The first question people must ask themselves when in this situation is whether or not they believe.
The second question is, “What do I do if, ya know, if?”
The possibilities seem endless. Some of the souls who performed here, on this stage, could have stayed behind, right? Or maybe former employees, or guests, or stagehands? The Capitol Theatre has always been a memory maker since it opened on Thanksgiving Day in 1928, and many of the most popular performers have graced the stage in front of large crowds inside the venue. Who wouldn’t want to stay?
The history of this building is amazing, and not just because of the performances. For example, the venue was shuttered in spring 2007 because the Clear Channel conglomerate refused to finance the safety enhancements like a new fire suppression system and fire escape. When this showplace opened, it was promoted as, “fireproof,” but definitions have changed through the decades and inspectors for the Wheeling Fire Department had a duty to do.
Nearly two years later, after many meetings of civic leaders within the region, the executive director of the Wheeling Convention & Visitors Bureau, Frank O’Brien, announced the organization would purchase the Capitol for $615,000, a deal that closed on April 3, 2009.
So, sitting silently on the exact-middle planks of the original, 44-foot-wide stage at the Capitol is a big deal, but in the dark, at midnight, it is a completely different experience. In this situation and positioned in this spot, there are hopes of meeting the ghost of Johnny Cash, and fears of hearing either the echoed croons of Conway Twitty or the still-alive-yell-singing of Ted Nugent.
Most of all, just one more time, you really do want a little more cowbell.
You scan the seats, especially the balcony rows, with a lack of confidence that an orb will waft, or a seat will mysteriously decline. You listen, too, because you’re also a bit frightened by the rumors, the legends, and the claims offered by so-called-psychics who have allegedly experienced encounters with old ushers, former performers, and with a bald bowler in the basement of the building.
Inevitably you hear noises, like the old-school radiators, the hum of some late-evening traffic on Main Street, and what you want to believe is the ongoing settling of the 91-year-old riverfront property. Honestly, while sitting there, you desperately wish to be startled by something not as stereotypical as a Casper or a Freddy or a Jason, but instead by a legitimate aberration or maybe even something of a sign.
He Never Knows
“You do hear noises in this building; that’s for sure. I’d like to think it’s just wind hitting the building. At least that’s what I tell myself, but I’m really not completely sure,” Production Manager Justin Malarkey said. “I hear different noises all of the time, and I hear them all over the building, just not inside the theatre. Downstairs, upstairs, and even near my office that’s in the front of the building. Yeah, I hear noises all the time.
“Because of the age of the building and the older systems that are still in place here, some of the noises are different, and they catch me by surprise,” he said. “I know some folks have stories about their encounters in here, but so far, for me anyway, it’s only been those noises.”
Malarkey, these days, is inside this venue more than anyone else after becoming production manager after Kyle Knox resigned about a year ago. Some days, it’s eight hours while others can extend to 20 hours beginning to end. When the theatre version of the Osiris Shrine Circus visited the Capitol Theatre, Malarkey was here for 18 hours.
“It really just depends,” he said. “If I’m not working a show, I am planning the next one and so forth. That’s how this business works, and you have to love this kind of thing to work in this industry.
“There are a lot of personalities, too, so you eventually learn the different shows and the promoters,” Malarkey said. “Most of the performers are really great to work with, especially Neal McCoy and Marty Stuart. Those two are the best I have seen as far as their interaction with the fans and their crews. They’re just genuine people who know how lucky they have been in their lives. They get it.”
Malarkey is 30 years old, and he and his wife, Amanda, recently welcomed their daughter, Emma. He’s been employed doing sound for performances across the country, including many gigs while working for C.A. House Music.
“But when I found out my wife was pregnant, I knew I had to stop traveling so much,” he said. “I was getting ready to start a pipeline job that I knew would be in Marshall County for a while, but then I heard about Kyle’s decision to move on. I turned down the pipeline job to put all my eggs in this basket, and thankfully I got the job. I knew I needed to be home much more than I was when I was working the sound on shows all over the place. I want to be that kind of dad and not the other kind.
“Plus, I get to sleep in my own bed every night and see my wife and my daughter most nights when work doesn’t let me be home early,” Malarkey said. “I’d say that’s as close as possible to it having the best job I could have right now. What the future holds, I have no idea, but for now I am going to enjoy this as much as possible.”
My Questions. But Answers?
We settle into our chairs on the stage as the witching awaits, but before the silence I feel the need to ask Malarkey his thoughts on the supernatural.
“I do believe, for sure. There’s definitely something. There are spirits or something I can’t explain. I can tell you that,” Malarkey said. “There’s a feeling, especially when I am alone here. I’m not sure how to describe it to you, but there’s something.
“I don’t know what to expect tonight. I’ve never just sat here with the lights off, especially at midnight,” he started to whisper. “Especially when you start asking questions.”
This is what the dead of night is like inside this place, a space constructed by investors who initially planned to build at least eight stories above but failed because of The Great Depression. The Exit lights remain on because of regulations, and we can see to Main Street through the length of the first floor and the glass windows of the lobby and front entrance.
Malarkey only dimmed the first-level theatre lights to a glimmer, though, and when asked why he did that, he replied, “Because if you manage to conjure Johnny Cash somehow, I want to be able to see where to run. If suddenly he walks out onto this stage, I won’t be sitting here anymore. I’d be high-tailing it out the other side of the building for sure.
“If it was a pleasant spirit, I think I would be OK, but I’ve heard some stories about Johnny Cash,” he said. “I’ve talked with some folks about him, too, and I’ve heard a lot of positive things, but I have some stories about his anger, and that’s not something I really want to encounter.”
The questions begin.
Is anyone here?
The acoustics in this building are amazing, by the way.
Any ushers?
Are there any performers here?
The list of shows performed at the Capitol Theatre is impressive, but also it is evidence of the evolution of the live entertainment industry. Once, this venue was the largest in the state of West Virginia with more than 3,000 slender chairs on the main and balcony levels, but now it’s one of the smallest in the entire industry, and schedulers must depend on phone calls for rentals, and local churches, dance academies, and schools for the majority of additional programming.
What about Johnny Cash? Are you here?
Well, of course, it had to be asked, although Malarkey didn’t appreciate the query.
“If he starts walking out to us here, that means he’s a ghost. That would be enough to freak the hell out of me. I really don’t want to see him if he’s here for some kind of payback,” he said. “I’m telling you; I’ve heard stories.”
Anyone here?
At this moment, we choose to remain quiet for a few minutes to recall the performances we’ve seen. Jamboree USA shows, the Wheeling Symphony Orchestra, comedians Gallagher and Jerry Seinfield, John Mellancamp, Kenny Rogers, The Avett Brothers. Where did they stand, and what were their thoughts about this house?
How about a little more cowbell?
“I should have known you would ask that question,” Malarkey whispered. “This place and the cowbell during the Jamboree USA days? Legendary.”
Just one more cowbell?
That was the final question, but we sat silent for a while longer out of curiosity. Neither one of us has experienced an encounter here or anywhere else, so who knows on response time?
“I really didn’t know what to expect tonight sitting here like this,” the production said eventually. “And even though it was quiet this time, that doesn’t mean there won’t be something someday.”
