kind of addicted to basketball.”
“What about your car?” Mallory asked. “Isn't it still at the Bermans’?”
“I'll catch up with all of you later,” he said with a wink. “That way, Carly will never even know that I spent the evening watching the Lakers take on her home team instead of watching a rerun of the Rejuva-Juice story.”
“Have fun,” she told him, not letting on that shewas disappointed that she'd be sitting in the audience alone.
As she trudged up the stairs with all the other attendees, once again Mallory noted that, not surprisingly, Carly's audience consisted largely of in dividuals who had reached a point in their lives at which old age was no longer an abstract concept. But even in the case of those who appeared to have glided into middle age only recently, most had put at least some effort into looking younger than the number of candles on their last birthday cake would indicate. The women had colored their hair to banish the gray, and a few wore perpetually surprised expressions that said they were no stranger to facelifts. While fewer men were in the crowd streaming upstairs, the ones who'd turned out for the evening tended to be unusually trim, as if their way of warding off the ravages of time was by befriending a Nautilus exercise machine.
But she forgot all about the audience as soon as she walked into the opera house. It was much bigger than she expected, and considerably more grand. The thick velvet on the seats was a rich shade of red, as were the carpets and the curtain on the large wood-framed stage. Exposed beams covered the ceiling, which was painted the same deep blue as the walls. In back was a curved balcony bordered by a low wooden balustrade, its distinctive look a reminder that the theater had originated back in the days of the Wild West.
After Mallory found a seat, she remembered that she still had her guidebook in her purse. Opening itto the page she'd marked with a bright orange Post-it and labeled “Local Sights,” she skimmed the section on the Wheeler Opera House.
Like the Hotel Jerome, it had been built by Jerome Byron Wheeler. It opened in 1889, bringing culture to a town that was only ten short years away from attracting the very first prospectors. The interior included a grand stairway with a gleaming wooden balustrade, a retiring room for ladies, and hand-painted frescoes on the walls and ceiling.
The theater also featured state-of-the-art lighting, including an elegant handmade chandelier constructed of hammered brass and silver. It was covered with more than thirty lights, each one shielded with a flower-shaped shade. The curtain, made by a well-known opera house scenery painter from Chicago, was designed by two New Yorkers and featured the Brooklyn Bridge spanning a river crowded with ships from all over the globe.
During its first five years, the Wheeler pre sented concerts, lectures, vaudeville shows, and Shakespearean plays. But after the silver crash of 1893, Wheeler went bankrupt. What hurt most was losing his crown jewel: the opera house. It remained standing, but its productions became considerably more modest. Instead of concerts and plays, it hosted events such as town meetings in which locals no doubt bemoaned the fall of their beloved town.
Then, in 1912, two major fires ravaged the Wheeler. While electrical problems caused the first, the second, which occurred only nine days later, wasattributed to arsonists. The flames were so intense that they melted the famous chandelier.
It wasn't until the 1960s and 1970s that the opera house was restored, and a crystal chandelier was added. In 1984, more extensive restoration was completed, and the Wheeler Opera House was finally returned to its former glory. Once again it became an important cultural center, featuring a variety of performances just as it had in its original glory days: opera, ballet, concerts, Broadway plays, films, and lectures, including the one that Carly Cassidy Berman, one of
“What about your car?” Mallory asked. “Isn't it still at the Bermans’?”
“I'll catch up with all of you later,” he said with a wink. “That way, Carly will never even know that I spent the evening watching the Lakers take on her home team instead of watching a rerun of the Rejuva-Juice story.”
“Have fun,” she told him, not letting on that shewas disappointed that she'd be sitting in the audience alone.
As she trudged up the stairs with all the other attendees, once again Mallory noted that, not surprisingly, Carly's audience consisted largely of in dividuals who had reached a point in their lives at which old age was no longer an abstract concept. But even in the case of those who appeared to have glided into middle age only recently, most had put at least some effort into looking younger than the number of candles on their last birthday cake would indicate. The women had colored their hair to banish the gray, and a few wore perpetually surprised expressions that said they were no stranger to facelifts. While fewer men were in the crowd streaming upstairs, the ones who'd turned out for the evening tended to be unusually trim, as if their way of warding off the ravages of time was by befriending a Nautilus exercise machine.
But she forgot all about the audience as soon as she walked into the opera house. It was much bigger than she expected, and considerably more grand. The thick velvet on the seats was a rich shade of red, as were the carpets and the curtain on the large wood-framed stage. Exposed beams covered the ceiling, which was painted the same deep blue as the walls. In back was a curved balcony bordered by a low wooden balustrade, its distinctive look a reminder that the theater had originated back in the days of the Wild West.
After Mallory found a seat, she remembered that she still had her guidebook in her purse. Opening itto the page she'd marked with a bright orange Post-it and labeled “Local Sights,” she skimmed the section on the Wheeler Opera House.
Like the Hotel Jerome, it had been built by Jerome Byron Wheeler. It opened in 1889, bringing culture to a town that was only ten short years away from attracting the very first prospectors. The interior included a grand stairway with a gleaming wooden balustrade, a retiring room for ladies, and hand-painted frescoes on the walls and ceiling.
The theater also featured state-of-the-art lighting, including an elegant handmade chandelier constructed of hammered brass and silver. It was covered with more than thirty lights, each one shielded with a flower-shaped shade. The curtain, made by a well-known opera house scenery painter from Chicago, was designed by two New Yorkers and featured the Brooklyn Bridge spanning a river crowded with ships from all over the globe.
During its first five years, the Wheeler pre sented concerts, lectures, vaudeville shows, and Shakespearean plays. But after the silver crash of 1893, Wheeler went bankrupt. What hurt most was losing his crown jewel: the opera house. It remained standing, but its productions became considerably more modest. Instead of concerts and plays, it hosted events such as town meetings in which locals no doubt bemoaned the fall of their beloved town.
Then, in 1912, two major fires ravaged the Wheeler. While electrical problems caused the first, the second, which occurred only nine days later, wasattributed to arsonists. The flames were so intense that they melted the famous chandelier.
It wasn't until the 1960s and 1970s that the opera house was restored, and a crystal chandelier was added. In 1984, more extensive restoration was completed, and the Wheeler Opera House was finally returned to its former glory. Once again it became an important cultural center, featuring a variety of performances just as it had in its original glory days: opera, ballet, concerts, Broadway plays, films, and lectures, including the one that Carly Cassidy Berman, one of
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