The Grand Opera House, Part 1, 1905–23: The Glory Years
Side by side: The Grand Opera House and the Turner building. Balsillie Collection of Roy Studio Images, courtesy Peterborough Museum and Archives (PMA). The same photo also appears in a 1914 promotional booklet, “The Electric City” – Peterborough, Views of City and District, with Information from Official Sources, 1914. The fire brigade might have been out for a drill, showing off a new ladder, or simply posing for a photo: they look relaxed. The Turners, Manufacturers, not just in “Peterboro” but also in Regina, Sask., explicitly declared to the local world the products they made in that building. The partially seen theatre display signs (see below) seem to indicate that this photo was taken on Oct. 14, 1912, when the famed May Robson (see Bringing Up Baby, 1938, for instance) was appearing in the play A Night Out. The fire brigade uses horses; Peterborough had only a few autos on its dirt roads. The Turner building survives to this day on that corner.
A detail from the Turner/Grand Opera House photo. PMA.
“The City has all the facilities of a progressive community, including an electric street railway, complete waterworks and sewer systems, efficient fire protection, theatres, conservatory of music, and wholesale and retail mercantile establishments.”
– “The Electric City” – Peterborough, Views of City and District, with Information from Official Sources, booklet, 1914, p.3
“A credit to the city.” That was the immediate verdict when the Grand Opera House opened its doors at 284 George St. on Nov. 15, 1905.
The hall “will be one of the very best houses in Canada and better than any in the smaller cities,” the Examiner quickly decided. “Peterborough is to have an opera house of which the citizens will have no reason to be ashamed, but on the other hand, will be proud of.”
Examiner, March 2, 1936, p.7. The corner as it appeared in the nineteenth century. The Turner company erected its building on this property in 1901. This photo dates from sometime before that when it was the site of Robert Hull’s blacksmith shop.
The opera house went up on the land immediately north of the J.J. Turner and Sons “warehouse” on George Street near King. The Turner property, incidentally, had at some time before that been the site of an old blacksmith shop. Next to that shop, on what would become the home of the Grand Opera House, a prominent set of billboards blasted messages out onto George Street. It was not a particularly pretty sight for a city striving to make the best of itself amidst the optimistic growth of the early twentieth century.
“Peterborough to Have Opera House,” Examiner, Dec. 16, 1903, p.1. Early on an article spelled out the financial costs and benefits of an opera house. The “provisional directors” of the project felt “confident that a fair and reasonable return may be expected from the capital invested.”
In December 1903 a local group including the Honourable James Robert Stratton, owner of the Examiner, Robert Maxwell Dennistoun, barrister-at-law, Adam Hall (stoves and tinware, plumbing and heating), William Graham Ferguson (Kingan Hardware), and Dickson Davidson (Peterborough Lumber Co.) — “all men of business ability” — had established a stock company that they called the Academy of Music of Peterborough: “for the purpose of erecting ‘a commodious and modern Opera House, Theatre and Music Hall, which will be a credit to the town, and, it is believed, a source of profit to its shareholders.”
Examiner, June 1, 1903, p.4. The argument for a new opera house in “the banner town of the Dominion” — but it would take a couple of years for the dream to come to fruition.
One other name in the group of directors provided a certain continuity with the town’s opera house past: Rupert H. Bradburn, son of Thomas. At that point these men were already citing a figure of $30,000 as a cost for the building and site, and they would themselves “subscribe a considerable proportion” of that sum — “provided the citizens of Peterborough will do likewise.”
In February 1904, William Fair, a local stockbroker, travelled to Toronto on behalf of the group and talked to several “former Peterborough gentlemen” who agreed to purchase shares in the company. Most notably, he met with Ambrose J. Small, the prominent “theatre magnate,” who took “a large block of stock” and, moreover, promised to lease the new Peterborough opera house for a period of ten years – thus providing a necessary boost to the enterprise. Small said that when the best theatre companies came to Toronto, Peterborough would get them too.
The “provisional directors” expected things to move quickly and a theatre to be ready by September 1904, but things moved along more slowly. In spring 1905 both the Examiner and Review continued to lament the lack of a suitable opera house for a city with the merits of Peterborough. The dearth of good entertainment in the winter of 1904—05 was a major issue. Peterborough had half a dozen “splendid parks,” the Examiner noted in a March editorial. It had a splendid water works system (wanting only a new dam); it had the cheapest electric light and power in the province; an excellent street railway system; easy access to the best summer resorts; and it would “soon have a splendid armouries, and fine Collegiate Institute, and new Separate school building.” About all it lacked was a decent opera house.
Examiner, Feb. 18, 1904, p.3. The Town applies to the Ontario government to accommodate the legal/assessment needs related to the property of both the Lock Manufacturing company and the Academy of Music or Opera House.
Finally, with the support of the Town Council, the project moved ahead. The provincial government granted a charter, incorporating the Academy of Music with capital stock of $40,000. Ambrose Small himself came to town to consult with the promoters, discussing matters related to management and the arranging of details. William Fair stated that the company would not start building until 80 per cent of the stock had been subscribed, and the push to get smaller subscribers in Peterborough began in earnest. “The only thing necessary now to make an Opera House a realization,” the Examiner reported in May, “is the response of the citizens.” Walter Stocker, the town’s official bill poster, went out around town circulating a subscription list to “pre-empt” seats for an opening night performance. A thousand seats would be reserved on opening night for those who subscribed, and the project’s viability was contingent on this support. If enough citizens subscribed, the project would go ahead – and could be ready for the autumn. The response must have been satisfactory because by mid-May the future of the opera house was “practically certain.” Its location, immediately north of the Turner warehouse, had been determined.
Examiner, March 5, 1904, p.5.
City council passes By Law Number 1109, June 1, 1905, to fix the assessment of a new opera house. PMA.
By that time it was also apparent that Rupert Bradburn, among the directors, was spearheading the project; he would eventually become its manager and officially cited as “proprietor.” In late May, with the money in place, a city council committee gave the project the go-ahead. Dennistoun presented the council with plans for the opera house’s ground floor and balcony; in early June a council by-law fixed the assessment for the new building at $3,000 for ten years; a licence fee was set at $10 a year.
The directors consulted the New York Theatrical Stock Exchange, which apparently stood ready with “plans already prepared for almost any style of an opera house,” but contracts for construction would be distributed locally. The job proceeded apace (unusual in the annals of construction work).
Reflecting one of the great concerns of the era, a report stated that the new building would have fourteen exits “and will be built in as nearly a fire-proof manner as is possible.” The New York Theatrical Stock Exchange Company would be in charge of construction, with a New York architect, Fuller Claflin Theatre Building Company, providing the design.
By the end of June, with the foundation being laid, things were “progressing rapidly.” A standard problem arose when contractors from outside the city came in with tenders that those in charge considered to be overly high; and in the end the work was “done almost wholly by local firms” under the supervision of E. Shuttleworth of Fuller Claflin (Shuttleworth was also, at the same time, supervising the renovation of the Grand Opera House in Hamilton). Thomas Rehill did the foundation work. A long list of other Peterborough firms took part. Towards the end of July the local mason J.J. MacPherson was granted the contract for brick work.
In September MacPherson (with his thirteen bricklayers and sixteen labourers) laid 400,000 bricks in four days. The ten carpenters hustled to keep in front of the bricklayers. By the last half of October all that remained to be done was to finish the painting, decorating, and plumbing, although all-important chairs had not yet arrived.
The Energy and Enigma of Ambrose Small
At least one important figure outside the town had a hand in all of this: Toronto’s Ambrose J. Small. His involvement, the Examiner reported, guaranteed the theatre’s success. Here was a man who would jump in and out of Peterborough’s theatre history for the next fifteen years.
Early in the decade, according to historian Kathleen D.J. Fraser, Small had “pushed himself to the front of theatrical management in Ontario.” He controlled a circuit of acts that circulated through theatres in the province and amassed a fortune (estimated at $10 million) over the years “through ownership, lease, or control of booking.” In his fictional imagining of the Small story, Canadian novelist and poet Michael Ondaatje describes Small as “the jackal of Toronto’s business world . . . a manipulator of deals and property. . . . He was bare-knuckle capitalism.”
The Ambrose Small theatre empire
Courtesy Shubert Archives, New York. This schedule had to be altered: The Red Rose came for one night only, on Oct. 8, 1912. Thanks also to Katie Daubs, The Missing Millionaire: The True Story of Ambrose Small and the City Obsessed with Finding Him (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 2019), for drawing these images to my attention.
A.J. Small Circuit ad, April 21, 1909. Courtesy of Shubert Archives, New York. The city was clearly attached to Small’s tightly arranged theatre circuit, as Small’s letterhead and “Money Route” show.
The opera house was, then, not a strictly local enterprise. Rupert Bradburn travelled in the same circles as Small; the two were well acquainted. They were both highly involved in the Canadian Theatre Managers’ Association – in 1906 Small was the president of the organization, with Bradburn serving on the executive. It seems they had a bit of a falling out at the time the charter was obtained and Small’s participation may have been limited at first. Their continuing relationship was apparent, though, in January 1907, when Bradburn travelled with Small to Brantford, Ont., on a quest to find a suitable site for a new theatre there. In addition to owning a small number of theatres, Small leased others and locked even more into booking contracts.
Small and his wife also took the trouble to catch the train to Peterborough for the Grand’s opening night. He expressed himself as being “delighted” with the theatre, suggesting that it compared favourably with the Toronto houses.
While the financial details of Small’s connection to Peterborough’s Grand Opera House are murky, more than one source indicates that Small had an interest in the venture. Shows that came to Peterborough often split the week between Peterborough and relatively nearby cities of a decent size, such as Kingston, Belleville, Cobourg, Lindsay, and possibly Oshawa. Small’s Toronto firm would supply the bulk of the attractions that appeared on stage in Peterborough, and take a piece of the profits (and Small would end up taking complete control in 1919). As one of his contemporaries said, he operated the circuit “profitably not only for himself but also for the producing manager,” which must have granted him a certain popularity among the business people of Peterborough. Yet, so far as I have seen, Small’s grip on the Peterborough theatrical scene remained mostly in the background — at least until 1919, when he bought the city’s Grand Opera House outright.
*****
Examiner, Nov. 16, 1905, p.5. The facade as it appeared to an artist’s eye on opening day. Reuben Fax was the star of The Yankee Consul. To celebrate the event, the city’s 57th Regimental Band played out front before the performance of the play.
Upon the opening of the Grand Opera House, the inimitable Dobbin remarked: “Here is an event that we have been looking forward to for many years. At times in doubt at other times confident.” Apparently some disgruntled critics of the endeavour had expressed fears that the place would be shoddy, ordinary, or “second-rate.” Quite the contrary, concluded an Examiner reporter who visited a day or two before the opening: any such sceptical nay-saying citizens would be pleasantly surprised when they ventured out to visit the new opera house.
The Grand Opera House was constructed as “an ornate, full-service theatre designed to meet the standards of vaudeville theatres and to offer Peterborough audiences the finest in theatrical experiences.” The building itself had space on the street-front, on either side of the entrance, for small shops (at street numbers 282 and 286), a common strategy in theatre-building meant to “offset construction and operating costs.”
A detail from the photo at the top of this page, showing the front entrance of the Grand Opera House, with the “Gallery Entrance” on the right, just behind the horse. The words “Grand Opera House” high up over the doors were added in April 1907, with raised gold letters on a green background. The owners erected the cover or “shelter” over the front entrance in early autumn 1908. The vertical “G-R-A-N-D” sign in front went up in September 1910 — said to be “the first of its kind to be placed in operation in Peterborough.” The alternating current lights spelled the name of the theatre letter by letter until all letters were shining, and then flashed the entire name before beginning the process all over again. The Turner factory itself made the sign, and had just completed a similar one for a firm in Regina.
The entrance to the opera house was through a wide hallway fronting on George Street. The box office was on the left near the inside doors. Theatre-goers then made their way inside to the “parquette” (the main floor of the theatre, or orchestra, so named because of its flooring); or they could take the stairs up to the first balcony, or mezzanine.
The theatre also had yet another balcony or gallery known as “the “gods.” Peterborough lore had a second, shameful term for this balcony as well: the word “Heaven” modified by a dehumanizing, derogatory racial epithet — something applied, oddly enough, to a place frequented by white people, often young and/or working class, who could not afford the more expensive seats down below. The “gods” were reached by way of doors situated in a tight alleyway on the south side of the building, between the Opera House and the Turner Building – thus establishing a kind of social apartheid whereby those unable to afford the more expensive seats made their way to the upper balcony position by means of the separate, exterior stairway. Before a show they would also have to wait out on the street rather than in the theatre lobby. In a practice common throughout the cities and towns of the continent, different classes (and races) may have had access, but they were segregated by ticket price.
Over the years, people who had to watch their pennies would join a line in the alley, perhaps extending out onto and down the street sidewalk, and finally ascend to the cheap seats in the top gallery. It was said that “small boys begged nickels and dimes from their parents so that they might squeeze into ‘the gods.’” These patrons would have passed by a sign declaring, “Absolutely no person will be allowed to take peanuts into the gallery” – the nuts being considered “too handy as missiles for the bald heads below.” An Examiner article in November 1906 noted that in a performance of the “melodramatic sensation” The Man of Her Choice, the villain garnered “plentiful hisses from the ‘gods.’” Earlier that year an Examiner reader had written in to complain about the “whistling boys” in the gallery who were rudely interrupting the “emotional parts” of a drama being presented by the Summers Stock Company. The opera house appointed a special constable to try to control behaviour.
Peterborough Weekly Review, Nov. 10, 1905, p.1.
The parquette and first balcony (each of them seating 500 people) had chairs; the upper gallery had “comfortable benches” and could hold another 500 to 600. Each side of the house had two canopied boxes, and behind each of these, again on both sides, was a “semi-box” (with no canopy). The seats, shipped from the School Furniture Company in Preston, Ont., arrived none too early, on the morning of November 6. That same day, as a special for the opera season, the Robt. Fair and Co. store was advertising “Opera Cloaks and Gowns” (for the “Ladies”). The Alex Gibson store was soon selling opera glasses.
Comfort and safety were a concern: the entrance-ways were “wide and easy,” and the promoters promised that with the building’s emergency exits the hall could be quickly emptied. The building had six wide doors on each side, two to each floor; the upper-floor doors were connected to the ground by iron stairways. The stage entrance was at the rear, on Water Street. A year later the theatre added a “handsome” new asbestos curtain manufactured by a Detroit scenery company – such a curtain was considered a crucial protection against fire (and, at the time, a standard protection used everywhere for theatre curtains, in the days long before it became recognized as a serious health hazard). Weighing two and a half tons, the curtain was covered with painted ads courtesy of a number of local businesses.
Examiner, Nov. 14, 1905, p.7.
With a capacity initially announced as 1,500 (sometimes given as 1,600, perhaps depending on how many could be crammed into the top gallery’s benches), every seat, according to the initial report, “provides an uninterrupted view of the stage” (although the posts seen in interior photos of the theatre would seem to belie that point). The dimensions placed that stage “as being the best in any of the smaller cities in Canada” and, the locals felt, “large enough to accommodate any show which may come this way.” Indeed, years later an Examiner retrospect claimed that in its “heyday” the theatre was “considered one of the finest in Canada, not even excepting those in metropolitan centres, and its scenery and stage was such that it could accommodate the largest cast on the road.” The equipment included a bridge for painting scenery and 45 sets of lines on head blocks for hanging scenery. The orchestra pit was directly in front of the stage; and the dressing rooms – eleven in all – were below the stage, in the basement, along with lavatories and a musicians’ room. For safety’s sake, the dressing-room ceilings were “all of iron” and the furnace room was “bricked in.” Almost three years later, in autumn 1908, a large “artistic” canopy would be added over the entrance, extending across the sidewalk, adding a further “adornment to the main street” and “giv[ing] the theatre a decided metropolitan effect” in addition to providing shelter on stormy nights. Another notable improvement came in 1912, when two 60-foot steel trusses were installed above the stage, replacing the original wooden beams and “assuring the utmost safety and efficiency” of the house.
Daily Review, Nov. 15, 1905, p.1.
The first show booked for the Grand, for mid-October 1905, was The Little Duchess, a Florenz Ziegfield Jr. production starring Elsie Janis, but its performance had to be transferred to the Academy of Music in Lindsay when the stage’s rigging loft proved unstable. A special excursion train took Peterborough ticket holders to the nearby city for the event.
Back home at the Grand, workers quickly came in and propped up the rigging, adding two steel beams. With everything in place, on Nov. 15 the Grand provided an alternative opening night attraction: The Yankee Consul, featuring stars Reuben Fax and Vera Michelena. Dobbin noted: “All were delighted with the commodious theatre.” The comic opera was apparently a prize catch (“one of the best attractions given in Toronto in the last theatrical season”); Bradburn had managed to lure it away from a booking for the same evening in Hamilton.
The Grand Opera House made its appeal to the “superior buying class,” not to mention travellers stopping into the city for a day or two. A page from the 1908 fall season booklet. PMA, 98-020.
An audience of about 1,200 showed up for the opening, no doubt quite suitably attired and some of them with opera glasses in hand. They were, according to one account, “the cream of the society of the city.” A writer of a letter to the Examiner had suggested firmly that those who planned to occupy the orchestra and box seats should “attend in full dress.” Prices for opening night were expensive — 75¢, $1.00, and $2.00, although most of the audience had already paid for subscriptions — and the evening apparently had “a brilliance befitting the occasion.”
The setting did call for a certain sense of decorum: in January 1906 a Peterborough man went before the court, charged with spitting on the floor of the Grand. Those were the days in which men had to be constantly reminded not to expectorate in public. Theatre-goers needed also to beware: a month later one customer was spotted brandishing a huge wad of bills when purchasing his tickets. He put the cash in his front coat pocket and, later, when he was going down the stairs from the balcony, a shifty pickpocket “relieved” him of the money – some $183, a huge sum at the time.
*****
A few months after the Grand opened, local photographer R.M. Roy arrived one evening to take a “flash-light photo” of the new hall. Not an easy task, said the Examiner, because “the walls were of a colour which lent no assistance to the photographer.” Nevertheless, between the first and second acts Roy set his camera up and took a shot, succeeding brilliantly – using two dollars worth of flash powder (compared to the usual five cents’ worth required for an ordinary picture taken in a house). The performance that evening was the comic opera Peggy from Paris, and – as the photo indicates — it was hugely attended.
R.M. Roy’s “flash-light photo” of the Grand Opera House, Feb. 8, 1906, with the better class attending. Roy displayed the photo the following morning in his studio window on Hunter Street, and the Examiner commented: “Of the 1,200 of more faces in the picture, every one could be identified with the aid of a glass.” The photo appeared, with an article about the Grand’s first season — of over sixty-five performances — in the Examiner, May 19, 1906, p.1. Unlike the 1908 photo, there is no motion picture projector in the first balcony near the fourth or fifth row. Roy Studio photo, PMA.
Examiner, Feb. 5, 1906, p.8.
The play had packed Massey Hall in Toronto, and a special train was scheduled to bring folk from nearby Lindsay. “Contingents” from Tweed, Norwood, Havelock, Lakefield, Port Hope, Bridgenorth, and Young’s Point wired the theatre to get tickets. About a dozen enthusiasts came from Omemee. Extra seats were put in, but still many people had to be turned away. It seems as though, at least on that evening, it was not young boys or rowdies sitting on the benches in the “gods,” and the assigned constable was not overly taxed. Given the play’s popularity, the management, that evening, issued “special tickets” for the top gallery — at fifty cents each, double the normal price. Those holding them were admitted one-half hour earlier than the holders of the regular tickets, and they were admitted through the front doors. An irate letter appeared in the newspaper. The writer, “Fair Play,” argued: “The upper gallery is the resort of the working boy and poor man and with the pit full to overflowing it would seem as though those interested in the opera house would have enough money . . . without bleeding the frequenters” of the “gods.”
Examiner, Feb. 5, 1906, p.5.
“Will Peterborough audiences ever learn to conduct themselves properly?”
Examiner, April 27, 1906, p.8.
Peterborough audiences: Oh behave! It wasn’t just young boys and rowdies causing problems. Examiner, April 30, 1906, p.7.
Examiner, April 30, 1906, p.5. Motion pictures were still very much in their youth, but an ad for The Holy City found it necessary to say, “This is no Picture Show but a dramatic attraction.”
Examiner, Jan. 25, 1906, p.8. A week earlier the opera house had screened motion pictures of the Britt-Nelson championship boxing match.
Dangers and decorum aside, the Grand Opera House immediately replaced Bradburn’s Opera House as the city’s pre-eminent venue for live entertainment – and was very soon showing motion pictures as well. Its projection “machine” was said to be “one of the finest on the market,” producing “none of the distressing flickers so common to moving pictures while the light is clear and steady.” Prices for the motion pictures were distinctly less expensive than for live attractions at the Grand and allowed those with less disposable income to attend, at least in the cheap seats.
The newspaper accounts from early on named Rupert Bradburn as the manager and proprietor, seemingly forgetting about the Academy of Music directors who had done so much, and contributed their money, to get the ball rolling (and the Academy of Music also faded from the history). Presumably, all of the directors continued, along with Ambrose Small, to have a financial stake in the venture. In any case, much to Rupert Bradburn’s delight, the new Opera House was clearly demonstrating that it was without doubt a “paying proposition . . . one of the best money-makers in the city.” In its first full season, to the end of May 1906, the Grand Opera House hosted over sixty-five productions, with Peggy from Paris attracting the largest audience. By spring Bradburn was receiving proposals from other local capitalists – John J. Turner among them – who wanted to purchase this going concern; but the offers were not high enough to be favoured. Said Bradburn: “The buyer will have to put up the price.”
The opera house had proven successful, its productions well attended; as the Examiner enthused in the conventional cheerleading fashion: “Peterborough’s reputation as a good show town being fully sustained.” At least one apparent problem was easily solved:
Perhaps the offenders who are in the habit of expectorating on the floor of the Grand Opera House will now desist, since several persons have been fined. Manager Bradburn deserves credit for the manner in which all violators of the anti-spitting ordinance have been brought to task.
Sails Tents Awnings Flags and Camp Equipment, J.J. Turner & Sons, Peterborough, catalogue, 1920.
Early in 1907 John J. Turner & Bros finally got their wish to take advantage of this property located conveniently right next door to their factory. After weeks of negotiations, they purchased the opera house from Bradburn at a cost of $37,000. The eldest son, John J. Turner Jr., would take over the management. He promised to retain the same staff, but would make improvements, including “entirely” redecorating the interior (one wonders what was wrong inside, given the building was only a year and three months old). According to the Examiner, Turner considered it “probable that the front of the building will be extended to two stories higher, and a small hall fitted up to be used for meetings, recitals and other gatherings for which the opera house is too large.” The impresario Ambrose Small of Toronto, who was benefiting mightily from the bookings on the circuit that included Peterborough, sent his congratulations.
Rupert Bradburn was as yet undecided about his future. “He feels now that he has accomplished what he set out to do, and can retire, leaving others to reap the results of his pioneer work.” There were rumours that he might go off to Brantford, Ont., where, in association with Ambrose Small, he would take over plans for a new opera house there. Bradburn and Small remained closely connected – the negotiations for the sale of the Grand Opera House were conducted through lawyer Charles Haystead, who was also representing Small.
Billboard, Feb. 4, 1910, p.53. The state of amusement in Peterborough, 1910.
Grand Opera House, Season 1910-11 booklet, p.7, makes sure patrons know that the Grand offers both vaudeville and moving pictures. PMA, 98-020.
Late in January J.J. Turner and Sons issued a statement to the people of Peterborough, promising to bring to town the “best attractions we possibly can” and stating their intentions to conduct the opera house “in a manner befitting a modern show house in a modern city, such as Peterborough.” They had at least one tiny connection to theatre operations: since around 1906 they had been manufacturing drop curtains. Perhaps they were miffed that Peterborough’s Grand Opera House had not bought its curtain from them. With Turner Jr. as manager and his three brothers (Reginald H., Achilles W., and Webber F.) serving as treasurer, doorkeeper, and usher, by February 1907 a writer in the Morning Times was declaring: “Messrs. Turner & Sons . . . have certainly won out in their new venture and demonstrate that they are in touch both with the public and the theatrical world.” Indeed, under the new ownership, by the 1910s, as an Examiner reporter later reminisced, the Grand Opera House was “booming” – with tragedy, drama, all the great musical comedies – which meant that the city as a whole now had “a fairly wide choice of motion picture and vaudeville entertainment for the citizens.”
Examiner, Aug. 12, 1911, Special Section on Peterborough, np.
In August 1907, in preparation for the theatre’s third season, Turner & Sons once again took care to redo the house, so much so that, as the newspaper put it, “patrons will hardly recognize the theatre in its new guise. The lobby is being repainted and decorated most artistically in bright, but not gaudy colours, large mirrors will be placed on each side and the entrance will be made as beautiful as possible.” While the Turners intended to repaint the interior “from top to bottom,” they were not able to do so because of the scarcity of help, and that work would have to wait until the following year.
Great improvements have been made, however. The facing of the boxes and the balcony and gallery as well as the columns of the stage have been painted white, making the house appear much brighter. Brass railings will be placed on the boxes and it is also planned to erect canopies over them. The exterior will be repainted and decorated, greatly improving the look of the building from outside.
The owners planned to ask city council for permission to erect a “glass porch” over the pavement area in front of the theatre, which would help protect patrons in inclement weather.
A packed house at the Grand Opera House for the R.W. Marks Co. from Perth, Ont., Feb. 10, 1908. Roy Studio photo, PMA. A projector is positioned at the fourth row, just to the right of the middle row, first balcony. In the 1910s the Marks Company usually included motion pictures with their live act, as they did on this occasion.
A detail from the opera house photo, showing the projector.
Grand Opera House interior, unknown source, nd. The projector to the right of the middle row, balcony, is now enclosed. In this case the second balcony, or “gods,” is empty.
The John Philip Sousa Band appeared at the Grand on Tuesday, Nov. 22, 1910 (they had played in Peterborough before, at Bradburn’s Opera House). “Music fashions cannot be determined by Printer’s ink,” said the so-called March King. “The public demands the kind of music it likes best.” Indeed, the Sousa Band’s tunes were familiar to Peterborough folk – being regularly played by the city’s own 57th Regiment Band. Peterborough was on a select list for the tour, along with Kingston, Hamilton, London, and Toronto. The band arrived by special train from Kingston, and the 57th Band, led by Rupert Gliddon, came out to serenade them upon their arrival at the GTR station. The local band members also got to occupy the boxes at the Grand. F.L. Roy took the flashlight photo at 11 o’clock in the interval between the two parts of the program. He presented a copy to Sousa the following morning at seven o’clock at the railway station — both surprising and delighting the leader. I found this photo on the John Philip Sousa Facebook page (posted Aug. 1, 2018), where the hall was wrongly cited as the Bradburn Opera House.
Examiner, Jan. 7, 1914, p.7. This article also represents an early sighting of the word “movie.”
By all accounts the Turner family did well by the Grand Opera House. In the 1910s, with the ever-growing popularity and refinement of motion pictures, they could even promise “No More Dark Nights,” using the moving pictures to keep the theatre in action when no live stage performances were booked. They could keep their doors open to a greater extent than before in summer time, when legitimate theatres usually closed down because of the heat. In hot weather, they said, the Grand Opera House would be the “coolest place in the city, being large and airy.” Not only that, but parents could drop off their children, and management would look after them.
Examiner, March 28, 1914, p.13. Promising “no more dark nights” — motion pictures a regular attraction.
Morning Times, Feb. 12, 1914, p.1. With a commitment to a new Simplex projecting machine, the best you could buy.
Examiner, Aug. 24, 1914, p.11. Early on, the Grand Opera House, with its large capacity, brought in the “big” pictures, this one, a Film d’Art from France (1914) in a year notable for a large supply of “Napoleon” pictures. “It’s big enough to pack your house, Mr. Manager,” said the promotion.
Examiner, Nov. 20, 1915, p.11. Another big picture, direct from Italy.
The Turners regularly redecorated and made improvements. In 1913 they had a new scene painted on their stage curtain, with the work carried out in their own scenic department. Launched at yet another Marks Bros. performance on Dec. 22, the new scene depicted, amidst the ads for local enterprises, the chariot race from Ben Hur. “The new painting is a real work of art,” the Examiner commented. “Every detail from the accurate representation of the Roman chariot, to the expressions on the faces of the racing horses is brought out in a manner that makes the picture an interesting study. And this in spite of the fact that the heavy fireproof asbestos curtain is a difficult thing on which to accomplish artistic results.”
The Grand Opera House’s new curtain, introduced Dec. 22, 1913. Roy Studio photo, PMA. The ads in themselves will tell many a story. On the upper left, the newly established Fontaine’s Livery — “Horses, Autos & Taxicabs” — evolved into a taxi company and, in the 1950s, into a bicycle shop, which (with a change of ownership) remains in place today. Banks Garage, on the bottom left, later also became a well-known bicycle shop.
A wartime concert, 1915. PMA, GOH, 2000-012-003764-1 (Patriotic Concert).
The front and back sides of a postcard; the front side shows the seating arrangement for the opera house. PMA, 98-020.
Examiner, Nov. 28, 1914, p.13. The Marks company kept coming, and with them a mix of “polite vaudeville” and motion pictures.
With the beginning of the First World War, theatres quickly felt the effect – “very keenly,” as a November 1914 article in the Examiner put it. Given the conditions, shows were no longer going on the road in the same quantity; and people either did not have the money to spend on lavish entertainment, or were choosing to save their coins for other purposes. The Grand Opera House turned to vaudeville programs, supplied by Ambrose J. Small from the Keith and Proctor circuit – and more and more to motion pictures, changing the pictures daily and offering new vaudeville on Mondays and Thursdays.
Examiner, Sept. 28, 1914, p.9. Another big feature film event that preceded the even more momentous Birth of a Nation.
Still, along with its other more grim effects the First World War, lasting from 1914 to 1918, would dramatically alter, both internationally and locally, the relatively frivolous sliver of life that was the motion picture business, and the amusement business did soon pick up. In Peterborough as elsewhere, the war did not by any means stop people from going to the motion picture shows. Quite the contrary. On New Year’s Day of 1915 (a Friday), for instance, “hundreds of citizens sought entertainment at the motion picture houses” and “were not disappointed.” On the holiday, ironically (given the horrors of the conflict overseas), they flocked to see “war pictures” at the Grand Opera House. Seats were “at a premium” at the city’s five theatres all day long.
Although lavish live performances predominated, with the likes of the plays Peg O’ My Heart and Trail of the Lonesome Pine, and return appearances from both the popular Guy Brothers Minstrels and Ernie Marks Stock Company, the big event in the fall of 1915 came over three days in mid-November with the showing of D.W. Griffith’s 12-reel The Birth of a Nation (U.S., released Feb. 8, 1915), an epic account of two families during the Civil War and Reconstruction periods. In the film Griffith placed the Ku Klux Klan in a heroic role that was even at the time highly controversial; his treatment of African Americans was racist in the extreme.
From even earlier on, but especially from the time of Birth of a Nation, the Grand, with its huge capacity, was always the place for the special “big” picture.
The entertainment/amusement business may not have been the Turner family’s first love. By October 1916 they were looking to make a change. A decline in travelling shows and the shift to motion pictures were having an effect. The Turners went so far as to advertise that month in The Billboard, the general entertainment magazine published out of Cincinnati.
The Billboard, Oct. 28, 1916, p.21.
A sale did not come through right away – buying and selling a “Grand Opera House” is a complicated business – and the family’s retirement from show business would have to wait for a couple of years. In December 1917, the Turners announced a reorganization. Their official name changed to “Grand Opera House, Peterborough, Limited,” with Reginald H. Turner as president, Achilles W. Turner as vice-president, and Webber F. Turner as secretary-treasurer and managing director. Patriarch J.J. Turner remained as well on the board of directors. The Turners had also decided “to go into the moving picture business on a large scale.” While continuing to bring in large stage attractions, they would “supply a motion picture service comparable to other cities.”
Examiner, Feb. 22, 1919, p.22.
It was a couple of years before the sale that the Turners were longing for, and probably negotiating for quite some time, came through – and the buyer was no less than Ambrose J. Small, the Toronto entrepreneur who had long wiggled his tricky and sticky fingers into the Peterborough amusement pie. In February 1919 Small “consummated” a deal with the Turners, paying $55,000 for the Grand and planning to continue its life primarily “as a moving picture theatre.” Small appointed Harry S. Dahn, who had been his treasurer in Toronto, to the position of manager. Dahn, a well-travelled and gifted theatrical executive who had also previously managed road shows and tours of opera stars in the United States, quickly found a place to live at 576 George, on the corner just north of London Street.
Examiner, Dec. 22, 1919, p.8.
Yet Small held the theatre only briefly. In November of that same year he sold all of his vast holdings, including Peterborough’s Grand Opera House, to a new corporation called the Trans-Canada Theatres Company. Small himself mysteriously disappeared from the face of the earth shortly after that, never to return.
Examiner, Aug. 28, 1920, p.9. A special announcement of the new ownership —emphasizing motion pictures, not live plays or stage attractions. The largest picture and best seats for watching “photo-plays” in the city — and with courteous and obliging lady ushers, too.
The regime of Trans-Canada again saw physical improvements — the company spent some $5,000 or $6,000 on the theatre in January 1920, including “handsome and exceedingly expensive scenery” with brilliant “colour and scenic effects,” fifteen new Olivette lights of 2,000 candle power each, and, perhaps most importantly, a new screen that replaced “the old sheet used heretofore for the movies.” That old sheet, “like all such sheets had a predisposition to shimmer, interfering with the clarity of the picture.” The new screen, purchased for $450, was, they claimed, “the only gold fibre screen in Ontario” and would reflect “the pictures with the clarity of a looking glass.” Weighing over two tons, the screen was positioned at the back of the stage so that the effort and time of rolling it back (as done before) would not delay the vaudeville acts.
Merry Christmas greetings at the Grand Opera House, season of 1923—24. The head usher (with uniform and cap) is John Trennum, who later worked at the Capitol Theatre. The man beside him, unknown. The ticket booth is on the left, with the list of prices. The Rex Stock Company was a regular attraction during those years. They presented a matinee performance of the comedy Cheating Cheaters at three o’clock on Christmas Day. Roy Studio photo, PMA. Thanks also to Dave Trennum.
Examiner, Dec. 22, 1923, p.11. On this engagement, which opened Monday, Dec. 10, the Rex Stock Company split a six-week stay, spending Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays in Peterborough, and Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays in Kingston.
Trans-Canada gave the Grand yet another facelift in 1922, re-decorating it throughout. When it reopened that year on Labour Day after being closed for the summer, the public found that a number of “painters, decorators and scrub women” had worked hard to ensure that it would be “fresh and inviting in appearance.” Plasterers had redone the walls and ceilings – with the ceiling of the lobby “done over with stucco.” That fall would feature “leading productions of the motion picture companies.”
In the 1920s the exhibitors honed their promotional strategies, often quite imaginatively. When the Grand Opera House – competing with three other theatres in the first half of the 1920s – screened the movie Sherlock Holmes, starring John Barrymore (1922) in late 1922, management initiated “a hunt for a replica of the famous Lansdowne pearls, stolen by Professor Moriarty and recovered by Sherlock Holmes.” The Grand placed a string of pearls (costing $3.50) somewhere in the city on the top of a telephone pole. It “induced” a local jeweller “to put an expensive string of pearls in his window with a suggestion of pearls as an appropriate Christmas gift,” along with a card connecting the pearls to the Sherlock Holmes hunt.
Examiner, Dec. 1, 1922, p.17.
Examiner, Dec. 1, 1922, p.17. The great Sherlock Holmes contest.
That was not all: the toy department of a large department store placed a card in its window announcing “Sherlock Holmes informs us that Moriarty, Europe’s Master Crook, visited our toy department while in the possession of the stolen Lansdowne pearls. Why don’t you?”
The Grand also published a map in the Examiner, showing the streets and Moriarty’s route through town, with Sherlock Holmes providing clues: “Warm on the trail of the Lansdowne Pearls . . . Hot – Hotter – Stop – Look – Here!” The lucky person who found the pearls got to keep them, of course, but also: “Here’s a couple of seats for your trouble.” (“Hunt for Pearls Put Over as ‘Sherlock Holmes’ Stunt,” Motion Picture News, Jan. 20, 1923, p.316.)
Even so, by 1923 the owner of the Grand Opera House, the Trans-Canada Theatre Company, had failed and gone into liquidation, bringing on yet another new era in the life of the opera house — and leading to the story of its decline and fall.
The story of the Grand Opera House continues in Part 2: 1923—37: The Long Goodbye.