Why the 'Dome' Meant More Than Just Memories

Last week I spent more than seven hours in the Pleasant Hill City Council Chambers, listening to the case to save the "dome" theater from destruction. But I was not alone. The room was packed, and so too was the overflow area. More than 50 people got up to speak, all making the same plea: please save the "dome." The appeal was denied, and two days later the "dome" was demolished. A few people watched as the structure was torn down, some with tears in their eyes. Others posted eulogies on Facebook. Countless more no doubt spoke of the loss with family and friends who could remember seeing "classic" movies for the first time there.

But why care so much about an old movie theater, especially in a town with an almost brand new one? The level of public outcry made me ponder the real meaning of the "dome" and the potential impact of its destruction.

Of course, for many locals the "dome" represented the simpler, easier time of childhood. It was where they experienced wholesome family time and learned to love the kind of movies that ignited dreams and fed the imagination. Perhaps they also grew up there, learning about history, art, society and culture all the while transitioning into adulthood. The seats next to them first occupied by parents became occupied by friends, dates, spouses, and eventually their own children. Visiting the "dome" meant remembering one's life journey, and peering back down the road to catch the faint glimmer of the past.

But if the fight to save the "dome" was just a case of personal nostalgia, then why wouldn't long-time locals be pining after other pieces of the past too? And why would so many people from different age groups and backgrounds have come to theater's defense? Why would strangers have spent seven hours together in a city council meeting with one united purpose?

The "dome," I think, represented more than just Pleasant Hill's first movie theater. It also stood for a different cultural era, when people spent more time together experiencing the world mutually. Movies provide guided recognition of a culture and age, and movie theaters bring people together to go through that experience with their fellow human beings. Even if the person next to you is a stranger, you know that he or she is seeing what you see, possibly feeling the same emotions and sharing that journey. You know that despite your separate lives, you are here, now, together — and you are not alone.

What I saw in the wreckage of the "dome" was loneliness. All those shared moments had been crushed to pieces and would instead be replaced by the very individual and separate experience of retail shopping. No one will go to a Dick's Sporting Goods store to feel part of a shared moment. They'll go to pick up what they need for their own lives, and then get on their way. 

Admittedly, I had only been to the "dome" theater once, being a fairly new resident of the Bay Area, and it happened to be for the theater's very last showing. The auditorium was packed and buzzing with the sound of people munching popcorn and sharing memories made there over the past 46 years. 
Before the movie started, we each gazed up and marveled at the domed presence looming above. What made that ceiling so special? I understand now that it wasn't the "gimmick" of the structure, nor the architectural or historical value, necessarily, but the fact that we were all sitting beneath it. The "dome" cradled its audience under a unifying umbrella, protecting us all for a few sweet hours from the chaos and responsibilities of the world outside. I was struck by the fact that, unlike modern theaters like Pleasant Hill's Century 16, there were no walkways separating the audience into sections. We sat in long, uninterrupted rows that curved around so you could see your fellow row-mates all the way along. No one got up during the movie, disturbing others so that they could hit the concession stand, make a phone call or use the restroom. We all waited until intermission and took a break together.

And that's exactly why, I believe, people fought for the "dome." It was a retreat, a sanctuary and a place to be together, experiencing the shared stories of our lives. In today's world, those places are rare.