When girls ran the Moviehouse

From left, Laura, Marcia and Sharon Ferguson, Tom Babbitt, and (in front) Sandy Ferguson, pose in front of the Millerton Moviehouse — then called The Millerton Theater — in 1974. Photo courtesy of the Fergusons

MILLERTON — The Moviehouse on Millerton’s Main Street is iconic.
Built in 1903 and used briefly as a grange hall, it was soon converted into a movie theater with a second-floor ballroom. Some know that it fell into disrepair in the 1970s before being bought and restored by Carol and Robert Sadlon in 1977. Some fewer know that it was briefly a porn theatre. But it is a seldom told story that, for two years (the summers of 1974-1975), four teen-aged sisters ran the movie theater.
The girls’ father, M. Carr Ferguson, senior counsel in Davis Polk & Wardwell’s tax department, was teaching at the University of Iowa in the early 1960s when he was offered a position at New York University Law School. His beloved late wife agreed to the move on one condition: that they’d also have a place in the country.
One of their four daughters, Sharon, recalled: “Mom told me that she put a map out and placed a pin right where we lived. She then cut a string as long as what would have been 100 miles, and she just ran the string around. Anywhere within that space was okay. Turned out Lakeville was it!”
The Fergusons sent their children to PS 41 in the city and raised them in Washington Square, but summers were always spent up at the lake. As the children got older, however, it got harder and harder to entice them away from their social lives and the allure of the city. Then Mrs. Ferguson had an idea.
Mr. Ferguson recalled her saying, “We have to do something to get the girls up here, and we can get rid of the adult movie house at the same time.”
At the time, the Millerton movie house (called the Millerton Theater prior to 1978) was a porn theater.
In December 1973, The Lakeville Journal ran a story reading:
“‘Are you aware of the type of motion picture you are coming to view?’ Richard Masters asks this of everyone who comes to purchase a ticket for the XX-rated movies in Millerton, N.Y. Apparently some people have different expectations and do not realize the type films that are being shown.
“Richard and Barbara Masters, formerly employed at the Canaan Drive-in in Connecticut, took over as managers of the Millerton theatre on Monday Nov. 26. The Victory Theater Corporation, which bought the Millerton Theater back in June, can explain the run of sex-based movies.
“Jim Severin, spokesman for Victory, said. ‘No theater goes to X policy through preference, only through darn necessity.’ According to Mr. Severin, the Millerton Theater has lost over $5,000 since August: ‘at this point we’re just looking to meet house expenses. With X-rated films our take is a little bit better.’”
In the early ‘70s, Mr. Ferguson had a client in the United Artists theater corporation. That client was Egyptian-born Salah M. Hassanein, who began his career as an usher at a movie theater in New York and rose through the ranks to become president of United Artists Eastern Theaters and subsequently president of Warner Brothers International Theaters.
In the summer of 1975, The Fergusons decided they would rent the movie house from the Victory Theater Corporation with motivation that was two-fold: to stop the showing of the X-rated movies and to entice their four daughters to spend their summers with the family in Lakeville.
For the next two summers (1974-1975), the four Ferguson daughters, aged about 11-19 at the time, ran the theater.
“At the beginning, they didn’t like us,” said Marcia, referring to the men in town who had frequented the porn showings.
“At the beginning, bras and tampons got thrown into the lobby because it was four girls running the theater!” The sisters laughed, and Marcia continued, “Laura, my oldest sister, had the idea to take advantage of all the male attention and would get them to help sweep the lobby. The next thing you know, they were our ‘protectors.’”
The girls came up with all sorts of ways to entice the men to their advantage because, as it turned out, running the theater was a huge job.
“Laura, the oldest, was the manager,” explained Marcia. “Sharon sold tickets and made popcorn, and I was the projectionist.”
A young man in town, Jason Schickele, who had worked as the projectionist at the Mahaiwe and Colonial theaters, showed Marcia, 14 years old at the time, how to run the projectors.
“He was patient,” Marcia said, showing her again and again everything about the machine. “You were running celluloid,” she explained, “So you’d watch for the little dot in the right-hand corner called ‘the changeover,’ and when you saw that, there was a second dot. That’s when you had to change the film.”
She continued, “If there was a crack in it, you could fix it with just, you know, regular old scotch tape, but you’d have to run it with a little viewfinder so you could see where the problem was.”
She continued: “It was really fun to work those machines. I mean, they were elaborate. You would bang together the carbon. It might take a few times for it to light, but when it did, you couldn’t really look at it. It’s like looking at the sun. It was so powerful.”
“We had so many mishaps,” Sandy laughed.
Marcia continued: “Jason saved our bacon so many times. We would have a full house, having sold all these tickets, and the thing would break, and I’d be completely panicked. Then he’d come over and help us.”
When asked which years they ran the theater, there’s a lot of back and forth about whether it was ‘74-’75 or ‘75-’76.
“I try to set the memory of that time by the movies that we showed because Salah gave us second-run movies. We were a couple of weeks behind,” said Sandy.
“It was movies like ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail,’ ‘Young Frankenstein,’ ‘Jaws,’” said Sandy, with Marcia jumping in: “One of the really popular ones was when they gave us ‘Gone with The Wind.’”
“That was the very first movie we showed,” Mr. Ferguson interrupted, returning to the busy kitchen from another room in the house. He went on to proudly say, “These girls had it running at a profit for those two summers.”
The girls had constantly evolving, entrepreneurial ideas of how to make it a sustainable business, and the theater was a success.
“We placed ads in the paper all the time,” said Marcia, “like ‘Thursday dollar night.’ When it rained, if we woke up and it was raining, we’d call the summer camps and say, ‘bring the campers,’ and we’d go run whatever we were running.”
“We made a profit,” Marcia continued. “And at the end of the two years, I got a stereo system.”
In returning to the origin of the idea, Marcia said: “Mom was in it to get us home for the summer. I mean I was 14 so I was gonna be home anyway, because we didn’t have money for camp. We were not camp kids. This was our camp.”
When asked why they didn’t continue, Mr. Ferguson said that after the two initial summers, they floated the idea around of buying the theater. He explained that he “wanted to buy it, but Marianne [his wife] said, ‘Carr, the kids are graduating. They’re not gonna run it. I’m not gonna run it. You’re not gonna run it.’”
The space lay empty again until Bob and Carol Sadlon purchased it in October 1977, renovating and opening it once again in 1978.
“There’s such a wealth of documentation now with our phones,” said Carol Sadlon when asked about the state of the theater when she and her husband purchased it. “But it’s too bad there isn’t more of the way it was then.”
She went on to say: “It was a single theater with 300 seats. There was no heat, no air conditioning. It was in just terrible condition.”
She said: “Laura [Ferguson] and I had a wonderful conversation years ago, as I recall, because we were both very interested in the preservation of theaters like the Moviehouse, of course. [The Fergusons] have so much enthusiasm, and it really is just extraordinary what they were able to do.”
Several of the Ferguson women have gone on to have lives in performance. Marcia recently retired from the theater department at the University of Pennsylvania and has performed in numerous films and in theater; Sandy (now Huckleberry) is an artist with the Boston-based artists’ collective Mobius.
The Moviehouse again closed its doors in March 2020, until its highly anticipated reopening by David Maltby and Chelsea Altman, who have managed to honor the Moviehouse’s history while bringing a new energy and vision to the space.
Joe Brennan
The Edgewood Restaurant, a beloved Amenia roadside restaurant run by George and Anne Phillips, pictured during its peak years in the 1950s and ’60s.
With the recent death of George Phillips at 100, locals are remembering the Edgewood Restaurant, the Amenia supper club he and his wife, Anne Phillips, owned and operated together for more than two decades.
At the Edgewood, there were Delmonico steaks George carved in the basement, lobster tails from an infrared cooker, local trout from the stream outside the door, and a folded paper cup of butter, with heaping bowls of family-style potatoes and vegetables, plus a shot glass of crème de menthe to calm the stomach when the modest check arrived after dessert.
It began as a former gas station and tavern called The Narrows, on the road to Sharon, around a switchback east of Troutbeck. It became a roadhouse restaurant for weddings, bar mitzvahs, proms, graduations, birthdays and holidays with relatives. At Easter, New Year’s and Christmas, George and Anne served the food free — customers only paid for drinks as a thank-you for another good year.
It was a different time. Amenia was an isolated dairy farming community, and two large state psychiatric hospitals employed 4,000 potential diners. People needed a friendly neighborhood restaurant run by a local couple who knew everybody. They offered special-occasion favorites: fried chicken, meatloaf, sliced turkey with gravy, pork chops from nearby farms, and fresh white bread baked at 4 a.m. by George.
There was no maître d’. Waitresses, many still teenagers, greeted guests and helped them find a table. Cloth napkins and sturdy white plates sat in a knotty pine dining room that felt more like a family home than a formal restaurant. Large tables down the center accommodated families. George and Anne fed the staff before opening, and everyone ate the same meals served to customers. Everything was homemade classics of the 1950s and ’60s: cold shrimp and cocktail sauce, stuffed mushrooms, veal parmesan, King crab, clams and oysters on the half shell, chopped hamburger steak, French onion soup, fried chicken and pumpkin pie.
George was a tough but fair boss with a quirky sense of humor. Former employee Kevin Rooney, who worked there as a teenager, recalled being served a hot fudge sundae on a sweltering day — only to discover the “ice cream” was Crisco. Revenge came later in the form of a Coke spiked with Tabasco sauce.
George also kept a series of German shepherds — Rinny, Schultz and Dooley — named after a Jonathan Winters routine featuring talking beer steins. The dogs were locked inside at night for security. Tony Robert, another former employee, remembered coming in one day to find Schultz with the seat of someone’s pants in her jaws. When kids tried to sneak into a dance through the bathroom window after the fire marshal had closed the overcrowded place, George put Rinny in the restroom. Problem solved.
Anne also ran a no-nonsense operation. She marked liquor bottles at night so no one would sneak a drink, though the cleanup crew found ways around it, sipping the blackberry liquer instead. Along with cooking and baking everything from scratch, she raised their children in a life closely tied to the restaurant. The bus dropped their daughters off there after school, and one recalled doing homework while the family spent more time in the restaurant than in their nearby home.

After 23 years of long hours — often more than 100 a week — George began stepping back, at times closing the restaurant to recover. He later moved into real estate and Anne opened a successful craft store.
George sold the place in 1972. At one point, it became a lively beer joint and concert venue, featuring local bands, such as Random Concept, Little Village and Good Friend Coyote. When New York lowered its drinking age to 18 — while it remained 21 just across the state line — it drew crowds from Connecticut. Locals called them “Connecticut Rags,” kids with fancy cars who came to dance, drink and sometimes fight, rocking the floors so hard they bounced like a trampoline and shook dust from the rafters.
At closing time, they had to dodge police waiting across the state line. Sometimes Jack Rooney, Kevin’s father and the bartender, drove them home. One morning, Betty Rooney got a call from a worried mother asking if her son was there. “If he’s wearing red tennis shoes,” she said, “he’s asleep on my front lawn.”
The Edgewood also drew actors from the Sharon Playhouse and notable visitors, including Paul Newman, Cole Porter and even Supreme Court justices. George showed silent movies on a sheet in the dining room, and guests could dance to the Les Schulman Orchestra or to George and his brothers, who had their own band.
It served as a gathering place for groups such as the Eastern Artificial Insemination Cooperative and for events like the Knights of Columbus Communion breakfast. Families marked milestones there — including one that celebrated five birthdays at a Palm Sunday brunch in 1970.
Christmas dinner cost $3 and included stuffed olives, roast pig, prime rib, Virginia ham, deep-sea scallops, Long Island duck, creamed onions and, of course, crème de menthe parfait. On New Year’s Eve 1959, dinner was $15 a couple — $7.50 each for all the champagne you could drink.
The venue came to an end when the building burned to the ground in 1985.
The building is gone, but not the memories — the laughter, the music, the meals, and George carving steaks by hand. He lived a century, but the Edgewood, for those who knew it, was timeless.
Next time you’re driving to Sharon and pass the empty, weedy lot with a rusty electric meter, imagine calling George’s old number to make a reservation for a place that lives on in memory.

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Robin Roraback
Alissa DeGregorio, a New Milford -based artist and designer, has pieces on display at Mine Hill Distillery.
When I’m designing a book, I’m also the bridge between artist and author, the final step that pulls everything together.
— Alissa DeGregorio
A visit to Alissa DeGregorio Art, the website of the artist and designer, reveals the multiple talents she possesses.
Tabs for design, commissions, print club, and classes still reveal only part of her work.On the design page are examples of graphic and book design, including book covers illustrated by DeGregorio, along with samples of licensed products such as coloring pages and lunch boxes, and examples of prop design she has done for film.
The commissions tab includes samples of her pet and house portraits, as well as a new endeavor: wedding bouquet portraits.
“I love painting flowers and it’s a great way to forever preserve such an iconic part of a bride’s special day,” she said.
A shopping tab offers paintings, prints, and calendars for purchase.
Other tabs highlight the classes she teaches at the New Milford Public Library and another new venture:
“I’m starting a print club called ‘Root & Wing’. Each month, I’ll release an animal - or plant-themed – painting as a mailable 5-by-7 print with an accompanying information sheet, meditation and herbal recipe. People can purchase just one month or subscribe for the year,” DeGregorio explained.
DeGregorio considered a career in music.“My dad was a musician, always playing trumpet, piano, guitar or saxophone. As a teenager, I took quickly to the guitar and began writing my own songs, performing on my own and with a band. I thought music would be my path until my mid-twenties, when my focus switched to art.”
She recalls a childhood surrounded by art. “My mom was also an artist, creating detailed pen-and-ink drawings. Artist was the first thing I knew I wanted to be when I grew up and it was never discouraged. As a little kid, I would draw beside her, sculpt with homemade play doh, craft, crochet or paint.”
After graduating from high school in New Fairfield, Conn., and attending Naropa University in Colorado to pursue fine arts and Buddhism for a time, she returned to Connecticut to finish her degree at Western Connecticut State University. “When I was close to completing an illustration BA, a professor encouraged me to stay the extra year and double major in graphic design.”She said the extra time gave her “a strong foundation in design and storytelling. Experience in so many different creative fields has guided my practice and allowed me to pursue many avenues of art-making.”
Her mother, besides being an artist herself, runs Storybook Arts, an agency representing children’s book illustrators. DeGregorio has sometimes helped out. “I’ve always loved children’s illustration; there’s nothing better than a beautifully illustrated story. I had an insider’s eye to the nuts and bolts of the illustration business early on, and that taught me about pricing, contracts, the illustration process and also how to be business savvy but kind.”
DeGregorio likes working with authors who self-publish.She has done this both as a designer and an agent. “When I’m designing a book, I’m also the bridge between artist and author, the final step that pulls everything together. A good agent not only keeps track of timelines and contracts but is a supportive and encouraging ally to the artists they represent.”
An interesting aspect of her many talents is creating props. “I’ve done some prop work for TV and movies, such as handwritten lyric sheets for the upcoming Michael movie, or document and book props for Stranger Things. Those are fun for the wow factor!” she explained.
Of the classes she teaches, she said, “Teaching is enjoyable in that I’m helping to inspire people to have confidence in their own creativity. Watching students leave my classes feeling more joyful is its own reward.”
“I’ve been teaching adult painting classes at the New Milford Public Library for about four years now. I recently taught a series focusing on painting emotions. We talked about what the emotion meant to us, and how to represent that visually. For kids, I try to focus on process art and skill building through an activity, like designing a mythical map or board game, or Herve Tullet-style workshops.” DeGregorio has several classes ongoing through the summer.
DeGregorio’s paintings are on display at Mine Hill Distillery in Roxbury, with an artist reception on May 2 from 5 to 7 p.m. Her husband’s band, Gumbo, will play at the reception.
From May 15 to 17, DeGregorio will be at Goat Days in New Milford, where she will have art for sale.
To find out more about Alissa DeGregorio Art and all that she offers, go to alissadegregorio.com.A link to sign up for classes is also available on the site.
DeGregorio feels fortunate to have followed a path to being an artist. “I love it all and can’t believe some of the things I’ve gotten to do. I look forward to what the future may hold.”
D.H. Callahan
Minimalist works by Agnes Martin on display at Dia:Beacon.
At Dia:Beacon, simplicity commands attention.
On Saturday, April 4, the venerated modern art museum — located at 3 Beekman St. in Beacon, NY — opened an exhibition of works by the middle- to late-20th-century minimalist artist Agnes Martin.
Martin, the Canadian-born New York and New Mexico resident who died in 2004, made the kind of ambiguous abstract art that inspires countless imitators and interpreters.
At first glance, most of the pieces in the new show, “Painting Is Not the Act of Painting,” (on display until June 22) are variations on simple lines and grids painstakingly applied by the artist’s own hand using paint and pencil.
Despite their relative simplicity, it took Martin years of rejecting her own artwork to reach this level of pure abstraction. She would often take knives to paintings she didn’t like, literally slashing work that didn’t live up to her expectations. It wasn’t until she was in her 50s that she began making the work she would become known for.
That evolution is reflected in the exhibition’s 24 works.
Dia:Beacon seems like a perfect place for them. The museum is a monument to simplicity. Even the most complicated pieces are abstractions in their own ways. A straight, unpainted plywood wall with diagonal backing by Donald Judd suggests a room under construction. Michael Heizer’s singular ovoid boulder embedded into a gallery wall strikes unease into visitors.
Subtle grids and softly layered lines by Agnes Martin draw the eye at Dia:BeaconD.H. Callahan
Martin’s pieces feel at home here. In the context of such visual, if not conceptual, simplicity, her art seems louder than it might in almost any other setting. Faint blue and peach stripes gain vibrancy when compared with the all-white canvases of Robert Ryman or the large gray mirrors of Gerhard Richter, both a few rooms away. By comparison, the visibly human-drawn lines of pencil or etched-out paint seem almost complicated, and technically masterful.
It’s enough to make you ponder the name of the exhibition, “Painting Is Not the Act of Painting,” pulled from a quote by Martin: “Painting is not making paintings; it is a development of awareness. And with this awareness, your work changes, but very slowly.”
In a world where studio assistants and fabricators contribute to the output of many artists, Martin relished the act of painting. She painted nearly every day of her adult life. For her, the process was an integral part of the work, and it’s hard to look at these pieces without appreciating her hand.
This repetitive study is also demonstrated across the hall in a gallery dedicated to a single work by Andy Warhol. The piece, “Shadows,” is a study of variations on a single subject. Warhol took photos of shadows in his office and, using a silkscreen process, painted them 102 times on identically sized canvases.
Walking into the room, it may seem like the same image repeated. On closer inspection, the canvases vary widely in color and composition. The work suggests that repetition can produce unexpected forms.
Agnes Martin has become enshrined as one of the leaders of the minimalist movement of the 1960s and ’70s. Her work and artistic philosophies have inspired countless admirers. This exhibition displays a selection of important pieces from nearly 50 years of practice.
Robin Roraback
Hunt Library in Falls Village will present a commemorative show of paintings and etchings by the late Priscilla Belcher of Falls Village.
Priscilla Belcher, a Canaan resident who was known for her community involvement and willingness to speak out, will be featured in a posthumous exhibition at the ArtWall at the Hunt Library from April 25 through May 15.
An opening reception will be held from 5 to 7 p.m. on April 25. The show will commemorate her life and work and will include watercolors and etchings. Belcher died in November 2025 at the age of 95.
Christian Allyn, a close friend, said Belcher largely kept her creative work private. “Priscilla was a very private person. She kept her painting and writings to herself and only a few close family members,” he said, noting that she was self-taught.
After Belcher suffered a fall in 2024, Allyn and her neighbor, Gail Sinclair, prepared her home for her return. “During this process is when Gail and I began to uncover the volumes of art that Priscilla did throughout her life,” he said.
Belcher was born in 1930 in the Huntsville section of Canaan, the youngest of 10 children. Her family struggled during the Great Depression. “She could remember the entire family splitting one cabbage for dinner,” Allyn said. Her father died when she was nine.
She graduated from Lee H. Kellogg School, when it was still located at the Hunt Library building, and went on to graduate from Housatonic Valley Regional High School (HVRHS).She married John Belcher, foster son of local landowner Dorothy Haven, and moved in 1952 to a house in South Canaan that Haven gave them, near the South Canaan Meeting house, the “Little Red House.”
Years later, Belcher sold the home to help cover legal expenses for her neighbor, Peter Reilly, who was wrongly accused of killing his mother while a student at HVRHS in the 1970s.
Allyn described Belcher as part of a generation shaped by hardship. “Priscilla was one of the last living examples of the greatest generation,” he said. “Through that struggle, her tenacity and character were formed, which helped shape Canaan and the wider region into what it is today.”
He added that her advocacy ranged from pushing for pollution controls at the Falls Village landfill to calling for reforms in Region One schools. “Her willingness to put her house up to pay for Peter Reilly’s legal expenses, consistent advocacy of pollution controls … and reform to Region One in 2010 led this area into a far better place,” he said.
Belcher worked as a bookkeeper for the Lakeville Journal and Geer Nursing. After 1978, she devoted her time to gardening, documenting local history, refinishing furniture, attending town meetings, supporting people in recovery, and developing her painting and writing.
“She had a very hard life and often upset other people while she was intending to do good,” Allyn said. He recalled a conversation near the end of her life: “She said to me in her last days, ‘You know, I think I went a little too far with what I did in Falls Village,’” referring to her outspokenness. He added that after reflecting, “her entire outlook changed.”
The opening reception will be a celebration of Priscilla Belcher’s life, art, and legacy. All are welcome.
For more information visit www.huntlibrary.org/art-wall

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