The Advertising Signs of Doop Wiegman
When the Monopole still functioned as a cinema, large, horizontal advertising signs were a natural part of the building’s façade. On these hand-painted boards, passersby on the Hoogstraat could see which film was currently showing at the Monopole. From the early 1950s until the cinema’s closure in 1968, artist Theo (Doop) Wiegman created these signs. “He did it for years. He was already doing it when I was still very young,” recalls his son, Aad Wiegman.
Once a week, Doop would paint a new sign announcing the main feature for the coming week. In advance, the artist would receive a short description and a few stills from the film. Based on that, he designed and painted an image for the façade advertisement. He didn’t work on these in his studio in the Passage, but in a tiny workshop right next to the Monopole. “He was an incredible painter; those boards really stood out. People were very pleased with how he did it and how his images drew audiences to the theater,” says Aad.
Thanks to his freelance work designing these film advertisements, Doop was always well-informed about the current and upcoming films at the Monopole. He often shared many of the titles with his children. Because of his good relationship with cinema director Louis Daniëls, he also regularly arranged free tickets for the family. “My father would say, ‘I’ll have a word with Louis and see if there’s a seat for you,’” says Aad. “And often there was. Off we went again — straight in for a movie. It was great fun.”
Cafe Bellefleur Brought Life to the Appelmarkt
Where you can now buy buttery croissants, moist coconut macaroons, and other tasty treats at the Bakkerette, you could once have a drink or dinner in a popular café-restaurant. In 1962, Café Bellefleur opened here. Later, it was transformed into the restaurant De Gevulde Stier (“The Stuffed Bull”). Schiedam resident Magda van der Sloot (born 1946) worked at this location for over twenty years.
When Café Bellefleur opened in 1962, it was a much-needed addition to Schiedam’s hospitality scene. “There was nothing for young people, only those old men’s pubs. So when Bellefleur opened, it was a huge success.” The café quickly became a household name in the city. “Many people knew the saying: ‘No chatter, no fuss, at five o’clock in the Bellefleur with us!’” says Magda.
Magda first came to the Bellefleur in the late 1960s as a guest, looking for company and conversation. Married to a seafaring man who was often away for long periods, she felt very lonely. “I had already worked for five years and suddenly found myself stuck at home, alone. I was climbing the walls with misery. But as a married woman in those days, you weren’t supposed to work anymore.” Still, the café’s owners (by then the couple Joop and Tonnie Leur) asked Magda to come work for them. She liked the idea. Even though she was defying social expectations, she decided to help out in the café. For many years, she became Joop and Tonnie’s trusted right hand.
In the mid-1970s, Joop and Tonnie decided to renovate the Bellefleur. The yellow letters above the window made way for orange-and-white striped awnings. The old pub-style interior was replaced with wooden booths upholstered in floral fabrics and matching hanging lamps. When De Gevulde Stier opened in June 1976, it was an immediate success. “People came from far and wide. Everything we served was fresh — sauces, vegetables, fried potatoes. We had some very busy times.”
In the late 1980s, after nearly twenty-five years, Joop and Tonnie decided to close De Gevulde Stier. That also marked the end of Magda’s nearly twenty-year career in the building on the Appelmarkt. Looking back, she says: “I made up for all those years I’d spent stuck at home. It was through working in hospitality that I really began to live.”
In the mid-1950s, Schiedam resident Freek Veer (born 1939) and his friends would stroll along the Hoogstraat on Saturday evenings. Freek was about sixteen at the time. They hung around, chatting and joking, until one evening they decided to step inside the Monopole. For about 10 cents, the boys bought tickets for a cowboy film at the counter. These were the cheapest seats in the theater, good for the wallet, less so for the neck. “We sat right up front, which gave us terrible neck cramps,” Freek recalls.
After the film, the boys walked back onto the Hoogstraat. Impressed by the booted heroes they’d just seen on the big screen, they pretended to be cowboys themselves. “We strutted down the street like the cowboys from the film, hands hovering over our imaginary holsters trying to impress the girls.”
That night, Freek didn’t manage to win over any of the Schiedam girls with his cowboy act. But he doesn’t mind. “Because two years later, I met my wife at the Groenoord swimming area. We’ve been married for 63 years now.”
