Once a month, the theater is the venue for "Live at the Ritz," featuring art groups, such as these musicians from Amarillo. Folks come from miles
around to attend these live performances.
A grand opening advertisement in one of the two local
newspapers trumpeted "The Voice of Vitaphone" and the
magic of movies that talked.
But then came the cataclysms of financial ruin, failed
crops, and war. Just when the world began to recover,
something even more sinister rolled over Wellington-
globalization, mechanization, centralization, conglom-
eration, and all the other "tions" that caused prosperity to
shun the small towns on the Great Plains. There was also
mass communication. Wellington wasn't exactly the center
of the global economy to start with, and who needs the Ritz
when you can eat Jiffy-Pop popcorn right in front of the TV?
By 1980 the Ritz was the pits. The roof was leaking,
the floral print carpet was worn, and pigeons and bats had
their own box seats. No one really remembers when the
Ritz closed. No one recalls for sure when the letters that
spelled "closed for remodeling" fell off the marquee. But by
the turn of another century, Bill Hatch had closed his dry
goods store on the square, Walmart was thriving 30 miles
down the road, and the Ritz had an elm tree growing on
what was left of its roof.
In 2001, some concerned residents decided to take the
Ritz's pulse one last time and either revive it or knock it
down. The latter would have been easier, but something
more than a ruined building seemed to be at stake. Aware
that this might be a time of last chances, these budding
preservationists formed a nonprofit group called Historic
Wellington, Inc. and installed at the helm Gay McAli-
ster, a retired schoolteacher, adored by generations of
Wellington students. They called in the experts and
took a leap of faith.
Bob Brinkman with the Texas Historical Commission
was the first to visit, and he confirmed that the Ritz was
too good to lose in spite of total devastation inside. Dan-
iel Carey, then the director of the National Trust for His-
toric Preservation's Southwest Regional Office, hired Gary
Oatman, a Wichita Falls-based structural engineer, to sur-
vey the building and determine if it could be saved. The
National Trust survey was a turning point for the Ritz.
Somebody with an important-sounding name actually
cared about what was happening in Wellington. The Trust
survey proved that the Ritz's bones were still intact, which
enabled townspeople to see through mounds of animal
droppings and mushy roofing material to envision what
could be.
The neon restoration that inspired Bill Hatch in 2004
was just a beginning. By 2005, a local charitable founda-
tion had committed to fund a complete restoration that
surpassed anything Historic Wellington's founders had
dreamed of. The foundation, which chooses to remain un-
named, has supported many quality-of-life investments in
Wellington in hopes that young people will take a chance
on their hometown if they can be rewarded with more
than just cheap housing and country views.
At the request of the chief funder, Wellington City Man-
ager Jon Sessions and the Wellington Economic Develop-
ment Corporation took control of the project and brought
in architect Killis Almond of San Antonio to redesign the
HERITAGE Volume 4 2010
