A 37-year intermission has not been kind to the Uptown Theatre.

Fires, cascading rainwater, sheets of ice, broken pipes, frozen boilers, rodents, crumbling plaster, financial distress, vandals, thieves and squatters have all taken their shots since the last concert there.

Yet the 4,381-seat theater, said to be one of the most spectacular movie palaces ever built, is on the verge of a long-dreamed-of restoration to return the towering structure on North Broadway back to its 1925 opulence.

In large part, the Uptown stands ready for its $75 million makeover because of a few guardians who’ve protected it from irreparable harm.

The Uptown’s protectors have lent a collective hand to historic properties ranging from Wrigley Field to the Chicago Theatre. But the Uptown stands out as a particularly enduring and demanding labor of love.

“When you love a place like this, it’s in your heart,” said Jimmy Wiggins, one of the protectors. “They’ll never build anything like this again. I mean, just look at it.”

The men have endured ownership changes, broken promises, false starts, late-night alarms, pigeon poop and oil fumes. They’ve teetered from I-beams several stories above the stage in order to repair roof drains, shooed away intruders, and sacrificed countless hours of their nights and weekends — and, in some instances, their retirements.

“Very few people know about them, but they’ve been heroes,” said Jerry Mickelson, co-founder and co-owner of Jam Productions, which has owned the Uptown since 2008. “I don’t know that I could have bought the building without them, because it might not have been standing.”

The Uptown Theatre is finally to be restored to its 1925 glory. Here's a look inside the shuttered movie palace.

The guardians include three men who have helped protect the theater since the 1980s: restoration expert Curt Mangel, 68; retired civil engineer Bob Boin, 72, a longtime volunteer on Chicago theater restoration projects; and Jam’s facilities manager, Wiggins, 57, who also oversees the Vic and Riviera theaters on the North Side. Retired Chicago police officer Dave Syfczak, 66, who watched movies at the Uptown while growing up in the neighborhood, has been a volunteer security guard and handyman since the 1990s.

Those four lead a larger list of people who have contributed to the Uptown’s survival. Most have worked as volunteers, with approval of the property’s various owners.

“I always told the guys, ‘Just keep it alive and its time will come,’ ” said Mangel, who now lives in Philadelphia. “By the grace of God, the economy and everything else, the right things came together. We’re overjoyed that day has finally come.

“The people of Chicago are not going to believe what they have when it’s done.”

The Spanish Baroque structure at 4816 N. Broadway roared to life in 1925 as the flagship of a Balaban & Katz theater chain known for its breathtaking movie palaces. Much later, it became known for concerts by the likes of Bruce Springsteen, Bob Marley, the Grateful Dead, Prince and the Kinks. The last show was a J. Geils Band concert on Dec. 19, 1981.

The property cycled through a series of owners who proposed but never executed plans to bring it back to life. Finally, in June, Mayor Rahm Emanuel unveiled plans for a $75 million renovation, backed by funding from several public and private sources.

The joint venture of Jam and Chicago real estate firm Farpoint Development plans to begin the heavy lifting by the summer, with plans to reopen the Uptown as a live events venue in 2021.

It is envisioned as the centerpiece of a broader entertainment district in Uptown, which is also home to venues such as the Aragon Ballroom, Riviera Theatre, Wilson Avenue Theater and Green Mill tavern.

Jose M. Osorio/Chicago Tribune The rundown lobby of the Uptown Theatre is seen in Chicago on Dec. 12, 2018. The rundown lobby of the Uptown Theatre is seen in Chicago on Dec. 12, 2018. (Jose M. Osorio/Chicago Tribune)

Farpoint principal Scott Goodman credits the caretakers for the Uptown’s survival, and said their dedication demonstrates the strong pull many people feel toward it.

“It’s that kind of building,” Goodman said. “I don’t think there’s another asset in Chicago where people have this kind of emotional attachment. It’s a magnificent structure with amazingly ornamental finishes, and it’s so instrumental to the success of the neighborhood. To get those things all in one bucket, there’s nothing else like it.”

The group of Uptown watchers has endured, even years after Mangel eventually moved from Chicago.

“It was years of backbreaking work and we had several (redevelopment) deals fall apart, which was heartbreaking,” Mangel said. “I don’t regret it one bit. I’m very proud of the guys for sticking with it and keeping the torch. I passed the torch and they kept it burning.”

Mangel’s tinkering skills have led him to a broad range of projects, including once repairing the clock on Wrigley Field’s scoreboard — which he said led to an on-air shout-out from Cubs broadcaster Harry Caray, who had often complained about the clock’s neglected condition.

Other restorations included the clocks in the Waveland Fieldhouse tower along Lake Michigan, just east of the ballpark, and chandeliers at the Chicago Theatre in the Loop.

He’s moved around the country to lead other restorations, including Shea’s Performing Arts Center in Buffalo, N.Y., and Denver’s Paramount Theatre. Mangel now lives in Philadelphia, where he led the restoration of the Wanamaker Grand Court Organ, the largest functioning pipe organ in the world.

The Uptown proved especially challenging, because of its sheer size and the building’s decadeslong vacancy.

To prevent pipes from freezing, the men burned thousands of gallons of gummy, low-quality motor oil in an old boiler. Firing up the system took hours of exhausting work, and the fumes frequently left people in the boiler room feeling sick.

The process also sent black smoke pouring from the building, which would cause neighbors to call 911.

“It got to the point where we had to call the Fire Department to let them know we were going to start the boiler at the Uptown,” Syfczak said.

When firefighters were called on those instances, the Uptown guardians hustled to meet them out front.

“Or else they’d use their key to come in,” Syfczak said. “And their key was an ax. So I repaired the doors three or four times too.”

There also were real fires, including one time in the 1990s when on a late-night security check Wiggins discovered homeless people huddled around several campfires on the building’s marble floors.