The Fox Has Always Been A Hit

A painful lesson of my youth was learned inside the cavernous confines of Spokane’s ornate old movie house.

I’m talking about the Fox Theater, of course, although only newcomers refer to it by its formal name. Live in Spokane long enough and you automatically drop the “theater” part.

We say “The Fox” as in: “Let’s catch a bus and go down to The Fox.” That was a sentence familiar to all my pals who grew up with me back in the 1960s.

Sorry. I started cruising down Nostalgia Boulevard the other night when I went to The Fox to watch its last picture show, “Gladiator.”

As everybody should by now know, the Spokane Symphony bought The Fox from Regal Cinemas for $1.3 million. The theater, which opened on Sept. 3, 1931, eventually will become the symphony’s permanent home.

Don’t get me wrong. This rescue mission is a beautiful thing.

Just four months ago, Spokane Club President Gordon Budke enraged the entire town by announcing that his club might buy The Fox and tear it down for a parking lot.

Tear down The Fox?

Fortunately for these snooty club jackals, the days of tar and feathering are no longer en vogue.

This is not meant to be a reflection on all of the members. I recently had to join the Spokane Club when it took over my health club, and I haven’t felt the urge to destroy any civic landmarks. Yet.

But even with this warm and fuzzy, Frank Capra ending, I can’t help but feel a bit bummed that The Fox’s movie days have reached the end of the reel.

A contractual agreement between the symphony and Regal Cinemas prevents The Fox from being used as a theater for the next 20 years.

And let’s be honest.

As much as we high-minded types wish it were so, the people who were patronizing The Fox for its discount movies probably won’t be buying season symphony tickets.

So please excuse us Fox fans for blubbering in our popcorn.

“Saturday morning. Double features,” says Don Boone, who stood in line with me at The Fox finale. “This was the place to be when you were a kid.”

Or an adult.

Dick Hazelmyer, the projectionist at The Fox from 1949-51, has wonderful memories of this grand old theater.

He remembers when The Fox had a pipe organ. He talks about how he used to chase delinquents who tried to sneak in to watch the movies for free.

“Back then thre were no locks on the doors because there was always somebody here,” he says. “I used to sleep here when I missed the bus.”

For me, The Fox was a place of hard knocks education.

One Saturday morning when I was 13 or so, I took the bus downtown with a friend and made an important discovery at The Fox about the reflective properties of light.

It started when two kids in front of me were yakking away during the movie.

“Shut up!” I told them.

“No, you shut up,” they answered.

After a few minutes of this dialogue, I decided to challenge one of the dweebs to a fight by flicking his ear.

He stood up. I stood up.

And here I realized something, well, profound. And that is that in a dark movie house, the person sitting in front of you has a distinct advantage in a fight.

Blocking the screen, my opponent had become a blurry shadow creature. I, on the other hand, was lit up whiter than a Klansman in a snowdrift.

“Whaaap!”

That’s the sound the intercontinental ballistic shadow fist that I never saw coming made as it landed flush on my nose.

My movie house boxing career ended at 0-1.

Even so, I’ll miss the Fox Theater. As Hazelmyer told me with a tear in his eye, “This place is a dear friend.”