English bill-board--was posted, and it startled the staid Londoners. It
made them realize that a wide-awake aggregation was in town. Charles
knew that a real opportunity confronted him, and he rose to the
occasion.
The engagement opened on July 30th at Her Majesty's Theater. The sacred
precincts that Patti, Neilson, Gerster, and Campanini had adorned now
resounded with the jokes and rang with the old-time plantation melodies
of the American negro. The debut was an enormous success and the
prosperity of the engagement was insured.
Before long came a request from the royal household to make ready the
royal box. The fun-loving Prince of Wales, afterward King Edward VII.,
wanted to see an American minstrel show.
But it was the wide-awake Charles who had started the machinery that led
to this royal dictate. He realized soon after his arrival how important
a royal visit would be. He got in touch with the right people, and the
net result was that on a certain night in December the red canopy and
carpet that betoken the royal visit were spread before Her Majesty's
Theater.
By virtue of his rank "Big Bill" Foote should have received the royal
party on behalf of the company. But Foote fled from the responsibility,
and Charles, wearing his much-hated evening clothes and the equally
despised silk hat, did the honors. The royal party included Edward, his
wife, Alexandra (now the Queen Mother), his brother Clarence (now dead),
and a troop of royal children old enough to stay up late at nights.
With his usual foresight Frohman had prepared himself for all the
formalities that attended a royal visit to the theater. Among other
things he found out that precedent decreed that the entire performance
must be directed toward the royal box. With much effort he carefully
impressed this fact upon the company. He even had a rehearsal the
morning of the royal night and all eyes were ordered to be "dressed"
toward the big, canopied box.
But these well-laid plans miscarried, for this is what happened:
The curtain had risen on the assembled fun-makers; their swinging
opening chorus had given the show a rousing start, and the interlocutor
had said those well-known introductory minstrel words, "Gentlemen, be
seated." The royal party was well bestowed in its place and every
gleaming eyeball on the stage was centered on the glittering
representatives of the reigning house of Britain. Just at that moment a
flutter ran through the theater. The only remaining vacant box, and
opposite to the one used by the royal family, was suddenly occupied by
the most entrancing and radiant feminine vision that these American
minstrels had ever seen. It was Lily Langtry, then in the full tide of
her marvelous beauty, and wearing an extremely low-cut evening gown.
The Mastodons were only human. They had never beheld such loveliness, to
say nothing of a gown cut so low. They forgot all the careful coaching
of Frohman and fixed their eyes on the beauty-show in the box.
Charles stood anxiously in the back of the house, fearing that the royal
displeasure would be aroused. But his fears were groundless. The
hypnotized minstrels on the stage were only part of an admiring host
that had for its most distinguished head the Prince of Wales himself.
The "Forty--Count 'Em--Forty" now became the vogue in London. Royalty
had set the stamp of its approval, and aristocracy flocked. One night in
the momentary absence of the chief usher, Charles, who was always on the
job, escorted a distinguished group of nobility to a box. After bowing
them in a member of the party slipped a shilling into his hand, which
Frohman, of course, refused.
"Take it, you beggar," said the peer, with some irritation, throwing the
coin at him.
"Thank you, sir," responded Frohman, picking it up and slipping it into
his pocket. He kept it as a lucky-piece for twenty years, often telling
the story of how he got it.
On Christmas Day, 1880, came a concrete evidence of the affection in
which Charles was held by his minstrel colleagues. They assembled on the
stage of Her Majesty's Theater and presented him with a gold watch and
chain. The charm was a tiny reproduction of the famous safe that Charles
had introduced into the company, and which was his inseparable
companion. Charles never carried a watch, and this timepiece, together
with many other similar gifts, was put away among his treasures.
One day, accompanied by Robert Filkins, the advance-agent, Charles had
occasion to see Col. M. B. Leavitt, who was a notable theatrical figure
of the time, with extensive interests in this country and abroad. After
Leavitt had regaled the younger men with an account of his varied
activities, Charles suddenly exclaimed to him:
"Gee! But you've got London by the neck, haven't you?"
Many years later Leavitt again met Charles Frohman in London. The
encounter this time took place on the Strand, in front of the Savoy,
where Frohman was installed in his usual luxurious suite. He now
controlled half a dozen theaters in the British metropolis and he was a
world theatrical figure. Leavitt, whose memory is one of the wonders of
the amusement business, clapped the magnate on the shoulder and repeated
the words spoken to him so long ago:
"Gee! Frohman, _you'_ve got London by the neck, haven't you?"
After a tour of the provinces the company returned home and opened in
Brooklyn.
* * *
With the return to America came the first realization of one of Charles
Frohman's earlier dreams. "Big Bill" Foote, fascinated by the lure of
English life, bought a small hotel near London and settled down. This
left the managership of the company vacant. Although Charles had
practically done all the work for nearly a year, he was, so far as title
was concerned, treasurer.
Immediately there was a scramble for the position of manager. Among
those who sought it were Robert Filkins, William S. Strickland, and a
number of other mature and experienced men.
But when the company heard that an outsider sought the position to which
Charles was entitled there was great indignation. A meeting of protest,
instigated by the Gorman brothers and Eddie Quinn, was held on the stage
in Brooklyn, and a round-robin, signed by every member of the company,
was despatched to Jack Haverly, insisting that Charles Frohman be made
the manager.
A little later Charles walked back on the stage after the night's
performance and quietly remarked:
"Boys, I am your new manager."
A great shout of delight went up. The rosy, boyish youth (for he had
scarcely entered his twenties) was lifted to the shoulders of half a
dozen men and to the words of a favorite minstrel song, "Hear Those
Bells," a triumphant march was made around the stage. None of the many
honors that came to him in his later years touched him quite so deeply
as that affectionate demonstration.
It was now 1881, and once more the "Forty--Count 'Em--Forty" set forth
to rediscover America, with Charles Frohman as manager. His name now
appeared at the head of the bill, and to celebrate the great event Eddy
Brooke wrote a "Frohman March," which had a conspicuous place on the
program.
Strangely prophetic of the circumstances which brought about his
untimely death was an incident which occurred while the company was
going by boat from New York to New London. It was a bitter cold night
when the aggregation boarded the old _John B. Starin_. The decks were
piled with waste, cord, and jute for the New England mills.
"What a fine night for a fire on board!" remarked Frohman as he led his
"soldiers," as he always called the Mastodons, aboard. Everybody retired
early. At two o'clock in the morning there was great excitement. Men
rushed frantically about; there were calls for hose, and the Mastodons,
most of them clad in their night-clothes and trousers, rushed,
frightened, on deck. They found a fire raging aft.
Immediately panic reigned. The coolest man aboard was the smallest.
Here, there, and everywhere went Charles, urging everybody to be quiet.
"There is no danger," he said. "Let us all go in the cabin and wait."
Under his direction the passengers assembled in the water-soaked saloon
and there waited until the flames were subdued. Here was evidence of the
equanimity with which he faced disaster and which marked him on that
ill-starred day when he was plunged to his death in the Irish Sea.
On through the summer of 1881 the Mastodons went their way. Charles was
now able to watch the minstrel parade from the sidewalk, but he was
still the friend, philosopher, and guide of the company to which he was
now bound by nearly three years of constant association.
They played Washington during the Garfield inaugural week. Charles
realized that here was a great opportunity for spectacular publicity.
First of all he took his now famous band down to the Willard Hotel and
serenaded the new executive. A vast crowd gathered; the President-elect
appeared at the window, smiled and bowed, and then sent for the little
manager, to whom he expressed his personal thanks. Then a heaven-born
opportunity literally fell into his hands.
To the same hotel came the Massachusetts Phalanx, of Lowell, which had
secured a conspicuous place in the inaugural parade. Their arrangement
committee had seen the Haverly parade, and the members were so greatly
impressed with the band that they asked if its services could be
secured.
"Certainly," said Frohman. "You can have not only the band, but the
whole company will escort you in the parade."
Thus it came about that the Haverly Mastodon Minstrels headed the third
division of the Garfield inaugural parade. Ever mindful and proud of his
men, Frohman, at his personal expense, bought a buttonhole bouquet for
every member for the occasion and fastened it on their coats himself. On
the sidewalk he followed with admiring eye and flushed face the progress
of his company.
By a curious coincidence the Haverly Mastodons played Washington during
the week of the Garfield funeral, and the band marched in the funeral
parade to the station, playing "Nearer, My God, to Thee."
A happier sequel of the inaugural episode came when the minstrels next
played Lowell, where they were received by the Phalanx in full uniform,
paraded through the town, with Charles marching proudly at the head. The
Phalanx was host at a banquet given at the armory after the performance.
The Mastodons were now making their way to the Pacific coast. At the
same time Gustave Frohman was in San Francisco with the Number One
"Hazel Kirke" Company, direct from the Madison Square Theater in New
York, which was playing at the California Theater.
One morning in May, 1881, he received the following telegram from
Charles, dated Salt Lake City:
_Am stranded here with the "Big Forty." So is Frank Sanger with "A
Bunch of Keys." Theater management has failed to send railroad
fares. Wire me what you can. Will return amount out of receipts
Bush Street Theater._
The manager of the Bush Street Theater, in San Francisco, had agreed to
provide railroad transportation for the company from Salt Lake City to
San Francisco and had not kept his agreement. The receipts in the former
city did not leave a sufficient surplus to negotiate this jump.
Gustave wired the needed cash, and Charles showed up on time in San
Francisco. For the second and only other time in his theatrical career
Charles was somewhat downcast. Despite his effective services during the
preceding years, Haverly had only raised his salary to twenty-five
dollars a week. The boy had handled hundreds of thousands of dollars
and had helped in no small way to give to the organization its prestige
and its _esprit de corps_. He was now, in the phraseology of his
associates, "the whole show." His word was law with the company, and the
men adored him.
He met Gustave at the Palace Hotel and said to him, "I suppose the time
has come for me to quit Haverly."
"All right," said Gustave, still the good angel. "I'll put you out ahead
of our Number Two 'Hazel Kirke' Company at a salary of seventy-five
dollars a week. You can start out right away. What do you say?"
Charles thought a moment, and then said: "Well, Gus, it's pretty tough
to go ahead of a Number Two company even at seventy-five dollars a week
when you have been manager of Haverly's Mastodons. The money doesn't
mean anything to me. I like the minstrel boys and they like me."
He still hesitated and walked up and down the room two or three times,
as was his habit. Finally he came over to his brother and said,
decisively:
"I'll take it."
During this memorable visit to San Francisco occurred another event that
had large influence on the whole future life of the young man. One night
in a famous ratheskeller on Kearney Street he saw an artistic-looking
youth with curly hair and dreamy eyes sitting in the midst of a group of
actors. This youth was David Belasco, who had passed from actor to
author-stage-manager and whose melodrama, "American Born," was running
at the Baldwin Theater. Frohman had seen this play and was much
impressed with it. Thrillers had interested him from the start.
Gustave, who was with Belasco, said to him: "There's my brother Charley.
You ought to know him."
Simultaneously Belasco was pointed out to Charles. They glanced up at
the same time, nodded smilingly across the space between, and later on
when they were introduced Charles expressed his great admiration for
"American Born." Belasco had just received the offer from Daniel Frohman
to come to the Madison Square Theater in New York as stage-manager.
Out of this contact came the association between Charles Frohman and
David Belasco that added much to their achievements.
Charles gave Haverly notice, and at Indianapolis he left the Mastodons.
He slipped away without farewells, and when his absence became known a
gloom settled down on the company. Unconsciously the rosy-cheeked boy
had become its inspiration. For weeks the performances lacked their
customary zip and enthusiasm.
His minstrel days over, save for two brief intervals, Charles was now
about to begin his connection with the Madison Square Theater. It was to
mark, because of the men with whom he now became associated and the
revolution in theatrical methods which he brought about, the first
really significant epoch in his crowded career.
IV
IN THE NEW YORK THEATRICAL WHIRLPOOL
When Charles Frohman went to the Madison Square Theater in 1881 the
three Frohman brothers were literally installed for the first time under
the same managerial roof. From this hour on the affairs of Charles were
bound up in large theatrical conduct.
Since the Madison Square Theater thus becomes the background of his real
activities, the shell out of which he emerged as a full-fledged manager,
the institution, and its significance in dramatic history, are well
worth recording here.
The little Madison Square Theater, located back of the old Fifth Avenue
Hotel, on Twenty-fourth Street near Broadway, was established at a time
when a new force was hovering over the New York stage. This playhouse,
destined to figure so prominently in the fortunes of all the Frohmans,
and especially Charles, grew out of the somewhat radical convictions of
Steele Mackaye, one of the most brilliant and erratic characters of his
time. He was actor, lecturer, and playwright, and he taught the art of
acting on lines laid down by Delsarte. Dr. George Mallory, editor of
_The Churchman_, became interested in his views and regarded Mackaye as
a man with a distinct mission. He induced his brother, Marshall Mallory,
to build the Madison Square Theater.
Steele Mackaye was the first director, and, with the active co-operation
of the Mallorys, launched its career. Dr. Mallory believed that the
drama needed reform; that the way to reform it was to play reformed
drama. So the place was dedicated to healthy plays. "A wholesome place
for wholesome amusement" became the slogan. Contracts for plays were
made only with American authors. Here were produced the earlier triumphs
of Steele Mackaye, Bronson Howard, William Gillette, H. H. Boyessen, and
Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. In this house, in "May Blossom," De Wolf
Hopper first appeared in a stock company, afterward going into musical
comedy. Among the actors seen on its boards during the Frohman regime
were Agnes Booth, Viola Allen, Effie Ellsler, Georgia Cayvan, Mrs.
Whiffen, Marie Burroughs, Annie Russell, George Clarke, Jeffreys Lewis,
C. W. Couldock, Thomas Whiffen, Dominick Murray, and Eben Plympton. Rose
Coghlan was also a member of the company, but had no opportunity of
playing.
The house had certain unique and attractive qualities. It had been
charmingly decorated by Louis C. Tiffany, and one of its principal
features was a double stage, which enabled the scenery for one act to be
set while another was being played before the audience. Thus long waits
were avoided.
The name of Frohman was associated with this theater from the very
start, because its first manager was Daniel Frohman. It opened in
February, 1880, with Steele Mackaye's play "Hazel Kirke," which was an
instantaneous success. The little theater, with its novel stage,
intimate atmosphere, admirable company, and a policy that was definite
and original, became one of the most popular in America. "Hazel Kirke"
ran four hundred and eighty-six nights in New York City without
interruption, which was a record run up to that time. In the original
cast were Effie Ellsler, Eben Plympton, Mr. and Mrs. Whiffen, and
Charles W. Couldock.
* * *
The Madison Square Theater was also an important factor in New York
dramatic life and began to rival the prestige of the Wallack, Palmer,
and Daly institutions. Its fame, due to the record-breaking "Hazel
Kirke" success, became nation-wide.
Now began an activity under its auspices that established a whole new
era in the conduct of the theater. It was the dawn of a "big business"
development that sent the Madison Square successes throughout the
country, and Charles Frohman was one of its sponsors.
Gustave Frohman had been engaged as director of the traveling companies.
He engaged Charles as an associate. The work of the Frohmans was
carefully mapped out. It was Daniel's business to select the casts,
organize and rehearse the companies in New York; Gustave took general
charge of the road equipment; while Charles arranged and booked the road
tours.
It was after the phenomenal first season's run of "Hazel Kirke" that
Charles Frohman hung up his hat in the little "back office" of the
Madison Square Theater to begin the work that was to project his name
and his talents prominently for the first time. New York sizzled through
the hottest summer it had ever known; Garfield lay dying, and the whole
country was in a state of unrest. Charles sweltered in his little
cubbyhole, but he was enthusiastic and optimistic about his new job.
Gustave and Charles had complete charge of all the traveling companies
that developed out of the series of "runs" at the theater. They
inaugurated a whole new and brilliant theatrical activity in towns and
cities removed from theatrical centers, regarding which the other big
managers in New York were ignorant.
With the organization of these Madison Square companies the "Number Two
Company" idea was born. It was a distinct innovation. A play like "Hazel
Kirke," for example, was played by as many as five companies at one
time, each company being adjusted financially to the type of town to
which it was sent. "Hazel Kirke" appeared simultaneously in New York
City at three different theaters, each with a separate and distinct type
of audience.
Under the direction of Gustave and Charles, the outside business of the
Madison Square Theater spread so rapidly that in a short time fourteen
road companies carried the name of the establishment to all parts of the
United States. Despite their youth, the three Frohmans had had a very
extensive experience over the whole country.
In those days the booking of road attractions was not made through
syndicates. Applications for time had to be made individually to every
manager direct, even in the case of the most obscure one-night stand.
The big New York managers only concerned themselves with the larger
cities in which their companies made annual appearances. The smaller
towns had to trust to chance to get attractions outside the standard
"road shows."
Charles realized this lack of booking facilities, and dedicated his
talents and experience to remedying it. His seasons on the road with
John Dillon and the Haverly Minstrels had equipped him admirably. He
not only displayed remarkable judgment in routing companies, but he was
now able to express his genius for publicity. He always believed in the
value of big printing.
"Give them pictures," he said.
He urged a liberal policy in this respect, and the Madison Square
Theater backed his judgment to the extent of more than one hundred
thousand dollars a year for picture posters and elaborate printing of
all kinds. The gospel of Madison Square Theater art and its enterprises
was thus spread broadcast, not with ordinary cheap-picture advertising,
but with artistic lithographs. In fact, here began the whole process of
expensive and elaborate bill-posting, and Charles Frohman was really the
father of it.
Under his direction the first "flashlights" ever taken of a theatrical
company for advertising purposes were made at the Madison Square
Theater.
* * *
Charles was now director of nearly a score of agents who traveled about
with the various companies. He vitalized them with his enthusiasm. In
order to expedite their work, Charles and his brothers rented and
furnished a large house on Twenty-fourth Street near the theater. It was
in reality a sort of club, for a dining-room was maintained, and there
were a number of bedrooms. When the agents came to town they lodged
here. Charles, Gustave, and Daniel also had rooms in this house. A
dressmaking department was established on the premises where many of the
costumes for the road companies were made.
During these days Charles gave frequent evidence of his tact and
persuasiveness. Often when matters of policy had to be fixed and
discussed, the managers of out-of-town theaters would be called to New
York. It was Charles's business to take them in hand and straighten out
their troubles. They would leave, feeling that they had got the best
"time" for their theaters and that they had made a friend in the
optimistic little man who was then giving evidence of that uncanny
instinct for road management that stood him in such good stead later on.
With his usual energy Charles was interested in every phase of the
Madison Square Theater. Frequently, accompanied by Wesley Sisson, who
succeeded Daniel Frohman during the latter's occasional absences from
the theater, he would slip into the balcony and watch rehearsals. He sat
with one leg curled under him, following the scenes with keenest
interest. More than once his sharp, swift criticism helped to smooth
away a rough spot.
He impressed his personality and capacity upon all who came in contact
with him. It was said of him then, as it was said later on, that he
could sit in his little office and make out a forty weeks' tour for a
company without recourse to a map. In fact, he carried the whole
theatrical map of the country under his hat.
* * *
In the strenuous life of those Madison Square days came some of Charles
Frohman's closest and longest friendships.
The first was with Marc Klaw. It grew out of play piracy, the inevitable
result of the theater's successes. Throughout the country local managers
began to steal the Madison Square plays and put them on with
"fly-by-night" companies. Since they were unable to get manuscripts of
the play, the pirates sent stenographers to the theater to copy the
parts. These stenographers had to sit in the dark and write
surreptitiously. In many instances, in order to keep the lines of their
notes straight, they stretched strings across their note-books.