The Golden Age of Indianapolis Theaters

16. The Rest of the 1930s Survivors

16 TheRestofthe 1930sSurvivors Anationwide depression failed to chase burlesque theater away from downtown Indianapolis. When the decade began, three houses were offering burlesque shows. The Mutual had been providing them ever since it opened as the Majestic (130 S. Illinois Street) in 1907. The Rialto (17 Kentucky Avenue) had been providing such entertainment off and on since opening as the Family in 1908. The Colonial (later the Fox) theater was more coy about its offerings. Its newspaper advertisements didn’t use the term burlesque until the 1930s. The theater booked some of the leading strippers of the day. Enough customers attended to make it the prime burlesque theater in the city with a life that continued until 1961. The Rialto had disappeared by the mid-1930s. The Mutual lowered its curtain permanently in the early 1950s. During the Colonial’s long existence there is no evidence that any of its stage offerings were ever reviewed by any of the city’s daily newspapers. There were moments, however, when a burlesque house did make newspaper headlines. In July 1930 the Indianapolis Star reported that a local courtroom drew a maximum crowd when Miss Mildred Wood appeared before Municipal Court Judge Clifton Cameron. She had been arrested for “shedding too many clothes at a downtown theater” (the theater was not identified). Reportedly, she had offered to defend herself in court by wearing the attire under question. Judge Cameron promptly declared a delay in the proceedings before Miss Wood had a chance to disrobe. The Star article observed that “several rows of seats were emptied promptly as Facing. The Colonial (later the Fox, 240 N. Illinois Street) was the most fearless, shifting to burlesque from first-run films just when the early talkies were attracting big audiences. Bass Photo Company Collection, Indiana Historical Society. 167 their occupants began to file toward the door. The judge raised his voice: ‘And don’t come back. You won’t see anything when you do.’” Two days later when it was determined the defendant “bared the upper part of her body” during the show, the judge decided that wasn’t offensive and freed her. There was still no subtlety when it came to burlesque newspaper advertisements . For example, for a week in 1933 the Colonial (Fox) was hosting “a chorus of 20 beautifully, dainty, daring, dashing little devils.” Another week the featured performer was Little Egypt, “hotter than the desert sands,” and still another, “Paula Lewis outstrips them all.” These advertisements brought in customers, but they also continued to spark challenges periodically. In February 1934, Mayor Reginald Sullivan, after meeting with the manager, announced that nudity would be reduced to a minimum in future burlesque presentations. The manager was quoted in the Star as saying that the “girls will wear something to speak of in order to comply with a proposed new law.” 168 Just how long the new modesty measure was honored is questionable. In less than a year, the Colonial was promoting what it called “a mammoth stage show” starring “Olympia, daughter of the gods and her nudists,” along with “a host of California’s sun-tanned beauties.” Early in this decade the film industry, determined to head off growing criticism for offering “immoral material ,” adopted a code to assure the public of its wholesome intentions. It was felt that sound effects had taken films to a new level of reality and that some new prohibitions were necessary. Heading this new policy of “self-discipline ” was Will H. Hays, who was in his ninth year as president of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America. The attorney and former U.S. postmaster general was born in Sullivan, Indiana. What would become known as the Hays Code would, according to local newspapers, “affect directly the character of pictures shown in 22,000 theaters in the country which have an estimated audience of more than two hundred and fifty million persons served weekly by the The very month that the Hays Code went into effect, the Bandbox (119 N. Illinois Street) booked a film titled White Cargo. Theater advertisements proclaimed that it had been “banned by Will Hays but acclaimed by press and the public [and was] a drama of hot climes, hot tempers, hot romance.” It had been produced in England. companies which have given approval to the document.” A long...