News of the death of Ted Pedas this week was one of those moments that threw me back to another era–one that doesn’t feel all that long ago, but in some ways feels like another universe. For those of you who don’t know of Ted, he was at one time the singular most important exhibitor in Washington DC. If you had an independent film and wanted to play in the classiest and best grossing theaters in DC, Ted’s theaters were where you wanted to be.
I first met Ted when I was working for Don Rugoff. I was just a lowly sales person right out of college, and Ted was on the Cinema 5 Board of Directors. Yet, Ted was always respectful, interested and open, to the point where I began to think of him as a friend.
In later years, my relationship with Ted became a cornerstone of my independent distribution career. Cinecom was a startup, but Ted treated us as if we had been in business for ages. If I needed a favor, Ted would always hear me out.
When I started making my film “Search for Mr. Rugoff,” Ted was one of the first people I interviewed, and I learned that just like me, Ted had considered Don to be a mentor. Ted’s involvement with Cinema 5 was complicated as was everything concerning Rugoff. But Ted was there for him at the end, and he choked up several times when talking about Rugoff’s last years in my interview.
In speaking with Tom Brueggemann the other day about Ted (his tribute here,) Tom mentioned his belief that Ted represented the end of an era. He was the last of the powerful regional exhibitors. The following outtake from my film makes that case. Ted talks about how he gobbled up various theaters until he “owned DC.” He also makes a point about how cooperative he and his competitors were at that time. He calls it “old school.” Indeed.
Thank you, Ira. I remember Ted with great admiration and affection – especially for how he and Ben Barenholtz worked together to bring the films of the Coen Brothers into public awareness. It’s the end of an era indeed.
Ted was an unforgettable person. His humanity, passion, and empathy made him an irresistible force. Over the decades I knew him, it was always a real pleasure to meet with him or speak with him from afar. It was a privilege to know him.
Ted was a creative mentor, a mensch, a friend, and a gentleman—not to mention a hell of a good businessman. All those qualities come through in the four minutes I just watched.
In recent years Ted and I only spoke a few times but his enthusiasm and desire to know what I was up to made it seem like we spoke weekly.
I loved the outtake and think that collectively the outtakes from “Search for Mr. Rugoff” must be an essential oral history that doesn’t exist elsewhere. I hope they will be preserved and made available for research about the exhibition and distribution business.