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tyesday, October 30, 1979
lincoln, nebraska vol. 103 no. 45
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Past dimmedl hj Tfe&to9 irmdDvaiiioiiii
By Nancy Ellis
Sipping a cocktail in the quiet half-light of a Lincoln
bar called Barrymore's is reminiscent of the backstage of a
theater.
A contrast of old and new. Rustic brick walls and a
glass and chrome enclosure, which houses leafy plants,
seems to climb the shadowy walls. The eye leaves the new
behind and searches for the old, which is hidden away in
the shrouded recesses of a sky-high ceiling.
The luxuriant green foliage points like fingers to the
mysterious expanse of catwalks, ropes, curtains and lights.
Remnants of the Stuart The'ater as it was in the 1930s
remind patrons of Barrymore's that they are sitting on an
old stage.
This reminiscence is exactly what the designer and
architect of Barrymore's, 124 N. 13 St. wanted customers
to fell because a backstage area is what Barrymore's was
originally.
June 10, 1929, marked the opening date of the Stuart
Theater, a building that Lincoln architect Bob Hanna said
was "the second best building in Lincoln,'! architecturally
speaking, next to the state Capitol.
THE STUART THEATER is no longer the ornately
decorated structure its architect, the late Ellory Davis Sr.,
constructed. On April 30, 197Z, it was remodeled.
"Had Ellory Davis Sr. been alive, the Stuart Theater
would still be intact, Hanna said.
Seven years ago, Hanna headed the "Save the Stuart
Committee," which unsuccessfully fought against the
$100,000 remodeling project undertaken by the Stuart's
new leaders, the Dubinsky Brothers Theater Co.
The Dubinsky's, who own a chain of Midwestern
motion picture theaters, leased the theater from members
of the Stuart family, who chose to remodel for economic
reasons. ;
Before the Stuart was remodeled, movies weren't big
money-making ventures like they are today, Hanna said.
Theaters all over the country were losing money and were
being reduced in structural size as well" as in seating,
capacity. v ,
"Now, I bet they'd like to have the 2,000 seats that
were in the Stuart before," Hanna said. Today, the Stuart
has a seating capacity of 917.
THE 40-YEAR-OLD NATIVE-Nebraskan said he
pledged never to step foot into the Stuart if it was
remodeled, and he hasn't.
"Think of all the good movies I've missed," Hanna
added.
Hanna has, however, been in Barrymore's, which, he
said, is a "by-product of the Stuart Theater."
Barrymore's is the backstage and a portion of the main
stage of the Stuart. The idea for preserving some of the
theater's original, elegance came from owner and
co-designer, Jim Haberlan. Haberlan hired another Lincoln
architect, David Meyer of Geller Design, to help design
and build the bar. ' .
Meyer said, "We wanted to restore the backstage area
after what had been done to the main theater."
The space for Barrymore's, which was subleased from
the Dubinsky's, had not been used for about 25 years,
said Meyer, a UNL graduate.
Restoration of the old backstage began Sept. 1,1974,
and Barrymore's opened for business in mid-November of
that year, Meyer said.
A number of structural changes were made by the
Dubinsky's in what is now the movie house portion,
Meyer said. .
"Many people, including myself, were upset about the
remodeling," he added.
At the time of the restoration, the Dubinsky's assured
people that the Stuart was not being permanently
changed. But, Meyer said, he seriously doubts that.
7 SEVERAL ITEMS" damaged or sold during the
Dubinsky remodeling are irreplaceable, Hanna said.
The only way restoration of the Stuart could come
about today would be if it became a public project, Hanna
said. Four years ago, businessmen in Omaha bought and
restored the lobby of the Orpheum Theater which, Hanna
said, is comparable to the Stuart in value.
Restoration of the backstage portion of the Stuart was
not an expensive project like the Omaha Orpheum,
32-year-old Meyer said. i
"We were careful to keep everything that was there."
The finishing of the backstage was not as elaborate as
the front areas, Meyer said, so highly expensive materials
didn't have to be used.
Further restoration included cleaning and mending of
curtains, scrubbing the walls and carpeting the wooden
floor which, Meyer said, was beyond repair. The old
dressing rooms Were converted jnto bathrooms, he added.
"We started from the top and worked down.""
The seven-story high ceiling was kept because of "its
appeal," he said. If another business would have bought
the backstage area, Meyer said, it probably would have
put up an eight-inch acoustical ceiling and no one would
have recognized the place as the backstage of the Stuart
Theater.
The only new items that were added to the original
backstage were a bar, tables, chairs and a large glass
enclosure, which covers part of one wall and is filled with
plants, Meyer said.
A restoration project like Barrymore's isn't something
an architectural firm normally does, Meyer said, but "we
carried it out well."
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Daily Nebraskan Photo
Barrymore's, 124 N. 13th St., becomes a remnant of
history as a bar that was converted from the architecturally-famed
Stuart Theater.
Answering phone big money for bookies
By Mike Sweeney
(c) 1979 Daily Nebraskan
Editor's note: This is the second in a
three-part series on campus football gambl
ing. The sound of footsteps in the hall
preceded a tapping at the door of a small
second-story room at a UNL fraternity
Thursday evening.
The door slid open and two men
stepped in.
"How about those Chargers?" said the
first. "Give me $5."
"I want Oakland," said the second. "I
nope me anaice nas a neu 01 a game to
night." The student who calls the small, dimly
lit room home during the school year has
just made 50 cents. Oscar (not his real
name) will make about $20 before the
night is over, recording illegal bets on
looseleaf sheets torn from a spiral note
book. Bookmaklng often requires long hours
by the telephone, but the pay is great,
Oscar said. He said he handles between1
$600 and $1 ,000 every weekend and keeps
five percent. ,
The only talent a bookmaker needs is an
ability to intimidate gamblers who are late
paying off their bets, he said .
"You've got to make sure and threaten
those bastards, he said.
To Allen (also a pseudonym), gambling
is ust like another job. I go to a lot of
effort to make sure and do it right.'
Allen, a former UNL student, handles
thousands of dollars in illegal bets every
week, although he won't reveal exactly
how much he makes.
'A PERSON would be surprised at how
much gambling goes on ," he said .
"I've never understood why it's illegal. I
think it's socially, acceptable, it's just not
legally acceptable," he said.
He said his customers include business
men, friends and UNL students. About 20
percent of his business comes from UNL,
he said, and includes women as well as
men. .
Thursday evening, Allen's customers
placed nearly $2,000 worth of bets on a
National Football League game-$l, 100 on
one team and $880 on the other. After
calling in the $220 difference to another
bookmaker, he was assured of making $80
regardless of the game's outcome. .
Oscar said bookmakers try to even the
total amounts bet on both teams to ensure
a profit.
Here's how the system works:
A gambler who wants to place a bet
calls a bookmaker, who records the bet
plus 10 percent bookmaking fee. If the
gambler wins, he collects his original bet. If
he loses, he pays his original bet plus 10
percent.
When the amount bet on both teams are
even, the bookie pays the winners with
money collected from the losers and re
tains the 10 percent fee as profit. 1
The bookie bets $10 to win $1 1. The
bettor bets $1 1 to win $10 " Oscar said.
BOOKIES CODLD accept unevenly.
balanced bets, but would face the possi-
bility of losing money if the team with the
most money bet on it wins.
"I'd just as soon see (the bets) cancel
out. Some bookies could lose $200. I'd
rather be. guaranteed $20," Oscar said.
Allen said he is technically called a
runner because he calls in the difference in
his bet totals to another man. That man is
called a bookmaker because of the large
amounts he handles and because his bet
totals don't always balance. A bookmaker
takes more risk than a runner, he said.
Both Oscar and Allen said they try to
even . the bet totals by convincing
customers to bet on a particular team.
"People call and say, Who do you like'
and expect you to see into the future,"
Allen said. "I say the team I don't have the
money on. And I'm 50- percent right."
Oscar had nearly a hundred dollars more
booked on San Diego than Oakland when a .
customer called a half-hour before kickoff.
r ,
His words into the phone receiver were
a series of . staccato responses to the
bettor's questions.
"Don't let him psyche you out . . . It's
at Oakland '. . . He's due for a bad game . . .
Casper's hellacious too." The receiver
clicked.
"HE JUST BET $55 on Oakland,"
Oscar said.
Oscar said bookies have considerable in
fluence on gamblers, even though they
know little about the games.
He called some gamblers "mindless" be
cause they are easily influenced and often
bet on teams they know nothing about.
He said if a gambler from the East Coast
called, he could have convinced him that
Colorado would have steamrolled over Ne
braska last Saturday.
The description of gambling is a disease
of compulsion is an accurate orie, he said.
"That (description) reminds me of my
self," he said.
Oscar said he bets on something almost
every day, but football gambling hasn't
been kind to him. Oscar said he lost more
than $600 a month ago, and is more than
$500 down for the year. .
Although he has been able to cover his
losses, he said he hopes to win back every
thing. Gambling is one way, but bookmaking
is a surer bet, he said.
"I wish I was bigger, and handled
$10,000 to $20,000 a week," he said.
"That's $1 ,000 on bookie (fees)."
"Could you imagine making $1000 a
week just for answering the phone?"
57-
Renaissance man: Dave Landis, the state
senator serving the legislative district in
cluding UNL, is profiled ?t& 8
Paper lion: Omaha sculptor creates original
art out of paper P 10
International students: NU gymnasts Jim
Hartung and Phil Cahoy travel and play
student, too Pec 14
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