The Marshall Theatre
© Elliot Richard Dorfman

If you ever go to Rowley, New York and walk on West River Street, you will be impressed when you see the Marshall Theatre proudly standing on the corner. It is presently being restored, and will soon reopen as a center for the performing arts. Built in the mid 1920's, its original purpose, like most ornate movie palaces of that era, was to surround its audiences in a breathtaking atmosphere while they were entertained both on its screen and stage.

The original owner, Cromwell Q. Marshall, was a successful entrepreneur whose family was one of the first settlers in this region. Nothing was spared to make the Marshall a magnificent showcase. Its yellow brick exterior had a large imposing marquee. The atmospheric interior was designed by the legendary John Eberson. The auditorium which seated 1140 people resembled a Spanish courtyard with hundreds of tiny lights placed in the dark blue ceiling to create the illusion of twinkling stars in the night sky. A large four manual Wurlitzer organ with many musical effects, enhanced the enjoyment of the spectators before each presentation began. Even the lobby, with its imported chandeliers, damask curtains, and Italian marble staircase that lead to the loge and balcony, was a sight to behold. Equally impressive was the cinema's equipment. Everything, from projectors to stage lights, was state of the arts for its time.

Like most large movie palaces, the Marshall Theatre was soon taken over by one of the large movie chains when the 1929 depression wiped out most of the owner's fortune. The Theatre continued to do well, even after the advent of television. With the enforcement of the antimonopoly law in the late fifties, the Marshall was reluctantly sold to Randolph Wells, an entrepreneur who owned a few theatres in the local vicinity. What eventually doomed this movie palace was the multiplex built in the new shopping mall in the nineties. The large one screen theatre couldn't complete, and shut down six months later.

The Friends of the Marshall Theatre , a group made up of many of the outstanding citizens of Rowley wanted to buy the theatre and make it a performing arts center. This would be an easy transition since the theatre had an unusually large stage. This had been the influence of Cromwell's wife, a theatre buff who wanted Broadway road companies to perform there from time to time, as well as the community acting group. Unfortunately, Wells was strictly out for profit. He had no sentimentality nor interested in becoming a patron of the arts.

"I can make more money by ripping down this place and using the empty space for a badly needed parking lot," he told the committee. "What you're offering me for the Marshall is peanuts."

Everything was done to try and stop him, but in the end he won. Gleeful of his victory, he hired a wrecking crew to rip down the place during the summer. In the meanwhile, he chose one May night to go to the theatre with the intention of checking out what items could be salvaged and sold.

The theatre smelled musty, as he walked into the lobby. He turned on the lights and the crystal chandeliers blazed above him.

"Mm, those lights could bring quite a few bucks, just like the antique furniture that's scattered all over the building, "he thought walking around. Suddenly, he heard music from the Wurlitzer organ coming from behind the large brass auditorium doors.

"What's going on in there? I should have hired a guard to watch this place until it's ripped down," he angrily mumbled as he quickly moved to the auditorium.

Entering, he stopped in amazement. Everything looked so clean and new. The lights in the ceilings were brightly twinkling, something he had never seen since they had long burned out when he bought the building. An amber spotlight was focused on the left side of the stage where a woman wearing a beaded blue dress was playing the organ. That should have been impossible since the instrument needed repairs and had not been in working order for more than thirty years. Suddenly he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. He turned and saw a tall, pale faced young man in an usher's uniform intently staring at him, his large green eyes almost luminescent.

"Let me take you to your seat, Mr. Wells."

All Randolph wanted to do was get out of the building. "No, I don't think so. Maybe some other time."

The usher shook his head and grabbed the man by the arm. "No, this presentation is especially for you. Come with me."

He actually had to drag Randolph down the aisle to the tenth row, then pushed him down into the center seat, before vanishing. Terrified, the theatre owner tried getting up, but some unseen force kept him in his seat.

The auditorium grew dark and the main gold tableau curtain rose. "Stanford Wells plans to rip down the Marshall theatre," the title on the screen read. The film exposed Stan as a callous and cruel business man.

"Stop this film immediately or I'll sue you for slander," Stan furiously shouted.

A multitude of invisable laughs responded back in the empty theatre. Then the lame side curtains closed reopened to a stage full of people. Behind them was a sign that spelled out THE MARSHALL THEATRE in flashing colored lights. A couple in the center, walked to the microphone. Stan had seen a photograph of them in the library. It was Cromwell Q. Marshal and his wife. Of course that was impossible, they were dead for many years! There was only one plausible explanation . . . they had to be ghosts! Stan sank down in his seat-terrified.

The spirit of Cromwell spoke. " Yes, Mr. Well, all of us on stage are the spirits of those who at one time or another lovingly contributed to the success of the Marshall theatre. Now sit up and pay attention."

For one of the few times in his adult life, Stan did as he was told.

"This magnificent edifice has a chance to be revitalized and continue bringing joy to future generations. Look around you, this type if ambiance was created by skilled craftsmen and artisans. It has become a historical landmark. What a travesty it would be to knock it down because of your callousness. You're like a leach, taking from whomever you can, and giving back nothing in return. No one has ever been able to stop you-that is, until now."

Stan mustered up his strength and stood up, pointing his finger at the phantoms.

"You are nothing but some stale vapors. There is nothing you can do to me. You are only a figment of my imagination. " He tried leaving, but was again thrown back into his seat.

"We are more than harmless vapors, and are just as real as you. If you plan to leave this theatre alive, you will do as we say. On the right seat next to you, you will find a statement turning over the deed of this theatre to the Friends of the Marshall theatre group. Sign it!"

"Never!" he shouted, forgetting the situation he was in.

The organ began playing Chopin's funeral march as a blue spotlight focused on him.
The air became heavy and difficult to breathe. He began choking.

"Sign it," the group on the stage loudly repeated over the music.

Gasping for air, Stan took out his pen and affixed his signature on the paper. The document disappeared. The group on the stage wildly cheered.


" The chairman of the rescue group will find that signed paper on his desk in the morning," said the ghost of Mrs. Marshall. "Now, get out of this theatre and don't ever return, if you know what's good for you!"

The next thing Stanford knew was standing outside the darkened marquee of the theatre. He ran all the way home, then gulped down half a bottle of whiskey to steady his nerves.

Of course, the rescue group was thrilled when they saw the signed statement turning over the theatre to them. What puzzled everyone was why Stanford Wells never even allowed the name of the theatre to be mentioned in his presence again.