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A Day In The Life: Abandoned-By-The-Sea -- Part 2
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Posted by tomasi Wed Jul 5, 2006 16:11:13 PDT
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1 response 0 comments Once I was back in the car, temporary contract in hand, everyone was overjoyed with my good fortune.

This was it — the first foothold in Oregon and something definitely worth celebrating, so we decided to find a place to eat.

As we pulled back to Highway One, we made the decision to stay one additional day to check out real estate. Losing one day would force us to drive straight home to Bakersfield, but we were young. And have I mentioned foolish?

As we were talking, Diane caught sight of a real estate office. We made a quick u-turn and within minutes we were speaking with Peggy Muller, the only realtor in Bandon-By-The-Sea. After handing us a page of listings, a city map and her business card, Alex asked if there were any businesses for sale in the area. Peggy pulled a small file box from a bookshelf and began reading through cards. She mumbled to herself for a few minutes, and finally said, “Why don’t you just drive down Third Street — half the businesses are closed and the other half are for sale.”

We thanked Peggy, and following her directions, we left the realty office and headed for Third Street. It was exciting to plan our future, especially in such beautiful surroundings, and while both couples were interested in housing, Alex and Diane had to find a business to buy. Months earlier they had sold a business in California and were searching for a new start. Up to this point they had found nothing that interested them, but that was about to change. We turned left onto the Third and that was when we saw “it.” In the middle of the block was a weathered wooden theater that brooded over a block of empty storefronts. “The Bandon” was its name. This would have been another opportune time to flee, however, fate had other plans. The marquee stated that “The Champ” was coming soon. Next to that was a small sign that read, “For Sale.”

“Look! It’s for sale!” Alex yelled, slamming on his brakes for the second time that day. Before we knew it, they were out of the car. Debbie and I crawled out of the car and walked across the front of the decrepit old theater. As we stood there, I noticed a man dressed in a ski hat and mittens sweeping the sidewalk a block away, but paid him no mind. Besides, we were getting caught up in Alex’s excitement. The Bandon had the appearance of any other theater, with a large neon sign, overhanging marquee and an enclosed ticket booth between both sets of doors.

I walked across the street to get a better look. As I stood there, I realized that I could see fishing boats just behind the theater. That seemed odd, so I re-crossed the street and confirmed that, not only were we close to the water, but a section of the theater was actually on pilings. To make matters worse, the tired old theater was leaning toward the water, but when I brought this up to Alex, he ignored it. What old buildings don’t slant? Well, slanting is one thing, but slanting over water is another. However, before I could again voice my concern, Alex countered with, “No inspector in his right mind would allow a hazardous building to remain open.” I had to concede at this point.        

 If you’ve ever seen how a trap-door spider operates, then you will appreciate what happened next. Diane went back to their car to hunt for a pencil to write down the number on the for sale sign. Just then, a door to the theater opened with a horrible screech. Another omen presented itself and was ignored as a wizened old man stepped out of the shadows. He wore cover-alls, a plaid work shirt and a battered golf hat on his head. Apparently he had heard the talking outside and explained that he was curious because the theater was only open two days a week, but I now know better. He must have been waiting behind those doors, anxious to pawn his albatross of a theater off on gullible Californians, preferably those with ready cash.

With a mouthful of gleaming teeth and an outstretched hand, the man stepped toward us. “Good morning,” he said, “my name is Harold Hemmings, proprietor of this landmark building.” Hemmings went on to explain that because of ill health, he was forced to sell. Without skipping a beat, Hemmings stated that with a sizeable down payment, he would carry the papers for an attractively low interest rate. Alex and Diane took the hook. They wanted to see more, so Hemmings swung wide the door and we were welcomed into the theater. Like lambs to the slaughter, we entered the cramped, dingy lobby — and were immediately assailed with all the combined smells spilled sodas, old popcorn and mold. It was depressing, to say the least. The walls were clad in stained dark paneling and the worn carpet gave the impression that decades ago it had been red. There were two restrooms, one of which didn’t work, and concession equipment that looked like it was ready for the museum. Did any of this faze our friends? Nope. They wanted more. Smiling, Mr. Hemmings flipped a switch to turn on the house lights. We walked through a curtain to the theater. At first glance, it didn’t look bad at all, but the overpowering smell of mold was enough to set my gag reflex in motion, but no one else seemed bothered.

There were two rows of seats on either side of the wide, central section. As we stood at the back of the theater, that slant I’d noticed outside was even more pronounced. Did our friends see it? Of course not. They were in love with the prospect of being theater owners, so Debbie and I followed them down the aisle. Off to the right and up front, I noticed a number of seats were missing. I asked Mr. Hemmings where they were. He quickly said the seats were being repaired, which seemed like an honest enough answer.

Heavy gold colored curtains framed the screen and on either side was an ornately carved faux balcony. Hemmings immediately praised the local artist who had created them. Alex stood under one of the balconies and was dumbstruck. He kept saying, “Would you just look at that woodwork! They don’t build them like this anymore, do they?” Hemmings was the only one who agreed with him, and instead of answering, Diane cautioned Alex not to be impulsive, but there was no holding him back. Hemmings explained that The Bandon had also been a performing theater, prompting Alex to ask to see the backstage. While I had expected to see a broad wooden stage below and ropes, pulleys and sandbags above, I was disappointed to find that the space behind the screen was Hemmings’ personal storage. Mounds of moldy cardboard boxes, a rolled-up, tattered carpet, and box upon box of old lighting and plumbing fixtures, and behind it all was half a dozen theater seats. Being repaired? Right.

We were then lead back to the sidewalk out front. As Hemmings was searching in his pockets for a key, the same oddly dressed man came “sweeping” up toward us. When I greeted the strange man, he hung his head, and muttering, stepped off the sidewalk and began sweeping the gutter. Before I could ask who he was, Hemmings announced that the sweeper was named Edgar. It seemed that for keeping the sidewalk clean, he was always given free admission to the theater, a drink and popcorn. Edgar looked harmless enough, but in a Stephen King way.

Once he found his key, Hemmings opened a small door in front that we hadn’t noticed before. We were then led upstairs to a hallway. Two doors opened off the hall — one to the projection booth and the other to an apartment. The apartment had probably been decorated last in the 40s. The kitchen appliances had seen better days and the single bathroom only had a tub — no shower. It was dismal, but Alex thought the apartment was perfect, after all, they would be able to save money by living above the theater and could watch movies anytime they wanted. Diane protested that while it was a wonderful opportunity, they needed to talk it over before making a decision, but Alex didn’t hear a word. So, shaking her head, Diane conceded. She’d apparently been down this road before. There was no stopping Alex.

What happened next should be no surprise. Before we knew it Alex and Diane were signing papers, the very documents that would change the course of not only their lives, but ours. Was this an impulse purchase? You bet, and even though their previous experience had been running a convenience store, owning the theater had suddenly become their personal dream come true. They had the funds, but the one catch was for them to sell their house and they wanted to have a long escrow and take possession in August. Diane was signing the final paper when Hemmings stated that he wanted to take a vacation the first week of June and if they couldn’t take possession earlier, he’d just keep the theater on the market and sell it to someone who could.

Now, anyone who has taken a freshman psychology class could see what had just happened, but it didn’t matter -- Alex had the bug. As he was writing a check, Alex whispered to Diane, who then pulled us aside and sweetly asked if Debbie and I would move up early and take over running the theater. Before I could even think, Debbie answered that of course we’d do it. What? Run a theater? I stood there open-mouthed while Debbie assured me that it would be fun. After all, we both loved movies, but I didn’t buy it. I needed more convincing, because up to that point in my life, my qualifications had been grading papers and yard duty. We didn’t even own a VCR, so how could we run a theater?

 I frantically began looking for an excuse, but all I could think to do was point out my lack of experience. I was waiting for a chance to interject my concerns, when Debbie announced that since she had been in banking for eight years, running a theater would be a snap. I was just about to question the logic of her statement, when Hemmings piped up that Debbie’s banking experience was much more than we needed, so we shouldn’t worry. He flashed those teeth and Debbie beamed. All was lost and I gave up. That wretched old man had not only hoodwinked Alex, but had manipulated my wife. And regardless of what Hemmings had said, we were to learn all too soon that Debbie’s previous career little prepared us for what was to come. How we ever thought we could manage a theater with the combined skills of whistle blowing and money counting is beyond me.

Frustrated, I walked across the street to the Crab Shack, a tiny take-out restaurant with tables out front. My Oregon dreams were now slightly tarnished by the prospect of getting in over our heads. When I sat down at a table, the owner came out and handed me a menu, then looking across the street to my friends, he asked, “Don’t tell me old man Hemmings is selling that dump again?” He suddenly had my attention. “Again?” I asked, but the man only chuckled and said, “Welcome to Bandon-By-The-Sea.” It was then that I decided not to tell Alex and Diane. What good would it have done? Here again was one of those crossroads in life. One wrong move can mean disaster. And, believe me, it did.

E-mail Joe at: jtomasi@bak.rr.com

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