Visiting the Gillioz is a sensory experience. Settle into a seat, and you can almost hear the melodious plunking of the house Wurlitzer, the centerpiece of the 1926 grand opening. Run your hands down the gleaming banisters and you’ll feel the elbow grease that went into the theater’s restoration. Attend a jazz concert or a taping of The Mystery Hour and you’ll see the occasional wide-eyed youngster cultivating an appreciation for the performing arts. With a little imagination, it’s easy to picture the Gillioz as a stately 92-year-old gentlewoman, draped in Old World splendor and telling wry tales of the time she met Elvis Presley. The Gillioz has a heartbeat, and the community is listening—but that wasn’t always the case.