05/13/2019
“The Man Behind the Projector”
Madison - That was Jerry Spencer’s middle name. I bet many of you didn’t know that. There is a lot people didn’t know about the man behind the projector - the man that provided the escape for our imaginations to come alive.
I want to share with you - Jerry Madison Spencer.
The Page Theatre was initially constructed in 1939. Since then, the theatre has transformed from a 1975 real estate office to the 1982 Foxfire Theatre, and shortly after the Page Twin Theatre. After 30 years under Jerry’s management the Page Theatre consists of seven screens behind that vibrant pink building. He would remark, “The paint was intentional - people won’t forget this place.” An eighth auditorium was under construction.
The voice, “Hello, this is the Page Theatre,” heard when calling 743-4444 will forever play in my mind. The phone line was hot every weekend and this voice was heard thousands of times.
But what people didn’t see was the image of Jerry making those recordings. Those were a real hoot, sometimes taking more than two takes to avoid any profanity.
It was important to Jerry that, “The business comes first.” He would repeat “this place comes first” when he felt an employee’s heart wasn’t committed. We all immediately learned we didn’t want to disappoint him. And he made sure the business came first - with the careful attention to detail, and ensuring the popcorn would be popping before customers arrive. He often said, “That smell, that’s what sells the corn.”
Time and time again - he would play a show for just one person...a scene you wouldn’t find at the bigger theaters. The theatre would stay open on every holiday and during the worst days of winter.
Of course, while the many of you may have been kicked out, shhh’d or lectured for talking, CELL PHONES, or whatever he didn’t like on the surveillance cameras ... he saw you grow up. He gave you a place to be a kid.
He would often share off the wall humor, followed by a snicker and the sight of peering eyes over the edges of his thick glasses. He would tell me, “It was a place for the kids to come, so their parents could make more little monsters.”
He knew what the people wanted. It was important to keep people coming back and not “running off to Harrisonburg or Front Royal.” Keeping the prices right, showing first-run films, and delivering high quality sound and digital imaging was important. He knew individual customers’ orders. He often made movie recommendations to the “regulars.” But he too recognized that “Hollywood doesn’t make the movies like they used to...there’s no creativity anymore.”
Above all, Jerry reminded us all that there is no substitute for hard work.
He had been a produce manager, a painter, an electrician, and a theatre manager to name a few. He always told me, “He was always looking for jobs to make that extra buck...you don’t see that with the youth of today.” He would say he started working, “The day he could push a mower, at age 14.”
I learned quickly there were few jobs I could get paid to do my homework. Jerry valued my education. He even allowed me to help, “as much as I could,” building some of the auditoriums with other co-workers. Nowhere else could I see a theatre built from the ground up.
The co-workers, some of my best friends, were guilty of playing pranks. Whether it be lowering his desk chair before he sat down or calling his phone and dialing numbers on the recording. He knew what we were doing. But rather than firing us on the spot he would just grin and peer over those glasses.
It is true, Jerry was not a fan of change. But he recognized necessary change. I never thought that the pen and paper-type writing Jerry would be publishing ads on GoDaddy and mastering a Dell. It was remarkable what Jerry did. But he did it for you.
Jerry did whatever it took to keep the doors open one more day.
After the shows ended, Jerry made the habit of pouring a pink slushee into the same coffee cup before examining the night’s grosses. This was a nightly ritual before cleaning every auditorium by hand. The secret was a leaf blower.
Each Friday and Saturday night, Jerry would comment either, “This was pretty good, yup pretty good .... or geeee (in a high pitch sound) tonight bombed.” But we knew it was a good night, when he would serve us pizza.
He gave many of my friends, co-workers, and even my mom a job. Like you all, we were his children.
I spent many hours at 33 E Main, learning from Jerry - lessons I am grateful for and too many to list here. He lived a fascinating life and had the stories to show for it ... stories he would tell me over and over again. He’d ask me, “Have I told you this before?” ... and I always replied, “No,” because I saw that same enjoyment on his face every time he began to tell the story.
Through high school, undergrad, law school, and after, I worked for Jerry. I can honestly say that he was a boss second to none. My friends would often give me a hard time about, “Who leaves college on the weekend to go home and work?”...or “Who wants to work on a holiday?” But looking back - I wouldn’t trade those memories with Jerry for anything.
As the lights went down, surrounded by knights in shining armor or Egyptian relics, it made you forget you were in a theatre.
Jerry was committed to people, young and old. And in all of these efforts you were there - all of you.
I realize that as individuals we can't just look back, that we must look forward.
May Jerry’s legacy shine as vibrant as the smiles of the scores of friends and patrons who were so thoroughly entertained year after year. A brightness so fine that shows there is hope and there is a light for the way of the future.
So I join with you all in remembering Jerry Madison Spencer — whom everyone will miss — that his legacy must be sustained; that it must be continued.
When I think of Jerry Spencer, I think of Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep."
Like in Frost’s poem, there were things that he must yet still do before his life can be finished. And what he accomplished by himself are what only teams of people would ever dream of achieving. His on the go mentality always made me feel like I can do more, I can accomplish more. It is true - his dreams were born out of that hard work and that vision did not die on 11 May 2019.
All that I hope to be, can be attributed to Jerry. You will forever have a place in my heart and in the heart of this community.
For a native of Ettrick, Virginia - You made Luray a better place.
Friend, I miss you dearly and I thank you,
J. Parker Gochenour
