From Peepshow to Palace:
Movies Step Into the Spotlight

In Seattle a key event in this transition to newer and larger theatres came in mid-1911, with the conversion of the Alhambra Theatre from a stage to motion picture venue. But leading up to that switch, the city’s moviegoers were being eased into the change with the programming at another local venue, the Grand Opera House.

The Grand was originally opened by John Cort in 1900 as Seattle’s finest playhouse – the city’s home for touring theatrical plays. The theatrical syndicates, mostly based in New York, would organize large stage companies to present shows along various circuits throughout the United States, allowing audiences to see the biggest plays and stars of the day. By 1907, however, John Cort moved the bulk of these touring shows over to the newly-opened Moore Theatre, which debuted in late December. The Grand Opera House remained under Cort’s management and continued to feature touring productions and other types of entertainment, but became a secondary house in his orbit where programming gaps were filled with small-time vaudeville and the occasional motion picture show. Sometimes, in fact, to ease the burden of day-to-day management, Cort leased the space entirely to other showmen for extended periods. Eventually the theatrical magnate left Seattle altogether in 1912 to open the Cort Theatre on Broadway, which operates today as the James Earl Jones Theatre.

One of the men who leased the Grand Opera House from time to time was Eugene Levy. Though Levy already operated several nickelodeons in Seattle and elsewhere in western Washington, he occasionally moved into the Grand to give his patrons an enhanced experience. The Grand was no longer the jewel of Seattle theatrical circles, but it was by no means run down, being larger and much more glamorous than Levy’s other venues. He had been in and out of the Grand Opera House a few times over the years, but in the spring of 1911, with Cort eyeing a move to New York City, Levy negotiated a long-term deal on the house; in April of that year, the trade paper Motography made the announcement. “The plan will be for a continuous show from noon to 11 p.m., with a full orchestra, quartet and two ballad singers and 4,000 feet of film.” It was an experiment, the paper claimed, that Levy and Cort were looking to duplicate elsewhere, assuming the changes got results. “If the venture is successful the managers propose to inaugurate a circuit of similar theatres in Spokane, Portland and Tacoma.”^[1]

Local newspapers didn’t announce the deal for another six weeks, in late May, adding that Levy had taken a five-year lease on the Grand Opera House. The venue was briefly closed for renovations but reopened on June 3^rd under its new policy. In this case, Eugene Levy was leaning into motion pictures more than he had in the past, although shows at the Grand still featured a good helping of live entertainment – the exhibitor never entirely abandoned that setup. Before the opening, he trumpeted that his films would all be first-run pictures, that new projection machines and a Redon screen (said to cost $1,000) were being installed, and that a “full” orchestra had been engaged to provide musical accompaniment. Among the Grand’s new features would be a nursery, where female patrons could leave their infants while attending the show. This was an innovative concept – something not seen in other Seattle theatres at the time, though the Post-Intelligencer found it humorous to think that mothers could “check” a baby at the Grand as if it was a coat. (Woe to the young woman who misplaced the stub and couldn’t redeem her child.) Some later, unidentified changes were said to make the Grand Opera House the coolest theatre, temperature-wise, in all of Seattle.

At the time the Post-Intelligencer ran their announcement, in late May 1911, they noted that Levy was managing at least 10 houses in Washington state and had a special booking office in New York City where he sourced his vaudeville programs. “Mr. Levy is a Seattle boy,” they noted approvingly, “was educated in public schools, and grew to manhood in this city.”^[2]

Admission to Eugene Levy’s new Grand Opera House was five and 10 cents per person, with the venue offering two bill changes a week. On June 3^rd, opening night, the live performances included a dog act, singing by the Cole Sisters and a violin performance by Betty Bruce. The films themselves were not identified, but there were three subjects “embracing comedy, tragedy and sensational.”^[3] Early on, at least, the picture titles weren’t advertised at the Grand Opera House, but an exception was made later in June when the house showed D.W. Griffith’s Enoch Arden, which Levy’s publicity noted (somewhat incredulously) that “two reels [are] required to depict the story…”^[4] Eugene Levy must have been partial to Biograph films. In early July he ran a pair of advertisements announcing that he had obtained the exclusive Seattle rights for all new Biograph and Vitagraph releases, and that it would be his policy to divide those pictures between his Circuit Theatre and the Grand Opera House.^[5]

Under Levy’s management the Grand Opera House did well from the start, prompting him to take over the Spokane Theatre in July, another house in John Cort’s orbit, with an eye towards creating a similar show. To that end he made the trip over to Spokane, reviewed the space and recommend changes, all in preparation for a planned opening in mid-September.^[6]

In both cases the playbook was the same: Eugene Levy took an older stage venue (both were about 10 years old), then refurbished the space into a modern picture theatre. In this way, for a minimal cost, he was upgrading almost everything about the traditional nickelodeon. Both the Grand and the Spokane were built as theatrical spaces, so they came with features most nickelodeons didn’t have. Whereas the ornamentation for many storefront venues was a tad ostentatious, these were stately venues inside and out – originally the finest theatres in their respective cities. That included a plush interior, better seating and common spaces where patrons could move and mingle. Both these venues, in addition, were already fixtures of the local entertainment scene. With that kind of history, these spaces carried a level of prestige that the average nickelodeon did not.

Despite opening the Spokane Theatre in the fall of 1911, the proposed Levy/Cort movie circuit never took shape, with both men pursuing different business directions. Still, this was the logical first step toward elevating the moving picture show – taking it out of the storefront and into a larger, more elaborate space.

Technically Eugene Levy’s transformation of the Grand Opera House beat a similar conversion, at Seattle’s Alhambra Theatre, by a few weeks. But there were a few differences that made the Alhambra conversion more significant. The first was its location. The Alhambra was built farther uptown than the Grand, in a part of the city that ran (roughly) from Union to Stewart Streets, First Avenue up to Fifth Avenue. Located at the corner of Fifth and Pine, the Alhambra’s was well outside what had been the traditional theatrical zone in Seattle. (The Grand Opera House was located on Cherry between Second and Third Avenues, half a block away from another important stage venue, the Seattle Theatre.) When the Alhambra was converted to a picture format in 1911, it became the first large movie house in an area where many of the city’s key picture theatres would be built over the next quarter century. Storefront theatres aside, only the Moore Theatre, at Second and Virginia, stood that far north in the city’s downtown.

The second factor making the Alhambra conversion significant was that the house had only been open for about two years at the time. The Grand and the Spokane were over a decade old when they were converted but had already been usurped as the best stage venues in their respective cities. The Alhambra, on the other hand, was basically new. Its failure to catch on as a theatrical space was due to several factors, but outwardly the conversion was symbolic – proof positive that the movies had arrived.

The Alhambra Theatre originally opened on July 12, 1909, and was lauded at the time as one of the city’s finest stage venues. It was the latest in a line of impressive theatres built in Seattle at the beginning of the 20^th century, which included the Grand Opera House (1900), the Moore (1907), the Metropolitan and Orpheum (1911) and the new Pantages Theatre (1915). The Alhambra was the crowning achievement for longtime stage managers William Russell and Edward Drew, fixtures of the local theatrical scene for more than two decades. “Seattle’s already well-established prestige as one of the two great Coast amusement and producing centers will be appreciably emphasized with the opening of the Alhambra Theatre tomorrow night,” trumpeted the Daily Times.^[7] The opening attraction was certainly impressive: a touring production of Salvation Nell starring one of the era’s most notable actresses, Minnie Maddern Fiske.

As a structure, the Alhambra was in keeping with the palace after which it was named. The exterior was Spanish Renaissance in style, right down to the red tile roof. And the Old World theme continued inside, with a lavish interior of gold, old rose and ivory, offset by marble walls and walnut woodwork. The main floor of the Alhambra was, interestingly, on the small side, seating only about 500 patrons, though it had stylish leather opera seats; the balcony was larger, seating about 600. When the private box and loge seating was added, the total capacity for the venue edged toward 1,200.^[8]

As with most theatrical openings, Russell and Drew’s new house drew a crowd, such that the Alhambra was overflowing opening night. In what was described as “the most important [evening] in local circles since the opening of the Moore,” there was little doubt that the evening would garner anything but effusive praise, particularly with an artist of Fiske’s caliber gracing the stage. Salvation Nell was set in the Hell’s Kitchen section of New York City, and centered on a young woman who, after her father is imprisoned, joins the Salvation Army in search of a better life. Calling the production a “photographic study of the slums,” the Daily Times was taken not only by Minnie Maddern Fiske’s performance but the show’s stark realism, which included “a barroom brawl in which a man is killed and carried away with a sickening attention to detail.”^[9] Fiske originated the role on Broadway, so having the show and its principal actress at the Alhambra was a significant event.

Unfortunately, the success of the Alhambra’s opening night didn’t last – in fact, Seattle’s newest playhouse flamed out rather quickly. Russell and Drew’s gambit in building the venue was to align themselves with the Shubert theatrical syndicate, positioning the Alhambra as a counterbalance to a house like the Moore, which booked roadshows through New York’s larger syndicates. The problem for Russell and Drew was twofold. First, the Shubert circuit was relatively new and didn’t have enough productions on the road to keep the Alhambra fully booked, which placed a burden on the managers to fill programming gaps. So despite being Seattle’s newest theatrical venue in 1909, it didn’t have a consistent string of big touring shows coming through the house and was occasionally dark between engagements. Second, Russell and Drew built the house in a location that was outside what had been the (unofficial) theatrical district, in a part of downtown that the city was growing into, so it was somewhat isolated by geography. That would change over time, but not fast enough to save Russell and Drew’s theatre.

So despite the auspicious debut, the Alhambra had a tougher time becoming a destination showplace than other venues. Within a year Russell and Drew were filling the schedule by engaging stock companies – stage troupes that presented a run of standard plays over a period of weeks or months. Stock theatre was reasonably popular with audiences, but not the type of entertainment to anchor a brand-new venue like the Alhambra, which was designed to feature the theatrical world’s most popular touring shows. It only took until May 1911, after two years of underwhelming business, for Russell and Drew to boot the house’s resident stock troupe and close up. “[The departure of the stock company], it is generally understood, comes as the result of patronage that has not been sufficient to warrant a further continuance of business by the present management, which is said to have lost money steadily for some time past.”^[10] At least one report indicated that Russell and Drew had given up the lease on the Alhambra, but that seems to have been premature. Edward Drew went back to managing the Seattle Theatre, where the partners formerly held court, while William Russell stayed at the Alhambra.^[11] He was going to try something new.

It wasn’t long before Russell made the formal announcement: Seattle’s newest legitimate theatre, which opened just two years before showcasing the great Minnie Maddern Fiske, would be turned into a full-time moving picture show. On Sunday, June 18, 1911, the International Amusement Co., managed by William Russell, re-opened the Alhambra with an all-picture format, boldly proclaiming it as the “Safest and Best Moving Picture Theater…in the World.”^[12] Russell was showing movies in surroundings that were on par with the city’s finest entertainment venues, and doing so for only five cents a head. The Alhambra’s newly-installed “crystal-mirror” screen was reportedly the largest in the city, allowing spectators to see details that would be missed in smaller movie houses, while musical accompaniment was provided by an all-female orchestra, with Emma Moffet performing illustrated songs. The low ticket price and plush surroundings were a draw for Seattle movie fans – the house was busy throughout opening week, with ample patronage from both women and families. “When the Alhambra Theater opened up a week ago,” Moving Picture World reported, “it was an experiment, many believing the location was not suitable for a moving picture house; but the performances given since last Sunday have attracted all classes of persons, some coming in automobiles…”^[13] Automobiles. In 1911, nothing conveyed respectability like a show that attracted patrons with automobiles.

William Russell had shown movies in his venues before, but those were only brief engagements. This was his first official foray into the picture business, and he got right to work. But while reports from the new Alhambra were largely positive, and William Russell seems to have taken to the business quickly, the new direction may have put him out of his element. It’s not clear why, but Russell soured on the experiment pretty quickly – something that may have been connected to a second film-related project that never materialized. Within weeks of the Alhambra transformation, William Russell surprised everyone when he made a bold announcement: he didn’t want to just show motion pictures but make them as well.

This was an idea that was as ambitious as it was unworkable. Russell envisioned a troupe organized along the lines of a stock theatre company and claimed to have as many as 25 actors lined up for the effort, including local stage favorites William C. Dowlan and Eva Earl French. Seattle-based cameraman William Harbeck was announced as director of this production company, which would be based out of the Alhambra. The idea was to have Harbeck direct interior scenes on the Alhambra stage in the morning, after which the group would move outdoors for exterior shots while the venue operated as a moving picture theatre for the remainder of the day.^[14] William Russell made this splashy announcement about the project to the Seattle dailies, but the entire effort seems to have gone no further than the initial press release. The performers never assembled, and Harbeck was off to Alaska within a matter of weeks, so there’s a question as to whether Russell really secured some of the commitments he claimed to have.

Whatever the motivation, after a few weeks William Russell abruptly decided that movie exhibition wasn’t for him and turned the Alhambra over to a Mr. Jewell, who had been his co-manager. Jewell operated the venue until the fall of 1911, when the house’s lease was picked up by Claude Jensen and John von Herberg, who managed a few small movie houses around Seattle. William Russell went back to the familiar, taking over management of the Swedish stage comedy Yon Yonson, which was about to embark on a tour of British Columbia and Alberta. Later, after the original Coliseum at Third and James was no longer operating as a nickelodeon, he turned that space into a stage venue and engaged the Bailey Stock Company for an extended run.

For Claude Jensen and John von Herberg, whose Greater Theatres Company would go on to dominate Northwest picture exhibition, leasing the Alhambra was a huge opportunity. But, as was the case with Eugene Levy at the Grand Opera House, it wasn’t a straight move into motion pictures. Perhaps deferring to the fact that the venue came with a fully equipped stage, Jensen and von Herberg began their management stint with a combination vaudeville/picture show. It was short-lived. Within six months the Alhambra was back to an all-picture format and nicknamed “The Half-Dime Theater,” showing first-run films with accompaniment from a six-piece orchestra and illustrated songs by Lester Byrne.^[15] With this change came a formal “re-opening” ceremony that was held on March 16, 1912, when the Alhambra’s feature was the Thomas Ince western The Deserter, booked for three days and sold as “[o]ne of the most massive camera plays ever staged.”^[16] The initial shows seem to have justified Jensen and von Herberg’s change to a straight picture format. “There was a succession of packed houses at the Alhambra yesterday when that house was opened as the home of half-dime motion pictures,” reported the Post-Intelligencer. The Deserter, in their opinion, “aroused such enthusiasm in the gallery as has not been heard since the days of the old melodramas.”^[17] A second, unnamed film rounded out the opening bill at the Alhambra.

Converting venues like the Grand Opera House, the Spokane and the Alhambra into picture theatres was a sign of the times. Movies were beginning to rival the stage as a form of popular entertainment, and people were taking notice.

By Eric L. Flom – June 2025

Notes:
[1] “Washington,” Motography, April 1911, Page 58.
[2] See “May Check Babies During the Play,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 26 May 1911, Page 10; and “Grand Opens as Photo-Play House,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 4 June 1911, Section II, Page 4.
[3] “Grand Opens as Photo-Play House,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 4 June 1911, Section II, Page 4.
[4] “Grand – Pictures,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 18 June 1911, Magazine Section, Page 7. The Biograph Company was somewhat reluctant to release Griffith’s film as a single feature on the belief they could make more in rentals if they showed it separately as Enoch Arden, Part I and Enoch Arden, Part II.
[5] See Grand Opera House and Circuit Theater advertisements, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 9 July 1911, Magazine Section, Page 7.
[6] See “Seattle,” Moving Picture World, 29 July 1911, Page 221; “Seattle,” Moving Picture World, 12 August 1911, Page 386; and “Seattle, Wash.,” Moving Picture World, 16 September 1911, Page 808.
[7] “Alhambra Opens Tomorrow Night,” Seattle Daily Times, 11 July 1909, Page 19.
[8] See “Alhambra Opens Tomorrow Night,” Seattle Daily Times, 11 July 1909, Page 19; and “Alhambra to Open a Finished House,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 11 July 1909, Page 4.
[9] See M. McV. S., “Salvation Nell a Photographic Study of the Slums,” Seattle Daily Times, 13 July 1909, Page 9; and “Russell & Drew Open Alhambra Theatre North of Pike Street,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 13 July 1909, Section II, Page 1.
[10] “Alhambra Theatre to Close,” Seattle Daily Times, 4 May 1911, Page 11.
[11] “Managers Russell & Drew…,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 4 June 1911, Page 30.
[12] See Alhambra advertisement, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 17 June 1911, Page 5.
[13] “Seattle,” Moving Picture World, 22 July 1911, Page 133. While patrons with automobiles conveyed respectability in 1911, by 1918 some opinions had changed. That year W.W. Kreigel, an exhibitor in Anacortes, complained that increasing automobile ownership was cutting into his business, since more and more people were spending sunny days motoring through the countryside than attending his theatre. (S.J. Anderson, “Blames Autos for Poor Business,” Moving Picture World, 5 October 1918, Page 116.)
[14] See Edgar H. Thomas, “Stranded Bonita Girls to Return Home on Foot,” Seattle Daily Times, 9 July 1911, Page 56; and “To Manufacture Own Films,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 15 July 1911, Page 9.
[15] “Seattle,” Moving Picture World, 31 August 1912, Page 902.
[16] See Alhambra advertisement, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 15 March 1912, Page 5.
[17] See “Pictures at Alhambra,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 17 March 1912, Page 2; and “Big Audiences Seen at Alhambra Opening,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 17 March 1912, Page 22.

The Alhambra remained a motion picture theatre for only a brief period before Jensen and von Herberg moved on; the venue eventually went back to hosting stock theatre companies, struggling from the day it opened until the day it was finally razed. By no means the first legitimate theatre to do time as a movie house, the fact that one of Seattle’s newest stage venues was converted so quickly seemed to indicate that movies were on the ascension. If the Alhambra’s programming in 1911 didn’t make that obvious, then maybe three separate articles published the same year (plus a fourth in 1912) reinforced the fact that the Northwest picture business was on the cusp of something bigger.

The first and most important of these was penned by C.L. Carpenter, and appeared in the July 8, 1911, edition of The Town Crier.^[1] Carpenter’s connection to the picture business isn’t clear, but he was quite familiar with the local movie scene from both an entertainment and commercial perspective. Reading between the lines, he was a believer in the future of motion pictures and an advocate for good, clean films that both educated and entertained. He had also been part of the local film scene for some time, given his ability to chronicle the growth of movie entertainment in Seattle and talk specifics about shows, venues and audiences.

Carpenter, for example, acknowledged the limitations of Seattle’s earliest film screenings – the type that saw Dr. Gregory De Kannet project travelogue films or the engagement of the Corbett-Fitzsimmons Fight, both of which occurred in 1897. “In those early days the pictures cast upon the screens were apt to tire the eyes with their flickering, and at the same time to show the sense of the proper in those of us who did not care to have our pictures of too deep a tint.” But much had changed in the 14 years since, both in terms of technology and presentation. In this sense, motion pictures were evolving in the same way that old-time variety (once deemed improper for women and children) had morphed into family-style, then popular vaudeville. Enterprising managers, in the Northwest and elsewhere, were working to grow the appeal of motion pictures. “While there is much that is in bad taste still lingering in the films used by the managers of five- and ten-cent play houses, there is a constant improvement,” Carpenter maintained. “The National Board of Censors keeps a check on any showings that are positively improper, and the managers are inclined to avoid pictures that might prove offensive, well knowing that their patronage depends very largely on women and children.”

Filmmaking, too, had advanced to the point where the public could easily see that motion pictures had a value beyond the commercial. Film could be a vehicle for education and uplift, not only in depicting historical events but also with its ability to capture the real world through documentary or travelogue films. Carpenter didn’t mention it, but here he was pretty much describing the government picture show at the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition in 1909, plus the fact that Reverend Sydney Strong and others were employing motion pictures as part of their religious programs.

In Carpenter’s mind, film was a mechanism for the mass consumption of art and literature, allowing the public to experience the work of great artists for a fraction of what it would cost them to see, for example, a Broadway play. That said, he still felt that the picture business needed to elevate the subject matter, since many films may have been popular but lacked cultural value. “Just at present we are having too much [cowboy films] with the gun play, the hold up with the thrilling rescues; also a little too much of a certain kind of love making…The manager is swayed, or thinks he is swayed, by the demands of his audiences. The real truth is that the manager is the one who creates the demand [with his booking practices]; therefore, his responsibility [is] very great.” But Carpenter felt there was real hope that men of conscience would rise to the occasion. “If the demand is made for higher class pictures, higher class pictures will come,” he argued. “As we have said, this sort of demand is being made and is being responded to and so we may repeat that the future of the picture theatre is promising and that it will soon assume its rightful position in the educational methods employed by advanced teachers and thus wield its true influence on the minds of the young…”

More important than C.L. Carpenter’s thoughts on the picture business, however, were his descriptions of Seattle’s nickelodeon theatres, which provide a rare glimpse at what these venues were like. By 1911 the movies had become big business in Seattle – a form of daily entertainment enjoyed by thousands. “On a recent Sunday evening,” he noted, “the writer counted one hundred and six children under twelves [sic] years of age in one of these places. There were also at least a dozen babes in arms.” Carpenter didn’t name the theatre in question, something that would have made a difference in audience composition. It’s a safe assumption, however, that he was visiting one of Seattle’s larger, well-established nickelodeons, since a Sunday night crowd with a good number of youngers would have been less likely in certain locations. Still, Carpenter provides observational proof that Seattle’s early picture shows drew on women and children (and probably entire families) for a good portion of their audience.^[2]

Carpenter used his first-hand experience with these venues to organize the city’s moving picture theatres into three separate groups – good, better and best. He ranked James Clemmer’s Dream Theatre, at First and Cherry, as the city’s top venue, based on its policy of showing high-class films with organ accompaniment provided by Oliver G. Wallace. Carpenter also singled out the Dream for its illustrated songs, which in 1911 continued to be a popular feature at many picture shows. “No woman or child need be timid about attending The Dream Theatre,” he assured readers.

Other venues in Carpenter’s “best” category included the Coliseum at Third and James, which he considered the top nickel house in Seattle, offering the best value for the price. Like the Dream, the vocal and musical selections were excellent, Carpenter’s only complaint being that the films shown at the Coliseum were of a common variety. They weren’t immoral, but the house emphasized popular genres like westerns, for which Carpenter had some personal disdain. The third house in the “best” category was the Grand Opera House, which had been operating under Eugene Levy’s new picture policy for about five weeks when The Town Crier article appeared. Like the Coliseum, the music was excellent and the pictures were well-liked by the audience. The Grand also offered live vaudeville between reels, in addition to the illustrated singers, which set it apart from the entertainment at the Dream and the Coliseum, which were just pictures interspersed with singers. Interestingly the Alhambra, despite billing itself as the “Safest and Best Moving Picture Theater…in the World,” didn’t make the cut.

Between them, the Dream, Coliseum and Grand Opera House were the crème de la crème of Seattle. “These three theatres are certainly to be reckoned as the top rung of the picture theatre ladder,” Carpenter observed, “and one may find mental rest or relief from the stress of an afternoon, or spend a pleasant evening with little expense and often real profit by visiting them.” Finding “mental rest” or just spending a nice evening out were important observations. Unlike most of movie history, this was a period in which the audience came to the theatre without necessarily knowing what was onscreen. In print ads the films themselves often weren’t advertised by name; the house’s illustrated singer, in fact, often had better name recognition than the pictures. Moviegoers of this era patronized theatres based on a variety of criteria, the films being only part of that mix. They may have liked the genre of movies being shown; they may have thought the musical program was better; they may have preferred the venue’s layout or its features; the house may have been close to where they lived or worked; or they merely viewed it as “popular,” and therefore better than others. Carpenter used all those factors when ranking Seattle’s early movie theatres – the value of a house was a combination of many things, not simply what was being shown.

The next level down was Seattle’s “better” theatres, and Carpenter admitted that there were too many in this category to name. In general, he identified the storefront picture houses running along Second, Pike, Third and First Avenues (in that order) as typifying this category. He singled out the newly opened Class A Theatre as one of the best but readily admitted that patrons of these houses were seeing shows of equal quality to those shown at the Dream, Coliseum or Grand Opera House. “To tell the truth these ‘better’ theatres are the ones most patronized and so most alive to the wishes of their patrons,” he admitted. “Such films as the Passion Play were first shown as a rule in these theatres, and other good subjects are always in line for display…Once in a while a slip backward is made in the shape of prize fight pictures, but not very often…”

C.L. Carpenter didn’t name names when it came to Seattle’s lowest class of theatres, the ones only rated as “good,” but largely confined those to the houses on the lower part of First Avenue and south of Yesler Way. That wasn’t too surprising, since Yesler (Seattle’s so-called “Skid Road”) had traditionally separated the proper from the improper. Even before the movies arrived, entertainment venues near and to the south of that line tended to be smaller, less respectable and catered to a working-class (and largely male) clientele. The area had been home to some of the city’s earliest movie shows, but the permanent venues settling there hadn’t always kept up with the times, so they tended to be more run down. For Carpenter, these theatres were “placed in this class because they are perhaps smaller as to space occupied and as regards to finishings and furnishings. The films are virtually the same and the changes of program are made as often [as the other houses].” Left unsaid was the issue of patronage; the venue Carpenter described earlier in his article, the one with loaded with women and children, was assuredly not a theatre in this category.

C.L. Carpenter’s article on the 1911 movie scene in Seattle was illuminating, but three months later the Daily Times had their own take on the subject. The writer of this piece wasn’t identified, but it was likely penned by J. Willis Sayre, the paper’s dramatic editor. The article ran on the same page as Sayre’s regular column, and he sometimes wrote accompanying pieces that didn’t necessarily carry his byline.

Like C.L. Carpenter, Sayre predicted big things for Seattle’s moving picture shows, which hadn’t yet reached their full commercial potential. As a longtime dramatic critic he was well acquainted with local vaudeville houses, and saw a parallel trajectory with the city’s picture theatres. Whereas family-style vaudeville once occupied small storefront locations, those eventually gave way to larger and more sophisticated venues such as the original Pantages Theatre or the Orpheum on Third Avenue, which opened earlier in 1911. These larger, more elaborate venues attracted new patrons, some of whom wouldn’t have attended a storefront vaudeville show. For that reason, Sayre argued that the demise of the nickelodeon was fast approaching – like vaudeville, movies would eventually graduate into modern spaces of their own. “Theatrical men everywhere are beginning to realize that instead of being a passing fancy, like roller-skating or the raising of Belgian hares, the motion pictures are here to stay,” Sayre claimed, in what is likely the only time those three things have ever been compared. “…It is not inconceivable that a few years hence some picture men with the same energy and foresight that [local managers] John W. Considine and Alex Pantages have displayed in the vaudeville world will come along and build palatial modern theatres to house their 5- and 10-cent picture shows.”^[3]

With specific reference to the licensed (as opposed to independent) film producers, Sayre claimed that these studios produced no fewer than 36 new films per week, and even that wasn’t enough to meet demand. “[Filmmakers] are photographing current events, they revive famous incidents in history, they have staged Shakespeare’s plays, they filmize countless stories of a comic, tragic and romantic nature, and they send their cameras and companies to every part of the world to pick up new subjects.” In this sense J. Willis Sayre and C.L. Carpenter were kindred spirits, viewing motion pictures as a technological breakthrough that brought the world closer together. “[The] educational possibilities are enormous,” Sayre argued. “…Picture houses ought to flourish near every high school by presenting exclusively films of domestic and foreign scenes, industries, customs and inhabitants. Just how people live and what they do in Alaska, South America and Central Africa is being shown on the screens as completely as if one saw these things in person.”

To Sayre, who was initially wary of the picture invasion, the film industry was fast approaching a watershed moment. Soon, he contended, motion pictures would spread across the entire city, so patrons needn’t come downtown to see the latest releases. Instead, audiences would enjoy the same entertainment in their own neighborhoods, much closer to home. “Picture houses are already beginning to spring up in Seattle at points where a legitimate theatre could not live for a week,” Sayre observed. “It will soon come to pass that every street-car intersection and every little trading center will have its own picture house.”^[4] That was a prescient remark – neighborhood movie theatres would, in fact, sprout up in earnest over the next several years. But already Seattle had many outside the downtown core: the Society on Capitol Hill, the Ballard on Market Street, the Valley on Rainier Avenue South, the Fremont and Greenwood, the Pleasant Hour in the University District and Olympus in West Seattle, to name a few.

Two additional articles reinforced the impact that moving pictures were having on Seattle, if not the rest of the country. The first appeared in the Post-Intelligencer a month after Sayre’s contribution to the Times. Titled “The Grip of ‘Movies’ Grows on Public,” this article had no byline, and much of it was a syndicated piece that ran in papers throughout the country. Still, parts of the article had been edited to add some local flavor. “There are over two-score moving picture houses in Seattle today,” the unnamed writer explained. “They are downtown occupying buildings in the highest rental district, they are on the minor business streets, and they are scattered throughout the residence sections of the city…A thing unknown a decade ago, a rare and doubtful experiment five years ago, they suddenly came into their full growth…the hold of the moving picture is apparently growing stronger on the public every day. It would be a rash guess to say how many people go to a moving picture house in this city in a week – probably a third of the population of Seattle.”^[5]

That idea was seconded in June 1912, when The Town Crier published a second article on the growth of moving pictures, this one penned by their dramatic critic H.O. Stechhan. Like the writers before him, Stechhan was floored that the number of moving picture theatres in Seattle had grown tenfold in the span of a few years. In conversation with Eugene Levy, Stechhan asked why he felt the public had latched onto the moving picture bandwagon. As Levy explained, movie entertainment had uniquely democratic qualities that many found appealing.

          “‘I believe the American people like to have their theatrical amusements served to them after the style of the successful American newspaper…They want to get the news as briefly as possible, but they want it all. The moving picture theatre offers drama, comedy, romance, tragedy, scenic and educational subjects all in an hour, while the legitimate house consumes all the way from two to three hours in the unfolding of a single subject…
          “‘The price of admission to the photoplay theatre has done much to popularize the business. Moving pictures are within the reach of all, while the legitimate drama is beyond the means of many…As long as the people are provided with high-class entertainment in the form of photoplays, music and vaudeville in comfortable theatres at a minimum of cost, the moving picture show will continue in public favor.’” ^[6]

“In a remarkably short time motion pictures have developed from blurred flickerers and eye-rackers to perfect entertainments that amuse, stir the emotions, educate and always interest,” Stechhan wrote in a subsequent column. “… [The p]icture drama is here to stay. True, it may be in a transitional stage, but it gives every promise of going onward and upward. In that it is available for the patronage of the big middle class, upon which all lasting institutions are dependent, is its greatest hope.”^[7]

The movies, it seems, did have a grip on the public. But despite “adapted” venues such as the Alhambra and Grand Opera House, Seattle still didn’t have a true picture palace in which to see them. That was about to change.

By Eric L. Flom – June 2025

Notes:
[1] All of the Carpenter material comes from C.L. Carpenter, “The Picture Theatre,” The Town Crier, 8 July 1911, Page 10.
[2] C.L. Carpenter observed a good number of children at this evening screening, but it’s notable that the audience make-up during the nickelodeon era could shift on an hourly basis, such that an observer at a different point in the day may have witnessed something entirely different. As Lauren Rabinovitz observed of early Chicago audiences, the “core” movie audience could change by neighborhood and by time. Early in the day the theatre might be patronized by female shoppers, while midday might see more men on their lunch hour. After school let it out it might change again, to include more children, and then then again to working folks and families later in the evening. See Lauren Rabinovitz, For the Love of Pleasure: Women, Movies, and Culture in Turn-of-the-Century Chicago (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press – 1998), Page 117.
[3] J. Willis Sayre, “Picture Shows,” Seattle Daily Times, 8 October 1911, Women’s Section, Page 4.
[4] Ibid.
[5] “Grip of ‘Movies’ Grows on Public,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 30 November 1911, Page 8.
[6] Eugene Levy, as quoted in H.O. Stechhan, “For the Playgoer,” The Town Crier, 29 June 1912, Pages 12-13.
[7] See H.O. Stechhan, “The Playgoer,” in The Town Crier; reprinted in Moving Picture News, 3 August 1912, Page 15.

Converting existing theatres like the Alhambra or the Grand Opera House into movie houses was an important step that demonstrated the popularity of motion pictures in Seattle. But they were originally stage venues, and many continued to think of them as such. No one in Washington state had yet built a theatre, on that scale, exclusively for showing moving pictures. Renovating an existing space or opening a storefront venue was one thing, but assuming the financial risk to build a large, elaborate motion picture theatre had yet to be done. Sure, movies were popular, but there were many who felt that such a project would be inherently risky, even in the early teens. But James Clemmer, the exhibitor behind the Dream Theatre, C.L. Carpenter’s pick as the best in the city, was ready to try.

Perhaps that wasn’t too surprising – Clemmer came from a family who dreamed big. His father was John H. Clemmer, a prominent Spokanite who owned businesses and commercial properties on both sides of the state. One of those was the Kenneth Hotel in Pioneer Square, which young James was sent to manage in 1906. But a short while into that stint, Clemmer got the idea to transform an old bank space into the Dream Theatre. His timing was perfect, and the show was a success from the get-go, helped no little by his decision to install a pipe organ and hire Oliver Wallace to play it. This distinguished the Dream from competitors and helped vault it above other picture houses in Seattle – so much so that James Clemmer’s days as a property manager were numbered. And thanks to the Dream’s success, he wasn’t the only one in the family to catch the movie bug. John H. Clemmer took notice, becoming intrigued with movie exhibition himself. Mimicking his son, the senior Clemmer opened the Casino on Riverside Avenue in Spokane, as well as the Clem Theatre on West Sprague.^[1] Later, James Clemmer’s brother Howard, a dentist by trade, gave up his practice to also became a prominent exhibitor in Spokane.

Based on his success with the Dream and sensing the industry’s direction, by 1911 – right around the time the Grand Opera House and the Alhambra were being transformed – James Clemmer became convinced that Seattle was ready for a formal picture theatre. In a puff piece that ran in Moving Picture World, he was so enthusiastic about the idea that an unnamed Seattle financier was said to recall “‘[t]he first time I met Clemmer he came rushing into my office, pulled off his coat, unrolled a set of plans and started to talk. I excused myself, rushed into the next room and locked the safe. I was afraid he would grab my money, push me into the safe and run.’” But Clemmer was nothing, if not convincing. “‘Before he was through talking I began to tremble in my boots for fear that I could not remember the combination to the safe in time to grab some of the stock of the Clemmer [Theatre] before it was all gone.’”^[2]

After lengthy planning, James Clemmer made the formal project announcement in September 1911 – a joint venture between himself and his father. Representing an expenditure of $100,000, his new theatre would be a thoroughly modern venue with all the most up-to-date features, including a new $10,000 pipe organ, “one of the largest on the coast and said to be the largest ever installed in a moving picture house.”^[3]

Converting older stage venues may have been part of a trend, but proposing to build a new picture theatre of equal stature propelled the Seattle exhibition business into a new era. Clemmer and his father had been quietly working on the project for months, combing downtown Seattle for possible sites, knowing that other exhibitors were considering a similar move.^[4] James Clemmer got there first, though his father wouldn’t see the project through. John H. Clemmer passed away in October 1911, just weeks after the new theatre was announced.^[5]

The Clemmer Theatre, as it would be known, became a tremendous source of local pride, including claims that it was the first large theatre in the United States constructed specifically for motion pictures. That’s not true, and technically the venue wasn’t even built from the ground up. The Clemmer was actually built into an existing building that was gutted so thoroughly that only the side and back walls were left intact, after which it was completely rebuilt. Nonetheless, Clemmer was building a large, modern picture theatre in the heart of downtown Seattle, on a scale that rivaled the city’s foremost stage venues. One can quibble with the details, but that hadn’t been done.

James Clemmer’s announcement was a shot across the bow in local picture circles, and competitors weren’t going to sit back and let him hog the spotlight. Obviously, Eugene Levy was helming the show over at the Grand Opera House (and in his other venues), while the Alhambra was giving their own elaborate picture shows. But others were determined not to let James Clemmer steal the show.

Four months after Clemmer made his announcement, and just days before construction work was set to begin, yet another press release caused ripples amongst local exhibitors. The People’s Amusement Company, which operated the Lyceum Theatre at Second and University, decided to give up their lease effective December 31, 1911. At the time the Lyceum had been operating as a vaudeville house, though motion pictures were a common feature on the bill and, on occasion, the headline attraction. Two partners, Edward Fisher and Herman J. Brown, operating as the Melbourne Amusement Co., quickly scooped up the lease and announced their intention to renovate the space into a straight picture show.^[6] The house, which would eventually open as the Melbourne, was technically a theatre conversion, but the partners took an altogether different approach with their project. The facelifts were minimal at the Grand Opera House and Alhambra – new equipment, some changes here and there, but by and large the interior and exterior spaces remained as they always had been. But Fisher, a vaudeville booking agent, and Brown, who operated the Black Cat, a nickelodeon on Second Avenue, weren’t satisfied with spit-shining the Lyceum. Barely two years old, like the Alhambra, they wanted to overhaul the entire space – not take it down to the studs, like James Clemmer was doing, but to change the entire look and feel of the venue so that it better approximated their vision of what moviegoers wanted.

Fisher and Brown had big plans. They anticipated the changes would cost around $25,000, an amount that appears to have doubled by the time the new Melbourne finally opened. They also claimed to have a second deal in place for the building that housed the Black Cat Theatre, which stood a short distance away. There they intended to invest a reported $75,000, turning Brown’s old space (and the jewelry store next to it) into a second large movie theatre, which would open later in 1912. That part of the plan ended up being too ambitious – as costs rose on the Melbourne project, the pair never got off the ground with this second venue. (Although two years later, in 1914, that same space would be renovated into the Alaska Theatre, later known as the Strand.)

If James Clemmer was making the leap into bigtime picture exhibition, then Edward Fisher and Herman Brown were going to give him a run for his money. But their respective approaches could not have been more different. Clemmer wanted a stately, traditional theatre building, and to that end brought in architect E.W. Houghton to draw up plans. Houghton had a considerable reputation in theatre design, having worked on the Grand Opera House, Moore and Majestic Theatres in Seattle alone. He came up with an elegant plan that seated about 1,200 people and would take approximately three months to construct. Since the Clemmer space was, by and large, a teardown, work got underway in the fall of 1911 with tenants of the existing three-story building, located at 1414 Second Avenue, being told to vacate by January 1^st. Once empty, demolition began; the price tag for the tear-down and construction was pegged at about $75,000, while interior furnishings and equipment added another $25,000, give or take.^[7]

Meanwhile, over at the old Lyceum, Fisher and Brown brought in their own architect, Max Umbrecht, and told him to completely reimagine the space. They wanted to go big and bold, with Umbrecht’s eventual design embracing the brash feel of an urban nickelodeon, pumped up to scale. The old Lyceum exterior was stripped, for example, and an embellished version put up in its place. The new façade was quite fanciful, with tall Romanesque columns flanking a tile mosaic front, a Venetian-style balcony two stories above the sidewalk and a pair of stone finials on either side of the arched roofline. This was less gaudy than it could have been, but it was definitely flamboyant – the new Melbourne stood apart from everything else on the block. The interior changes continued the Italian Renaissance theme, with a new color scheme of ivory and old gold. The layout of the old Lyceum wasn’t changed, but most of the fixtures and finishings were swapped out for more grandiose versions, and the house installed new lighting and ventilation systems. Two features distinguished the revamped house. Taking a cue from the Clemmer playbook, the Melbourne installed a 2/8 Kimball pipe organ, signaling their intention of going head-to-head with Oliver Wallace’s playing up the street. The other was the installation of a $3,000 glass “screen” on which to project their pictures, which was trumpeted as the largest sheet of plate glass in all of Seattle.^[8] This was the latest in movie technology, it was claimed, and would result in a better screen image than anywhere else in the city.

With work in both spaces going on in early 1912, the projects moved forward as well as could be expected. But it was a stressful time for James Clemmer – he had recently lost his father and business partner, was supervising a major construction project while continuing to manage his Dream Theatre and, on top of all this, had to fend off competitors like Fisher and Brown. It was a lot to juggle, and there were moments when it didn’t go very well. At one point, in mid-construction, Clemmer desperately needed to get from the Dream, near Pioneer Square, up to the construction site for a meeting. But, after hailing a car service, he came face-to-face with what would become a longstanding Seattle tradition: traffic as far as the eye could see, running all the way up Second Avenue. Clemmer was stressed, running late, and the unexpected gridlock sent him over the edge. He chewed out the hapless driver, cursed loudly and exited the vehicle in the middle of the street, slamming the door behind him. With a storm cloud churning above his head, Clemmer stomped up Second Avenue on foot, fuming the entire way. It wasn’t until he got to the construction site that he discovered the source of the trouble. This wasn’t some random traffic event; downtown Seattle had come to a standstill because his own crew was maneuvering a steel girder through city streets. James Clemmer may have been angry, but he only had himself to blame.^[9]

Ultimately, with the contrasting Melbourne and Clemmer projects, occurring within two blocks of each other, it would be up to the moviegoing public to render a verdict on which space better reflected the motion picture ethos. Edward Fisher and Herman Brown were first to the finish line, opening on April 3^rd, a week later than anticipated due to some equipment delays. Still, this was seven days before the Clemmer was scheduled to open, so the Melbourne became the initial standard-bearer. And in the eyes of the press, at least, Fisher and Brown set the bar high. “The new Melbourne theater, which opened its doors yesterday afternoon, was crowded by motion picture lovers,” said the Post-Intelligencer. “The house was pronounced the handsomest yet opened in Seattle,” they added, while the Daily Times chimed in by noting that “[t]he Melbourne represents the last word in moving picture theatre architecture.”^[10] More important than these praises (a standard tune sung at most opening day ceremonies) was the fact that J. Willis Sayre, who headed the Daily Times’ stage and screen coverage, made a special note in his column the day after the Melbourne opened. “The prediction in this column some time ago that the motion picture shows would be housed in theatres of ever-increasing elegance is being verified by the newer construction of such amusement places here,” he remarked. “The old Lyceum, which was not beautiful, has now been replaced by the Melbourne Theatre, which is beautiful. In every point except size it will compare very favorably with the newer class of dramatic or vaudeville theatres around the country…The Melbourne, in the moving picture world, is the theatre of advanced ideas.”^[11] Interestingly, all this fawning over the physical space obscured the fact that there were actual movies being shown at the Melbourne. None of Seattle’s three dailies made note of what was showing onscreen, and the Melbourne print ads (of which there were few) were strictly geared toward the opening rather than the attractions. While the venue brought in a few the stage acts to bolster the opening bill, there was no indication of what pictures ushered in Seattle’s newest movie house.

From a timing perspective, at least, the Melbourne was victorious in the opening skirmish. But James Clemmer was determined to win the war. His Clemmer Theatre opened a week later, on April 10, 1912, the same day Titanic steamed out of Southampton, England, on its fateful voyage. But before the formal event that evening, at 4 p.m., he flung his doors open to the general public. For nearly two hours, Seattle movie fans were allowed inside the new Clemmer Theatre, free of charge, to roam around and take in the surroundings, which treated them to an entirely new kind of experience. Whereas the Melbourne’s design choices were bold, and perhaps over the top, Clemmer went in the opposite direction, opting for a more refined entertainment space. This included a formal (“Roman”) decorative style, featuring marble and ornamental plaster work, French gray being the dominant color, accented with hues of ivory and gold. The house curtain was brown, and hung below a Northwest mountain scene with allegorical figures flanking the mural. The Clemmer screen was gold in color, and like the Melbourne they claimed that this characteristic was “the best for bringing out the clearness and minute details of the photography.”^[12] Where the Melbourne went outlandish, the Clemmer went elegant.

The Clemmer’s formal opening was held later that evening with a stellar lineup of attractions. Five films graced the screen, including Edison’s The Spanish Cavalier, Vitagraph’s The Illumination, Biograph’s Fate’s Interception (starring Mary Pickford and directed by D.W. Griffith), and a pair of split-reel Lubin comedies, Hoodooed and Her Uncle John.^[13] The Post-Intelligencer identified yet another picture, the Kalem comedy A Leap Year Elopement, as also playing that evening. Musically James Clemmer engaged a string sextette to play the opening, under the direction of Maurice Sebastian Karp; local favorite Oliver Wallace was limited to a piano solo because the house organ (a 3/28 Estey model, opus 981) wasn’t yet fully installed. For the interludes between films, Pauline Harvey played harp for some while a Miss Westlund, contralto soloist, sang for others.^[14]

By all accounts the opening of the Clemmer was hugely successful. Flower arrangements from the exhibitor’s friends and business associates flooded the lobby, and the Daily Times claimed the opening performance set “a new standard for the home of photoplays in the West…Very aptly could The Clemmer can be said to stand in the same relation to the featuring of photoplays and musical talent as does Seattle’s new Metropolitan Theatre in being the home of legitimate shows. Or as Seattle’s new Orpheum as the home of advanced vaudeville.”^[15]

These were exactly the comparisons James Clemmer was looking for when he selected E.W. Houghton as his architect. He didn’t want his venue to look or feel like a bloated nickelodeon and instead created a space that compared favorably with Seattle’s finest stage theatres. Even H.O. Stechhan of The Town Crier made a point in one of his dramatic columns to compliment the city’s newest picture house. “No amusement place in Seattle has become popular as quickly as The Clemmer Theatre,” he wrote weeks later. “…Scarcely open a month, its every performance is crowded with interested audiences. The same methods which enabled Mr. Clemmer to make The Dream on lower First an extremely popular picture house, are responsible for establishing this uptown theatre…Such theatres as The Clemmer are attracting a better class of patrons to the motion pictures than have been going heretofore.”^[16] The Clemmer Theatre was a hit with everyone, and not just the locals. When Frank Herbert Richardson, projection columnist for Moving Picture World, visited Seattle in 1913, he was so impressed with the Clemmer that he penned an entire article about it upon his return to New York – a tribute marred only slightly by the fact that he misidentified the venue as the “Empire.” “In all my journeyings I have yet to find a moving picture theater as thoroughly complete in its appointments and as charming and completely delightful in its decorations as is this magnificent house,” Richardson gushed.^[17]

So Seattle had two brand new venues on Second Avenue, each going head-to-head for the title of being the city’s best motion picture theatre. Or at least that’s how the competition started, because the trajectories of these houses couldn’t have been more different. The Clemmer Theatre debuted on April 10, 1912, and remained a popular destination for years. Newer and grander picture houses eventually came along, but the house enjoyed a lengthy history, ending the silent era as a popular second-run venue. The Melbourne, on the other hand, had a splashy debut but wasn’t around long enough to make much of an impression. It enjoyed ample patronage at first, even after the Clemmer opened. It did so well, in fact, that Eugene Levy stepped in and bought a controlling interest in the Melbourne Amusement Co. about five weeks after it debuted, a move that better positioned him in the evolving Seattle film market. But things went sideways, and quickly – by 1915, after only three years of operation, the Melbourne was closed. The following year Seattle exhibitor John Hamrick stepped in and reopened the space as the Rex, scrubbing some of the fanciful ornamentation in the process. The Rex would be a reliable second- and third-run theatre until it closed in the 1920s.

Thus it was James Clemmer who became known as the man who not only built Seattle’s best nickelodeon, the Dream Theatre, but also its first modern picture house, the Clemmer. Coupled with the fact that his father and brother also entered the movie business, leaving their own marks on the city of Spokane, by 1915 James Clemmer had a business influence that spanned the entire state. He was eventually eclipsed by Claude Jensen and John von Herberg, but for nearly 10 years, up until World War I, James Clemmer was one of Washington’s leading exhibitors, and arguably one of the foremost managers on the entire West Coast.

Unlike some competitors, however, James Clemmer wasn’t bent on conquering the world. He managed his namesake house through World War I, but eventually sold it to Universal, and it was renamed the Columbia. In 1920 Clemmer built the Winter Garden Theatre on Third Avenue in Seattle, which he operated for several years before selling that off and, following a brief stint in California, eventually returned to manage the Columbia. Managing suited his style, and he stayed active in the Seattle movie business for years, helming such venues as the Blue Mouse, Music Box, Paramount, Orpheum, Music Hall and, in the early 1940s, pulling a second tour of duty at the Fifth Avenue Theatre.^[18] During most of that time the Columbia Theatre, née the Clemmer, continued to operate, and the building itself remained standing into the 1980s.

A beloved figure in local movie circles, James Clemmer was only 61 when he died unexpectedly on July 20, 1942, during an evening stroll along the Seattle waterfront. He complained of feeling tired earlier that day, but wanted to keep a scheduled date with friends, collapsing unexpectedly during their walk. An ambulance rushed Clemmer to Seattle General Hospital, but he was pronounced dead within minutes of arrival.^[19] “‘[James Clemmer] was the best theater manager I ever knew,’” fellow exhibitor John Hamrick remarked to the Post-Intelligencer. “‘He was always on the job, looking after the convenience of his patrons, and he probably knew more of them by name than any manager I ever knew. And he was a grand fellow.’”^[20]

In 1908 James Clemmer owned one of the finest nickelodeon theatres in all of Seattle. In 1912 he built its first moving picture palace. But he still had at least one more accomplishment ahead, in 1915. That’s the year he landed the biggest motion picture of its time.

By Eric L. Flom – June 2025

Notes:
[1] See “Among the Exhibitors,” Moving Picture World, 27 August 1910, Page 490; “Washington,” Nickelodeon, 15 September 1910, Page 170; “Washington,” Motography, May 1911, Page 110; and “Among the Exhibitors,” Moving Picture World, 13 May 1911, Page 1091.
[2] Quote from unidentified “Seattle financier,” in “Clemmer’s Success,” Moving Picture World, 6 February 1915, Page 857.
[3] See “Clemmer to Build Photoplay House,” Seattle Daily Times, 2 September 1911, Page 14; “Washington,” Motography, September 1911, Page 150; and “Seattle,” Moving Picture World, 23 September 1911, Page 901. Publicity for the new Clemmer Theatre in Seattle was extensive – perhaps too extensive. Many announcements about the venue would appear, reappear and then re-reappear in the trade papers, right up to opening day, sometimes with conflicting details.
[4] “Clemmers to Build Photoplay House,” Seattle Daily Times, 2 September 1911, Page 14.
[5] “Service for J.H. Clemmer,” Seattle Daily Times, 14 October 1911, Page 14.
[6] See “New Theatre Will be Built at Once,” Seattle Daily Times, 27 December 1911, Page 10; and “Washington,” Motography, February 1912, Page 94.
[7] See “One Building Down; One Up in 120 Days,” Seattle Daily Times, 31 December 1911, Page 36; and “Magnificent Picture Playhouse Finished,” Seattle Daily Times, 7 April 1912, Page 16.
[8] “The Largest Plate of Glass in Seattle,” Seattle Daily Times, 25 March 1912, Page 9. This exact article (with the same photo and title) ran in the Post-Intelligencer four days later. (See “The Largest Plate of Glass in Seattle,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 29 March 1912, Page 9.
[9] “Clemmer Cusses Car Service,” Seattle Daily Times, 29 February 1912, Page 10.
[10] See “New Melbourne Handsome House,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 4 April 1912, Page 2; and “Melbourne Theatre Gem of Architecture,” Seattle Daily Times, 4 April 1912, Page 7.
[11] J. Willis Sayre, “Another Fine Picture House,” Seattle Daily Times, 4 April 1912, Page 8.
[12] “New Photoplay House Uptown,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 7 April 1912, Page 24.
[13] See J. Willis Sayre, “Another New Theatre” and “Clemmer’s Opening Bill,” Seattle Daily Times, 10 April 1912, Page 8; and “Current Views of Local Stage,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 10 April 1912, Page 7.
[14] Eventually the Clemmer Theatre would be known for a different kind of music as well. In 1914 the venue added some canary cages in the ladies waiting room, the birds often chirping whenever the house orchestra swelled. (See “New Kind of Music for a Photoplay House, Motion Picture News, 29 August 1914, Page 39.) Later, the Coliseum at Fifth and Pike would also have caged songbirds placed throughout the house, though both venues eventually discontinued the practice.
[15] “Clemmer Theatre Opening Success,” Seattle Daily Times, 11 April 1912, Page 8.
[16] H.O. Stechhan, “For the Playgoer,” The Town Crier, 11 May 1912, Page 12.
[17] F.H. Richardson, “Empire Theater, Seattle,” Moving Picture World, 18 October 1913, Page 253.
[18] Elizabeth Rhodes, “The First Picture Palace,” Seattle Times, 11 April 1982, Page F1.
[19] See “James Q. Clemmer, Theatre Man, Dies,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 21 July 1942, Pages 1 and 4; and “J.Q. Clemmer, Theatre Man, Collapses, Dies,” Seattle Times, 21 July 1942, Page 22.
[20] “James Q. Clemmer, Theatre Man, Dies,” Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 21 July 1942, Page 4.