A fond farewell

The Paramount Theater is nearly gone now. All that remains is the rubble of brick, stone, and twisted metal where once a majestic landmark stood. I have been marking its demolition from the third floor window of the downtown office building where I work. I am surprised at the quick work made by the steel jaws of the towering yellow crane. Like a prehistoric dinosaur, that crane has devoured its fallen prey without mercy or reflection.

I am also surprised by the number of people, old and young, that have gathered to witness its destruction. I wonder what notion has prompted them to return to this site after so many years of disuse. I suspect that each has a story that somehow connects them to this theater. I watch as a grey haired man snaps a photograph of the diminishing structure. I’ll call him Joe. I imagine that Joe’s father returned home to Youngstown after serving his country in the armed forces in World War II.

Steel mills

Like so many other veterans, Joe’s father found work in the steel mills that lined the Mahoning River. He met his wife, Mary, at the lunch counter of the downtown Woolworth. They rode the trolley car into town on Saturday evenings to see the latest movies. Together, they shared the drama of “Stalag 17”, the suspense of “Rear Window”, and the sorrow of “To Each His Own”. They married and scraped together enough money to build a cozy little house on the West Side of Youngstown where Joe was born just a few years later. As he grew older, Joe accompanied them to the Paramount where he too experienced the cinematic spectacle of “Shane”, “The Greatest Show on Earth” and “Ulysses.”

I watch from my window as an elderly woman joins the spectators below. I’ll call her Peggy. I imagine that Peggy had her first date at the Paramount when she was 15. Her date sheepishly held her hand as the lights dimmed for the show. She turned and smiled. He smiled back at her, and together they watched the antics of Jerry Lewis in “The Bell Boy.” They laughed well into the evening hours. When the movie was over, they applauded with the rest of the audience — a standing ovation.

Memories

The Paramount Theater has given this community countless memories to hold onto. It has presented the movies that touched upon the best of our human dignity and the worst of our human failings. Who can forget Gregory Peck in “Roman Holiday” or Humphrey Bogart in “The Desperate Hours”? It presented the movies that told the stories of our lives. And it did so through the Great Depression, the Second World War, and the boom times of the 1950s and 1960s. It flourished as our immigrant forefathers struggled to build the middle class of our nation. And their pride and desire to do their best was reflected in the craftsmanship of the ornate construction that made the Paramount so special.

Yes, for generations the Paramount Theater presented the stories of our lives as Americans on the big screen. Now, in its final moments, it tells one last story — the story of a community of immigrants that joined to create a place of beauty where for a few precious hours dreams could come true. Perhaps that’s the best story the Paramount Theater has given this community, our Youngstown story. And for that, it deserves a final ovation.

David Bobovnyik is an attorney who grew up on Youngstown’s West Side and remembers those days in his writings.