The Show Must Go On . . . and so must the T-Birds

Wednesday, Sept. 29 -- Miami, Okla.

And now we tell you a tale of blood, sweat and tears. Not the band of the same name, but an exceptional example of what a community can do when its residents want to preserve an important part of their heritage. By 10 a.m. today we were on tour at the Coleman Theater on Route 66 in Miami, which was built in 330 days and began life in 1929 as a venue for vaudeville and silent movies. The opulent theater was built by wealthy lead-and-zinc baron George Coleman in 330 days, a rush job to meet the deadline on a signed contract for the famed Orpheum vaudeville circuit to appear. Equipped with a "mighty" Wurlitzer organ, imported silk drapes, velvet seats, specially woven carpets and gold leaf everywhere, the Louis XV interior dazzled the 1,600 people who attended opening night at $1 per person. (From then on, the admission fee was 10 cents!)

Fast forward to the 1980s when the theater had a leaky roof, the furnishings were tattered, and folks who attended movies there sat under the balcony to keep dry when it rained. In 1989 the theater was donated to the city, and a group of fervent volunteers began a 21-year journey to bring the Coleman back to its former glory.

Our docent, Glenn Reding, described the rebirth of the Coleman as a series of miracles: the original organ was found after a 12-year search; the chandelier, missing for 40 years, was found disassembled in a box, and the missing parts were remanufactured from original specifications; and other lost or damaged components were miraculously repaired, relocated or refurbished. "It's almost kind of spooky," Reding said.

All the labor was provided by volunteers, and the $8 million in materials to restore the building was raised locally and through grants. From polishing and cleaning the the 12-foot-tall chandelier's crystals to applying the new gold leaf on doorways and sculptures, the locals who believed in preserving this piece of history did it all.

Back on the roadway, this was our chance to drive what's called the "sidewalk" or "ribbon" portion of Route 66. When it was paved in 1922, the budget was big enough to do it two ways: pave a certain portion 18 feet wide or pave twice as much at 9 feet wide. Oh, what to do? They opted for the longer, narrower roadbed that meant cars and trucks had to pull over to the shoulder to pass an oncoming vehicle.

Today it's set apart from the two-lane Route 66 and only traveled by those seeking to experience one of the more weird parts of the road. It's a combination of gravel, worn original concrete paving and the occasional asphalt patch. The road is rough but passable -- slowly -- and challenges the suspension of a 53-year-old car and its occupants. It's one of the few remaining examples of the original curbing that characterized Route 66 in the early days. There are two sidewalk sections in this area; we did the first one and figured we'd sampled enough and didn't need to drive the second section. Others in our group agreed.

In Afton we took a quick look at a restored gas station filled with memorabilia including several vintage Packards and a Studebaker (the one where you weren't sure which way it was going). Across the street was a brick hotel that had recently caved in and a grocery store where the roof collapsed in March. The store was still in business, and the owner cancelled his insurance and walked away from it; there still are groceries on the shelves.

Lunch was at Clanton's, an eatery in Vinita that has been in the same family since 1937. Their specialty is "calf fries." When we asked what that was, the waitress replied, "Them's calf's balls, honey." Specialty or not, we opted for regular fries.

Some of the group went to the Will Rogers Museum, and we headed for Catoosa, home of the huge blue whale. We had glorious sun -- about 80 degrees -- and with the top down, the wind in our hair, and sounds of "Earth Angel" on the radio as we bopped along. We passed farm houses with bright green lawns and all the trimmings of autumn -- yellow and rust chrysanthemums, pumpkin arrangements, straw bales, antiques.

And then there it was -- the Catoosa blue whale, a larger-than-life rendition of a happy whale sporting a bright blue coat of paint. Hand built between 1970 and 1973 by Hugh Davis, his son Blaine and grandson, the whale is large enough to walk through and could probably be called the forerunner of a water slide. The idea was that families would stop here, picnic at tables under shade trees, wander through the whale and then opt to slide down a short chute into the pond or jump from its back tail. One likes to think that the water was clearer and cleaner in the '70s because today it would be akin to jumping into an algae-clogged piece of standing water. Closed in 1988, the whale attraction is operated by Blaine who came out to welcome us.

We were about to leave the whale when a tour bus filled with 40-plus Brits pulled up to view it. However, our Bird attracted a lot more attention and soon there were about 12 to 15 people swarming around it, wanting to sit in it for photos, and asking all sorts of questions of Gordon. Eight or nine ladies took turns sitting behind the wheel being photographed by grinning hubbies and others.

The rest of our travels took us along 66 through a series of small towns, many of them nothing more than a collection of tattered, sad looking buildings -- abandoned gas stations, weed-infested tourist courts, boarded up storefronts. But it was possible to see how these towns once had been vibrant locales that catered to the tourist of 60 or 70 years ago.

Our digs for the night were at the EconoLodge in Chandler, Okla., and two couples found they were sharing their rooms with BEDBUGS!! Les and Jo's room had a lot of evidence of BBs, and they were moved to another room. We thought we saw a couple of BB leavings, but opted to spray the living daylights out of the mattress and rest of the room with Sleep Tight, an anti-BB product we'd brought with us. We awoke alone, just the two of us, with no evidence of midnight marauders.

As a side note, we were all pretty well prepared to deal with bedbugs, and we'd learned how to look for them and what action to take. We'd even consulted a website that lists hotels/motels that have had BB reports filed with them. The place that was booked for this night was not on the list, and it shows that unless you've had the chance to inspect lodgings firsthand, you can't be sure what you're getting just because it's a known chain of motels. Overall this one was pretty bad, and the other guests were beer-swilling cigarette smokers. Our only other choice for the night would have been to drive some 30 miles more.

We don't know who did it, but while we were sleeping, someone tried to pry off the chrome "Thunderbird" plate from our left rear fender. They managed to break the metal and walked away with the "Thun" while we are now left driving a "derbird." Disappointing, irritating, but easy to replace.

More tomorrow.

Judy and Gordon