110 PUNCHMAGAZINE.COM In the summer of 1925, this neighborhood movie palace opened to great fanfare. The mayor gave a speech. Reginald Denny, star of that night’s motion picture, made an appearance. The newspapers applauded the building’s modern ventilating system, remote-control switchboard system and crushed silver curtains. They marveled at its walls and ceiling coated in GreekAssyrian paintings and made note of the maid in attendance in the “women’s retiring room.” These days, you won’t be greeted by an attendant when you visit the washroom, but you’ll still witness décor identical to that of opening night. This hasn’t always been the case. By the time the ’80s rolled around, the Stanford Theatre had spiraled into disrepair. “It was a ramshackle, falling-apart, poor old skeleton of a theatre,” describes Cyndi Mortensen, general manager at the Stanford Theatre and the Stanford Theatre Foundation (the nonprofit that runs it). As it bounced from owner to owner, the elaborate GreekAssyrian details were painted over, the organ removed. The layer of grime thickened, the seats rusted. Gone were the days dancers, ventriloquists, acrobats and other performers traveled to entertain in vaudeville acts accompanying the movie. Before long, the theatre was reduced to screening secondrun action flicks for 50 cents (a dime cheaper than ticket prices here over half a century earlier). Fortunately, that’s when David W. Packard, the son of one of HewlettPackard’s co-founders, burst onto the scene. After beloved singer, dancer and actor Fred Astaire passed away in 1987, Packard rented out the theatre for two weeks to commemorate every movie the star ever made. His modest goal was getting at least 50 people to ABOVE (left): Stanford Theatre in the 1930s. OPPOSITE: General manager Cyndi Mortensen with Stanford Theatre’s Mighty Wurlitzer organ. HISTORIC PHOTOGRAPHY: COURTESY OF PALO ALTO HISTORICAL ASSOCIATION
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