Commentary: Save the People’s Theatre

Photo by Photo: Will Ingram, 2015

By Dick Gilliand

The sound was deafening. Your whole body vibrated as the plane raced towards us, like an eagle on its prey. Cindy jumped up and screamed as bullets blasted out of its guns. I grabbed the back of her pants and pulled her into her plush seat.

The movie was Midway. The time was the early 1970’s. The place was Anchorage. The theater was the one and only 4th Avenue Theatre. They had just installed surround sound, something we had never heard before. It was the reason for Cindy getting so wound up. It was flat out awesome. Neither of us will ever forget that movie or the 4th Avenue Theatre or me pulling her back into her seat.

I had met Bill and Betty Poe and their boys Carrie, Mark and Robbin shortly after arriving in the early spring of 1960. The Lake Louise area became my home base. Sometime in the early 60’s, I planned to go into town for the Fur Rendezvous dog races.

I don’t remember how old Rob was, I’m guessing about nine. The only movies he had ever seen were in a Jamesway (an Army canvas Quonset hut) at the old Army Recreation Camp on Lake Louise, sitting in a metal folding chair.

We would be in town for two or three days, so Rob and I went to The Palace. Holling set us up with a room on the safe zone of the second floor, a cheap room with no television.

We had a lot of things to do and see. Rob had a lot of firsts that day: Ferris wheel, cotton candy, etc.. When we walked into the theatre, Rob was flabbergasted. There was so much for him to see; all he did was stare at his surroundings while he followed me. I wanted to get him about a third of the way back, right in the middle of the screen.

When I stopped and sat down, Rob was looking at the beautiful murals on both sides of the stage. Then he told me to move down because his seat was broken. “It’s not broken, Rob, just pull the seat down.”

I can’t remember if it was Goldfinger but it sure was Sean Connery as 007 James Bond. We stuffed our faces with popcorn while three or four gorgeous naked women swam underwater across the screen, slightly muted by a bright sun (later as we left, I got some nasty looks, I suppose for bringing a youngster. I didn’t care. We came to have a good time and we darn sure did).

As a general rule, we didn’t get to town often, but enjoyed ourselves when we did. We went to a Gordon Lightfoot concert at the 4th Avenue Theatre. The theatre had double-seats, I think, on the ends of every other row, where you could snuggle together.

Rod Perry spent years and his own money filming “Sourdough”, a story about an old sourdough who is lost in the then, modern world. That’s how I feel now. (Rod’s dad Gil Perry did a great job as the old man in the film.)

The world premiere of Sourdough was at the fabulous 4th Avenue Theatre. Lots of people were in attendance. Rod’s brother Allen had his charcoal sketches for sale. We bought one, as well as a movie poster signed by our friends. The poster now hangs on the wall at Cindy’s place in Michigan.

Being inside the 4th Avenue Theatre was an experience you wouldn’t forget. It boasted beautiful murals and what seemed like miles of carpet. When you looked up, you saw the night sky with the Big Dipper made with small lights. Alaska is huge with natural beauty everywhere you look.

In Anchorage, the 4th Avenue Theatre was the diamond in a rough country. Being the biggest city by far in the great north, people from Adak to Metlakatla or Barrow to Cordova came for one reason or another. A good share of them enjoyed the people’s 4th Avenue Theatre.

When the big quake hit in ’64, in a matter of about four minutes, the face of Alaska changed forever. When the dust settled and you could see the devastation, the 4th Avenue Theatre was still standing proud and beautiful. I like Anchorage when it was 50,000 people plus Fort Rich. Way too crowded now. Just once I’d like to see the government do something just because it was the right thing to do.