Things You Might NOT Know About Cheap Trick

There are certain things you don't need to explain to people from Rockford.

We know what a sock monkey is. We know why there's a giant Symbol sitting by the river. We know Rockford used to make a lot of screws. And we certainly don't need anybody to tell us Cheap Trick is from Rockford.

Cheap Trick may be the most internationally famous thing Rockford ever produced that wasn't manufactured in a factory. The band has sold millions of records, played thousands of concerts, entered the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and made At Budokan, one of the most famous live rock albums ever recorded.

You already know that stuff.

So let's try something harder.

Here are some things you might NOT know about Cheap Trick.

1. Cheap Trick wasn't really the beginning

Before Cheap Trick there was Fuse. Before Fuse there were still more Rockford bands.

Rick Nielsen played with a local group called the Grim Reapers, while Tom Petersson was associated with another Rockford band, Toast and Jam. In 1967, members of those groups came together as Fuse. Fuse actually got signed to Epic Records and released an album in 1969.

It didn't make them stars.

Fuse eventually relocated to Philadelphia and evolved into another band with the wonderfully cheerful name Sick Man of Europe. After that adventure ran its course, Nielsen and Bun E. Carlos returned to Rockford and started putting together what became Cheap Trick.

In other words, Cheap Trick wasn't four guys who suddenly decided to form a band and became famous. It was the result of years of Rockford bands forming, breaking up, recombining, leaving town, coming home and trying again.

There's probably a lesson in there somewhere.

2. Robin Zander wasn't Cheap Trick's original singer

This one might surprise casual fans.

When Cheap Trick first came together, Robin Zander wasn't standing at the microphone. The band's original lead singer was Randy "Xeno" Hogan.

Zander had actually been approached earlier and declined. Hogan fronted the early version of Cheap Trick before leaving, and Zander finally joined in 1974.

It's difficult now to imagine Cheap Trick without Zander's voice, but for a brief period, that version of Cheap Trick existed.

Somewhere in the multiverse there is probably a Cheap Trick greatest-hits album sung by Xeno Hogan.

3. The name supposedly came from watching Slade

One of the best stories in Cheap Trick history involves British glam-rock band Slade.

According to the band's oft-repeated origin story, the future members of Cheap Trick were watching Slade perform when Tom Petersson remarked that the band used every cheap trick in the book.

A band name was born.

Cheap Trick adopted the name in August 1973.

Considering Rick Nielsen's later stage wardrobe, checkerboards, guitar picks, novelty guitars and general philosophy that anything worth doing is worth doing with five guitar necks, the name turned out to be remarkably appropriate.

4. Three members went to Guilford

Here's a particularly Rockford fact.

Rick Nielsen, Tom Petersson and Bun E. Carlos all attended Guilford High School. Robin Zander was the geographic outlier: he attended Harlem High School.

And Guilford looked considerably different then. The school that now sits in the middle of a heavily developed part of northeast Rockford was surrounded by cornfields when the future members of Cheap Trick attended in the 1960s.

Somewhere in those cornfields were three-fourths of a future Rock and Roll Hall of Fame band.

5. Bun E. Carlos and Rick Nielsen's friendship reportedly started because Rick was throwing rocks at Bun's sister

Rock and roll friendships have begun in recording studios, nightclubs and backstage dressing rooms.

This one apparently began with projectile geology.

According to accounts of Bun E. Carlos's early life, he and Nielsen became friends in 1963 after Bun's sister came home from school and reported that Rick Nielsen had been throwing rocks at her.

That is an extremely Rockford origin story.

6. Bun E. Carlos bought his first drum kit from Rick Nielsen's family

It gets better.

When Carlos became interested in drums as a teenager, his mother bought him a drum kit for his 14th birthday.

The store?

Ralph Nielsen Music House in Rockford, owned by Rick Nielsen's father.

Years before Cheap Trick existed, the Nielsen family was therefore involved in putting drumsticks into the hands of the kid who would eventually sit behind Cheap Trick's drum kit.

Rockford can sometimes be a very small town disguised as a medium-sized city.

7. Bun E. Carlos had already made a record as a Rockford teenager

Before Cheap Trick, Carlos played in a local band called The Pagans.

The Pagans released a 45 featuring a cover of the Beatles' "Good Day Sunshine" backed with "I Can Only Give You Everything." According to biographical accounts, the record received airplay on WROK in Rockford and WCFL in Chicago and sold around 1,500 copies through local record stores.

And in 1967, The Pagans participated in a Battle of the Bands at Rockford's Sherwood Lodge.

One of their opponents?

Rick Nielsen's Grim Reapers.

Cheap Trick was apparently assembling itself before anybody realized it.

8. Rick Nielsen wasn't originally just "the guitar player"

Nielsen's identity is now so connected to guitars that this seems almost impossible.

But in Fuse, Nielsen served as a keyboard player and second guitarist. He didn't fully become the Rick-Nielsen-as-lead-guitarist figure we recognize today until Cheap Trick came together.

Which means somewhere in Cheap Trick's evolutionary tree is keyboard-player Rick Nielsen.

Sadly, there appears to have been no five-neck keyboard.

9. Rick bought one of his famous guitars in Rockford for $65

Nielsen's guitar collection became legendary, but one of the great stories goes back to Rockford in 1965.

He found a 1955 Gibson Les Paul Goldtop at a Rockford store called A Bookstore.

Price:

$65.

He still had the guitar decades later.

Nielsen also bought a 1951 Telecaster for $70. That guitar would eventually be played by Robin Zander during the At Budokan performances.

There are probably people reading this who remember when you could walk into a Rockford shop and find instruments like that.

Please don't tell the rest of us what you sold them for in 1974.

We don't want to know.

10. Rick Nielsen helped put some very famous guitars into some very famous hands

Nielsen wasn't merely accumulating guitars. He was buying and trading vintage instruments before guitar collecting became the enormous business it is today.

Among the more remarkable stories: Nielsen sold a 1959 Les Paul to Jeff Beck in 1968 after Beck's guitar had been damaged, and Nielsen later sold a left-handed 1960 Les Paul to Paul McCartney.

Imagine having enough legendary guitars pass through your hands that selling one to a Beatle becomes merely another story.

11. Cheap Trick helped make Hamer guitars famous

The connection between Cheap Trick and Hamer is much deeper than simply Rick Nielsen playing their guitars.

Nielsen knew Paul Hamer from the Illinois vintage-guitar world and became one of the company's earliest and most visible supporters. He acquired some of Hamer's earliest instruments and then began challenging the company with increasingly ridiculous ideas.

Checkerboard guitar?

Sure.

Five-neck guitar?

Why not?

A double-neck guitar shaped like Rick Nielsen himself?

Apparently somebody had to do it.

Cheap Trick didn't just use unusual guitars. Nielsen became part of the creative culture that produced them.

12. The five-neck guitar started as a joke

Before the famous five-neck Hamer existed, Nielsen had a stage routine in which he would hang several guitars around his neck simultaneously.

He'd play one, discard it, then move on to the guitar underneath.

Eventually a thought occurred to him:

Why not just make one guitar with all the necks?

Hamer constructed the original orange five-neck in 1981 by cutting apart five Hamer guitar bodies and joining them together. Nielsen wanted different sounds and configurations available on the same monstrous instrument, including a 12-string and fretless neck.

Nielsen had even contemplated a six-neck guitar that would rotate like a roulette wheel.

He abandoned that idea after ZZ Top started using spinning guitars because he didn't want people thinking he'd copied them.

There is a sentence you don't get to write very often.

13. Tom Petersson helped invent the 12-string bass

Rick Nielsen wasn't the only Cheap Trick member pushing instrument design into strange territory.

Tom Petersson became closely associated with the 12-string bass, an instrument he helped develop with Hamer.

Instead of the normal four strings, Petersson's instrument essentially paired each bass string with additional octave strings, producing the enormous, almost orchestral bass sound that became part of Cheap Trick's musical identity.

So one of rock music's strangest guitars and one of its strangest basses both emerged from the same band from Rockford.

Naturally.

14. Cheap Trick once played Rockford's Riverview Ice House at something called "Disco '77"

Yes.

Cheap Trick.

Disco.

On April 2, 1977, Cheap Trick headlined a WROK event at Rockford's Riverview Ice House called Disco '77.

Their debut album had just been released that year.

It's a nice reminder that history rarely looks like history while it's happening. Sometimes the future Rock and Roll Hall of Fame band is simply playing the local ice rink at something called Disco '77.

15. One of the great Rockford concerts happened at the Armory

By 1979, things had changed considerably.

Cheap Trick returned home for a July 4 concert at the Rockford Armory.

Also on the bill:

AC/DC and Molly Hatchet.

Cheap Trick had gone from grinding through Midwestern clubs to international fame, but they came back to Rockford with one of the most formidable rock bills imaginable.

Anybody who attended that show now possesses one of the better "Yeah, I was there" cards available to a Rockford resident.

16. The Midway Theater became part of Cheap Trick history

Here's another piece of downtown Rockford embedded in the band's story.

In 1997, Cheap Trick used the historic Midway Theater to film the video for "Say Goodbye." Rick Nielsen also performed an electric concerto there with the Rockford Symphony Orchestra.

That's one of the things I love about Cheap Trick's relationship with Rockford. The band's history isn't confined to a plaque saying CHEAP TRICK WAS FROM HERE.

It's scattered all over town.

Schools. Bars. Music stores. The Armory. The Ice House. The Midway. Places that disappeared and places still standing.

Cheap Trick Is Part of the Geography

That's probably the thing outsiders don't completely understand.

Cheap Trick isn't merely a famous band whose biography happens to list "Rockford, Illinois" as its place of origin.

For people here, Cheap Trick exists in the geography.

You can drive past the schools they attended. You can find buildings where they played before most of the world knew who they were. Rick Nielsen found guitars in Rockford shops that became part of rock history. Bun E. Carlos bought his first drums from Nielsen's family. Their teenage bands competed against each other before Cheap Trick even existed.

Then those kids from Rockford went out into the world.

Japan went crazy for them. At Budokan became a landmark live album. "I Want You to Want Me" became one of those songs almost everybody knows whether they own a Cheap Trick record or not. Eventually the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame came calling.

But follow the story backward far enough and you keep ending up in the same place.

Rockford, Illinois.

 

Appletree Records: When Rockford Had a Record Store That Could Change Your Life

There was a time when discovering music required leaving the house.

You couldn't hear thirty seconds of every record ever made while sitting on the toilet. There was no Spotify algorithm waiting to decide that because you listened to the Ramones you might enjoy the Dead Boys. If you wanted to discover something strange, loud, imported, independent, or completely unlike anything being played on Rockford radio, somebody had to put it in front of you.

For a generation of Rockford music fans, one of those places was Appletree Records.

Appletree was located in Edgebrook Shopping Center and survived into the 1990s. People remember the records, tapes and eventually CDs, but describing it simply as a place that sold recorded music misses what record stores actually did before the Internet. They were information exchanges. You went there because you knew what you wanted, but also because you didn't know what you wanted yet.

And Appletree was particularly good at the second thing.

The store carried the major-label releases you'd expect, but its reputation was built partly on an unusually deep inventory of imports, independent records, punk, metal and other music that could be difficult to find in a Midwestern city during the 1980s.

Dan Kubinski, later of the influential Milwaukee punk band Die Kreuzen, remembered Appletree as essential to his musical education while growing up in the Rockford area. He recalled discovering X there and buying his first Damned singles at the store. For a kid trying to figure out what punk music existed beyond the handful of records available through mainstream outlets, Appletree provided a doorway.

That wasn't unusual.

Another recollection of Rockford's 1980s punk and metal scene describes Appletree's inventory of underground and imported punk and metal as staggering. Records were only part of it. There were tapes, zines, concert shirts and the accumulated debris of music culture that told teenagers there was an entire world happening somewhere beyond whatever was being played on commercial radio.

Sometimes that world came directly into the store.

On June 16, 1986, Black Flag and Gone held an autograph signing at Appletree Records before playing The Channel in Rockford.

Think about that for a moment.

Black Flag wasn't an archaeological artifact yet. Henry Rollins wasn't a television personality or spoken-word institution. This was the actual American underground passing through Rockford, Illinois, and before the show you could apparently walk into the local record store and meet them.

That tells us something important about what Appletree was.

It wasn't merely retail.

Record stores like Appletree were part of the infrastructure of local music. They sold concert tickets and local products. Flyers accumulated there. Musicians met other musicians. Somebody behind the counter recommended something you'd never heard before. You bought it because the cover looked interesting or because somebody whose taste you trusted said, "You need to hear this."

Then you took it home.

And sometimes your life was slightly different afterward.

Appletree itself wasn't merely a single Rockford curiosity. Contemporary records show AppleTree operating elsewhere in Illinois, including DeKalb, where a store at 1022 W. Lincoln Highway was documented in the late 1980s and early 1990s. An industry directory from 1989 listed Appletree Records in DeKalb as dealing in records, prerecorded tapes and video. The company appears to have deliberately operated in Illinois college towns and regional cities rather than behaving like the giant mall chains that eventually dominated music retail.

But the Rockford store developed its own place in the city's cultural memory.

That's probably why people still mention it decades after it disappeared.

Rockford has been fortunate to retain part of its record-store tradition. Toad Hall survived. Other independent shops have carried the physical-media tradition forward. Vinyl itself performed the unlikely trick of coming back from the dead.

But something about the old record-store experience can't really be reconstructed.

Scarcity was part of the magic.

You couldn't instantly obtain everything. You couldn't instantly know everything. A record could be rumored to exist for months before you finally saw one. Imports really were imports. A weird seven-inch single could become an object of obsession because there wasn't another copy waiting to be delivered to your door tomorrow morning.

Places like Appletree served as portals through that scarcity.

A kid in Rockford could walk into Edgebrook looking for one record and walk out having discovered an entirely different idea of what music could be.

That's a pretty good legacy for a store that sold records.

The Time I Wrote About Dog Poop on the Walls of the Rockford Art Museum

 

The Time I Wrote About Dog Poop on the Walls of the Rockford Art Museum

In 2017, the Rockford Art Museum allowed me to spend two days writing children's poems directly onto its gallery walls.

All twenty-six of them.

This was not vandalism. I want to establish that immediately.

Nobody chased me down East State Street. The police were not summoned. The Rockford Art Museum knew exactly what I was doing. In fact, they supplied me with a large assortment of expensive art markers with which to do it.

What I'm less certain about is whether they had completely considered the implications of saying yes.

Because one of the poems was called “D is for Dog Poop.”

I wrote that one in brown.

Another was “U is for Urination.”

Yellow.

Welcome to the arts in Rockford, Illinois.

Bittersweet Observations

The occasion was Bittersweet Observations, a 2017 exhibition at the Rockford Art Museum that included work by my partner, artist Jenny Mathews. Jenny had been creating paintings and illustrations that revisited childhood stories and imagery, and our children's book Atrocious Poems A to Z fit naturally into the world of the exhibition.

Atrocious Poems A To Z

The book had been nearly eight years in the making. I wrote the poems and Jenny created the illustrations. Its premise was “poems about all the things kids love to hate”: bullies, vegetables, inoculations, sharing, monsters, liver, dog poop, and the other catastrophes adults dismiss because we've forgotten how enormous small problems can feel when you're a child.

The book was funny, but the idea underneath it wasn't entirely a joke. Children have anxieties adults frequently regard as trivial because adults know those things will pass. Children don't necessarily know that yet.

The kids who visited the museum seemed to understand the premise immediately.

Some adults needed a little more convincing.

I Had an Idea

The idea of writing all twenty-six poems directly onto the museum walls was mine.

I admired the Dadaists and Surrealists, and somewhere along the way I realized I had an unusual opportunity. If I could convince a respectable American art museum to let me write the poems directly onto its walls, I could quietly introduce a little Dada into an otherwise straight exhibition.

For children.

The Dadaists usually had the courtesy to announce they were doing Dada.

I didn't.

I proposed writing the poems on the walls. The museum said yes.

The gates were open.

Two Days on the Museum Wall

It sounded easier than it was.

The installation took two days. It was around 100 degrees outside and considerably colder inside the museum, where temperatures have to be maintained for the artwork.

Jenny's illustrations were displayed along the wall, and I wrote each corresponding poem beside them by hand. The museum had a wide selection of art markers because it also conducted art classes, so I tried to choose colors that complemented the individual illustrations while also making the entire wall work visually.

Sometimes this required aesthetic judgment.

Sometimes the poem was called “D is for Dog Poop.”

Brown.

I don't remember every color I used, but “O is for Orange” wasn't a particularly difficult decision either. And when I reached “U is for Urination,” there was really only one responsible choice.

Yellow.

There was no accompanying artist statement explaining that yellow represented the existential condition of childhood urination.

Pee is yellow.

The installation process became surprisingly physical. Writing an entire book vertically on a museum wall is hard on the hands and arms. I periodically did yoga on the gallery floor to loosen myself up. Other people were working around me because part of the larger installation involved constructing a small forest inside the museum, and I'd take breaks from writing to help with that.

I believe I made at least one mistake substantial enough that part of the wall had to be painted over so I could write it again.

Living with a visual artist had already taught me something useful.

Everything can be repainted.

The Kids Got It

One of my favorite memories of the exhibition is that children generally didn't require much explanation.

Adults sometimes seemed to need permission to understand what we were doing. Was a poem about stepping in dog poop really supposed to be hanging in an art museum? Was it serious? Was it a joke?

The answer was yes.

To an adult, stepping in dog poop is an annoyance. To a child, it can be the worst thing that has happened since Tuesday.

That's what the book was about.

Rockford children walked into the museum, saw the illustrations and poems, and generally understood the arrangement immediately.

Perhaps children are naturally better Dadaists.

The Part Where I Wasn't an Artist

There is one more absurd detail.

I specifically asked the Rockford Art Museum not to list me as one of the exhibiting artists.

At that point Jenny and I were involved in what felt like three to five public events every week. We were everywhere. I had reached the limit of how much public exposure I wanted and couldn't find enough corners to hide in.

I wanted to do the work and skip the rest.

So there I was, spending two days physically writing twenty-six poems across an entire wall of the Rockford Art Museum, while insisting I wasn't one of the exhibiting artists.

There are photographs of me standing beneath the finished installation.

Photo by Ryan Davis

My name appears above me in enormous letters.

I didn't ask to be listed in the exhibition, but I did manage to get my misspelled name displayed across an entire museum wall.

That's difficult to improve upon.

From Byron to Rockford

There was another reason the installation meant something to me.

The ancestor of Atrocious Poems A to Z began when I was a fifth grader at Mary Morgan Grade School in Byron. Our class was assigned to create a children's book. I procrastinated until two days before it was due and finally threw together an alphabet book called The Monster Dictionary.

My teacher gave me a B.

Her written assessment began:

“Not colored. Excellent ideas!”

She told me that if I'd put more effort into the project, the school might have sent the idea to the Library of Congress.

A B for effort 

That bothered me for decades.

Eventually I met Jenny in Rockford, asked her to illustrate my new version of the alphabet-book idea, and we spent eight years finishing Atrocious Poems A to Z.

Then something happened that my fifth-grade teacher probably couldn't have predicted.

I took the descendant of that unfinished little alphabet book and wrote all twenty-six poems by hand on the walls of the Rockford Art Museum.

And this time I colored it.

Dog poop was brown.

Pee was yellow.

After three months, Bittersweet Observations came down. The walls were painted over and another exhibition took its place. I believe the next one involved motorcycles.

That's what museums do. One Rockford story disappears and another takes its place.

But for three months in 2017, children could walk into the Rockford Art Museum and find a grown man had written a poem about dog poop on the wall in brown marker.

And nobody threw him out.

Rockford had given him permission.

Fifty Years of TWATS: The Surprisingly Long History of the Rockford Ravens Rugby Club

 Rockford has never had much trouble finding sports to call its own.

We had the Rockford Peaches. We have the IceHogs. We have the Ski Broncs building improbable human pyramids on the Rock River. We have golf courses, baseball diamonds, basketball courts, bowling alleys, and enough sports complexes that at some point somebody apparently decided our most renewable natural resource was athletic fields.

And for the last fifty years, we've also had rugby.

The Rockford Ravens Rugby Football Club was established in 1976, which means the Ravens are celebrating their 50th anniversary in 2026. That's half a century of Rockford men and women voluntarily running toward other large human beings without the benefit of shoulder pads, helmets, or the good sense to throw the ball forward.

That deserves some recognition.

How the Ravens Got Here

The early history has acquired a little bit of legend.

According to a 2016 history of the club, the Ravens were reportedly started by an Englishman who moved to the area in 1976. The club was originally associated with Oregon, Illinois, then Kishwaukee, before eventually settling permanently in Rockford.

Whatever the exact circumstances of its birth, the Rockford Ravens survived.

That's significant.

Sports teams come and go. Recreational leagues form, flourish for a few years, lose players, lose fields, lose organizers, and disappear. Maintaining any volunteer athletic organization for fifty years requires something considerably stronger than enthusiasm for Saturday afternoon exercise.

The Ravens developed a culture.

Today the club operates under the Forest City Rugby Union, a nonprofit organization, and includes men's, women's, and youth rugby. The men's and women's first sides compete at the Division III level.

Their home field is at Lyran Park on South Bend Road, where the Ravens also hold their annual Luck of the Draw rugby tournament.

But understanding the Ravens requires understanding something about rugby itself.

A Hooligan's Game Played by Gentlemen

American football has whistles.

Rugby seems to regard whistles mostly as irritating interruptions to what everyone came there to do.

Players run, kick, tackle, scrum and pass the ball across the field, with one particularly confusing rule for Americans: the ball cannot simply be thrown forward toward the goal line. Rugby players advance while passing laterally or backward, although they can kick the ball forward.

There are no helmets and no shoulder pads.

This occasionally produces exactly the results you would imagine.

But one of the fascinating things about rugby is the contrast between the violence of the game and the culture surrounding it. A 2016 interview with a Ravens captain used the old description of rugby as "a hooligan's game played by gentlemen."

That seems particularly appropriate here.

After spending a match tackling one another into the ground, rugby teams traditionally socialize together. The home team feeds the visitors. Players share drinks, tell stories, sing songs and generally behave as though the people attempting to flatten them an hour earlier are now old friends.

For the Ravens, that social tradition isn't incidental.

The club describes camaraderie as one of its greatest strengths. Former players don't necessarily disappear when their playing days end. They become officers, organizers and social members. The club holds picnics, parties, breakfasts and banquets and participates in charitable and community activities.

In other words, joining the Ravens has traditionally meant joining something larger than a team.

The Girls Brought Home a State Championship

The Ravens' history isn't merely longevity.

Rockford has also produced championship rugby.

According to Rugby Illinois records, the Rockford Ravens girls won the Illinois high school rugby championship in 2010, defeating Plainfield for the title.

That wasn't an isolated appearance near the top of Illinois rugby. Rockford returned to the championship match several times, finishing second in 2012 and 2015 and sharing a runner-up listing in 2013.

Rugby Illinois credits Rockford with four girls' state title-match appearances.

For a sport that still exists somewhere outside the consciousness of many local sports fans, Rockford rugby has quietly accumulated a respectable history.

Then There Are the TWATS

Eventually, playing rugby in Illinois apparently wasn't enough.

The Ravens also developed a tradition of international touring.

Every few years members travel overseas as the Wild American Touring Side.

Yes.

The acronym is TWATS.

I have checked this.

In 2022, sixty-two people representing ten different rugby clubs traveled across Scotland with the Ravens touring side. They played three matches, defeating Isle of Islay 12-7 and Moray 30-25 before losing to Lochaber 24-12.

They returned to Rockford with a winning international record of 2-1 and, presumably, several stories unsuitable for inclusion in a respectable local history blog.

The Scottish clubs also participated fully in rugby's social traditions. On Islay, the home club fed the entire traveling party after the match, and the visitors toured local distilleries. In Elgin, Moray Rugby Club presented the Americans with homemade haggis.

There are worse ways for a Rockford sports team to spend an afternoon.

Fifty Years and Still Running

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about the Rockford Ravens isn't a championship, a Scottish tour or even surviving fifty years.

It's that the basic idea still works.

The club continues to invite people who have never played rugby before to come out and learn. Its current men's, women's and youth programs keep alive something that began locally in 1976, when rugby was considerably more exotic to the average American than it is today.

There is something very Rockford about that persistence.

This city has always accumulated strange and wonderful institutions around its edges. Some become famous. Others simply keep doing what they do decade after decade until suddenly you look up and realize they've become part of the history of the place.

The Rockford Ravens are one of those institutions.

For fifty years they've practiced, traveled, competed, won championships, thrown parties, recruited newcomers, welcomed old players back, toured foreign countries and tackled one another into the grass.

The Peaches got a movie.

The IceHogs get an arena.

The Ski Broncs get the Rock River.

But somewhere in Rockford, there has been a rugby match going on since 1976.

Happy 50th anniversary to the Rockford Ravens.

Not bad for a bunch of TWATS.

 

The Lost Movie Theaters of Rockford, Illinois

When we think about Rockford's old movie theaters, three names tend to dominate the conversation: the Coronado Theatre, the Midway Theatre, and the Times Theatre.

There is a pretty good reason for that.

They're still here.

The Coronado remains one of Rockford's great architectural treasures. The Midway still stands on East State Street, its tower and marquee surviving despite decades of uncertainty. And the Times Theatre on North Main Street has been the subject of a long-running restoration effort.

But these weren't the only places Rockford residents went to the movies.

Not even close.

For much of the twentieth century, Rockford had a surprisingly large collection of movie houses scattered around downtown and the surrounding neighborhoods. Most have disappeared so completely that it's difficult today to imagine a time when going to the movies in Rockford didn't mean driving out to a multiplex.

The Midway Theatre

The Midway is the oldest of Rockford's three most recognizable surviving movie houses.

It opened on August 3, 1918, at 721 East State Street. Architect J.E.O. Pridmore designed the Spanish Renaissance-style building, which included much more than a movie theater. The complex also contained storefronts, apartments and even a bowling alley in the basement.

The Midway was reportedly the largest theater in Illinois outside Chicago when it opened.

Its location also explains its name. At the time it was built, the theater stood roughly midway between Rockford's city limits.

For generations of Rockford residents, the Midway was simply part of the landscape of East State Street.

A devastating fire gutted much of the building in 1980, although the distinctive façade, marquee and tower survived. The building was restored and later became home to the Rockford Symphony Orchestra before the orchestra moved to the Coronado.

Today the Midway remains one of those Rockford buildings almost everyone recognizes, even if fewer and fewer people remember actually seeing a movie there.

The Coronado Theatre

If the Midway was impressive, the Coronado Theatre was designed to overwhelm you.

The Coronado opened on October 9, 1927, at 314 North Main Street. It cost approximately $1.5 million to build and seated about 2,400 people.

It wasn't merely a room containing a movie screen.

The Coronado was an atmospheric theater, designed to make audiences feel as though they had entered another world. Spanish castles, Italian villas, dragons and a ceiling resembling a star-filled night sky surrounded moviegoers. There was even a massive Barton pipe organ.

It quickly became known as "Rockford's Wonder Theatre."

Movies were only part of the attraction. Over the decades the Coronado hosted performers including Frank Sinatra, Louis Armstrong, Bob Hope, Sammy Davis Jr., the Marx Brothers and George Gershwin.

Unlike so many of America's great movie palaces, the Coronado survived.

After an enormous community restoration effort around the turn of the twenty-first century, it emerged as the Coronado Performing Arts Center and remains one of the most spectacular buildings in Rockford.

The Times Theatre

The Times came slightly later.

Located at 226 North Main Street, the Times Theatre opened on March 30, 1938, with Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney in Thoroughbreds Don't Cry.

Architecturally, it belonged to a different generation than the elaborate Coronado. The Times embraced the sleek curves and horizontal lines of Streamline Moderne, giving downtown Rockford a thoroughly modern movie theater for the late 1930s.

The theater had roughly 1,000 seats and remained a movie house for decades.

Its final film was The Entity, starring Barbara Hershey, when the Times closed in February 1983.

The building later became a restaurant, nightclub and entertainment venue before sitting vacant for years. More recently, preservation efforts have attempted to bring the Times back to life as an entertainment venue.

But even these three theaters tell only part of the story.

The State Theatre

One of the most significant Rockford theaters to disappear completely was the State Theatre at 105 West State Street.

Its history actually began as the Palm Theatre, which opened in 1913. After remodeling and a period of closure, it reopened as the State Theatre in September 1931.

The State wasn't trying to compete with the Coronado by being another gigantic fantasy palace. Its business model included showing major movies on their second runs at affordable prices.

Its slogan said it nicely:

"Good Shows at Reasonable Prices."

The State survived the Depression, World War II and the arrival of television, but it didn't survive downtown redevelopment.

It closed in September 1976 and was demolished later that year. The Luther Center apartment building eventually occupied the site.

Today there is virtually nothing there to suggest generations of Rockford residents once lined up at that location to see movies.

The Capitol Theatre

The Capitol Theatre, at 1122 South Main Street, was another substantial Rockford movie house.

Built in 1928 by Anthony Domino and Theodore Ingrassia, the approximately 1,000-seat Capitol was designed by Rockford architect Wybe J. van der Meer.

Like the Coronado, the Capitol was an atmospheric theater, although on a smaller scale. Its auditorium had a Spanish garden theme and a ceiling where artificial stars twinkled overhead. The building's Spanish Colonial exterior included a red tile roof and terra-cotta medallions depicting famous cultural figures.

The Capitol showed movies, hosted vaudeville performers and later became a venue for live music. Performers associated with the theater included Aretha Franklin and James Brown.

Eventually the movies stopped. The building subsequently served other purposes, including a billiard hall and restaurant, before falling vacant and deteriorating.

The auditorium was finally demolished in December 2025, although the historic South Main Street façade remained standing.

For nearly a century, however, the Capitol was another reminder that Rockford's movie theater history extended well beyond downtown.

And There Were More

This is where Rockford's theater history becomes wonderfully murky.

Old theater directories and historical records contain a remarkable collection of additional Rockford movie-house names: the Rex Theatre, Royal Theatre, Strand, Roxy, Auburn Theatre, Capri Theatre, Crest Theatre, Dreamland Theatre, Liberty Theatre, Lyric Theatre, Majestic Theater, Orpheum Theatre and Palace Theatre, among others.

Some of these names represented the same building at different times. Some operated relatively briefly. For others, fragments of information survive but not enough to reconstruct their stories without considerably more digging through old newspapers, city directories and theater-industry publications.

There were also later neighborhood and shopping-center theaters, including the Colonial Village Cinema, North Towne Cinemas and Northridge theaters, followed by the multiplex era familiar to more recent generations.

And Rockford had drive-ins, including the Belford, Robin and Sunset, which deserve their own place in the city's moviegoing memory.

The point isn't really to compile every theater that ever projected a movie in Rockford.

It's to remember how thoroughly movies were once woven into the physical fabric of the city.

People didn't necessarily travel across town to a giant complex containing twelve or twenty screens. There were theaters downtown. There were theaters in neighborhoods. There were grand movie palaces and modest second-run houses. There were places where you could spend an afternoon watching cartoons and places where simply walking through the lobby must have felt like entering another country.

Most of them disappeared.

The State is gone. The Capitol auditorium is gone. Many of the smaller theaters disappeared so thoroughly that their names now sound almost imaginary.

Dreamland. The Palace. The Majestic. The Lyric.

But the Coronado survived.

The Midway survived.

The Times survived.

And if you stand in front of any one of them long enough, it's worth remembering that these buildings aren't the remnants of three unusual theaters Rockford happened to have.

They're the survivors of an entire moviegoing city that has mostly vanished.

 

The Faust Hotel: When Rockford Had a Grand Hotel

Greetings from Rockford, Illinois.

For years I could look out my north window and see two of downtown Rockford's great survivors: the Midway Theatre and the Faust Hotel.

I found some old postcards of the Faust on eBay one day and was struck by something unusual about them. The building in the postcards was obviously from another Rockford — a city of grand hotels, ballrooms, visiting dignitaries and men who apparently packed suits to go bowling — but the building itself was still right there outside my window.

That is one of the peculiar things about the Faust. Rockford changed around it.

The Faust didn't go anywhere.

Rockford Builds a Skyscraper

The Faust Hotel opened in 1929 at 630 East State Street, an enormous undertaking for a city that was becoming one of the Midwest's important manufacturing centers.

Behind the project was Levin Faust, a Swedish immigrant who arrived in Rockford in 1887 and went to work as a machinist at W.F. & John Barnes Company. Faust became one of the city's successful industrialists and investors, helping organize or finance businesses including Mechanics Machine Company, Rockford Drop Forge, Rockford Tool Company, Rockford Milling Machine and Estwing Manufacturing. He also served as president of the Rockford Park District board.

Then he decided Rockford needed a hotel.

Not just a hotel.

A hotel.

The completed Faust towered over East State Street and became the city's premier lodging and social destination. It contained hundreds of guest rooms, restaurants, ballrooms and lounges.

And, yes, a bowling alley.

An eight-lane bowling alley, in fact.

This was apparently an era when civilization understood that no luxury hotel was truly complete unless a guest could finish dinner, attend a formal dance, drink several cocktails and then attempt to pick up a 7-10 split without ever leaving the building.

Unfortunately for Levin Faust, he picked possibly the worst year in American history to open an enormous luxury hotel.

1929. 
      

The Great Depression devastated the venture. Faust lost the hotel in bankruptcy in 1933 along with much of his fortune. He died three years later.

The hotel bearing his name survived him.

When Presidents Came to Rockford

For decades, if you were important and came to Rockford, there was a pretty good chance somebody was going to put you in the Faust.

Dwight D. Eisenhower stayed there.

John F. Kennedy visited the Faust during his 1960 presidential campaign.

Swedish royalty came through its doors, an especially significant event in a city whose history was so profoundly shaped by Swedish immigration. Prince Bertil of Sweden was guest of honor at a banquet there in 1938.

The Faust became more than someplace to sleep. It was where Rockford presented itself to the outside world.

This is easy to forget now.

We tend to look at old buildings as architecture. But buildings like the Faust were also stages. Weddings happened there. Business deals happened there. Conventions, banquets, dances, political events and celebrations happened there. People arrived in Rockford and formed part of their impression of the city inside that building.

For a substantial part of the twentieth century, the Faust was Rockford's living room.

The Postcards

One of my favorite old postcards shows the Faust lobby.

The funny thing is that when I used to walk past it almost every day, I always thought it looked remarkably similar.

I have occasionally wondered whether it might actually be the same carpet.

This is Rockford, so I am unwilling to rule that out without further investigation.

Other postcards show the lounges and public rooms during the hotel's glory years, when downtown Rockford was crowded with theaters, department stores, restaurants and hotels.

Just down East State stood the Midway Theatre. The Coronado was on the other side of downtown. The Register Star's tower rose beside the river. At night the Faust itself announced its presence in enormous illuminated letters high above the street.

The building wasn't merely located in downtown Rockford.

It helped define what downtown Rockford looked like.

Did JFK Bowl at the Faust?

This brings us to the important historical questions.

There really was a bowling alley inside the Faust.

John F. Kennedy really was at the Faust.

Therefore, it is technically possible that John F. Kennedy bowled at the Faust Hotel.

I have uncovered absolutely no evidence that this occurred.

It also seems unlikely that bowling would have ranked especially high among the entertainment opportunities available to John F. Kennedy in 1960.

Still, until someone produces documentary evidence establishing his whereabouts during every minute of his Rockford visit, I prefer to consider the matter unresolved.

Rockford historians deserve mysteries too.

From the Faust to Tebala Towers

The age of the grand downtown hotel eventually ended.

In 1973 the building was purchased by Rockford's Tebala Shriners and became known as Tebala Towers. Later in the decade, the former hotel was converted into apartments.

Eventually its old name returned.

Today it is the Faust Landmark, a residential building rather than a hotel.

But the old hotel is still visible everywhere once you know what you're looking at.

The building still dominates East State Street. Its brick and terra-cotta exterior still rises above downtown. And more than ninety years after it opened, the Faust remains one of the most immediately recognizable structures in Rockford.

In fact, despite generations of predictions about Rockford's future, nobody has managed to build anything taller.

The Light at the Top of the Faust

Years ago, while I was still living where I could see the Faust from my window, I noticed something one night.

A light was on in one of the uppermost rooms.

I had never seen it illuminated before.

Naturally, I imagined that some super-secret ancient society sworn to protect Rockford had convened an emergency meeting at the top of the Faust.

Perhaps they had been meeting there since 1929.

Industrialists. Newspaper publishers. Politicians. Swedish royalty. Phantom Regiment elders. Possibly a Sock Monkey representative.

They would assemble only when the city faced its greatest dangers.

The only problem was that I couldn't think of anyone currently in Rockford who would be summoned to such a meeting.

So it was probably maintenance.

But I prefer my version.

Because the Faust has earned a little mythology.

It has watched Rockford celebrate and struggle for nearly a century. It survived the Depression that destroyed the fortune of the man who built it. It watched presidents arrive and businesses disappear. It watched downtown empty out and begin filling up again. It watched theaters close, factories vanish and generations of Rockfordians come and go beneath its windows.

And it's still there.

The old postcards aren't really pictures of a vanished building.

They're pictures of a vanished Rockford surrounding a building that refused to vanish.

Right here in downtown Rockford, Illinois.

Rockford’s Symbol: Enduring Art or a Giant Red Boondoggle?

Rockford’s Symbol: Enduring Art or a Giant Red Boondoggle?

There are certain things a Rockford artist eventually learns are expected of them. Sooner or later, somebody is going to suggest a sock monkey. A screw is always available. The Rockford Peaches remain eternally on deck. And looming over all of it, quite literally, is The Symbol.

You know The Symbol. Everybody in Rockford knows The Symbol, even if quite a few people couldn't tell you what it is supposed to symbolize.

Officially titled Symbol, the enormous sculpture standing near the Rock River was created by Russian-born American sculptor Alexander Liberman, one of the major figures in 20th-century American monumental sculpture. Constructed from massive steel cylinders painted bright red, the work has become one of Rockford's most recognizable landmarks.

But Rockford's relationship with it has never been quite that simple.

When Symbol arrived in the 1970s, it immediately became something Rockford excels at producing: an argument.

To supporters, it was exactly the sort of ambitious public artwork a city like Rockford should have. Here was a monumental sculpture by an internationally recognized artist, placed prominently along the river and impossible to mistake for anything else. Rockford wasn't merely decorating a park. It was participating in contemporary art on a scale usually associated with much larger cities.

To critics, it was a collection of giant red pipes.

And expensive ones.

That disagreement has followed Symbol for decades. Depending on whom you ask, it is an important example of modern public sculpture, an enduring Rockford landmark, an incomprehensible pile of industrial tubing, or evidence that somebody somewhere had access to public money and very persuasive presentation materials.

Which may be precisely why it has succeeded.

Public art that everyone immediately agrees is pleasant tends to become invisible. A tasteful statue sits in a park. People walk past it. Nobody argues about it at the dinner table thirty years later.

Rockford has been arguing about Symbol for roughly half a century.

Liberman's work makes particular sense in an industrial city. His monumental sculptures frequently used cylinders, beams and other fabricated steel forms, transforming the vocabulary of factories and heavy industry into abstraction. In Rockford—a city whose identity was built around manufacturing, machinery and metalworking—the material doesn't exactly feel foreign.

It looks manufactured because it is.

It looks industrial because it is.

And it looks a little like somebody dropped the contents of a gigantic machine shop beside the Rock River because, well, this is Rockford.

Over time, however, something happened that neither the sculpture's defenders nor its detractors could completely control. Symbol stopped merely being a controversial piece of public art and became The Symbol.

The capitalization almost feels necessary.

It became part of the city's visual shorthand. Photograph Rockford long enough and eventually The Symbol appears. Design something intended to announce ROCKFORD and somebody will suggest putting The Symbol in it. Along with the sock monkey, the screw and the Rockford Peaches, it entered that small collection of images Rockford continually uses to explain itself to itself.

That doesn't mean everybody suddenly decided they liked it.

That's the interesting part.

A landmark doesn't necessarily require affection. It requires recognition. The Eiffel Tower was despised by prominent artists when it was built. Plenty of cities contain monuments their residents spent years mocking before eventually becoming fiercely protective of them. Familiarity does strange things to public art. Yesterday's monstrosity becomes today's landmark and tomorrow's irreplaceable piece of civic identity.

Imagine someone announcing tomorrow that The Symbol was going to be removed permanently.

People who have spent forty years calling it ugly would probably be among the first to complain.

Because after all this time, the question isn't really whether Symbol is beautiful.

The better question is whether Rockford would feel slightly less like Rockford without it.

Rockford Symbol

I think it would.

And maybe that's the final verdict on the old argument about whether The Symbol was a boondoggle or enduring art.

A boondoggle disappears when the money is gone.

Art hangs around long enough for everybody to argue about what it means.

Nearly fifty years later, those giant red pipes are still standing beside the Rock River, and Rockford is still arguing.

That sounds suspiciously like art.