The Truth Behind the Concord Theatre

When I started working at the Concord Theatre in June 1967, the theatre had already been operating for 33 years, having opened its door in 1934. I would remain a part of the theatre, in some capacity, for the next 27 years, until it closed its doors in the summer of 1994.

Within weeks of starting work, I began to hear every urban legend that was bandied about with respect to the theatre and the people that ran it.

The story that seemed to be told the most was that the theatre was infested with rats and patrons had run screaming out of the theatre onto Main Street after being accosted by the creatures.

In 27 years I never saw a rat or even a mouse. I never saw anything that would indicate the presence of vermin in the theatre and, in fact, the interior of the theatre, despite its dark and aged appearance with the passage of time, was one of the cleanest theatres I have ever been in.

Once in a while Tisha, the black and white cat that lived upstairs in the theatre, would make a run for freedom and dash through the theatre. It’s possible that someone might have mistaken the streaking cat for something else.

Each night after the patrons from the second evening show departed, every candy wrapper, popcorn box and soda bottle was picked up. The entire theatre was then swept and vacuumed after which the mops and buckets came out and all of the floor space, including in between each of the nearly 500 seats, was scrubbed and washed.

The one constant at the theatre during its 60 year run was Theresa Cantin.

Her father, a contractor, had converted the former Norris Bakery into a movie theatre in 1934, partnering with a Mr. Charbonneau who had experience in the movie business. Theresa was the cashier.

The Concord Theatre rarely played any of the illustrious movie titles from the 1930s and 40s that symbolize, for many, the “Golden Era” of Hollywood. More often than not they played pictures from the smaller studios such as Republic and Monogram. Westerns and serials were also very popular as were The Three Stooges comedy shorts.

The Capitol Theatre and Star Theatre, both owned by Maine and New Hampshire Theatres, part of the Kennedy Family business enterprises, played the famous titles from MGM, 20th Century Fox and RKO among others. Occassionally, the Concord Theatre played a second-run showing of one of the films from those studios but only after most of the business had been drained by the other houses in downtown Concord.

In 1947, Theresa bought out Mr. Charbonneau and began to aggressively fight to play what would be deemed as “Grade A” motion pictures. The first to play, “The Best Years of Our Lives,” a multiple Oscar winner, brought standing room only crowds to the South Main Street theatre. Other quality films such as “The Red Shoes” did similar business.

During all the years in which I knew Theresa, her first and foremost concern was the quality of the films she played and in listening to her loyal patrons as to what films they wanted to see. Once she heard from them, she would do everything she could to book the picture.

I had been an occasional viewer at the theatre prior to starting work there.

The second film I saw, as a very young child, was a reissue of Disney’s “Pinocchio” when it played the Concord in the late 1950s. I’d also seen “The Magic Sword” and was very impressed that the theatre had what appeared to be the sword from the film on display in the lobby. “Lillies of the Field” was another film I remember seeing there as well as a big Doris Day MGM musical in 1963, “Jumbo”.

When I started work the theatre business was in a bit of a slump. The titles that played that summer are rarely memorable. They included, “Caper of the Golden Bulls,” “Welcome to Hard Times,” “Woman Times Seven,” “Made in Italy,” and “The Honey Pot.” The only film that actually did a little business was a Stanley Donen film entitled, “Two for the Road.”

Assisting Theresa at the theatre were her sisters, Rene and Laurie. Her brother Maurice was a part-time projectionist as was Lawrence Bunker and once in a while, Mert Tolman. If you were a projectionist you had to belong to the Union. Ernie Mayo was a substitute projectionist when needed and I liked having him around because he had a great laugh, good sense of humor and really knew movies, having been in the business for a great many years.

Evening performances allegedly started at 6:25 and 8:25 p.m., although frequently that was not the case.

Theresa was very loyal to her many customers, especially those that had frequented the theatre for years.

It was not unusual for a customer to frantically call from Penacook or Henniker to say they were running late and could she hold the movie for a few minutes. She invariably did and these longtime patrons returned that loyalty 10 fold.

Fortunately for me, Theresa immediately recognized my insatiable passion and love for movies and that I was a veritable font of knowledge when it came to films. She always treated me like a contemporary and not like a teenager who didn’t know what he was talking about.

Each Friday, I made my way to Bookland on North Main Street to pick up a copy of Weekly Variety, the self-described “Bible of Show Business.”  I would then spend two to three hours studying current and upcoming movies, their box-office grosses and where they seemed to attract the most business.

When I went to the theatre to work on Friday evening at 6, I would have already mapped out a listing for Theresa to review and we would spend the time between the first and second show talking about upcoming pictures and how we might have a shot at playing them.

Each studio had a salesman who would tout their forthcoming films as though they were destined to be classics. On Monday mornings, Theresa would subject herself to hours of talking with the various salesmen about the possibility of booking one of their films.

I especially remember Walter from Universal. Walter was a real character and truly believed that Universal could never make a bad motion picture. Whenever we would play a Universal film, Theresa would ask Walter to send a short subject or cartoon to go with the film. Invariably Walter would send either the same Woody Woodpecker cartoon or an abysmal short subject about children playing in a schoolyard, circa 1937. It never varied and we must have played one of the other no less than 20 times before Theresa told Walter she didn’t want any more cartoons or shorts.

The first time Theresa and I collaborated on booking a title was the film version of the James Michener book, “Hawaii.”

So successful was “Hawaii” that we also booked “The Sand Pebbles,” John Huston’s “The Bible,” and then one of the biggest box-office successes in the theatre’s history – “The Valley of the Dolls,” a film that would draw more than 15,000 patrons during its run, more than half the population of Concord at the time.

Next time: The Rest of the story.