for the smell of death to vanish, but the medicinal smell of the stench-removing chemicals that were now soaked into the flooring and sub flooring lingered lightly for years. I never crawled under the floor again. For those of you that may have worked at the theater in later years and wondered what that unique odor of the place was, this is your answer. It never completely went away.
Next time, I’ll tell about a better, and much more enjoyable smell at the Fox Redondo. My name is Bruce Berns. If you worked at the Fox Redondo during any part of the 50’s and 60’s, I would especially love hearing from you.
Bob Mauck,
I’ve been hoping you would discover this sight and offer your comments!
News of your father’s and brother’s passing brought me tears. I have stated throughout my life that it was your father that molded my personality, and he has had the strongest influence on my ways to this day. Like the Fox Redondo, he was one of a kind. I worked with Bill Jr., too, and have only the fondest memories of him and his quiet and humorous ways.
I was there that day in ‘56 that Bill started managing the Fox Redondo, and I became “Brucie Boy” to him when he was in a good mode. And I was there when he moved on. Because for several years, I spent more time at the Fox than at home, his transfer was very depressing for me. In our daily contact, he taught me a lot about working with people as well as teaching me more mundane things. I still think of him every time I must stand up for long periods of time, since he taught me how to avoid discomfort!
Bob, do you have any of the “scrapbooks” he kept of his promotions? He proudly showed me these in the 60’s. There could be several snapshots of the Fox that we’ve all be hoping to uncover.
I’m glad you found the sight, and hope you share more memories with us all. I’d also love to talk to you about some of our mutual friends and long-term employees that you may remember.
You and I did a lot of exploring deep in the bowels of that wondrous old vaudeville house,and we do indeed share some great memories of Old Redondo.
My name is Bruce Berns (), and I’d like to hear from anyone connected with the Fox Redondo…on this site or by email.
Terrance, yes that is the El Ja Arms, a classic hotel in its time. I think a president may have stayed there once. It was way to spooky for me as a kid. Although my brother and I “ran” that corner and every rooftop of the block in the 50’s, the El Ja Arms, then occupied in its last years mostly by transients, was too dark and scary for us. Our hotel, the Del Mar, was around the corner to the South on Pacific Avenue. I’m familiar with every business that was on that block from 1946 through the 60’s. The site you offered has some great old shots! Thanks
Terrance…Hmmm, you got the chandelier, I got a piece of concrete! If it’s one of the chandeliers in the interior shots you’ve seen, I can tell you that I once walked above it in the crawl, and I may have cleaned and changed its bulbs! For a week or two before Hitchcock’s “The Birds” ran, I kept our Myna Bird “Smoky” in his cage in a corner of the lobby to advertise the upcoming movie, but he wouldn’t shut up during the shows running, and there were a lot of complaints! For “Hatri,” I was dressed in safari garb, and rode an elephant through the downtown streets of Redondo. For “5 Weeks In A Balloon,” I dropped balloons (with passes in them) from a small plane we hired.“ The exterior shots of the Fox look as thought they were taken almost in front of my family’s business across the street, the Del Mar Cleaners. They also owned the Del Mar Hotel above it, and Del Mar Liquor next door. I once had a snapshot of the lobby somewhere, but have yet to located it after all these years. I’m still hoping to find it for all interested. Thanks for the memories!
I “worked” at the Fox Redondo for about 13 years, starting by folding popcorn boxes around 1954 under the watchful eye of Manager, Scottie. When I was old enough to work legally, I spent more time there than at home, which was only a block away. Later, under the Manager, Bill Mauck, I learn what it was to be a showman. In the 60’s, we would ballyhoo openings with stunts and giveaways, and Mauck was a pro at getting attention to his openings. I stayed with the Fox, working both full and part time until I was about 21 years old, even driving to work at night after moving to college in the San Fernando Valley. I knew, and still remember, every square inch of that wonderful, one- time vaudeville palace. I crawled under the sub floor in search of loose change as a kid, and climbed the rafters above the chandeliers as an adult. I filmed the building of King Harbor form its rooftop. I explored the abandoned organ pipes then covered with gilding, and took girlfriends for tours of the spooky, long empty dressing rooms in the deep underground of the backstage area. All the original equipment of a bygone area remained, from painted drop curtains to the antiquated lighting board. What history that building held! I can still see my ring of keys and know each for their function, from the box office to the fuse box panel! I walked the 16' ladder (for an extra $7.50 per week) to change the marquee. “Living” at the fox in the 50’s and 60’s offered me status as a teen, and by the way, I will still accept a challenge to be dethroned as the Fastest Popcorn Box Folder In The World! It was my home away from home where I saw many, many ushers, managers, and assistants come and go through those years. Of course, I saw every movie that played the Fox for two decades. In my more ambitious years I considered writing a book about my adventures, both during and after, operating hours there. Even after I left and lost touch with those that still ran the Fox, I felt it was my roots, my home. It was difficult to return and not recognize any employees. I still have the posters from every movie that played the Fox Redondo in the 60’s. I networked with friends at other theatres to allow me courtesy passes throughout Los Angeles' Fox, then Mann theatres. Paying for my first admission to a movie theatre around 1974 was personally devastating and humiliating!
I now have only a piece of concrete as a souvenir of the Fox Redondo as my home and my youth which are inseparably linked. And I still have a great memory of seeing the huge, white building from my house. If you looked very hard at it’s faded paint, the Fox would allow its past to show through: On the East side, from one end of the building to the other, in 5-foot tall letters were the nearly invisible words, “TALKING PICTURES.” My Name is Bruce Berns. If you
were a part of that era at the Fox with me, I would love to hear from you.