Theater Seats

I was in the Oysterville Store one morning shortly after it reopened when a woman burst in, camera in hand, and obviously very much pleased with herself and the picture she had just taken.  “I see you have a place for your half-assed friends to sit!” she said to Greg and we all laughed in agreement.

She was referring to the old theater seats – two and a half of them – that he has out in front.  “Bus stop seating,” he smiles.  It’s true.  The bus does stop just east of  the store if anyone needs to disembark or is waiting for it.  There’s a nice sturdy bench there that would probably seat two or three full-bottomed people.  I think the theater seats are pretty much just for show – or maybe because Greg has trouble saying “no” to anything with an Oysterville story.

The story of the theater seats, of course, goes far beyond Oysterville.  They were originally in one of the movie theaters (there was one in Ilwaco and one in Long Beach) that were owned and run by Jack Williams.  His niece, Virginia Williams Jones told me almost all I know about those theaters.  Her story started with a couple of men named Charlie:

Virginia Williams Jones, 2007

The only permanent plane I can remember was owned privately by Charlie Strauhal who had sold the local theaters in Ilwaco and Long Beach to Curtis Hoare and Uncle Jack in 1929.  Charlie was Ilwaco’s answer to the present day “jet set.”  He was in the fast lane.

Electricity was owned by Charlie Rogers.  The plant was across the street from the Rogers’ house near the dock.  It was run all day and then the night man, Robert Gensman, ran it until 10 o’clock at which time he shut down and went home to the Seaview Hotel where he lived with his mother.

The movie theater was a block north.  They had to be sure the movie was over by 10 at the latest.  There was no backup.  The film often broke during the show, so Raymond Howerton who ran it had to be quick to splice the film and get it running.  During Franklin D. Roosevelt’s time in office, the movie theaters would stop the film, turn up the house lights, and pass the hat for ‘March of Dimes’ for polio.

I do remember going to the Long Beach theater once in 1951.  I saw “The Great Caruso” with Mario Lanza and I remember coming home to Oysterville and describing the film in detail to my grandmother (who was blind.)  She got out the old wind-up Victrola and some original Caruso records and we listened to them and ooohed and aaahed.  But I digress…

Oysterville Baptist Church 1964

When Jack closed the theaters in the late fifties or early sixties, he gave some of the seats to my folks to be used in the Sunday School room of the Oysterville Church.  That was before the church was restored and we were grateful to have the extra seating for those rare occasions when there was a well-attended church service (usually a funeral.)

In 1980-something, after the church had been redone and new folding chairs were purchased, some of the seats wound up at the Red House here in Oysterville.  I think Uncle Cecil may have still been living there and he, after all, was father-in-law to Jack’s nephew Bronk.  I’m not sure which of Bronk’s children gave the remaining seats to Greg recently – maybe my cousin David when he was spiffing up the house for his son’s wedding.

So… there you have it.  Two and a half theater seats in front of the Oysterville Store.  Greg says they aren’t long for this world – the veneer is disintegrating; they weren’t meant for al fresco purposes.  So, for any half-assed people who want to take a load off… the time is now!