And the skirts became knee high,
When a lady's hair was bobbed in boyish fashion,
When the Charleston was the rage,
And we read on ev'ry page
How Capone shot rival thugs without compassion,
When the seas were our frontier
And we had no gnawing fear
That the world's affairs would ever grow quite tense,
When Cal C., who couldn't lose,
Said: "To run, I do not choose,"
And when blonds were much preferred by all the gents;
When John Gilbert, Theda Bara
And the "it" girl (name of Clara)
Would lend glamour to each motion picture plot;
When the experts stipulated
That depressions were out-dated
(There would always be a chick in ev'ry pot),
When Bill Tilden, Grange and Ruth
Bobby Jones and Albie Booth,
Set up records one could never break, we feared;
When we thought it was no sin
To be guzzling bathtub gin--
That's the moment when our much-prized Fox appeared.
There were movies by the score,
Vaudevillian acts galore,
We'd enjoy each funny show (it seemed so clever),
Ev'ry play was up to par,
If it had some glam'rous star,
Why, we looked upon the Fox as ours forever.
Ills we thought could not be cured,
Troubles, cares that we endured
When depression hit this land and brought real need
We would banish for a while
When we'd sit, relax and smile
At the Fox, where wholesome fun was guaranteed.
Yes, since nineteen-twenty-nine,
When it first put up its sign
And revealed its rich and glittering decor,
The Fox has meant to us
Something truly fabulous.
But alas, it won't be with us anymore.
The end is drawing near,
Business experts make it clear
That this theater is really out of date.
And it saddens each PV
That so-called efficiency
Has condemned the Fox to such a horrid fate.
At this anniversary
(Four and thirty years 'twill be
That this place has cast its foolish, fab'lous spell)
PVs crowd the famous Fox
And from gall'ry seat to box
They salute it, as they fondly say, "Farewell",
Merrill Ten Broeck Spalding
