Elevators and Operas

Yesterday, I had the privilege of being the closing keynote speaker at the Mississippi Department of Education's Elevate Teachers Conference 2024.  I was excited about this the minute I talked to the organizers not only because of the opportunity to share my platform but also because of where the event was taking place.

The MSU Riley Center has held a special place in my heart since childhood.  Originally, the buildings it occupies were both part of the Marks-Rothenberg department store.   Marks-Rothenberg had been a part of Meridian's history since the late 1800s.  In an effort to better the cultural life of Meridian (as well as market their own dress clothing no doubt), the owners built an entertainment facility next to their store.  The Grand Opera House was opened in 1890, and it welcomed traveling shows from all over the world.  

Then the age of movies came, and just a few blocks away, the gigantic Temple Theater opened as one of the lush movie palaces of that time.  Saenger, the management company running both buildings, wanted to repurpose the smaller, second-floor Grand Opera House and turn it into office space.  Fortunately, the original owners had built a clause into the lease that prevented the space from being used as anything other than a theater.  The battle between those two forces continued in the courts for a long time; meanwhile, the Grand Opera House was sealed up and abandoned.  Public access was cut off.  Stores went in on the first floor.  In all likelihood, the legal battle saved it.  Had it not been in that limbo, it probably would have gone the way of so many other grand spaces, gutted, revamped, partitioned, destroyed in the name of modern progress or the almighty dollar.  Instead, except for being used as storage by Marks-Rothenberg, it was mostly left alone. Many people forgot about it, and the theater dreamed its dreams alone until the late 1990s.

My connection to the opera house goes all the way back to my childhood, long before it was open to the public again.  When I was little, my mother would go to buy her work clothes and Sunday dresses at Marks-Rothenberg's department store. I divided my time between the time-honored little kid activity of playing in the racks of clothing and riding the elevator like it was some kind of very slow carnival ride.  The elevator was my favorite.  It was so old that it had no buttons for the floors.  Instead, it had a lever and required an operator, a wonderfully patient older woman who indulged me by letting me ride up and down with her while she dropped shoppers off at their destinations.  Fueled by a handful of Spree candy from the Lions International gumball machines right outside the elevator doors, I am sure I was a sugar-powered joy. 

While we rode, she would answer my questions and tell me stories.  My favorite one was about the closed-up opera house on the second floor.  How could tales of a secret theater fail to stir my fanciful mind?  At that point, all I knew about opera was courtesy of Bugs Bunny's revamping of The Barber of Seville and Wagner.  I absolutely believed that if I could just get in there, I would see someone in a horned helmet with a spear singing at the top of their lungs.  Every time I rode with her, I asked her if I could go see the opera house.  She would always smile and tell me that it was all locked up with no way in. I'm sure she was much relieved when Mom finished her shopping and I took my curiosity elsewhere.  

Time passed; I grew up; Marks-Rothenberg closed its doors.  I never quite forgot the opera house, though. Whenever we passed the shuttered building, I would look up at the upper floors as if somehow I might catch a glimpse of something, and I wondered again what it might look like inside.  As I was getting ready to graduate high school, serious conversations about restoring the building started.  The stairs to the second floor were rebuilt, and a local theater group started practicing and performing there.  A committee of people who loved the opera house began seeking public support and funding for some way to save the space.  I had a friend who was a part of that, and I got to see the space when they had it open for rehearsal.  

I remember walking in and seeing it in all its rough glory.  The ceiling was damaged.  The seats were gone.  The upper balconies looked absolutely unsafe.  Despite all that, it was easy to see that the "bones" were still there and still good.  Here was a great lady a little down on her luck, threadbare to be sure, but still beautiful.  There was still magic waiting to be rediscovered.

As so often happens with things like this, public opinion was divided.  Some people believed the space could live again; others called it a waste of time and money.  It became one of those projects that got mired in local politics for a long time.  Finally, Mississippi State University decided to take an interest in it and the fairly new Riley Foundation also stepped in. Together, they sheared through all the local nonsense and infighting.  Restoration of the old Marks-Rothenberg store and the attached Grand Opera House began.  In 2006, the newly-named MSU Riley Center opened, and since then, it has become the heart of a renewing downtown for the city.  

I remember walking into the Riley Center for the first time after the renovations were done.  I actually teared up when I passed through the doorway into the auditorium.  It was glorious, over the top in its Victorian red and gilt and blue. There was rich wood and multiple patterns.  The ceiling was a night sky.  A parade of muses glided over the stage, and in the center of the curtain, the delicately painted Lady smiled benevolently over us all.  Everything glittered and gleamed. 

For years since I've been back in Mississippi full-time, I've been going to convocations, professional developments, and concerts at the Riley Center. No matter what I've been going there for, and some of it has not been something I was particularly enthused about, I was always eager to see the place again.  Each time I've walked in, I've felt that joy and that odd sense of pride in the space.  In some ridiculous way, maybe because I have loved it for so long, it has always felt a little like home.

Yesterday, I parked Lucy in the garage, hefted my presentation tote bag overloaded as it was with everything I might need to survive and present, crossed the streets, and entered the Riley Center with anticipation of a totally different kind.  For the first time, I was going to be not the audience but an actual speaker on the Grand Opera House stage.  When I got there, nobody was in the theater. I think this is the only time I have ever been there completely alone. I walked slowly to the front and put my bag in one of the front seats.  Then I slowly climbed the stairs and looked around.  As beautiful as the theater has always been from the audience's view, I absolutely believe the best place to see it all is from the stage.  I stood for a long time and just let my eyes feast on it all.  As always, that special magic was in the air.

After I got the technical aspects of my presentation settled, I had time to wander around backstage and finally satisfy my curiosity about what was hidden behind the curtains.  I looked out the windows and sat on the sofas of all three dressing rooms.  I peered at all the equipment that was waiting for use during performances. I took a couple of really silly selfies.  It was all a bit surreal.  

Finally, it was time to step out and share my presentation.  I looked up, and all my former nervousness dissipated.  It almost felt like home.  The next thing I knew, it was done and I was headed back to my chair offstage.  I had spoken on the stage where so many greats have sung and played and performed.  While my speech is certainly the least memorable of that place's moments in the grand scheme of things, for me, the entire experience was the culmination of my childhood dreams.  I left in a state of happy disbelief.  

If I never get to give another speech anywhere, it is enough that I got to do it there.  I am always going to be grateful. So many wonderful opportunities have already come from being Teacher of the Year, and I know there will be others ahead, but this one has a very special place in my heart.  That little girl from so long ago with her handful of candy and endless curiosity has finally been appeased.