Woodminister Theater: Clothing Time!

Today I met Ann Schlader of the Schlader family, who have been the showrunners and guardians of the Woodminster Theater since 1967. She was hoping I was someone coming to take away some furniture…it’s cleanup season backstage, and there was a leak in the costume closet, so all the costumes came out into for air. Ann swept her arm, gesturing at two dozen boxes of shoes and boots, scarves and sweaters, jackets with bric-a-brac, getting ready to donate costumes to another theater company. There are crochet yente shawls from Fiddler on the Roof, Delta Nu screenprinted sweatshirts from Legally Blonde, odd fripperies from Seussical, and a box of bustles. (If you’re interested, let Ann know!) 

As we pawed through racks of sweaters, furs, capes, and dresses, I said, “Wouldn’t it be great if Oakland had a central warehouse where local theaters could come borrow costumes?” 

Her face lit up. “Like down in Alameda.” Yes, where the antique auctions are. 

I told her I’d once gone on a secret backstage tour of the Warner Brothers Studio in LA… I’d seen the stacked racks of clothing, the vast wall of shoes, arranged by color, the rolling ladders and cherrypickers. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven, I told her. 

“How would you organize something like that?” Her imagination was catching on. “With, like, drycleaner’s racks?” 

“And an app. Like in Clueless,” I said. 

“Or just a scanner, with tagged hangers.” 

“Even if the racks didn’t move, you would know where everything was.” 

As our brains clicked away, I scanned the boxes of shoes. I wrote a musical about shoes. It’s packed away in boxes, just like all these costumes. Not even back-burnered. The fire is out. I tried to sing her a few lines and I couldn’t remember them. But I could still remember the vision of chorus girls, a kick-line where they’r all wearing different shoes. Someday. (There’s a song for that.) 

I went up to find a writing spot in the empty theater, carrying an armful of shawls and some foam rubber for under my butt. Voices float up over the edge of the terrace— kids and moms asking directions to the Pyramid of Moses. There’s a Girl Scout treasure hunt. I love everything about this day. 

As I gaze out over the empty seats, I know from reading something somewhere that this theater used to showcase the works of Joaquin Miller and friends, now long forgotten and lost to history. Surely there’s a play about the pyramid somewhere… surely someone remembers…

voices float up...