To spot the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, just look for the giant, glowing vertical sign that reads “PORTLAND” rising up on the corner of Broadway and Main Streets-it’s impossible to miss, shining like a beacon above the beautifully lit marquee.
Now, as you’re standing here on the sidewalk, let me take you back to a time when this whole stretch of Broadway was sparkling with grand theaters and the Schnitzer-locally nicknamed “The Schnitz”-was the unrivaled jewel of them all. Imagine it’s 1928, and this building, then known as the Portland Publix Theatre, had just opened. Picture men in top hats and women in feathered headbands, lining up below this very marquee, ready for an evening of vaudeville, jazz, or maybe a big Hollywood movie. The flashing bulbs above your head? There are almost 6,000 theatrical lights, so many that they’d probably need their own power plant.
Architects from the famous Rapp and Rapp firm outdid themselves with an Italian Renaissance style so lavish that, unbelievably, the lobby’s candy counter was once called “the longest candy counter in the West.” The velvet-draped windows and marble-covered walls looked straight out of a glamorous Parisian palace; a chandelier the size of a car hung overhead, weighing in at over 1,700 pounds and twinkling with hundreds of bulbs. Staff brought in furniture from French museums, draped everything in rich carpets, and even installed an ivory-and-gold self-playing grand piano that serenaded guests as they climbed the stairs. You could almost smell the faint perfume and excitement as patrons checked their coats before heading in.
During its first chapter, the Schnitz was both a theater and a movie house-inviting Portlanders in with promises of “an acre of seats.” Rumor had it you could get lost between the 2,776 seats across the grand orchestra level and the balcony that soared six stories up. The men’s and women’s lounges upstairs weren’t your average washrooms; these had fireplaces, radios, mirrors, and attendants ready to help primp before your big night out.
But it wasn’t always smooth sailing beneath the glimmering lights. One night in 1928, the audience was buzzing as a movie called “Wheel of Chance” played on the screen. Meanwhile, a man in the lobby-after spotting two theater employees carrying the day’s ticket receipts-decided the real drama would happen offscreen. He pulled off a daring robbery, making away with $1,176. Spoiler alert: when they caught him days later, he only had $1.50 left. The rest? Gone to bootleggers and parties.
By the time the Great Depression rolled in, times got tough, tickets dropped to 50 cents, and creative theater managers hired roving musicians and even a psychic to entertain crowds before the show. But years of neglect took their toll: pieces of the ornate cast iron balcony and even giant masonry blocks literally crashed down onto the sidewalk in the 1960s and ’70s. Chunks of history, right at your feet! Yet even in its most rundown days, “The Schnitz” hung on-defiant and dramatic, just like any seasoned stage actor.
As TV took over America’s living rooms and movie audiences shrank, the grand movie palace faded and the venue switched to concerts-from classical to rock, and even some wild parties back in the ’70s. Stories are told of concerts where you could see Heart, Tom Petty, or Elvis Costello for as little as 92 cents-cheaper than an overpriced stadium pretzel today.
Finally, in the 1980s, the building was rescued and lovingly restored. Much of its fabulousness was brought back, from the gilded chandeliers to the plush seats, only now with modern safety and comfort. The enormous “PORTLAND” sign that lights up the city wasn’t always here-it was once swapped for “PARAMOUNT” before returning to its original glory in 1984, symbolic of Portland itself. Many legends have tread the boards here, and somewhere in the lobby, there’s still a statue called “Surprise,” saved by a fundraising hat passed quickly around a theater packed with Portlanders who refused to let their treasures slip away.
Today, you’re standing outside not just a concert hall but a living, breathing piece of Portland’s artistic heart-a space that’s survived drama, disaster, and disco, and now shines brighter than ever. So, next time you see the “PORTLAND” sign glowing above, remember: it’s not just a landmark. It’s the city’s grand, glittering story-one standing ovation at a time.
