‘A show on anything but the Alex would be self-defeating.’

The future of Glendale’s Alex Theatre has been studied, debated, wrestled with and voted upon for the past four years, all with little visible effect.

At last, the problem of the Alex is bending to the sort of energy that was needed all along, the energy of artists, moved by dreams and gifted with serendipity.

Under their influence, the 1925 vaudeville house and cinema with its neo-Greek columned entry and the 1940s obelisk is having its future shaped by the rebirth of its past.

“Alexander Then and Now,” a fantasy journey through the 6 1/2 decades of the Alex, will play two nights in September, returning live performance to the Alex stage after a hiatus of decades.

The event will take the form of a hybrid Broadway musical, with singing, dancing, storytelling, photographic montages, a cast of hundreds and two essentials of a winning show--a hero drawn from real life and a celebrity whose name is bigger than life.

The hero is Bob Caskey, who hired on at the Alexander in 1927, before its name was shortened, and still works there today in the box office. He’s seen everything, from the secret entrances of movie stars to raffle nights in the Great Depression.

The celebrity is Bob Hope. He’s been a patron of the Alex and has lent his name to the effort to save it.

Both came to the show by serendipity. But what aspect of “Alexander Then and Now” hasn’t simply fallen into place as if by a will of its own?

The good fortune began almost a year ago, when a committee of the Glendale Historical Society found itself struggling to will a show into existence. The Historical Society had concluded, after two years of debate, that the Alex, soon to be closed by Mann Theatres, should be restored as a house for film and stage, to become the central cultural element of a revitalized downtown. They reasoned that a live show would be the best way to consummate the plan and begin to raise funds.

Unfortunately, the society, made up largely of borderline curmudgeons with an admirable record of grit in fighting City Hall and a competent, if leaden, way with historical fact, was hardly the kind of group likely to make a dancing chorus appear.

Then came Paul Shipton, a New York transplant, veteran stage dancer, Hollywood choreographer, classical dance instructor and creator of extravaganzas. Shipton moved to Glendale four years ago and was beginning to wonder where the art scene was.

One day, Shipton called on Shirley Seeley, executive director of the Glendale Symphony. She referred him to the Historical Society.

Shipton concluded that what it needed was someone who could write, cast, direct and choreograph a show. He said he was available if they didn’t already have someone in mind. They didn’t.

It was soon decided that there would be two shows, one for the public at $15 a ticket and another by invitation with a considerably higher price tag. Shipton quickly settled on two things. The show should be a musical and it should tell the story of the Alex.

The history itself captured Shipton’s imagination. There were the vaudeville shows, the Hollywood events--premieres with stars such as Elizabeth Taylor in the audience--the raffle nights of the Great Depression, the bond rally of World War II.

“We realized that doing a show on anything but the history of the Alex would be self-defeating,” he said, “The one thing the musical is going to do is alert the citizens of Glendale what they have in the Alex.”

Before Shipton knew there was a real Bob Caskey, he began to think of building the story around a central character who would narrate. The idea was to invent a janitor or usher.

“We were going to do a very artificial character,” Shipton said. “Then Bob showed up. It was like a gift from heaven.”

Caskey became Shipton’s “Icon of Glendale.” He filled in the lore of the Alex with details about Louis B. Mayer sitting in his private loge to supervise premieres; about Bing Crosby waiting in the lobby in terror wondering how an audience would take to a crooner playing a priest in “Going My Way;” about Ginger Rogers sneaking in to see her own premieres.

Caskey’s role will be played by Russ Marin, a professional actor who is volunteering his time. Shipton is now auditioning to fill the myriad cameo appearances of the Clara Bows and Bessie Loves and to recreate, en masse, the dance shows of Fanchon and Marco.

But, through a final gem of good fortune, one role did not have to be cast. It happened this way: Shipton recruited his friend, Ralph Ziegler, the financial manager of Triad Artists, the talent agency that represents Bob Hope. Ziegler had never asked Hope for a favor before, but thought, because of the personal tie, it might be a good time.

He floated the idea to Hope’s agent, Frank Rio. There were negotiations.

“Finally, he said, ‘Yes, let’s go ahead,’ ” Ziegler said. Hope will mingle with the crowd before the gala performance and, as he did in the old days, sit down to watch the show.