The Princess/Tiz-It, 1909–17
George Street, looking south, June 1911. This photo shows the beginning of a road race, but it just happens to offer a view, on the right, of the Princess, 415 George St. — and is the only image I’ve seen of the theatre (which later changed its name to the Tiz-It). The race took place on June 13, 1911, about a year and eight months after the theatre opened. Lining up to start on the rain-soaked muddy road (at 1:45 p.m.) are, from the left, the indigenous athlete Albert Smoke (from Curve Lake), J. Worthly ("a young English runner"), and James Dionne. Smoke won the 10-mile race, which went from the Examiner office (which was two doors north of the Princess) to Ennismore (and its annual picnic) on Lake Chemong. Balsillie Collection of Roy Studio Images, Peterborough Museum and Archives.
Roughly the same stretch of George St. N., in 2019. The site of 415 George St. N. is now home to Real Thai Cuisine.
In 1909 the city’s two theatoriums – the Crystal and Royal – did not have enough seats between them to satisfy the appetite for the new moving pictures at popular prices. Wesley Edwards of the Crystal decided to do something about it. By early August 1909 he had made plans to erect “a fine new moving picture house.” He said it would have 800 seats.
Peterborough Daily Review, Oct. 8, 1909, p.7.
At that point Edwards had not yet found a location, but hoped to have the house ready for opening in the fall. Soon enough he found a vacant spot almost directly across from the Crystal, at 415 George Street – a site that for years had been home to a confectionary shop. It was probably not quite as spacious a spot as he had originally envisioned.
As it turned out, the theatre’s proprietor would be not Edwards, but Stanley Coon, who had previously worked as an “operator” at the Crystal. Coon was Edward’s son-in-law and lived in the Edwards home. The local motion picture scene, at least for a while, thus remained something of a family affair.
To build up expectations they said the program would be run along the same lines as the Majestic Theatre, one of Toronto’s largest. A couple of weeks later the Examiner reported: “Mr. Coons [sic] has a long experience in the amusement business and should make a success of this venture. It is his intention to have a moderately finished and equipped building and to give the best programme possible.” The estimated number of seats had now been trimmed back substantially, to 300.
Examiner, Oct. 9, 1909, p.14. Pippa Passes or, the Song of Conscience (US., Biograph released Oct. 4, 1909, 983 ft.), based on the poem by Robert Browning, was directed by D.W. Griffith (photography by G.W. Bitzer) and became known as the first film to gain the distinction of a review in The New York Times. The film had yet another distinction: its cast included Toronto’s Mary Pickford in a bit role as a “girl in a crowd.” She had just begun working with the Biograph Company that year, but had already appeared in about thirty-six short films, all uncredited (which was the norm at that time)
The Princess Theatre opened its doors on Saturday, Oct. 9, 1909. Its neighbour to the south (no. 413) was William Lech and Sons, Furriers – long known in town for the stuffed black bear that stood in its entranceway. On the other side (no. 417) was A.H. Stratton and Company, a bookstore. The Examiner office was at 419.
Even New York’s Billboard magazine, which had begun coverage of the motion picture industry only that year, took note: “Peterborough’s (Ont., Can.) latest and newest theatre was opened with eclat, Saturday, October 9. It is called The Princess and is owned by Stanley Coon. It is certainly a handsome little theatre with a seating capacity of 250. The opening bill was a good one. Four shows will be given daily.” The number of seats had once again gone down.
The Examiner enthused, with the era’s standard overstatement, that “Peterborough’s Latest Amusement Place” would be “one of the prettiest, neatest, and safest moving picture houses in Canada” – and “a credit to the city.”
That first evening at the Princess also featured a “Miss Ethel Wenlock” of Toronto (though another account identified her as being from Belleville, and her name also appeared as “Winlock”) – a “contralto of ability” – singing “Hello! Angel Faces.” She was accompanied by a Miss Bibby of Barrie, “a most capable pianist, formerly of Peterborough.” Audiences on opening night were “thoroughly pleased.” Ethel Wenlock continued to perform over the following weeks singing the “latest New York hits.”
Both the Examiner and Daily Evening Review sported big spreads on the new theatre. It was “handsome and conveniently planned,” said the Review. On the day before its scheduled opening, work was not quite finished, but, the reporter said, “Proprietor Stanley Coon has overlooked no detail in the matter of construction and decoration, and has displayed most excellent judgment in both respects.”
Despite its confines and the diminished number of seats, the theatre, stretching from its George Street frontage to Chambers Street at the back — at 19 feet in width and 104 feet in depth — was described as spacious. Credit went to contractor William Hipperson (of 534 Alymer St.) and to J.M. Watson (of 425 Chambers St.), who was in charge of the painting and decoration. The team of “Messrs [P.] Alexander and [J.H.] Miller” had seen to the wiring and electrical fixtures.
1911 Fire Insurance Plan showing George St. frontage on the right and Chambers St. in the middle, with “Moving Pictures” (The Princess) four doors up from the bank at the corner of Hunter and George (today still home to a bank, the Royal). Trent Valley Archives.
A typical layout for a storefront theatre in the early days. The Princess, with its long, narrow space, was probably quite similar to this scheme, with the main street entrance on the left; the musician’s space (with piano) on the top right, beside the screen. This layout had space for 200 seats; the Princess was said to have 250 seats. This theatre plan has six seats in each of two rows; the Princess had eight in one row, it seems, and boasted of roominess. George Schutz, “Those First Pains of a Growing Art,” Exhibitors Herald World, June 5, 1930, p.17.
Examiner, Jan. 4, 1912, p.5. The relatively famous and long-lasting Lech store identifies as being next to the Princess.
A detail from the 1911 street-race photo, showing the entranceway. Note the handwritten poster over the door announcing that day’s leading attraction. Ironically, given the indigenous road racer Albert Smoke lining up out on the road, the film was The Redman's Gratitude (released April 1911). It was one of multiple short films around this time with similar subject matter – amounting to what was almost a genre. Other examples were Indian Pete’s Gratitude (1910), Red Wing’s Gratitude (1909). We can only wonder what Albert Smoke would have thought of these films.
The look of the front entrance was thoroughly in keeping with the distinctive motion picture architecture of the times. Like the Crystal, it had a domed arch, this one with the theatre’s name “prominently lettered in red, with two gold brackets on either side.” People went in and out through two swinging doors (entering on the right, exiting on the left), a plan aimed to “entirely eliminate all uncomfortable crowding and confusion on occasions when the audience is particularly large.” The floor of the entranceway was a white marble; the side walls were of a fancy Grecian tile. The lower part of the box office booth, situated between the front doors, was also of tile, with the name of the theatre “artistically inlaid.” The upper part, with its plate glass, had bronze corner bars.
The projector operator’s room, directly above the box office, was lined with tin and (now-dreaded but then standard) asbestos and “absolutely fireproof.” The picture machine was a new “Type B Edison,” which had met with the “unqualified approval” of the New York Board of Fire Underwriters. Even so, Coon had arranged to procure a “superior service of anti-inflammable film made by the leading producers of picture plays.” The theatre had two emergency exits at the rear of the stage, “in case of fire or for any other reason that might necessitate the audience leaving as quickly as possible.”
Moving Picture World, Jan. 30, 1909, p.130.
Inside, the theatre’s 250 seats were arranged down the narrow room with eight in each row (presumably with aisles down each side). A “liberal” space between each row allowed audience members to pass in and out quite easily and without disturbing others – quite necessary given that small theatres in those days had a constant flow of people coming and going. After entering through the right-side door, audience members were to take their seats by going down the right aisle; to leave, they would walk out on the left-hand aisle. The floor, with a gradual slope towards the stage, allowed “an excellent view of the curtain . . . from any seat in the house.” A suitable elevation of the stage (12 by 14 feet) provided decent sight lines.
Morning Times, Dec. 30, 1909, p.1. Under Ernie Hannah (his name misspelled here), talking pictures come to town, sort of, almost twenty years before the famous Jazz Singer.
Coon’s days of running the Princess were remarkably short-lived — but then that would be the story of the theatre over the first few years as proprietors quickly came and went before things finally settled down.
Only two months after the Princess opened, ownership shifted to Ernest Hannah (who had previously worked at both the Crystal and Royal theatres). Hannah’s regime lasted from December 1909 to July 1910; Mike Pappas (already running the Royal) took over for a while (July 1910—November 1911); E.J. King followed (November 1911—July 1912); then M.F. (Fred) Sanderson (July 1912—May 1913); and Roland Glover, managing director of the Examiner (May 1913—October 1913). Finally, in the autumn of 1913, Herbert Clayton gained control.
When someone wrote in to the newspaper to ask who owned the local movie houses, the Morning Times pointed out: “In this modern age it is hard to say who owns anything.”
New management: Mike Pappas
For his part, Mike Pappas must have been filling enough seats, and then some, day after day at the Royal to convince himself that he would do well with a second theatre.
Examiner, Aug. 12, 1910, p.1. Reopening under Mike Pappas, who already operated the Royal.
Pappas closed down the Princess for a few weeks in the summer of 1910 “for repairs.” To ensure crowd safety, he expanded the aisles, losing a number of seats in the process; added another fire escape; and transformed the “operating department” (or projection booth) from the previous “cubby hole” into a larger space that ran the full width of the theatre. He also improved on the stage accommodation. In general the theatre had “a much more attractive appearance.” When it reopened on an August Saturday, according to reports over 1,900 people passed through the doors on that single day, and they were there for motion pictures alone – no vaudeville.
Examiner, Sept. 9, 1910, p.1.
Pappas brought in Victor Loftus (from the Royal) to sing and help manage things, and the Princess would continue to have the occasional live act (like Prof. Angell, “The Man of Mystery – the World’s Greatest Mind Reader,” “Miss Gertrude Ogden, Boston’s Magnificent Soprano,” and Kalma and La Tailon, “The Great Colonial Wizards”), but these pieces eventually tapered off and in the main the theatre concentrated for a while simply on its pictures, billing itself as “Peterborough’s only real Picture and Song Theatre” – with its films “made by the best makers in the world.”
Examiner, Dec. 9, 1910, p.1. Kipling’s poem and 5,000 feet of film: in a time when value was represented not just by the subject but by the number of feet of film — plus an illustrated song by Victor Loftus.
The Princess was soon encouraging people to flock to the moving picture shows by offering giveaways – “Free! Free!” – one time a “beautiful souvenir mirror,” obviously aimed at the female audience – “We will have plenty for all” – and another time “a very handsome calendar” for the coming year for every patron. Another ad promised: “No junk films used.”
Moving Picture World, Nov. 27, 1909, p.751. A seemingly necessary explanation of film footage and screening time — and what moving pictures can do with that time — and of their superior value per penny over live “talking stage” drama.
This relatively small theatre with its cheap admission price appears to have had no trouble drawing audiences. Its standard program was four films for the price of a nickel, pictures that in total would have made up perhaps about an hour and a quarter to an hour and a half’s worth of entertainment, including time for reels to be changed and musical interludes. But in October 1910 it showed a lengthy new film version (advertised as 3,000 feet in three reels) of the widely travelled play (originally a book) Uncle Tom’s Cabin, including “some of the best known and capable actresses on this continent,” with the pictures “life like in their realism.” The theatre was overwhelmed with traffic, and in an ad two days later Pappas offered six motion pictures, with an apology: “The management are sorry they were unable to handle the great crowds this last two nights, that wanted to see Uncle Tom’s Cabin, but they have arranged this great show of pictures mentioned above for the disappointed ones.”
On Oct. 20 that same year, when the theatre was highlighting Under Two Flags, billed as “the first American picture of Pathe,” Pappas also took the trouble to explain: “Owing to small seat capacity and the enormous crowds that wish to see our show, we ask our patrons to come as early as possible and avoid having to stand. Remember we don’t open at 7 o’clock, we start at 7.” On Nov. 15 the management again expressed regret that the theatre could not “seat the great crowd last night” and encouraged film-goers “to come early when there is room.”
Examiner, July 7, 1911, p.1. Pappas looks for a “smart young girl” to sell tickets.
E.J. King, from Winnipeg
After the middle of November 1911 the Princess theatre ads disappeared from their prominent place on the Evening Examiner’s front page – the last advertised feature was the Edison company’s The Three Musketeers (1911) – and shortly after that Pappas sold the Princess to E.J. King, formerly of Winnipeg. The word was that King had a “wide experience in the business” in Winnipeg and other cities, and “an association with the best film houses.” With this new management in place, the announcement said, “the Princess will be conducted along entirely new lines.” It would be open afternoons and evenings, with an admission price of five cents.
On Thursday, Dec. 7, the Princess offered a vaudeville act, the Turner Bros Comedy Acrobats, along with the “Greatest Baseball Story ever seen on a Picture Screen,” Hal Chase’s Home Run (1911), at 1,000 feet. As one advertisement put it: “A corking Kalem comedy drama, in which the leading role is played by the famous First Baseman and Manager of the New York American League Team, including a stirring baseball game.” King remodelled the Princess “throughout” — which, if true, would have been for the third time in its two-year history — and promised to show “4,000 feet of the best film” daily.
Evening Examiner, March 21, 1912, p.7. Appealing to the citizenry of Irish origins. On Friday afternoon a “large audience . . . crowded every section of the theatorium.” It was a big deal to have a film “in two reels” — the age of the longer “feature” had arrived.
Examiner, April 12, 1912, p.1.
Examiner, April 25, 1912, p.1.
Edward Barton, an “accomplished” baritone brought in from Toronto, was “engaged at a big salary.” When he first appeared in March his illustrated song “was greatly enjoyed by record attendances, who demanded encores vociferously every time, hundreds joining in the chorus and feeling happy.”
King had special programs for the Irish and Scottish settlers in the city. The U.S. film Shamus O’Brien (1912), for instance — “presenting an exciting incident in Ireland’s struggle for freedom” — was released just three days before St. Patrick’s Day and was all too much for an exhibitor in a town with solid Irish connections to pass up. Just to be on the safe side, in this case King added a “Big Matinee for Ladies” and offered children under five years of age free admission, if accompanied by an adult, on Friday afternoon.
Like managers at the other theatres, King also offered the premises for special Sunday events (given that motion picture exhibition was prohibited that day).
Review, June 7, 1912, p.8. “The People’s Amusement House” — also known in some newspaper entries as “the poor man’s theatre” — serves up “the most spectacular production ever put on exhibition” — in four reels. Along with the pictures were “orchestral effects and accompaniments.” From the U.S. branch of the French Gaumont Company, Written in Blood offered a view of French history from the time of Louis XVI. “It is a story written of war and depicts the severest conflicts and the direst circumstances that result from it,” said Moving Picture News. Strangely, the industry ads of the time gave it as two reels (not four as in the ad), with a release date of July 2, 1912. One account indicates that it was boiled down to two reels, or 2,000 feet, from its original length of three and a half reels. It appears that the Princess somehow obtained it before its official release.
Examiner, March 26, 1912, p.1. A fine mix, beginning with the compelling story of “Rollicking Rob” — and oh, to be there to hear Mr. Barton sing and the first-class orchestra play. Much to my disappointment, the number one film being shown was more likely the newly released (February 1912) Rollicking Red’s Big Lark, “A Magnificent Western Comedy in 1000 feet.” A search came up with no film with “Rollicking Rob” as part of a title — one more example of how a newspaper (or a theatre owner) can lead you astray.
Moving Picture World, Feb. 24, 1912, p.646.
Examiner, March 1, 1912, p.1 Saturday “forenoon,” appealing to “ladies” and children, but the “gentlemen” had to pay.
Fred Sanderson takes over
When a local man, Fred Sanderson, took over as proprietor towards the end of July 1912, he promised (in a familiar fashion) to operate the motion picture house “on an improved and thoroughly up-to-date plan in every way.”
Morning Times, May 6, 1912, p.1. Advertising only the number of feet.
Sanderson would be one of those many people who moved abruptly into this new field and then just as quickly left it behind. His father, an Irish immigrant, had come to Canada in 1883 and found work as a labourer. Fred, born in 1884, was a “factory hand” by age seventeen. His wife, Emma, was also of Irish stock and born in Ontario. Employed as a driver at the Dominion Express Company, by 1911 Fred somehow had the capital to help him take over the Princess. (He lived at 412 George St., a few doors up from the Red Mill and across the road from the Princess.)
In May 1912 Sanderson also took over the Norwood Hotel (known as the Norwood House) in that town about 32.5 kilometres east of Peterborough. He put his son in charge of the Princess for a short while but soon, sometime that summer, brought in Herbert Clayton (who was already running the Red Mill) to manage things. Sanderson’s hold on the Princess continued only until May 1913, when he sold the theatre to Roland Glover, managing director of the Examiner. After that Sanderson worked at Quaker Oats, and by 1921 he had joined a local undertaking firm.
Motion Picture News, Feb. 2, 1924, p.534. Anatomy of a mirror screen. This type of screen, which came into use in 1909—10, was made of plate glass — bulky and heavy as well as expensive — and advertised as making pictures bright and clear, “marvelously” distinct, “lifelike to the eyes,” and being especially suitable to a deep, narrow movie house. The mirror screen was in vogue mainly in the 1910s and 1920s.
In October 1912 the Princess had once again closed down briefly for renovations, most notably installing a new “mirror screen” — said to be the first in Peterborough, at a cost of about $1,000 — to replace the old canvas sheet that had been stretched across the front of the theatre. The films shown would have become much more dazzling.
The Princess also shifted its emphasis back to vaudeville – “all acts coming directly from the United States” – and upped its admission price to ten cents (children with adults five cents) afternoons and evenings, in line with the Royal Theatre, which for the same price had “Vaudeville and Big Two-Hour Picture Show.”
The Princess even offered free admission to children under fifteen years of age on Monday and Friday afternoons: “We are anxious to provide the little folks with every opportunity to participate in this cheap and instructive form of amusement.” It also announced a grand policy: “to secure pictures of comedy, scenic and educational value, believing it will be particularly instructive to children as well as adults, and to eliminate every photoplay of an excitable or questionable nature, as well as to secure vaudeville acts of a clean, entertaining character.”
Once again, self-censorship was the norm; but that was simply good business in a mid-sized city. As for encouraging children, according to law it was illegal for those under fifteen years of age to enter the theatre unattended by an adult, which meant that, if the children came, paying customers would have to come along too.
Examiner, Nov. 8, 1913, p.1. Three theatres all run by Herbert Clayton.
The Examiner’s Roland Glover
It appears that when Glover took ownership in May 1913 he retained Herbert Clayton as manager.
Examiner, Oct. 11, 1913, p.1. The three theatres, all managed by Clayton. In January 1914 Clayton was showing 65 reels of film per week at his three theatres.
Now, under Glover, the Princess would be run “as a modern up-to-the minute silent picture house” — eliminating vaudeville. The theatre also took a slightly different tack, appealing to potential male patrons: “Will you appreciate the efforts of your wife on that dinner, to-day. Then show it by taking her to the Princess Theatre.” People who bothered to get out and go to the Princess would “see a cleaner and more affordable hour. You’ll be treated right! Only a nickel but worth a quarter.” This indicates, then, that audience members tended to drop into the theatre for only an hour or so.
. . . and Herbert Clayton
In October 1913 Clayton officially purchased the Princess from Glover, as usual promising big improvements, including (once again) “high-class vaudeville.” He purchased a new Bell upright piano (made in Guelph, Ont.) from the local Peterborough Music Co. He would have the latest illustrated songs (a feature that was in its dying stages).
As the Review announced, Clayton now had “full control and management of the three local picture and vaudeville houses in this city.” He used the Red Mill and Princess, facing each other from opposite sides of the street, as a double-barrelled attraction.
His theatres’ ticket prices varied between five and ten cents, depending on the occasion, but Clayton had a special five-cent special one day in January 1914, announcing in an ad for the Red Mill: “You can see for five cents 6 reels of the best pictures in town, and then walk to the Princess Theatre and see six reels of Feature High-Class Motion Pictures, making a total of 12 Reels[,] 12 for 10¢.” He advised his patrons to “Remember from now on that we have Two Motion Picture Shows in this Town that will be only 5¢ that will allow just as much as you can see for 10¢. Come early to secure seats.” With his theatres, Clayton said, he had “the biggest combination in Canada.”
The theatres were clearly reaching out to special audiences, and not just the Irish and Scots. On March 14 the Princess screened The Riot (1913), which it advertised as “a pathetic Nestor Mining Drama” that “every good union man” should attend. In the film (according to an advertisement), “A little child saves a capitalist from the brutality of a mob of miners made furious by a ‘lock-out.’” Apparently, until he was rescued the mine owner was chained in a room without food or water. The child had gone hungry because of the mine closure. It is “a labor story with a new angle,” a short notice said – but given this scenario perhaps the Peterborough workers would not have been completely taken with it.
Examiner, March 7, 1914, p.1.
Examiner, March 7, 1914, p.13. A union-friendly Clayton.
Examiner, Jan. 10, 1914, p.1.
With three theatres on George St. managed by Clayton, the Princess and the Royal highlighted and exchanged vaudeville acts – from Irish entertainers to the ubiquitous and racist minstrel shows — and the Red Mill offered unnamed “lecture pictures.” The films brought in and changed almost daily were advertised by “reels” rather than name. Around this time the Princess also made a few renovations, with “all new seats” and “lots of room to be comfortable.”
Examiner, May 18, 1914, p.9.
Review, Dec. 17, 1914, p.8. The last ad for the Princess. Its program the following week was not advertised.
A small fire changes everything
But then just before Christmas 1914 the Princess faced a severe setback. On Friday, Dec. 18, Clayton announced that he had just signed for “a series of photo plays” that would include filmic reenactments of the popular stage dramas of the day — including many of the “players who have visited Peterborough.” One of those players, announced for Saturday, featured the return, on screen, of “Mrs. Wadely” [sic] a British-born actress with local roots. Her maiden and/or stage name was Barbara Tennant, and her husband was Harold Wadley, who had been a manager at the city’s Brinton Carpet factory from about 1907 to 1911. Occasional newspaper stories proudly referred to her as having once lived in Peterborough, although the history is obscure. She had travelled over to North America from England with the well-known British group, the Ben Greet Players; they had appeared at the Grand Opera House in November 1907, which was perhaps when she was first introduced to the city. In February 1911 she had returned to town to present her own Shakespearian recital at the Grand Opera House; she had also appeared in a film at the Princess in August 1912.
But the films announced in mid-December 1914, including the one with Mrs. Wadley, were never shown. Shortly after eleven o’clock on the evening of December 23 a stream of smoke was spotted, “curling” out of the basement of the Lech furriers store at no. 413. With the alarm raised at the fire station, the “whole brigade” charged over to George Street and discovered the source of the smoke – and a very lively blaze – next door to Lech’s, down in the front part of the theatre’s cellar.
Less than an hour earlier the proprietor, Clayton, had been “the last man to fix the furnace and empty the ashes” before closing up for the night. After he left, hot ashes had ignited a pile of firewood near the furnace. Had Clayton been somewhat careless? Had his mind been elsewhere that night?
Examiner, Dec. 24, 1914, p.7.
A large crowd gathered on the street to watch as the theatre filled with smoke and the chief and his men laid down water hoses through the back and front doors of the building. The firemen gained access to the cellar through a small trap door and chopped a few holes in the main floor to get the hoses running down towards the fire. They extinguished the blaze before midnight. The damage was not severe, amounting to only 60 or 70 dollars’ worth – the ceiling of the cellar was badly charred, and some of the joists and flooring would need repair. It could have been a lot worse. The “prompt action of the brigade prevented the remainder of the block from being in danger from the spreading of the flames,” stated the Examiner. “The theatre is uncomfortable in losing the holiday business.”
Clayton said he was relieved that his “motion picture machine” and a quantity of the very flammable films were not harmed. But he “felt very keenly the blow of his business . . . especially at a time when they were anticipating a good patronage.” The building housing the theatre, owned by the Stenson brothers (Frederick and Herbert E., who had a boots and shoes store on George), was insured.
And then it becomes The Tiz-It: a “public institution”
The Princess remained closed for January and most of February. When Clayton, in partnership with one Lee Peters (a new arrival in the city as a singer of illustrated songs), reopened its doors on Saturday evening, Feb. 20, 1915, the theatre had a new and offbeat name, The Tiz-It.
Examiner, March 1, 1915, p.1. The connection between the theatre name and the foot-care product is speculative.
Clayton had formulated a strategy calculated to generate interest. Over the previous weeks the manager had combined with the Examiner in a contest to give the theatre a new name. “Get on your thinking cap,” suggested the paper. “Send in your name . . .” The lucky winner would get five dollars.
Out of some 500 names said to have been pulled in from such places as Welland and Hamilton, and as far away as New York City, a committee led by Clayton selected the winner: a Miss S. Thompson, of 649 George Street [sic, probably 651 George St., home of Sadie Thompson, a saleslady at Richard Hall & Son, and Peter Thompson], and her suggestion, “Tiz-It.” She might well have been inspired by an advertisement that was appearing regularly in those same months for a foot-care product called “Tiz.” In any case, she could collect her prize by dropping into the new theatre.
Talking Machine, Feb. 15, 1908, p.22. Another appearance of the name “Tiz-It,” this one with a connection to the amusement industry — a horn elbow part for a wind-up phonograph machine that plays cylinder records.
Daily Evening Review, Feb. 20, 1915, p.8. The name announced opening night.
Moving Picture World, July 7, 1914, p.7.
The “handsomely fitted” Tiz-It now had a new glass front and did away with a small arcade that had taken up some of its seating space. It opened with a crowded house, “good and comfortable seats,” a “first-class orchestra” (led by Mrs. Foster), and “high-class photo plays only.” The theatre, changing films every couple of days, was soon featuring a new fifteen-part action serial, The Trey O’Hearts (Universal, 1914), telling newspaper readers to “Watch the Examiner for the story.” The Tiz-It’s admission prices were five cents for afternoon matinees and ten cents for evenings (five cents for children), considerably less expensive than the 50 cents expected for cheap seats at a “big picture” such as Birth of a Nation at the Grand Opera House. On the musical front it continued, for a while, to feature “Mrs. Foster’s Grand Orchestra.” With the heat of the summer coming on, it also advertised “Ventilation[,] 2500 cubic feet of Fresh Air per minute.”
Examiner, March 25, 1915, p.7, with Mrs. Foster’s Orchestra.
Examiner, April 21, 1915, p.11. The same serial, Trey O’Hearts, also showed at the jointly managed Red Mill.
In March both the Examiner and Review carried an announcement that a “Mr. Lee,” of Toronto — identified as “a considerable property owner” — had taken a half-interest in the Tiz-It. The two were said to be planning to open a new theatre, capable of seating 700 or 800 people, “in the near future.”
Nothing more was heard of this new theatre; and little more of “Mr. Lee,” except for a news item in the Review in March that Messrs. Clayton and Lee had installed a “brilliant, illuminated sign” in front of the Tiz-It — the sign being “one of the largest and most striking on George Street.”
The entrance and the lobby of the theatre had been greatly improved, presenting “a most inviting appearance,” with wide swinging doors of glass. In fact, glass now dominated the front of the theatre, apparently (no photos of this stage seem to exist), along with “wood work of solid oak,” according to the Review of March 16. “At night this theatre is one of the conspicuous centres of amusement on George Street.”
In early April Lee and Clayton had a modern ventilation system installed. (Whether this is a case of “Mr. Lee” being mistaken for Lee Peters is unknown, except that Lee Peters appears to have been a musician first of all and seemingly not all that wealthy, as later events would reveal.)
Later that spring Clayton called on newspaper readers to help him with ideas for the “New Tiz-It” and its program, offering a dollar for a suggestion that could be taken up and implemented. “This is a public institution and for that reason we wish the public to have our theatre programme presented to suit everyone.”
On Wednesday, April 14, according to Clayton, an expensive ($200,000) photo play “broke all records at the matinee and evening performances,” with a large number of potential patrons having to be turned away.
Examiner, May 4, 1915, p.11. A bit Tiz-It ad, with Clayton’s name prominently displayed.
Lee Peters et al.
Soon enough, vaudeville or not, Clayton’s days as a theatre manager in Peterborough drew to a close. By the summer of 1915, without apparent notice, the singer Lee Peters had fully taken over (and was managing Clayton’s Red Mill as well).
Examiner, Sept. 4, 1915, p.11. Two theatres in the period as managed by Lee Peters. Every program of the era had at least one short comedy (and maybe more). Fatty’s Chance Acquaintance (Keystone, 1915), one of a long series starring the infamous but immensely popular Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, treated the local audience to 14 or 15 minutes of standard slapstick routines and characters, including an especially good water-fountain-soaking scene.
Around a half-year later — sometime in January 1916 — Peters also departed from both the Red Mill and Tiz-It.
Peters had somehow become entangled with the Allens, Jule and Jay J. — the rising movie theatre magnates who had established a nickelodeon in Brampton, Ont., in 1906 and expanded from there. From 1914 to 1919 they held the Canadian franchise for Paramount feature films before establishing a national chain of theatres (which would include the Allen in Peterborough). It seems that Peters might have been running the Tiz-It while in the Allens’ employ, but his remains something of a mystery.
A court case reported on Feb. 7 provides a glimpse of a double-sided dispute. The Examiner told of how one of the Allens (“John J. Allen,” undoubtedly a mistake for “Jay J.”) had sued Peters for $185 in wages; presumably Peters had left their employ leaving that much in work unfulfilled. Peters made a counterclaim of $200, stating that when he left his employment at the Tiz-It, Allen had “removed certain parts of the moving picture machine.” The Peterborough County Court judge, Huycke, awarded large amounts to both of the contestants (unfortunately the figures are not clear in the newspaper copy). Just how Peters was both working for the Allens and running the Tiz-It Theatre goes unexplained.
In any case, the Tiz-It was closed from around Feb. 16 to March 28. Indeed, its equipment had truly gone missing, because its reopening was delayed when a newly purchased machine did not arrive in time. The theatre also reassured patrons that in addition to a new projecting machine it had “made a special effort to secure a good orchestra.”
Examiner, April 14, 1916, p.11. With music by Miss Ethel Jones and C. “Blyth” (or “Blythe”).
The Tiz-It’s manager was now Mrs. Sarah A. Jones, possibly the first woman (and one of just a few) to manage a movie theatre in Peterborough; she was later followed by Charles Blythe (yet another singer). Employees around this time included cashier Viola Godfrey and operator William J. Allen (who would later move over to the Strand). The theatre continued to push hard to keep the audiences coming. “Many are the good things said about the show at the Tiz-It,” said a statement in late March 1916.
Examiner, June 3, 1916, with Miss Ethel Jones.
As of the second half of 1915 and early 1916, although the occasional singer was allowed to break out in song between films, vaudeville had virtually disappeared from the listings of the motion picture theatres – except for the Tiz-It, which continued to present live acts from time to time. In the heat of summer 1916 it tempted the city’s people with four film titles and “Singing and Dancing by Master Harold and Miss Ethel Jones.” In November 1916, in addition to its short films, the Tiz-It had “Mr. James Russel, who will give you an expert dancing act” — “The Man Who Can Dance.” Potential theatre-goers were urged to “come early to get a seat.” A couple of weeks later it featured the “Irish Comedian,” Tom Robinson.
Tiz-It manager and singer Charles Blythe, April 23, 1917. PMA, Balsillie Collection of Roy Studio Images, Bio 18254.
Several times the theatre had “the Jones children” — Ethel and Harold — perform; it would seem likely that they were connected to the manager, and possibly were her children. Once, in March 1917, it was “Miss Irene Jones,” who might have been another relation (or one of the standard newspapers typos). One news item reporting on an event in Millbrook said (perhaps with typical exaggeration) that the Jones children had “won fame all over Canada,” describing Harold as “the boy comedian” and Miss Ethel Jones as “the excellent singer.” That same event featured another Tiz-It stalwart, sometime manager Charles Blythe, who doubled as “tenor.”
Examiner, Aug. 19, 1916, p.13. Master Harold and Miss Ethel Jones and their singing and dancing.
Examiner, Nov. 3, 1916, p.8. Now with two projectors, so patrons would not have to wait between changes of reels.
Examiner, Dec. 5, 1916, p.11. “You must come early to get a seat.” To keep them coming: emphasizing serials, The Girl and the Game and The Diamond from the Sky.
Examiner, Feb. 23, 1917, p.6. A peculiar offering of “food” along with music and pictures.
The Tiz-It lasted just a little over two years, but memories of the theatre lingered on. According to an account years later, the Tiz-It featured “the heavy love scenes of the day, and with wild beasts galore.” The audience one memorable day included a “bare-footed youngster” (seemingly the writer of the newspaper article) who at the age of eight went to the Tiz-It to see his “first flickering picture” and “was terrified when a huge leopard slunk down from a tree.”
In 1917, boasting a four- or sometimes five-piece orchestra and a sense of “courtesy” for its patrons, the theatre promised “We have the Best Music and Pictures in the City” and “The Best Show in Town.” It often warned potential patrons to come early to get a good seat. In March 1917 it went all out hosting a benefit vaudeville concert for a returned soldiers club. But in truth it remained — despite the constant renovations over the years — a cramped, unattractive theatre offering the cheapest of fare, unable to compete with the other houses.
Examiner, May 19, 1917, p.19. A last-minute change in policy, but soon the doors were closed.
On May 19, 1917, the Tiz-It announced, perhaps somewhat desperately, that it was going to “Change Its Policy,” featuring films from the “Blue-Bird” (Bluebird Photo Plays Inc.) company, based in New York and associated with the larger Universal corporation. But its final ad appeared just a week later, on Saturday, May 26. The program featured The Three Godfathers (U.S., 1916), a Bluebird western starring Harry Carey, and, coming soon, Little Eve Edgarton (U.S., 1916), a comedy-drama with Etta Hall in the title role. In hopes of attracting an audience, the theatre announced:
“These feature Pictures are the very latest pictures released. The Tiz-It is offering you these big features for the price of 5¢ and 10¢. Ask anyone who has seen these Bluebirds if they like them and you will then be assured that they are the very best that has been shown in Peterboro. Come once and then you will be sure to come again.”
Examiner, Dec. 30, 1946, p.7.
Perhaps the small number of seats sold at a low price could not cover the bills or necessary renovations; for not long after that announcement the theatre closed down without fanfare.
Afterwards the site, which had for over seven and a half years housed the Princess and Tiz-It, became home to a succession of long-lasting restaurants: the Paris Cafe (Hum W. Hoy, proprietor); as of the 1950s, the Hi Tops Restaurant; and in the 2010s, Real Thai Cuisine. The motion picture theatre that once played such an important cultural role on the site was largely forgotten. Recent accounts of the historical building rightly recall the Chinese restaurants but make no mention at all of the Princess/Tiz-It.
When the Paris Cafe opened in March 1918 its space left little sign of what had preceded it: “The old Tiz-It Theatre has been completely obliterated, and its gloomy interior has been replaced by a degree of brightness and colour that first strikes the attention of visitors to the new cafe.”
George Street, looking southwest above Hunter Street, in the 1950s. The Hi-Tops Restaurant was once the site of the Princess/Tiz-It. A detail from a larger photo, PMA and courtesy Rick Mancini.
415 George N. in 2019.