TOWNSHIP OF WASHINGTON, N.J.—They returned older and wiser, with careers and families — but were still kids, at heart, spilling over with love for each other and the place that helped raise them.
On Monday, July 14, an army of 28 former employees of what is now Township Theatre—most of them high-schoolers when they started—reunited at their first job to share laughs, tears, hugs, and a catered dinner and dessert — and one last picture show, starring themselves and so many others who’ve made these years magical.
The group had worked at the local cinema—one of Bergen County’s last independent holdouts—roughly 2000–2013, during the Clearview Cinemas era, and many hadn’t seen each other in years, though a core group has maintained mini-reunions.
With the latest incarnation of the theatre announced to close, permanently, on July 31, the night was a chance to say goodbye not just to a building, but to a second home.
Organized by veteran employees John Monton and Sheryl Tramontano, alerted by Monton’s mom — the news we broke in these pages only June 23 (“Township Theatre says it’s forced to close,” page 1) — the event orbited a 48-minute video montage projected on the big screen, Theater 2. The video was introduced, naturally, by the Clearview Cinemas winking-usher animation — We Bring Neighbors to the Movies — and the former 95.5 WPLJ’s “Scott & Todd, The Morning Guys,” playfully urging Clearview audiences not to be “that guy” who disrupts the movie experience.
Stills and camcorder-recorded home movie clips showed popcorn flying. Staff daring each other to drink condiments. Huge smiles. Plumbing mishaps. Costumes. Seasons. Styles. Dancing. Tomfoolery before, during, and well after feature presentations. All lovingly edited together on a period-perfect soundtrack.
This was a shared musical album of the blockbuster years of this special audience’s lives, made all the more poignant, perhaps, by what’s not on any frame: any sign of the volatile early 2000s, which these kids, their families, and many of us felt unfold in real time.
Opened to fanfare in 1966
The theatre first opened its doors in 1966 as Washington Cinema — the mall built in 1959, then renovated in 1997 — boasting Continental influences and conveying panache, welcoming the first of generations of local moviegoers. The building itself holds memories: first dates, children’s first big-screen experience, Day and night traditions, fun at a mall that was being remade before patrons’ eyes, with the final credits seemingly never to run.
It changed hands as Clearview Cinemas (owned by Comcast; the employees got free internet and cable); Bow-Tie Cinemas, Washington Township Cinema, and Township Theatre.
The current owners, David and Laura Rose, reopened the theater in a flurry of optimism in 2021 after the Covid-19 pandemic shutdowns left it dark. They invested not only in updated seating and concessions, but also in programming that brought people together—live comedy, musicals, family films, and even dementia-friendly screenings.
The Roses announced in June that despite their best efforts they could not reach a new lease agreement with the mall’s management, GRE Vertical Advisors LLC, confirming the theater would shutter on July 31.
The firm touts the suitability of fitness, entertainment, or medical tenants at the site, next to restaurants and Dairy Queen, in the heart of the township, on Pascack Road across from the municipal center.
“The love and enthusiasm shown by our patrons have meant everything to us,” the Roses said in a message told us. “While we are heartbroken to close this chapter, we will always cherish the memories we created together.”
They were not present at the reunion, though they did throw the place open to the event, which Monton said was a remarkable gift, gratefully accepted.
One last hurrah
Monton and I interviewed at the township library, July 16, as the theatre was bustling with kids from rec camp; David’s Bagels, our next pick in Washington Town Center, was packed too, with the lunch rush (there, big hellos from Larry Lifrieri and town elders holding court while families waited in line, and noshed.) The library isn’t far, and to get there from the theatre you traverse every storefront.
Monton said he knew this reunion would be the group’s “Follies” moment, a reference to the 1971 Tony Award-wining Broadway musical about former cast members reunited for the last time in their theatre, which is set to be demolished.
He admitted later he was glad we hadn’t interviewed at the theatre; he and his friends had left it together on July 14, lingering from 10 to 11 of a summer’s night, and that was a good ending.
“Everyone had different memories of when Theater 1 flooded; and when the film caught fire, sometimes, during certain of the films,” he said. “Sometimes if the lamp got too hot, the patrons would come out and be like, There’s flames being projected right now on the screen. There’s a fire upstairs.”
He recalled films came in four canisters the staff would thread together onto one spool. In the event of the film sizzling off-script, staff would issue on the order of 200 red passes for a future screening “because we couldn’t get the film to start working again in the middle.”
Monton said, “It was a small independent theater, three screens, five sets a day; that’s what made it fun. It wasn’t well polished. Our air conditioning broke every single summer. We would work there for 12-hour shifts in, like, 90 degrees.”
He said, “But also, we were joking around. We had a lot of fun, where we weren’t always the best employees, you know; where we would just be sitting outside playing cards on the patio outside, or football or Connect Four while movies were going… It was our playground.”
He said the kids — the “misfits” — ran the show; they’ve carried that freedom, and family, forward.
Hailing from Westwood and the Township of Washington, they’d sold and ripped tickets, made popcorn, moved soda and candy, changed the marquee in all weather, kept the place scheduled, stocked, clean, safe, and festive — and found time to run amuck.
Now, flocking in from Manhattan, Brooklyn, Upstate New York, the Pascack Valley, and hours further afield, they have such jobs as architect, nurse practitioner, teacher, photographer, business owner, executive.
Jared D. Weiss, an art director and creator in Los Angeles, sent in animations with his favorite memories: sketches of some of the most unusual patrons (we won’t be able to do it justice) and why he stayed so long.
“It was my first job, it was flexible, I enjoyed working with most of my co-workers, and I even got to learn how to use the film projector, before we got rid of those. It’s a place with a lot of history and it’s a shame it’s not going to be around anymore. I’m very grateful for my time there,” he said.
Monton said, “We all had similar themes, especially in the early 2000s, when you didn’t have a place, or a safe space. Like, whether you were gay or whatever, and you felt like you couldn’t be yourself—everyone was extremely loving and nurturing and inclusive at the theater. We all say we’re so fortunate we applied there because we never thought we’d find our circle of friends.”
Monton, who supervises at West Bergen Mental Healthcare in Ridgewood and leads art instruction workshops in the Pascack Valley, recalled that off-shift crew often would come back at night and “just hang out with us; we were that close.”
He said he brought boxes of tissues to the reunion (which also rocked a photo booth, and catering by attendee Bill Flynn, who owns Flynn’s Deli & Catering). “I knew there were going to be some tears.”
Reunion co-organizer Sheryl Sedlack Tramontano, an architect and mom, said she and Monton quit Clearview Cinemas on the same day in September 2013, she as a supervisor. “I was there for about 12 or 13 years and we worked together for maybe 10 or 11 of those. I was just old enough to get a job and it was my first job, and still to this day in many ways my favorite job,” she said.
The theatre was her through-line at every milestone: “I’m there while getting my driver’s license, graduating high school, going to college, first boyfriend, graduating college, getting a full-time job, getting married…”
She said, “We still have our memories and, you know, we still keep in touch. But it is sad to see these small community movie houses shut down. The experience you get there is not the same as at the large theaters. I know they have the amenities and the blockbuster movies, but it’s hard to believe that the relationship between the employees is similar to what we were able to create.”
Sedlack Tramontano had worked there the longest, and so the search for theatre alumni tended to gravitate around her tenure, Monton said; though others, such as Zach Rose, Lauren Wilson, and Billy Flynn started sooner.
Monton agreed the vibe was like what prevailed at The Iron Horse restaurant in Westwood under ownership of the Tremble family. They had on the walls hundreds of photos of all the people, in group shots and candids, who worked there, adding to the story of community and being fed by it, over the years. (The venue now is The Tavern @ The Iron Horse.)
He said, “I know exactly those waiters you’re talking about because when you went into The Iron Horse you were entering, like a family, core group. And I think a lot of people felt that way with our theatre, too: like when the patrons would come in, they knew us. We knew them. We were there for so long. You build a rapport.”
He said, “And it wasn’t two or three years; it was over a decade. They saw us from all of high school, all of college, and we were so close, we couldn’t leave. We started full-time jobs… but still were trying to do one or two one nights a week at the movie theater — we didn’t want to leave one another.”
He said, “We knew how lucky we were.”
