Eric Gubelman’s Post

More mush from the owner. (Me)

"When you see the fork in the road, take it." --Yogi Berra Let me tell you a story... Over the next several weeks, we are going to be revving the engines, putting the jalopy into gear, and taking a fork. We invite you to join here every night between 7 p.m. and 8 p.m if: --You love movies. --You believe in Robinson, Clinton, or Streator (That's two Maroons and a Bulldog). --You like to be part of a comeback story. --You want more fun, more value, and more experiences at theaters everyone told us should never exist. Is it a road less traveled that will make all the difference, or a recommittal to some things that were once familiar, but now lost? A little of both, actually. In text and video over the next month, I am going to do what sportswriter Red Barber once advised was essential to good sportswriting--I'm going to open a vein and bleed. First-born Kelsa Bowen thinks I am the king of tl;dr--too long, didn't read. But there you have it. As a lapsed historian who lived to make undergraduates wake from stupor in a lecture hall, I embrace the written word and think if it doesn't make you feel something, it is just a warm bucket of spit. Wilma Nuttall, Doug Durako, Glen Brooks, Chris Olson, Dan Feller and others encouraged me to write. If you are counting, that's a Latin teacher, an editor, a political scientist, and two nineteenth-century historians. There are stories ahead. There are two forks in our road. The right fork leads to acceptance, resignation, and regret as we get caught in the undertoad (see "The World According to Garp") of pandemic hangover, excruciating interest rates, a misguided flirtation with living room couches, and studio upheaval. The left fork is gearing down for the climb and speeding up when the road is clear. That is the road that rewards you, nearly doubles the movies you can see, gives you some alternative entertainment, and brings more than 100 events to the theater next year. We are taking the left fork.

And here I sit in in one of our theaters we built in 2003, watching Equalizer 3 late at night. The building is closed; I am the only one here. It is the privilege of ownership to retreat to a secular prayer closet to reflect on a life work. The day before I was chatting with a couple who told me their son proposed to his wife in this auditorium; they have been married 17 years. We did a special preshow and dummied up a showtime so they were the only ones there. I smiled because in the last two days I had told daughter Kelsa about this. Right on time Serendipity lept up to say “this is why you built it. They did come.” And I am a jumble of emotion of both prose and poetry. My prose side says what I experienced in a darkened room is the magic of movies and I wonder how to communicate that to sell more tickets. The withered poet in my soul reminds me that a business is not just a business. Done with some style and a touch of grace, we become the warp and weft of community. Pandemic hangover, streaming, high interest rates, a strike, extraordinary expenses—these are obstacles, not showstoppers. The show must go on.

There are a lot of strategies to #reset small market movie theaters, and we are heading down the path of showmanship, programming, and membership. On Saturday, I discovered another one that is sort of emblematic of where my three theaters are in Flyover Country. At the farmer’s market, cucumbers mix with networking, catching up with high school friends, and an impromptu sidebar with the economic development Executive Director. The theater was there, pressing some flesh and selling lemonade with flavored syrup. Because. Next to us was a table for the Robinwood Assembly of God, which was my dad’s church. I lean towards liberal Methodism with a side of UU, but these are neighbors and people I have known for decades. Disagreements about neither the primacy of Scripture, nor the Gifts of the Holy Spirot, nor the culture wars can sunder the bond of Small Town Neighborliness and genuine concern. A long-time banker friend was doing some low key witnessing among us children of the corn. She asked me if there was anything I needed prayer for. Theologically literate but eternally irreverent, I suggested that deliverance from bankruptcy would be an appropriate use of divine favor. “Can we pray for that now?” And that is how I came to stand on the sidewalk with head bowed as this kind banker and gentle evangelizer gave personal, institutional, and nuanced sector appeal to Providence for the continued existence and thriving of Eagle Theaters. A prayer warrior put another arrow in the quiver and reminded me of where I was from. And from within, the #NeverQuit fire inside me burns just a little brighter this weekend.

So what does it take to #reset three small town movie theaters in post-pandemic Flyover Country? —Checking on status of two state of Illinois grants —Settled on five titles for a scary movie October festival and roll around a series title. Cringe Binge? —meet with mayor of one town and Coty Treasurer of another to discuss economic incentive package —Help movie producer and distribution company move along plan to get indy theaters to invest and own half of a unique small film taylored to our market —Review progress of licensing two theaters and two standalones for video gaming slot and poker machines —Finalize design of Rewards and Subscription programs and help with building out a presale website —Prepare informal pitch deck for buildout of two gaming places —Make low key recruiting pitch for an event planner to execute 10 special events per month at three locations —order internet adequate to serve needs of three theaters And how was YOIR week?

Leo Tolstoy once asked “how much land does a man need?” Every August 11th or so, I ponder that question at my father’s grave site on the double witching day of my father’s death and my brother’s birth (57 years apart). My father enjoys a robust afterlife haunting Do or Dye in downtown Robinson, Illinois. It is the community where he lived and died, punctuated by four years in the Navy that satisfied his wanderlust. He later had seasonal retreat to Florida. I flatter myself that he would have abandoned that if alive today, as the state politicos are hostile to the very existence of one of his grandchildren. And so it goes. He married a girl who moved here in high school, and for 58 years they mixed respect, affection, toleration, irritation, and love to build a life together. As I begin the fourth quarter in my own game of Life, I ponder ambition, fate, responsibility, and legacy. I thought I would be retired now, but a pandemic, high interest rates, and an exhibition industry battered by both requires reinvention instead of relaxation. The novels and travel books will have to wait until I discover whether the public, communal display of flickering images and big sound continue to play a central role in the second quarter of this odd century we find ourselves in. I am third generation small town guy who didn’t see the world with Uncle Sam but escaped into the archives to understand race and slavery and the complicated real estate where i grew up. I am a time traveler, and sojourned for years in the era of 1865 to 1824 in what became Illinois and Missouri. There are college classes to teach, but I have other priorities right now and I am likely past my “best if used by” date. And the land that I need today is a quiet perch next to my ancestors—two grandmothers, a grandfather, two parents, and a brother. It is a stop at my orphanage. Ultimately, as my brother said when he was dying in 1995, it’s all vanity. And we know the answer to Tolstoy’s question, even as we push that rumination off to the tomorrow that is eternally in the future. How much land does a man need? Six feet, from his head to his toes.

When you are trying to reset three movie theaters, there is not a lot of time. While waiting for an oil change, I am editing FAQs for our upcoming unveiling of a new membership platform, including revamped rewards and a subscription program. Enticing people off their couch is a blend of adding value, building relationships, increasing programming, and adding the sizzle of showmanship that has been missing from movie theaters for the last 40 years or so. And now it is time to eat before finishing this off before sending to web designer and marketing team. #EagleTheaters #EagleElevate #EagleSoar

I feel seen. I own three movie theaters in Illinois that survived the pandemic. Yet exploding interest rates, state delays in regulatory approvals, a slower-than-expected box office recovery, and the cost of deferred maintenance have created a cash crisis. I am fourth generation small town entrepreneur; my daughter Kelsa is fifth. We have developed five and six screen multiplexes in stony soil—markets with towns of aboit 7,000 people at the center. I have been inspired by the comeback story told by Stephanie Stuckey, and her efforts to save a family business. We have a plan. We will not give up. If you are an exhibitor, part of the broad cinematic industry, or you just like to root for an underdog, I invite you to follow along. Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to a bumpy night. #EagleTheaters