Memories from the Valley Theatre

For many years, it was the tradition for the Hagens to host a free Christmas party with continuous cartoons and a visit from ol’ Santa himself. At the end of the cartoon marathon, all the kids got a net Christmas stocking filled goodies, such as walnuts in the shell, hard candy and perhaps an apple or orange. To my knowledge, Al Hagen personally funded the day’s activities. One Christmas stands out for its series of relentless failures.

In front of the theater seats was an area about 30 feet deep with hardwood floors, but no stage per se. To the right, facing the screen, a 4-foot section of flooring had been removed in order to put the gigantic Christmas tree through a hole in the floor with its trunk resting on the dirt floor in the unfinished basement below.

To get the tree inside each year, both emergency exit doors on the west side of the building were opened simultaneously. We bound the tree’s branches tightly so they wouldn’t rub and knock the needles off. With a lot of helpers and muscle, we positioned the tree and braced it, but it still needed decorating.

Al Hagen got a very long ladder (it may have been from one of the fire trucks that were parked in a garage addition to the theatre) and placed it against the west wall. He ascended about 6 feet and started decorating. We were able to decorate quite a bit from the floor using smaller stepladders. Finally, Al reached the top about 20 feet off the floor.

But when he leaned out farther to place the tree topper, the ladder slipped and suddenly he was hanging on for dear life, feet on the rungs of the slanted ladder and bracing himself against the tree branches with his hands. We straightened the ladder and he joined us on terra firma.

At that time, Joe Hudock from Pennsylvania and Dave Algrin from California ran a shop called Dave and Joe’s Shirt Shop. The two fellows had a lot of talent and started their new business on a shoestring.

Hudock had been involved in the theatre in Pennsylvania and actually taught me a bit about the acting trade, which sort of helped me in my later career. He seemed a genius at stage dressing, so the two donated their time to help make a great Christmas “set” on the flat part of the floor of the theatre.

The set was a cabin-looking affair made of plywood and painted. It was a theater facade and built against the east wall of the theatre. The front and west side walls were constructed on hinges so the two walls could be opened to disclose a homey set with a big fireplace, a couple of rocking chairs and perhaps a picture to decorate the wall.

U.S. Marshal Bill Bouwens was “Santa.” He really looked the part and did a grand job. He was a stocky man who must have weighed 300 pounds; not the type one gives a hard time.

The plan was that we’d ring sleigh bells over the sound system during a cartoon we were playing for the Christmas movie and party, and then I would contact Santa by radio (actually the theater’s sound system) and tell the kiddies that a sleigh with eight reindeer and a jolly man in a red suit would soon arrive.

When the sleigh bells chimed, the plan was Hagen would cut the cartoon and shine a spotlight atop the roof where Santa would be standing by the chimney. As he started down the chimney, two elves were to open the two sides of the house and the kiddies would see Jolly Old St. Nick as he made his entrance via the fireplace.

To make the prop snow look real, Joe got several boxes of Ivory Snow soap flakes, added a small amount of water and took a wire whip and whipped the mixture to a thickness of whipping cream that we were to place from the eaves to the top of the roof and atop the rim of the chimney.

The first problem was that we started to apply the mixture by hand and soon my hands were red and itchy. We switched to rubber gloves and trowels for the application then before the soap dried we sprinkled isinglass “snowflakes,” which made it sparkle. Isinglass was used at the turn of the century into the 1940s to sprinkle on a Christmas tree to imitate snow — which it didn’t, but made our soapy “snow” sparkle and that did look very real.

My job was to escort the marshal below the fire department and through a side door that would take us through a maze of pipes and upright timbers behind the façade so the kiddies wouldn’t seeing ol’ Santa arrive.

I took Bill’s hand and tried to guide him, moving my hand from side to side in front of us, but still I walked into one of the upright timber poles holding up the fire department and gave myself a bloody nose.

The next challenge for this 98-pound usher, popcorn popper and gum scraper was to get Marshal Bouwen up a 4-foot step we’d made from a milk crate. Finally through the door, I started him climbing the chimney, which we’d re-enforced with two-by-fours that also made a natural ladder.

Trouble struck again when about halfway up, Bill’s heavy black belt caught on a protruding spike.

At the designated time, the theater goes dark, Hagen turns on the spotlight and directs it to the chimney so the kiddies could see Santa. Meanwhile I was frantically trying to unhook Marshal Bouwens’ belt to free him from his predicament while the Marshall panted and mumbled non-Christmas words.

In the end, when Hagen brought up the house lights Marshal Bouwens’ had to walk around the house because the hinged set walls wouldn’t open — though during rehearsals, they worked fine.

In our eyes, the day was a monumental disaster. This wasn’t the Christmas party we had hoped it would be. Dave and Joe, Al Hagen, Bill and me, we felt especially defeated by the problems with the set.

But the kids were just thrilled with Santa’s visit and Christmas socks filled with goodies and a free afternoon of cartoons.

With Al Hagen, disaster-to-disaster was sort of the way things went, but I cannot deny my contributions.

Donn J. Moyer grew up in the Matanuska Valley and worked at the Valley Theatre as a boy from 1948-51. He now lives in Tacoma, Wash.