PARAMOUNT THEATER DAYS 1929

PARAMOUNT THEATER DAYS 1929 - 1936

A new 4,000 seat palatial movie theater, the Toledo Paramount, was opened in the month of February 1929. Prior to the opening, a orchestra of 18 pieces was being recruited which seemed to be the thing I was looking for at the time. I don't remember the details, but somehow I became a member of this "pit" group and rehearsals took place several weeks before the opening. That gala arrived and I found myself launched into the life of a theater musician. I thought at the time, "why not try this and see how it goes. At the early rehearsals, tryouts were held for the post of assistant conductor. As the saying goes, "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread" and I was given the nod for this post. The personnel of the orchestra was recruited largely from the Toledo area, but a horn player and the first violinist were from Detroit. The violinist and I soon became good friends. Meyer Shapiro was his name. We had studied in New York at the Institute of Music Art. The conductor, Willy Stahl, came from New York were he had conducted in movie houses there. The first few weeks were hectic ones with four shows a day and five on Saturdays and Sundays. Each show started with an orchestral overture followed by a newsreel, an organ interlude and finally a 30 to 40 minute state show during which time the orchestra was on stage as the stage band, accompanying the dances and singing. When the master of ceremonies was off stage, I had to take over the conducting responsibilities if any. As a pit orchestra, the manager insisted it play the newsreel even though a sound track was available (this was the early days of sound movies). The massive conductor's podium was equipped with all sorts of paraphernalia from the silent movie days, dials indicating the speed of the film being run, a telephone and a series of buttons to raise and lower the pit floor from the bottom where doors led to the under stage orchestra room, to the top which was for the orchestra in full concert. With these distractions I, at times, had to take over the conducting duties. I shall never forget my baptism in that role. With the pit descending from having been in full concert position, the conductor beckoned to me to take over, to provide the sound for the newsreel that is. My heart sank with misgivings for I had never done this before. The little details like holds, cutoffs and preparatory beats, were simply not in my bag of conducting maneuvers. Then too I had to press the right button to raise the pit to newsreel position with the result that I let it rise too high, all the while trying to pay attention to the conducting chore. The humiliating climax occurred at a prominent entrance on an upbeat. Here I learned the hard way that there must be a preparatory beat but I didn't give one. The result was terrific cacophony for about 16 bars. The strings had picked up my unprepared beat, but the brass had not and were one beat behind. After the show the manager came back stage mad as anything saying, "What the hell were you guys doing?" Apparently someone stuck up for me, assuring the management it would never happen again. And it didn't. I had learned my lesson, but fast, a beautiful example of "on the job" training. Another example raised it's capricious head when I was trying to make the stage band go faster, but to no avail. The observant master of ceremonies, Paul Spor, came up to me and whispered in my ear, "Karl if you want the band to go faster, you'll have to beat faster." Enough said, I had learned another basic lesson.

For the first month of my theater experience, I had tried to continue with classes at the University with Maxine but, in the month of March I realized it was impossible and consequently dropped out. I also decided to "drop out" of any future with Maxine. I was greatly aided in this decision by a letter I received from her mother. In it she stated that Maxine was being hurt by my ambivalence in the matter of our relationship and please wouldn't I "make up my mind." I realize in retrospect that the cause of my feelings was the date she had in Paris with the young man she had met on the boat coming to Europe. In any case, I transmitted these feelings to her in an emotional session with the result that she packed up her things and left for Detroit where her mother was living. This was the solution to my dilemma which chance brought about. Call it Fate if you will for I felt I was being maneuvered into situations as in a Greek play. Looking back over the years, I can truthfully say that Fate has been good to me.

At the theater, month blended into month and several years rolled around. I was living back with my parents who had taken the Maxine episode in stride. I had saved a nice sum of money from my $85 a week salary (which I subsequently gave to my parents to help remodel their home) and my social life was confined to double dating; no more sentimental attachments for me. Maxine was a lovely girl only just not for me as I discovered almost too late. The 1929 stock market crash didn't seem to affect us, at least for the time being. The theater continued to attract good crowds but gradually business began to fall off and in May of 1932 this big movie house attraction closed it's doors to digest the new national situation, the deepening depression. Being footloose and fancy free, I took advantage of the "vacation to make a rather quick trip to Europe to my favorites, France and Germany. First I visited Andre Pech in Paris and Mme Simon who happened to have a room for me, and the Pirchs in Berlin. The father, Heinrich Pirch, was a clerk in the court house in Schoneberg (the same court house where President Kennedy later made his famous "Ich bin ein Berliner" speech. I asked him what he thought of Adolph Hitler who was much in the news. "Oh" he said, "We don't take him seriously." It was nice seeing the Pirch kids again and of course I had to visit old Mecklenburg on my way back to Paris where I received a letter from the orchestra contractor, informing me that the Paramount had reopened and that they would put in a substitute for me until I could return. Accordingly, my brief sojourn in Europe was over and I returned to the U.S. on the French liner, "Ille de France," and resumed my position in the theater. Earlier I had served as orchestra director for a few months with spotlight exposure as violin soloist on occasion with the proper clothes to match namely, Prince Albert coat for the afternoons and tails and white tie for evenings. This return to work lasted but a few months and by the end of the Summer I found myself out of a job. A few of us continued our contract with live music by getting together to play string quartets mostly in the basement family room I had fixed up in my parents home. We would play at all hours of the night and on one of these nights, about 2 o'clock in the morning, the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of a night letter, like a slow telegram, from Roland Fansher in Cincinnati, dated August 10, l932, telling me there was an opening for a violinist in the Albee Theater there and suggesting I come immediately if interested. This development caused me to think that the good fates were out there working for me. Of course I was interested and hopped in my parent's car, a "Whippet," and drove down to Cincinnati to see about matters at the Albee Theater. By the time I arrived there I discovered the position had been filled by a violinist from the staff orchestra at the Crosley radio station, WLW. What a neat circumstance for me to take advantage of, which is to say I became a member of the staff orchestra at WLW. I was the prime candidate to fill this position and fill it I did for the next several months until Crosley started to economize by trimming this position along with some others for financial reasons. I got caught in the "last one on, first one off," syndrome. The big event, which turned out to be the biggest in my life, occurred in the month of October while I was still on the WLW staff. A 'cellist member of the staff, Leonard Watson, who was also a member of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, gave me a ticket to a Friday afternoon symphony concert. Having no rehearsal at the radio station to prevent, I found myself in the lobby of the Emery Auditorium, milling around in the crowd, when I heard a voice saying, "Hello Karl Ahrendt." Turning toward the sound mentioning my name of all things, I encountered the vivacious blue eyed girl I had spoken to back in 1924 at the Conservatory. Her name escaped my at the moment but I said, "Hello Miss, ah------." "Christine Colley" said she, coming to the rescue. Immediately I was all eyes and ears and discovered she was there to see the conductor, Eugene Goosens about a solo appearance with the Symphony. The concert was about to begin and I said, "Come and sit with me" as there was a vacant seat next to mine. This she did and we listened to what later we considered to be our special possession Brahms' Fourth Symphony. During the intermission I explored the possibility of a date that evening to which she answered, "I can't, I've got a date. Well, break it," said I, "At least have dinner with me." This she could do, so she phoned her mother in Dayton, Ohio to call her date to meet her at the bus station. We had dinner together at the "Normandy" near Fountain Square after which I walked her to the bus station for the 1-1/2 hour ride to Dayton. I somehow knew then that this was the girl I wanted to marry. What an about face to my previous behavior.

Getting resettled in dear old Cincinnati occupied the first few weeks of my time. I found temporary housing near the Conservatory until I could move to the Haackes again only this time they had moved to another house with no rooming house responsibilities. But they did have one room they could rent to me so I moved in as one of the family. Bill Bell, tuba player in the Symphony, had married Agnes Haacke, the daughter, and all of us settled down to living in this comfortable house on June Street. One of the first things I did was to sign up for some courses toward a bachelor's degree at the Conservatory. Somehow I felt the need to do this because a degree was becoming ever more important. I didn't have a clear idea of what I wanted, but it seemed this was in the right direction. My collegiate diploma wasn't enough.

To solve my transportation requirements I arranged to rent a very nice Plymouth convertible from a man for paying the monthly finance charge. Needless to say, I made practical use of this car by making as many trips to Dayton, Ohio as possible. My release from the radio station gave added time for such activity. New Year's Eve of 1933 found us at a country club party, populated by a number of Chris' friends. After the party we returned to her parent's home in the wee hours of the new year for, what turned out to be a heart-to-heart talk over the turn of events. Of course I maintain I was feeling a bit "high" from the party and my defences were down, enabling me to boldly "pop the question." "Yes," said she and I was suddenly a happy, sober guy. I, with no job, didn't feel I could take on the responsibility of marriage until things looked brighter. Therefore we made a pact to wit: We would get married when next I got a job. This was truly an engagement but with no public announcement. Chris had been considering a Winter job in Florida with a girl's trio, which I tried to discourage, feeling she might meet some other guy down there. This feeling probably had something to do with my popping the question when I did. She sweetly decided to stay in Dayton and greatly relieved was I. Several weeks later she had the opportunity to be on a WLW radio program advertising Dayton automobile tires once a week. There she appeared as the Thoroughbred Dream Girl and was pictured on large posters, sitting on a Dayton Thoroughbred automobile tire. Her appearance at WLW gave us opportunity for Cincinnati dates. Occasionally I would be hired at the radio station as a substitute for Howard Colf, violinist in the Symphony. This continued into the Spring. In March, we all lived through the famous bank holiday proclaimed by the newly elected President, Franklin Roosevelt. At long last, what seemed to be a steady job, turned up. It was with a pit orchestra at the Liberty Theater in Covington, Kentucky, just across the river from Cincinnati. It was for three nights a week at $6 a performance, making $18 for the week. This amount was feasible to make marriage plans, strange as it may seem today. Hence we decided on the date, Saturday, the tenth of June and started looking for an apartment. With the money we had to spend, it was a difficult search. Finally, we found a furnished bedroom-kitchen facility in the Avondale section of the city, renting for $35 a month, 50% of our income. I moved in several days before our wedding and then headed for the big event. I say now that the three biggest events of the 1933 were: Hitler came to power, Roosevelt became President and the Ahrendts were married. Rev. Moser, father of Chris' close friend Bea Moser, pronounced us husband and wife. The ceremony was held at the home of Chris' parents, Blanch and Simeon Colley and the invited guests were a few good friends. My parents drove down from Toledo for the event and Chris' brothers, Justin and Russell, were there too. Mother Colley served a delightful wedding lunch, but we were too excited to notice many details of that momentous day. Time for the "get-away" arrived and we headed for Cincinnati. On the way we stopped for gas and some rice kernels fell out of Chris' shoe, attesting to the fact that we were indeed married. I vaguely remember going to Wasserman's outdoor beer garden for dinner that evening, but was too excited to eat much. I also vaguely remember deciding to go to work at the Liberty Theater that night of all nights. The excitement of my new situation carried me through somehow and after a few days, I was able to enter the world of tried and true citizenry.

After a few weeks, the job we were counting on at the theater folded and we found ourselves floating on the sea of the unemployed. To top that off I presented by new bride with another problem, a very painful attack of quinsy sore throat. Fortunately a doctor came to examine me and lanced the offending boil, resulting in immediate relief. In the Summer of 1932 I had had my tonsils removed by a doctor in Toledo who had not done a good job apparently for this quinsy boil developed. In any case, after a few days I was fully recovered and ready to look for a new source of income. This source turned out to be playing lead violin in a dance band being put together by a young Covington man by the name of Gene Burchell. Dance bands those days were often made up of 3 violins, 3 brass, 3 saxes and 3 rhythm. We rehearsed for a 4 week run at the Brown Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky with performing hours from ten till two every night. This necessitated giving up our Cincinnati bridal apartment at 711 Ridgeway and living in one of those furnished places in the downtown section of Louisville. Wives of the married men in the band were there too and we soon became a well acquainted group because we would have a party nearly every night. After the month was up, we all returned to Cincinnati as an unemployed group. Chris and I looked for a place to "hold up" for the Winter. Our efforts centered on the Bellevue Avenue section very close to the Conservatory were there were a number of rooming houses. With our zero budget imperative we found a one room apartment on the attic floor of an old brick house for $4 a week. A bathroom was shared with an elderly man across the hall. For a refrigerator we had a window box to catch the cold Winter air. To top everything off, my darling wife developed a slight fever every afternoon, a symptom suspiciously like incipient tuberculosis. This, coupled with our one room garret apartment living condition prompted me to attach a nickname to her, namely "Mimi," after a similar character in Pucini's famous opera, La Boheme. Fortunately, the result of some medical tests did not uncover any such dire condition and subsequently the fever disappeared. However, the nickname stayed as a term of deep affection. The rent for this "luxury" apartment was four dollars a week and we managed to get along on my slender earnings with a few hotel dance band jobs like the one with Murray Horton at the Alms Hotel and one with Buster Locke at the Gibson Hotel. Altogether it was a rather dreary, cold Winter of 1934 which saw the famous national bank holiday in March, giving the country a sense of better things to come. Our trusty Whippet started even in the coldest days (24 degrees below zero) giving us a sense of dependability. Concomitantly, my classes at the Conservatory proceeded apace and I drew nearer and nearer to my goal of a Bachelor of Music degree preparing to take that last year's dash for it's completion. The forces at the Conservatory took advantage of Chris' fine violin playing as a leading violinist in chamber music groups, broadcasting over national radio. She had studied two years at the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia and three years at the Julliard Graduate School in New York, a valuable experience for her in any good performing group. The school year 1935-36 arrived and, little by little, we had inched up the ladder of meaningful accomplishments and were able to take on the demands of scholastic endeavor. We had moved from our one room garret apartment to a two room apartment on Prospect Place in the Jewish section of the city, Avondale. This is attested by the fact that one day a rabbi came to the door of our apartment and asked my wife about synagogue attendance. "We're not Jewish" said she, "Oh, I thought you were" said he, "because there is a Mezuzah over your door." Ever since we have thought of it as a good sign for us.

The fact that we did not take a honeymoon when we were married, prompted us to rectify that particular deficiency, during the Summer of 1934, by taking a trip to the North Carolina mountain country, specifically to Chimney Rock and Lake Lure, concerning which we had heard very good reports. In fact, we agreed that any trip in our future lives could be considered a honeymoon. Arriving at our destination, we discovered that the hotel and fine restaurant on Chimney Rock was too rich for our financial blood. But there were a number of small places with dining accommodations available which were more affordable. We chose one and put up for the night only to experience at midnight the presence of bed bugs in this otherwise nice, clean place. Since everyone else in the house was soundly asleep, there was nothing to do but pack our things and search for another location. Fortune was with us and we found a somewhat larger guest house up the road. The guests were very friendly and all ate at a common table. I remember distinctly the great number of vegetables that were served at each meal, four or five at least. The food was good and the company delightful. We must have had a kind of newlywed aura, because one of the guests asked us point blank if we were honeymooning. One of the guests was a lawyer from Arkansas who treated the whole group to a huge watermelon party. Another quest was a college professor who confessed that his doctor had prescribed a regimen of the activity of dancing to rid himself of a psychological problem. Consequently, he was the dancing phenomenon of the party. Before returning home, we visited Chimney Rock and viewed the surrounding country from it's dizzying heights. Dizzying is the correct word because my bride of but one year had an attack of fear, so much that she found it impossible to move off the rock. Through much coaxing on my part she finally succeeded in crawling off that intimidating pile of stone. We finished our visit to the luxury hotel on Chimney Rock, vowing to return there one day when our ship came in. Lake Lure that Summer was avoided by families with children due to a polio scare.

It's difficult to remember the exact date, but the famous Paul Whiteman came to Cincinnati in 1934 to conduct the Symphony in a concert of his well known pieces, including the ever-favorite "Rhapsody in Blue." For this occasion he brought along several key players on saxophone and trumpet and for some reason I was hired to help augment the fiddle section which gave me a box seat to witness an interesting episode at the rehearsal. It seems there was a spot in one of the compositions which demanded the string bass players produce a sound known in jazz circles as "slap bass." Whiteman stopped the orchestra and addressed the string basses saying, "Your are not playing it right. It is slap bass. Does anyone know what I mean?" "You mean like this?" said a young voice in the last of the bass section and he proceeded to produce an admirable slap bass sound which produced an appreciative smile of satisfaction on the face of the conductor. Herr Kumschlag, the venerable first bass player of the symphony, looking thoroughly disgusted, proceeded to lift his bass, but it under his arm and walked off, exclaiming, "VE DON'T DO DAT.

The Summer of 1935 I played with the Gene Burchell band at the Restaurant Continental in the Netherland Plaza Hotel and finally traded Dad's old trusty Whippet for a 1932 Plymouth coupe which served us for the next years. Also during that Summer, Chris became a member of a girl's trio for a number of weeks in the cocktail lounge of the same hotel.

In the early Fall of 1935 we moved to an upstairs apartment nearby, vacated by our friends, Moritz and Leila Bomhard who were on their way to New York and Julliard, he to major in conducting and later on in life to become conductor of the Louisville, Kentucky Opera Company. Leila and Moritz separated after they went to New York. She went to Italy where Moritz sent her money to live on. We visited her in San Remo during the Summer of 1936. She was living in a complete fantasy world and would write letters to Mussolini advising him idealistically how to run the government. This attracted the attention to the security forces with the result that poor Leila was put in a mental institution where we heard she died. When she and Moritz were in Cincinnati they were poor as Church mice. With poverty staring them in the face she became pregnant, a condition she fearlessly confronted by having a self-administered abortion. One evening we were present with her at a party during which she went to the bathroom and aborted the fetus. The features were recognizable according to several women who saw it. Back to more pleasant narrative: When Moritz and Leila went to New York, we moved into their vacated apartment. Left behind was an old upright piano which served me well as an adjunct tool in the composition classes I was taking under the tutelage of George Leighton. Every applied major had to take private lessons in Composition. Under Leighton's direction I wasn't doing too well. I found his assignments stultifying which seemed to put a damper on any creative urge. Lo and Behold, my teacher took suddenly ill and died in the early Fall, leaving me high and dry. But there was a second composition teacher by the name of Karl Grimm to whom I was assigned. He proved to be just the right influence for me and my whole musical life was changed. I "took off" in compositional waters through Dr. Grimm's encouragement and I found a residue of creativity which I put to good use. The point of view which proved to be most beneficial for me was Grimm's remark, "Let's not dote on details, but rather start with the whole and work to the small." The result of my development for the year was a Sonata for violin and piano which won the chamber music prize for the year. I found I had some talent for music composition and had something to say. Fortunately that year I "hooked" on to a theater orchestra job at the Schubert Theater which paid $65 a week, a real bonanza for us. The orchestra played for the stage shows and was conducted by Ted Menge, a former conductor in the silent movie days. In the time between shows I took to the men's room and practiced my recital program, a kind of thesis requirement for the bachelors degree as a violin major.

Our thoughts now turned to a degree in composition and a school where I might profit by such a major. I came up with two schools, the University of Michigan and the Eastman School of Music. With Howard Hanson the head at Eastman, we decided we would go there. But first, because of the money we had saved, we began to set our eyes on a trip to Europe. I wanted to share with my bride the places and people I knew there. Third class on the big ocean liners was quite cheap, $60 to $70 one way. Room and Board in Europe wouldn't be much so we packed up and started out for New York, first stopping in Rochester, NY to interview with Dr. Hanson at Eastman, and carrying with us the precious manuscript of my Sonata for violin and piano. The interview went famously and we were promised a scholarship each after Chris and played by sonata with him which he sight read beautifully and amazingly because the piano part was certainly no pushover. We were accepted and given scholarships for the Fall semester, Chris for a bachelor's degree in violin and I for a master's degree in Composition on the strength of the promise of my sonata. Luck was with us all through this new endeavor. Nest we were to try our wings in Europe. Driving to one of the "bedroom" towns of New York in New Jersey where Chris' brother, Russell, lived we left our trusty Plymouth coupe in his garage and boarded the boat, Normandy for dear old Paris. There I introduced her to Mme Simon, my old landlady and my charming friends, the Pechs. Next we headed for England via a channel crossing to Dover with it's everlauded white cliffs. There we met an English couple, Mr. and Mrs. Donald Hill. We were in a restaurant and they overheard us wondering what the item, fish and chips meant, and they helped us out by explaining what it was. It seemed they were on their holiday and had just come from London in their car. When we told them we were headed that way, they offered to drive us there. Speak of warmth and hospitality, that was the gilt edged variety. Our intention was to visit the boyhood home of Chris' father in Dartford, Kent. We strapped our suitcases on the back of the Hill's car and we were off on our journey. When we arrived in Dartford we enquired about Fred Bolt, Chris' father's friend. Amazingly, we found this man and his wife. In true English fashion we were invited to have tea with them in their garden while the Hills obligingly waited in their car. We took a snapshot of Mr. Bolt which we showed to Chris' father upon our return to the US which prompted the following response: "But he looks so old." He failed to take account of the fact that it was at least forty years since they had last seen each other. After a pleasant time with the Bolts, we rejoined the Hills and headed for London where we went to the Royal Hotel in the Russells Square section. On the way we had a slight traffic snafu and a car bumped into the back of our car. The only damage was to our suitcase strapped there. The suitcase was old and decrepit anyway so we replaced it with a new one the next day. We said goodbye to our newly found friends, the Hills, and got settled in the hotel. The next day or so the sights of London occupied our time and energy. Eventually we had to plan a return to Europe and leave the country the Hills had so pleasantly introduced us to. The next month or so are a little bit hazy in my memory, but we did get to the south of France and Italy with Rome, Florence and Venice our main objectives. After that we headed north through the Brenner Pass and Austria, overnighting in Salzburg where Chris had a bout with a bedbug of two, necessitating waking up the chambermaid and complaining, but to no avail. Too bad that sticks in our memory of Salzburg, We had no tickets for the Summer Music Festival, but we did visit the Mozarteum and met there a number of Americans, one of whom we were to meet later in Athens, Ohio. At that particular moment in history, all of Europe was heading for Berlin and the opening of the 1936 Olympics. We did too, via Munich, Stuttgart and Wittenberg. While waiting in the Wittenberg train station, we saw trainload after trainload of excited Germans, many in "Tracht" (folk costumes), singing folk songs as the trains slowed down going through the station. We boarded a train bound for Berlin, a several hour ride. On the way we were surprised to hear a man going through the train, announcing room reservations in Berlin. I thought it prudent to avail ourselves of this opportunity for the man said hotel accommodations were impossible and the authorities had obtained extra sleeping rooms in private homes which he was making available. We were able to find our room easily in one of the Berlin Suburbs. Our first night there was particularly memorable because Chris had a run-in with some pesky bedbugs again. I don't know why they picked on her instead of me but such was the case. The next morning, the landlady, who seemed to have a very clean, attractive apartment, was flabbergasted and begged us not to tell the authorities. So we took leave of what might have been a comfortable place to stay and set out in search of another. We headed for a cluster of hotels opposite the Charlottenburg train station. Lo and behold we had no trouble getting a room. The next order of business was to watch the opening parade of the 1936 Olympics in all it's pomp and glory. We managed to find a good spot on a street near the Potsdammer Platz. In due time all the dignitaries passed by in open topped automobiles, Goebbles, Gohring and finally Hitler himself. He was smiling affably and we were interested to note his complexion was pink and healthy looking. We had no tickets for the Olympics so we visited points of interest such as Potsdam, the palace of old Frederick the Great and the Charlottenburg palace. In due time I introduced Chris to my relatives, the Pirch family. Next we headed for Paris via Mecklenburg where we had a tete a tete with my second cousins, Erma and Frederich Knaack. In Paris we saw the Pech family again and ultimately had to face the fact that our ocean boat departure was fast approaching. The boat this time was the Ille de France and the voyage was pleasant and uneventful. Back in New York we picked up our 1932 Plymouth coupe at Chris' brother's house and set our sights for Rochester, New York.