TOWN NOT READY TO ROLL CREDITS

Gazette, The (Colorado Springs), Sep 19, 2005 by DEEDEE CORRELL THE GAZETTE

ROCKY FORD - It's the end of another Friday night, and Mike Shima is vacuuming crushed popcorn from the carpet.

Alex Baca is restacking boxes of M&Ms and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in the refrigerator while Francie Miller counts up the night's profits: $112 from tickets, $50 from concession sales.

Not a good night at the Grand.

When they showed "Monster-in-Law," they took in $829.75 in one night.

Still, it's enough to keep the movie theater going, and for Miller and scores of others in this Lower Arkansas Valley town who pumped life into the heart of their community, it's not about the money.

They try to put it in words.

They explain how the near- est theater to the west is 52 miles away; to the east, 60 miles. They describe jobs lost over the years. They talk about the movies they saw here when they were kids and how their town once had 15 gas stations and a future.

What happens at the Grand every Friday and Saturday night has everything to do with a town staying alive.

Rocky Ford, population 4,200, still has its reputation as "sweet melon capital of the world," but like other small towns that dot U.S. Highway 50 from Pueblo east to Kansas, it has struggled to survive.

Once a prosperous farming town, it began to decline in the 1970s when its sugar plant closed.

The valley also was hit hard in the 1980s by the purchase of water rights by Colorado Springs. As the valley withered, Rocky Ford became a place that kids leave as soon as they can.

"We don't have a lot to do where they could stay and raise their family," says Julie Worley, the economic development director.

At its height in the 1950s and 1960s, Rocky Ford had truck lines, auto dealerships and a hospital.

It also had the Grand, built in 1901 as an opera house. Destroyed by fire and rebuilt in 1935, the theater remained the town's social center through the 1980s, a fixture on Main where the marquee lights twinkled nearly every night.

But the theater stopped turning a profit and it closed in 1985.

Main Street fell still, becoming a street where the only thing for kids to do was cruise in their cars.

In 1991, residents appealed to the City Council with a plan: If the city would buy the building, they would run it. They'd order the movies, sell the tickets, make the popcorn.

The council agreed, paying $6,400 to United Artists for the theater.

For nearly 15 years, the residents have made good on their promise.

6 p.m.

The phone on Miller's battered desk starts ringing with regularity.

"Grand Theater," she answers, then listens for a beat. "The Dukes of Hazzard. PG-13."

The rating rarely goes higher than that. The rule is no R-rated movies, unless Miller deems the film -- like "Saving Private Ryan" - - worthy.

Upstairs, Miller's husband, John, has the 35-millimeter film threaded and ready to go.

He and Shima, the assistant manager, are the only paid employees. Miller, 63, manages the theater for free, and community groups take turns running the concession stand and ticket booth. Some, like Baca, are there for every showing.

This night, Baca organizes the Butterfingers and Snickers under the counter while John Miller measures out bright orange popcorn salt.

A small bag of popcorn goes for 75 cents; a large one is $2.50. Nothing costs more than $2.50.

That's by design in a town where the median household income is $22,143. "We try to keep it to where people can afford it," Francie Miller says.

Tickets are $4 for adults, $3 for kids. If a kid doesn't have the money, he still gets in, in exchange for doing chores later.

The Grand -- with its 600 seats, one screen, rose carpet, tapestry-covered walls, wrought-iron rails and light fixtures from a long-gone era -- rarely lacks for customers. Even for a bad or unknown movie, about 200 people show up.

"There's no place else to be," Francie Miller says.

So many people come that the seats, installed in 1935, are finally giving out, their covers ripped and the stuffing bursting through. The Grand shows its age in other ways; giant water stains mar the walls.

The city soon will take care of both problems; it recently won a $170,000 grant from the Colorado Historical Society.

They'll try to involve the kids in the project, Miller says. They hope to encourage them to take better care of the seats and feel like the Grand is theirs -- as she does.

7 p.m.

The first customers for "The Dukes of Hazzard" are the Vasquez sisters, 15-year-old Ashley and Maria, 13. They load up on pickles and monster-sized sodas, dispensed by Ben Fisler, the theater director at Otero Junior College in La Junta.

"It's a beverage with an undertow," he pronounces every time he sells one.

The volunteers on this Friday are all from the college. The Rotary and Lions clubs and church groups also are regulars.

"Rocky Ford is fabulous," Worley brags. "It's like it's bred into the people here."

The Vasquez sisters don't know much about the arrangement that keeps the theater open and don't seem to care.

Buying a bag of Skittles is Julian Lucero, who never misses a movie. He saw "The Dukes of Hazzard" when it played last weekend; he'll see it Saturday night, too.