Monkey Jackets & Doris Day
Area man shares Appalachian Theater memories

By Scott Nicholson

The closing of Boone’s oldest theater brought back connections and recollections for a man who worked there and found himself lost in movie magic.

Bob Gilley stands outside the recently closed Appalachian Theater in downtown Boone. Gilley worked at the theater as an usher in 1948. Photo by Scott Nicholson

Bob Gilley, who grew up on Oak Street in Boone, has fond memories of the former Appalachian Theater. He worked there in a variety of roles as a youngster. The job was just one of many for the 14-year-old Gilley, including selling “Grit” Magazine, shoveling snow and delivering newspapers.

The theater opened in 1938, and those 12 and under got in for nine cents, while adults got in for 35 cents. Gilley remembers attending those movies as a child even before he worked at the theater. “Mostly I went to cowboy movies–Gene Autry, Roy Rogers and Hopalong Cassidy,” he said.

Though he was employed at the theater, he was actually a customer on that infamous day the theater caught fire and burned in 1950. He had taken his two sisters to the matinee that day.

“My memory is of smelling smoke, the movie going off, and Jay Beach, the manager, went up on the stage, and he was a very calm personality. He said, ‘We’ve had a little problem and could you please walk quietly out onto the street?’ That’s when fire popped up from behind the curtain, where the popcorn popper was, and people panicked and started running.”

Gilley took his sisters outside but one of them tore free from his grip and ran back inside to retrieve a scarf she’d “borrowed” from her aunt without permission. “She was more afraid of Aunt Lizzie than she was of the fire,” Gilley said.

Fortunately, she returned with the scarf about 30 seconds later. Then they went across the street and watched the theater burn. “It was gutted,” Gilley said. “The only thing left standing were the outside walls.”

He’d started working at the theater as an usher in 1948. “We really dressed up like ushers like you see in the movies,” he said. “We wore bow ties, white shirts and red jackets with formal tails. Some people called them ‘monkey jackets,’ but I thought they were cool. I felt real important walking around in those things.”

The theater had a segregated balcony where black patrons had to sit, and Gilley patrolled it as part of his duty. “Boone was a quiet town,” he said. “We never had any problems.”

He earned about a dollar an hour, and one of his duties was to greet people as they came in the door. Ushers would help seat late arrivals by scouting out available seats and letting them know what sections were available. Gilley had a flashlight with a guarded hood so the light wouldn’t distract moviegoers.

“Whenever there was a Doris Day movie, Jay Beach would have me take over so he could go watch,” Gilley said. “He had a mad crush on her.”

“I did everything,” he said. “I sold popcorn, sold candy, sold tickets, took tickets, cleaned toilets and swept up. I only ran the projector a couple of times. I did just about everything you can do at a theater.”

Gilley worked with Jim Holshouser, who later became the first Republican governor of the state since Reconstruction. “I’ve never had a bad word to say about Jim,” Gilley said of his friend. “He was hard-working and polite.”

Gilley was also a “curb hop” at Kirk’s Barbecue and recalled running orders from the window to the customers who ate in their cars. He also drove a laundry truck, bakery truck, and took other jobs while in high school. In college, he ran tax-paid liquor as a bootlegger hauling it from Hickory to sell to fellow students at a profit. He was also a college loan shark, accepting collateral for the short-term loans to other students. “I never lost any money,” he said.

He later entered the field of radio while attending Appalachian State Teachers College, starting as a deejay at WATA. A musician, he found he was able to share himself and overcome his shyness though reaching a radio audience. “They fired me at least six times for saying things that ‘weren’t fitting,’” he said. “Then they’d call me and say, ‘We want you to come back but will you be better?’ And of course, I’d say, ‘Yes, ma’am’ or ‘Yes, sir.’”

Gilley’s flair for salesmanship exhibited itself early on. “When I was in high school, I always won all the sales contests,” he said, running down the list of fundraising sales. “Nobody else seemed to prepare, and I went to call on people before the deal happened and got a commitment.”

He later went to Michigan and though he was teaching music, he said he was ambitious and wanted to do different things. Returning to Charlotte, he worked as music director at a radio station before moving to insurance sales. He later owned his own financial services company, and now is retired in Blowing Rock and maintains a home in Greensboro. He met his wife, Sarah, nearly three years ago and though he still has real-estate interests, he spends his time as member of the board of advisors for the Mariam C. Hayes School of Music at Appalachian State University.

Movies were enormously popular in his youth, he said, noting the Appalachian Theater was the only public entertainment in town. He said people would line up around the block to get into the movies.

“There was this little old tiny woman named Alice who sold tickets,” he said. “She chain smoked and was always in a bad mood. I never saw her smile. Jay Beach was the exact opposite, always smiling and always making conversation.

“The Appalachian Theater was a magical place, with the lights down in the bottom of the stage,” he said. “I felt like part of the family there. It was a really nice place.”