Eulogy for the Northgate: It was where this critic fell in love with the movies

When the Northgate Theatre closed its doors forever after 50 years and five months of service to the North End, it was with a sad little whimper: no public announcement, no media lamentation, no outcries of angry preservationists.
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It was the prototype of a new kind of suburban movie house that would spring up everywhere in the '50s: not quite a movie palace, but built with a sleek modernistic opulence and on a scale that could accommodate the hordes that would be drawn to a large, outlying shopping mall.

Opening its doors in September 1951, it had 1,500 seats (the equivalent of a downtown first-run house), the city's largest staff of ushers (wearing buckskin uniforms, to match the Northwest Indian decor) and what was reputed to be the nation's largest cry-room.

I first saw the Northgate the next year. I was 7 years old and had just moved to Seattle from a small town in Arkansas. To get to the theater, my brother and I walked a bucolic trail through apple orchards where North Seattle Community College now stands.

I've never forgotten that amazing first visit. The dramatic Thunderbird logo on the entrance floor. The thrilling vastness of the auditorium. The military efficiency of the platoon of ushers. The movie was "Hans Christian Andersen," starring Danny Kaye.
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