Long Description:A Rialto Haunting
Loveland Reporter-Herald - Publish Date: 10/29/2006
By Rachel Carter and Pamela Dickman
Writers Clarence Herrin's fingers moved quickly and deftly, with
the skill of 23 years, as he threaded the film, "Island in the
Sun," into the projector. That Tuesday, Oct. 8, 1957 - a day marked
with drizzling rain - was the final day Lovelanders could pay $1.25
at the Rialto Theater to see Joan Fontaine, James Mason and Harry
Belafonte in CinemaScope color. As he had since 1934, Herrin
carried heavy metal canisters up and down flights of steps and
threaded each 20-minute reel, one at a time, into one of the two
projectors.
The last strip of film he fed into a projector was for the last
showing of the drama-romance, which caused a stir with an on-screen
interracial kiss. Sometime that night, the 57-year-old suffered a
heart attack in the projection booth in which he had spent so many
hours over so many years. Loveland resident Floyd Keener, now 94,
remembers that day 49 years ago. While his memory is hazy, he
cannot forget helping carry Herrin down the stairs. "That is the
truth," said Keener, who worked nights as assistant theater manager
after his day job with the U.S. Postal Service. "He died running
the booth." Records show that doctors actually pronounced Herrin
dead two hours later at Loveland Memorial Hospital on Douglas
Avenue. Could Herrin's spirit still linger at the Rialto Theater
after all these years? Could he be one of the benevolent spirits
that theater manager Jan Sawyer and others have encountered? "I
never heard any ghost stories," Keener said. But Sawyer thinks
so.
Two different groups of paranormal investigators have researched
the Rialto Theater: the first in 2001 and the second, Denver-based
ParaFPI, six months ago. Both measured unusual energy in the
building, which in its 86 years has been a movie theater with
offices upstairs and down, before it was converted into shops, then
transformed back into a theater.
Investigators, like employees who spend time in the theater,
felt something strange in the projection booth, which looks out
over the balcony and stage. Without any prior knowledge of theater
history or legends, Jessica Harris and other investigators with
ParaFPI - some relying on psychic abilities and others depending on
technical equipment - reacted immediately upon stepping into the
booth in May. "I had gone in with the equipment, and I just
thought, 'This is nutty. I keep getting a feeling of this old guy,
and he reminds me of Crankshaft,'" said Harris. She tends to rely
on her equipment rather than her feelings, so the strong sensation
she felt in the projection booth was unusual - but undeniable. Drea
Penndragon, a psychic investigator and founder of ParaFPI, stepped
into the projection booth and almost immediately started having
chest pains and difficulty breathing. "I felt like I was having a
heart attack," Penndragon said, "but as soon as I stepped out of
the room it disappeared. So I just knew, 'Somebody in here died of
a heart attack.' I was standing in that room feeling somebody
else's heart pain." Penndragon sensed an older, stodgy man - not
unkind - but someone who was "very much accustomed to being by
himself while he was alive." Another paranormal investigator who
visited the theater in 2001, Sawyer said, claimed to actually have
seen the ghost. The investigator was the first to step into the
projection booth - and she immediately stepped back out. "Are you
sure we're the only ones in the theater?" she asked. Sure, Sawyer
said. Why? "Because I just saw a man go through the other
door."
While Sawyer hasn't seen a ghost in the booth, she and other
employees have repeatedly felt a presence there. "My earliest
contact here has been on these stairs," Sawyer said, standing on
the steps that lead to the balcony, then to the projection booth.
"As I was coming up the stairs, it felt like somebody walked past
me. You know that feeling that somebody brushed past. There was
nobody there, no corporeal being. "I call him George. To me, he is
George." She never knew the name of the person who died in the
booth - only the legend. Then earlier this year, Keener stopped in
the theater and confirmed her suspicion. Still, she did not know
the details until the Reporter-Herald staff pieced them together
through records, memories and past newspaper articles. Is Herrin,
or someone else, still hanging out in and around the projection
booth? Several unusual happenings lead some Rialto employees to
believe so. "I spend a fair amount of time in the projection booth,
and there has been something going up there lately," said Scott
Dunn, technical coordinator for the theater. Twice in the past
several months, projectors have "mysteriously decalibrated, like a
linebacker rammed it." Once, the projected image moved left to
right. Another time, the sound settings were off. "We kept asking
ourselves, 'Who's been up here? Who's been up here?'" Dunn said.
"And then we realized, nobody. Obviously nobody's been up here."
Once, Sawyer tried to unlock the projection booth, but the key
would not turn. She checked to make sure she had the correct key.
She did, yet it still would not turn. Under her breath, she said,
"Can we please come in?" "I put the key in again, and it turned
easily." Although odd things happen, employees don't feel
frightened or threatened. They even try to respect the Rialto's
spirits by not making fun of them - and not blaming them too often
for the broken copy machine. "I don't want people to be afraid to
come here," Sawyer said. "We have absolutely wonderful spirits
here." Sitting in the deserted theater one afternoon several months
ago, Sawyer felt completely comfortable tackling paperwork.
Suddenly, out of the theater's intercom system, a male voice broke
her concentration: "Fairy tales do come true."
Hmmm, Sawyer thought, the system must have intercepted someone's
cellular phone call or radio station. She mentioned it to Dunn the
next day, who told her that simply was not possible. Dunn explained
that the intercom system is hard-wired in the theater - not
wireless, not radio. A few months later, in May, Keener, downtown
for a haircut, stopped into the Rialto, where he had worked so many
years before. He and Sawyer walked together through the theater in
which both had spent so many hours. As they stood at the bottom of
the stairs leading to the projection booth, Keener glanced up and
said, "I carried a dead man down those stairs." Sawyer took those
words to heart and could not banish them from her mind. That
Sunday, Sawyer and her family sat on her back patio, talking about
the projectionist. "I think that's the voice I heard and presence I
felt," she said to her family. The thought still in her mind, she
opened the theater for a ballet rehearsal. After the last performer
filed out, Sawyer made sure the building was empty, then locked the
doors. Once again, she settled alone in the box office to tackle
paperwork. Suddenly, the same male voice uttered one sentence over
the intercom: "You're exactly right."