Along Monroe Avenue, buildings don’t just stand. They lean into traffic, watch the sidewalks and quietly record the neighborhood’s evolution. The Monroe Theatre, with its Art Deco façade still intact and its marquee frozen mid-thought, feels less like an abandoned structure than an unfinished sentence.
People notice it. They ask about it. They debate it. Why does one of the most recognizable buildings on one of Rochester’s busiest corridors remain dark, and how long will it stay that way? This isn’t nostalgia. Monroe Avenue is one of the city’s most active mixed-use corridors, where nightlife, small businesses, apartments and historic spaces collide. When a prominent building goes quiet, the absence doesn’t stay contained. It reshapes the block around it.
That concern surfaced in a recent community survey conducted by the Monroe Avenue Revitalization Coalition (MARC) to which more than 1,000 people responded. About 60% of respondents do not live along Monroe Avenue, yet one question surfaced repeatedly: what is going to happen to the Monroe Theatre? The persistence of that question suggests something deeper than redevelopment curiosity. The theater has become a visible symbol of stalled potential along an intersection that rarely stands still, and residents are increasingly wondering whether the delay is temporary or permanent.
To understand why it matters, it helps to stand across the street. Kevin Hunt has done that for nearly two decades. He works at Enright’s Thirst Parlor, directly opposite the theater, giving him a daily view of what happens when a large commercial building sits unused.
“In the summer especially, it attracts loitering,” said Hunt, describing ongoing issues near the grassy knoll and surrounding doorways. He is careful not to place blame on unhoused individuals.
“When a place isn’t being used, it isn’t being managed. That affects everyone around it.”
Hunt’s observation points to a larger reality: Monroe Avenue functions as an ecosystem. When one space goes inactive, pressure shifts outward. Activity reroutes. Problems relocate. The longer a vacancy persists, the harder it can become to reverse those ripple effects.
Mike Evans, executive director of the Southeast Area Coalition (SEAC), saw that dynamic play out during the pandemic. He recalls an unhoused individual living for months beneath the theater’s marquee. Because the overhang is private property, enforcement options were limited.
“The City of Rochester eventually cited Walgreens, which leases the property, giving daily fines until the situation was resolved,” said Evans.
The area was later boarded up. As Evans became more involved in Monroe Avenue revitalization, the theater repeatedly surfaced as a community concern, often framed less as a development question and more as a question of responsibility. Residents often ask about Walgreens’ role. Others wonder who ultimately controls the building’s future. The answer lies largely in commercial real estate structure and contracts designed to prioritize stability over flexibility.
The Monroe Theatre sits within a parcel owned by Monroe Goodman Associates, LLC, which includes the Walgreens pharmacy and the adjacent parking lot. Walgreens operates under a long-term “absolute triple-net” lease, meaning it is responsible for rent, taxes, insurance and maintenance regardless of whether the space is open to the public. (The theater is currently closed and only used for storage.) Evans said Walgreens previously explored converting the theater into office space, but those plans never moved forward. No public redevelopment timeline has been announced since.
“I see the marquee as a valuable historic part of Monroe Avenue,” he said. “But restoration costs can eventually become overwhelming.”
The arrangement is common. Single-purpose limited liability companies often isolate liability and simplify financial management. Naming entities after intersecting streets — like Monroe and Goodman — is standard industry practice. For Walgreens, maintaining the lease can be strategic. Walking away could trigger significant financial penalties. Holding the space also prevents competitors from entering a high-traffic pharmacy sector and provides overflow storage.
But for residents and business owners who interact daily with the building’s street presence, that strategy can feel disconnected from neighborhood reality. Rome Celli, president of the Upper Monroe Neighborhood Association, said many residents believe the company has fallen short of community responsibilities.
“Walgreens has not fulfilled its obligation to the community,” he said. “From a neighborhood point of view, they have not fulfilled their responsibilities.”
Celli cited recurring graffiti, broken windows and trespassing as well as unauthorized gatherings and performances that have occurred on or near the property — signs, he argued, of a building that exists in limbo.
“The building itself, while nominally secured, is often dirty and neglected,” said Celli. “Volunteers have stepped in to help clean the area. We have reached out to Walgreens, but there appears to be little interest in helping.”
Preservation advocates warn that prolonged inaction carries risks beyond appearance.
Wayne Goodman, executive director of the Landmark Society of Western New York, said historic buildings play a crucial role in neighborhood identity, but they also deteriorate faster when unused.
“This is not the building’s fault,” said Goodman. “It’s an inanimate object. It is policies and inactions that have brought us here.”
While the theater may qualify for historic tax credits, Goodman warned that continued vandalism and neglect could eventually trigger city code violations, a possibility that would complicate any future rehabilitation.
“This isn’t about demonizing anyone,” he said. “Historic buildings matter. Monroe Avenue matters.”
The community conversation extends beyond preservation and redevelopment into broader questions about civic life and what is lost when shared public gathering spaces disappear. Dr. Barbara Lowe, a philosophy professor at St. John Fisher University, connects the Monroe Theatre to a tradition of communal spaces that once defined neighborhood culture. Her mother grew up nearby and often described attending Saturday morning shows there with siblings and friends.
“At that time, the theater functioned as what sociologist Ray Oldenburg called a ‘third place,’” said Lowe. “Not home, not work, but a shared space where people gathered, stayed connected to the wider world, and encountered one another.”
Those gathering places quietly shape identity and strengthen neighborhoods.
“The Monroe Theatre remains a tangible connection between the neighborhood’s past and its possible futures,” she added.
Lowe’s comments are timely amid growing national concern about social isolation. Former U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy has warned about rising loneliness, while political and cultural divisions continue to deepen.
“We are in dire need of places where people can gather without pretense and across differences,” said Lowe.
She referenced what social reformer Jane Addams described as adopting a “neighborhood point of view,” centering the experiences of residents most affected by development decisions.
“Sustainable community change doesn’t come from top-down, profit-driven models, it grows through collaboration with the people who live there,” she said. “Democracy doesn’t exist only in elections. It exists in everyday spaces where neighbors encounter one another.”
That philosophical lens mirrors a practical debate already underway — one complicated by economics, contracts and shifting retail realities. Community advocates say the theater’s inactivity blights the street and conflicts with Walgreens’ public commitments to supporting healthy communities. Critics also cite the broader “dark store” phenomenon, where profitable locations remain closed while long-term leases prevent new tenants from moving in.
Financial realities, however, remain significant. Walgreens has closed more than 1,200 stores nationwide amid shifting pharmacy economics. Investing millions to rehabilitate a community space outside its retail model presents substantial challenges.
Ownership adds another layer. While Walgreens handles maintenance under the lease, major structural restoration could legally fall to Monroe Goodman Associates and its parent company, Rainaldi Brothers Inc. (Efforts to reach Rainaldi Brothers Inc. and Monroe Goodman Associates, LLC for comment were made multiple times prior to publication, but no response was received.) Large-scale rehabilitation would likely require coordination among multiple stakeholders, each with different financial and operational priorities.
Most redevelopment experts say collaboration represents the most realistic path forward. Public-private partnerships — often supported by preservation groups — have revived several Rochester landmarks, including the Sibley Building and former industrial complexes now converted into mixed-use spaces. Subleasing is another possibility. A third-party developer or nonprofit could potentially activate the theater while Walgreens maintains lease control. But such arrangements require negotiation, financing and long-term commitment, processes that can stretch for years without clear guarantees of success.
Over the years, several conceptual ideas have surfaced. One local nonprofit has explored restoring portions of the interior while preserving the historic lobby and marquee, potentially reopening the space for comedy performances, youth programming and community events. No formal proposal has been approved.
From the City of Rochester’s perspective, activation remains central to corridor health and delays can carry broader economic consequences.
Erik Frisch, deputy commissioner of Neighborhood and Business Development, said commercial buildings like the Monroe Theatre serve as anchors for entrepreneurship, gathering spaces and neighborhood identity. The city supports adaptive reuse through programs such as the Small Mixed-Use and Commercial Renovation (SMUCR) initiative.
“Preserving historic structures balances honoring the past while creating opportunity for the future,” said Frisch, “but adaptive reuse becomes more difficult the longer buildings remain dormant.”
Survey responses suggest residents largely agree. The call is not necessarily for a major entertainment venue or large-scale redevelopment. Many simply want the building active again. Monroe Avenue thrives on motion — storefronts changing hands, crowds filling sidewalks, neighborhoods constantly reinventing themselves. A vacant theater interrupts that rhythm and raises a question that grows louder with each passing year.
The lobby still exists. The marquee still hangs over Monroe Avenue. Beneath it, traffic continues to pass, businesses open and close, and residents move through daily routines. For now, the theater remains both landmark and question mark, a reminder of Monroe Avenue’s past and an unresolved test of its future.
The question facing the Monroe Theatre is no longer whether it holds value — the question is whether that value will remain symbolic, or return to public life before time, cost and neglect make that decision irreversible.
George Cassidy Payne is a writer and journalist exploring the intersections of art, culture and social justice in Western New York. He also works as a crisis counselor and community organizer, bringing a deep commitment to storytelling and human connection.
