Kirke" Company. He was looking about for a lawyer who could investigate
and prosecute the piracy of the Madison Square plays. He made inquiry of
John T. Macauley, manager of Macauley's Theater, who said:
"There's a young lawyer here named Marc Klaw who is itching to get into
the theatrical business. Why don't you give him a chance?"
Frohman immediately engaged Klaw to do some legal work for the Madison
Square Theater, and he successfully combated the play pirates in the
South. The copyright laws then were inadequate, however, and Klaw was
ordered to New York, where, after a short preliminary training, he was
sent out as manager of the Number Two "Hazel Kirke" Company of which
Charles Frohman was advance-agent. In this way the meeting between the
two men, each destined to wield far-flung theatrical authority, came
about.
Charles resented going out with a "Number Two" Company, so to placate
his pride and to give distinction to the enterprise, Daniel put Georgia
Cayvan, leading lady of the Madison Square Theater, at the head of the
cast.
There was good business method in putting out Miss Cayvan on this tour,
because she was a New-Englander, born at Bath, Maine, and Bath was
included in this tour. When Charles reached Bath ahead of the show he
rode on the front seat of the stage to the hotel. He told the driver
that he was coming with a big New York show, and said:
"I've got a big sensation for Bath."
"What's that?" said the driver.
"We have Miss Cayvan as the leading lady," answered Frohman.
"Miss Who?" asked the driver.
"Miss Cayvan--Miss Georgia Cayvan, leading woman of the Madison Square
Theater," answered Frohman, with a great flourish.
"Oh," replied the driver, "you mean our little Georgie. We heard tell
that she was acting on the stage, and now I guess some folks will be
right smart glad to see her."
Charles was so much interested in Miss Cayvan's appearance in her home
town that he came back and joined the company on its arrival and was
present at the station when Marc Klaw brought the company in.
Quite a delegation of home people were on hand to meet Miss Cayvan, and
she immediately assumed the haughty airs of a prima donna.
Charles was much amused, and decided to "take her down" in an amiable
way. So he stepped up to her with great solemnity, removed his hat, and
said, after the manner of his old minstrel days:
"Miss Cayvan, we parade at eleven."
Miss Cayvan saw the humor of the situation, took the hint, and got down
off her high horse. In the company with Miss Cayvan at that time were
Maude Stuart, Charles Wheatleigh, Frank Burbeck, W. H. Crompton, and
Mrs. E. L. Davenport, the mother of Fanny Davenport.
* * *
While Charles was impressing his personality and talents at the Madison
Square Theater and really finding himself for the first time, Gustave
Frohman met Jack Haverly on the street one day. The old magnate said,
with emphasis:
"Gus, I've got to have Charles back."
"You can't have him," said Gustave.
"But I must," said Haverly.
"Well, if you pay him one hundred and forty-six dollars a week (one
hundred and twenty-five dollars salary and twenty-one dollars for hotel
bills) you can have him for a limited time."
"All right," said Haverly.
Charles went back to the Mastodons, where he received a royal welcome.
But his heart had become attuned to the real theater--to the hum of its
shifting life, to the swift tumult of its tears and laughter. The
excitement of the drama, and all the speculation that it involved (and
he was a born speculator), were in his blood. He heeded the call and
went back to the Madison Square Theater.
But the minstrel field was to claim him again and for the last time.
Gustave conceived a plan to send the Callender Minstrels on a
spectacular tour across the continent. The nucleus of the old
organization, headed by the famous Billy Kersands, was playing in
England under the name of Haverly's European Minstrels, Haverly having
acquired the company some years before. Charles was sent over to get the
pick of the Europeans for the new aggregation. Accompanied by Howard
Spear, he sailed on June 7, 1882, on the _Wyoming_.
He encountered some difficulty in getting the leading members, so with
characteristic enterprise he bought the whole company from Haverly and
brought it back to the United States, where it was put on the road as
Callender's Consolidated Spectacular Colored Minstrels. On all the bills
appeared the inscription "Gustave and Charles Frohman, Proprietors." As
a matter of fact, Charles had very little to do with the company,
although he made a number of its contracts. His financial interest was
trivial. Gustave used his name because Charles had been prominently
associated with the Mastodons and he had achieved some eminence as a
minstrel promoter.
Having launched the Callender aggregation, he went on to Chicago, where
Gustave was putting on David Belasco's play "American Born," with the
author himself as producer. Charles joined his brother in promoting the
enterprise.
Now began the real friendship between Charles Frohman and David Belasco.
The chance contact in San Francisco a few years before was now succeeded
by a genuine introduction. The men took to each other instinctively and
with a profound understanding. They shared the same room and had most of
their meals together. Then, as throughout his whole life, Charles
consumed large portions of pie (principally apple, lemon meringue, and
pumpkin) and drank large quantities of lemonade or sarsaparilla. One day
while they were having lunch together Frohman said to Belasco:
"You and I must do things together. I mean to have my own theater in
Broadway and you will write the plays for it."
"Very well," replied the ever-ready Belasco. "I will make a contract
with you now."
"There will never be need of a contract between us," replied Frohman,
who expressed then the conviction that guided him all the rest of his
life when he engaged the greatest stars in the world and spent millions
on productions without a scrap of paper to show for the negotiation.
Charles worked manfully for "American Born." It was in reality his first
intimate connection with a big production. At the outset his ingenuity
saved the enterprise from threatened destruction. Harry Petit, a local
manager, announced a rival melodrama called "Taken From Life" at
McVicker's Theater, and had set his opening date one night before the
inaugural of "American Born."
Charles scratched his head and said, "We must beat them to it."
He announced the "American Born" opening for a certain night and then
opened three nights earlier, which beat the opposition by one night.
Belasco's play was spectacular in character and included, among other
things, a realistic fire scene. When the time came for rehearsal the
manager of the theater said that it could not be done, because the fire
laws would be violated.
"I'll fix that," said Charles.
He went down to the City Hall, had a personal interview with the mayor,
and not only got permission for the scene, but a detail of real firemen
to act in it.
While in Chicago, Belasco accepted Daniel Frohman's offer to come to
New York as stage-manager of the Madison Square Theater. Charles and
Belasco came east together, and the intimacy of this trip tightened the
bond between them. The train that carried them was speeding each to a
great career.
With Belasco installed as stage-manager there began a daily contact
between the two. Belasco went to Frohman with all his troubles. In
Frohman's bedroom he wrote part of "May Blossom," in which he scored his
first original success at the Madison Square. Charles was enormously
interested in this play, and after it was finished carried a copy about
in his pocket, reading it or having it read wherever he thought it could
find a friendly ear.
So great was Belasco's gratitude that he gave Charles a half-interest in
it, which was probably the first ownership that Charles Frohman ever had
in a play.
During those days at the Madison Square, when both Frohman and Belasco
were seeing the vision of coming things, they often went at night to
O'Neil's Oyster House on Sixth Avenue near Twenty-second Street. The
day's work over, they had a bite of supper, in Frohman's case mostly pie
and sarsaparilla, and talked about the things they were going to do.
Charles Frohman's ambition for a New York theater obsessed him. One
night as they were walking up Broadway they passed the Fifth Avenue
Hotel. A big man in his shirt-sleeves sat tilted back in his chair in
front of the hotel. The two young men were just across the street from
him. Frohman stopped Belasco, pointed to the man, and said:
"David, there is John Stetson, manager of the Fifth Avenue Theater.
Well, some day I am going to be as big a man as he is and have my own
theater on Broadway."
* * *
Those were crowded days. Charles not only picked and "routed" the
companies, but he kept a watchful eye on them. This meant frequent
traveling. For months he lived in a suit-case. At noon he would say to
his stenographer, "We leave for Chicago this afternoon," and he was off
in a few hours. At that time "Hazel Kirke," "The Professor,"
"Esmeralda," "Young Mrs. Winthrop," and "May Blossom" were all being
played by road companies in various parts of the United States, and it
was a tremendous task to keep a watchful eye on them. It was his habit
to go to a town where a company was playing and not appear at the
theater until the curtain had risen. The company had no warning of his
coming, and he could make a good appraisal of their average work.
On one of the many trips that he made about this time he gave evidence
of his constant humor.
He went out to Columbus, Ohio, to see a "Hazel Kirke" company. He
arrived at the theater just before matinee, and as he started across the
stage he was met by a newly appointed stage-manager who was full of
authority.
"Where are you going?" asked the man.
"To Mr. Hagan's dressing-room."
"I'll take the message," said the stage-director.
"No, I want to see him personally."
"But you can't. I am in charge behind the curtain."
Frohman left without a word, went out to the box-office and wrote a
letter, discharging the stage-director. Then he sat through the
performance. Directly the curtain fell the man came to him in a great
state of mind.
"Why did you discharge me, Mr. Frohman?"
Frohman smiled and said: "Well, it was the only way that I could get
back to see my actors. If you will promise to be good I will re-engage
you." And he did.
* * *
It was on a trip of this same kind that Charles had one of his many
narrow escapes from death. During the spring of 1883 he went out to Ohio
with Daniel to visit some of the road companies. Daniel left him at
Cleveland to go over and see a performance of "The Professor" at
Newcastle, while Charles went on to join Gustave at Cincinnati.
Charles was accompanied by Frank Guthrie, who was a sort of confidential
secretary to all the Frohmans at the theater. Shortly before the train
reached Galion, Charles, who sat at the aisle, asked his companion to
change places. Ten minutes later the train was wrecked. Guthrie, who sat
on the aisle seat, was hurled through the window and instantly killed,
while Charles escaped unhurt.
Daniel heard of the wreck, rushed to the scene on a relief train,
expecting to find his brother dead, for there had been a report that he
was killed. Instead he found Charles bemoaning the death of his
secretary.
A month afterward Charles and Marc Klaw were riding in the elevator at
the Monongahela House in Pittsburg when the cable broke and the car
dropped four stories. It had just been equipped with an air cushion, and
the men escaped without a scratch.
* * *
Along toward the middle of 1883 there were signs of a break at the
Madison Square Theater. Steele Mackaye had quarreled with the Mallorys
and had left, taking Gustave with him to launch the new Lyceum Theater
on Fourth Avenue and Twenty-third Street. Daniel was becoming ambitious
to strike out for himself, while Charles was chafing under the necessity
of being a subordinate. He yearned to be his own master. "I must have a
New York production," he said. The wish in his case meant the deed, for
he now set about to produce his first play.
Naturally, he turned to Belasco for advice and co-operation. Both were
still identified with the Madison Square Theater, which made their
negotiations easy.
In San Francisco Charles had seen a vivid melodrama called "The
Stranglers of Paris," which Belasco had written from Adolphe Belot's
story and produced with some success. Osmond Tearle, then leading man
for Lester Wallack and New York's leading matinee idol, had played in
the West the part of Jagon, who was physically one of the ugliest
characters in the play.
"'The Stranglers of Paris' is the play for me," said Frohman to Belasco.
"All right," said David; "you shall have it."
The original dramatization was a melodrama without a spark of humor. In
rewriting it for New York, Belasco injected considerable comedy here and
there.
Frohman, whose vision and ideas were always big, said:
"We've got to get a great cast. I will not be satisfied with anybody but
Tearle."
To secure Tearle, Frohman went to see Lester Wallack for the first time.
Wallack was then the enthroned theatrical king and one of the most
inaccessible of men. Frohman finally contrived to see him and made the
proposition for the release of Tearle. Ordinarily Wallack would have
treated such an offer with scorn. Frohman's convincing manner, however,
led him to explain, for he said:
"Mr. Tearle is the handsomest man in New York, and if I loaned him to
you to play the ugliest man ever put on the stage he would lose his
drawing power for me. I am sorry I can't accommodate you, Mr. Frohman.
Come and see me again."
Out of that meeting came a friendship with Lester Wallack that developed
large activities for Charles, as will be seen later on.
Unable to get Tearle, Belasco and Frohman secured Henry Lee, a brilliant
and dashing leading actor who had succeeded Eben Plympton in the cast of
"Hazel Kirke." The leading woman was Agnes Booth, a well-known stage
figure. She was the sister-in-law of Edwin Booth, and an actress of
splendid quality.
Unfortunately for him, the leading theaters were all occupied. There
were only a few playhouses in New York then, a mere handful compared
with the enormous number to-day. But a little thing like that did not
disturb Charles Frohman.
Up at the northwest corner of Thirty-fifth Street and Broadway was an
old barnlike structure that had been successively aquarium, menagerie,
and skating-rink. It had a roof and four walls and at one end there was
a rude stage.
One night at midnight Charles, accompanied by Belasco, went up to look
at the sorry spectacle. As a theater it was about the most unpromising
structure in New York.
"This is all I can get, David," said Charles, "and it must do."
"But, Charley, it is not a theater," said Belasco.
"Never mind," said Frohman. "I will have it made into one."
The old building was under the control of Hyde & Behman, who were
planning to convert it into a vaudeville house. Frohman went to see them
and persuaded them to turn it into a legitimate theater. Just about this
time the Booth Theater at Twenty-third Street and Sixth Avenue was about
to be torn down. Under Charles's prompting Hyde & Behman bought the
inside of that historic structure, proscenium arch, stage, boxes, and
all, and transported them to the Thirty-fifth Street barn. What had been
a bare hall became the New Park Theater, destined to go down in history
as the playhouse that witnessed many important productions, as well as
the first that Charles Frohman made on any stage. Years afterward this
theater was renamed the Herald Square.
Charles Frohman now had a play, a theater, and a cast. With
characteristic lavishness he said to Belasco:
"We must have the finest scenic production ever made in New York."
He had no capital, but he had no trouble in getting credit. Every one
seemed willing to help him. He got out handsome printing and advertised
extensively. He spared nothing in scenic effects, which were elaborate.
He devoted every spare moment to attending rehearsals.
Among the supernumeraries was a fat boy with a comical face. At one of
the rehearsals he sat in a boat and reached out for something. In doing
this he fell overboard. He fell so comically that Belasco made his fall
a part of the regular business. His ability got him a few lines, which
were taken from another actor. This fat-faced, comical boy was John
Bunny, who became the best-known moving-picture star in the United
States, and who to the end of his days never forgot that he appeared in
Charles Frohman's first production. He often spoke of it with pride.
The autumn of 1883 was a strenuous one, for Charles had staked a good
deal on "The Stranglers of Paris." Yet when the curtain rose on the
evening of November 10, 1883, he was the same smiling, eager, but
imperturbable boy who years before had uttered the wish that some day he
would put on a play himself in the great city. He now saw that dream
come true. He was just twenty-three.
"The Stranglers of Paris" made quite a sensation. The scenic effects
were highly praised, and especially the ship scene, which showed
convicts in their cages, their revolt, the sinking of the vessel,
Jagon's struggle in the water, his escape from death, and his dramatic
appeal to Heaven. Lee scored a great success and dated his popularity
from this appearance.
Many of the lines in the piece were widely quoted, one of them in
particular. It was in substance, "Money has power to open prison gates,
and no questions asked."
It was the time of sensational graft revelations, and theater-goers
thought that it fitted the New York situation.
[Illustration: _VIOLA ALLEN_]
"The Stranglers of Paris" ran at the New Park Theater until December 9,
when it was taken on the road. It continued on tour for a considerable
period, playing most of the principal cities of the East, but the
production was so expensive that it made no money. In fact, Charles lost
on the enterprise, but it did not in the least dash his spirits. He
was supremely content because at last he had produced a play.
* * *
"The Stranglers of Paris" filled the budding manager with a renewed zeal
to be a producer. He was still enthusiastic about the melodrama, so he
secured a vivid piece by R. G. Morris, a New York newspaper man, called
"The Pulse of New York," which he produced at the Star Theater,
Thirteenth Street and Broadway, which had been originally Wallack's
Theater.
In the cast was a handsome, painstaking young woman named Viola Allen,
whom Charles had singled out because of her admirable work in a play
that he had seen, and who was headed for a big place in the annals of
the American theater. The youthful manager encouraged her and did much
to aid her progress.
Others in the cast were Caroline Hill, A. S. Lipman, Edward S. Coleman,
L. F. Massen, Frank Lane, Henry Tarbon, W. L. Denison, George Clarke, H.
D. Clifton, Ada Deaves, Max Freeman, Edward Pancoast, Frank Green,
Gerald Eyre, Nick Long, Frederick Barry, Oscar Todd, John March, Charles
Frew, Richard Fox, James Maxwell, J. C. Arnold, Stanley Macy, Lida Lacy,
George Mathews, and William Rose.
"The Pulse of New York" was produced May 10, 1884, but ran only three
weeks. Once more Charles faced a loss, but he met this as he met the
misfortunes of later years, with smiling equanimity.
Now came a characteristic act. He was still in the employ of the Madison
Square Theater and had a guarantee of one hundred dollars a week.
Although he had devoted considerable time to his two previous
productions, he was an invaluable asset to the establishment. He now
felt that the time had come for him to choose between remaining at the
Madison Square under a guarantee and striking out for himself on the
precarious sea of independent theatrical management. He chose the
latter, and launched a third enterprise.
In his wanderings about New York theaters Charles saw a serious-eyed
young actress named Minnie Maddern. He said to Daniel:
"I have great confidence in that young woman. Will you help me put her
out in a piece?"
"All right," replied his brother.
The net result was Miss Maddern in "Caprice."
In view of subsequent stage history this company was somewhat historic.
Miss Maddern's salary was seventy-five dollars a week. Her leading man,
who had been a general-utility actor at the Lyceum, and who also
received seventy-five dollars a week, was Henry Miller. A handsome young
lad named Cyril Scott played a very small part and got fifteen dollars a
week. The total week's salary of the company amounted to only six
hundred and ninety dollars.
"Caprice" opened at Indianapolis November 6, 1884, and subsequently
played Chicago, St. Louis, Evansville, Dayton, and Baltimore, with a
week at the Grand Opera House in New York, where its season closed. It
made no money, but it did a great deal toward advancing the career of
Miss Maddern, who afterward became known to millions of theater-goers as
Mrs. Fiske.
Charles had now made three productions on his own hook and began to
impress his courage and his personality on the theatrical world. He had
definitely committed himself to a career of independent management, and
from this time on he went it alone.
V
Booking-Agent and Broadway Producer
The season of 1883-84 had seen Charles Frohman launched as independent
manager. He had at its conclusion cut his managerial teeth on the last
of three productions which, while not financially successful, had shown
the remarkable quality of his ability. People now began to talk about
the nervy, energetic young man who could go from failure to failure with
a smile on his face. It is a tradition in theatrical management that
successful starts almost invariably mean disastrous finishes. An
auspicious beginning usually leads to extravagance and lack of balance.
Failure at the outset provokes caution. Charles, therefore, had enough
early hard jolts to make him careful.
He always admired big names. Thus it came about that his next venture
was associated with a name and a prestige that meant much and, later on,
cost much. Just about that time he met a handsome young English actor
named E. H. Sothern, who had come to this country with his sister and
who had appeared for a short time with John McCullough, the tragedian.
Sothern had returned to New York and was looking for an engagement.
In those days actors usually secured engagements by running down rumors
of productions that were afloat on the Rialto. In this way Sothern heard
that Charles Frohman was about to send out an English play called
"Nita's First," which had been produced at Wallack's Theater. Sothern
called on Frohman and asked to be engaged.
"What salary do you want?" asked Frohman.
Sothern said he wanted fifty dollars.
"All right," said Frohman. "The part is worth seventy-five dollars, and
I'll pay it."
Twenty years later the manager paid this same actor a salary of one
hundred thousand dollars for a season of forty weeks in Shakespearian
roles.
"Nita's First," however, ran for only two weeks on the road, and Charles
ended the engagement. The reason was that he had conceived what he
considered a brilliant idea.
Lester Wallack and the Wallack Theater Company almost dominated the New
York dramatic situation. The company, headed by Wallack himself,
included Rose Coghlan, Osmond Tearle, John Gilbert, and a whole galaxy
of brilliant people. The Wallack Theater plays were the talk of the
town. Frohman had an inspiration which he communicated one day to Lester
Wallack's son, Arthur, whom he knew. To Arthur he said:
"What do you think about my taking the Wallack successes out on the
road? It is a shame not to capitalize the popular interest in them while
it is hot. Look at what the Madison Square Theater has been doing. Will
you speak to your father about it?"
Arthur spoke to his father, who was not averse to the idea, and Charles
was bidden to the great presence. He had met Lester Wallack before when
he tried to engage Osmond Tearle for "The Stranglers of Paris." Now came
the real meeting. After Frohman had stated his case with all his
persuasion, he added:
"I am sure I can make you rich. You have overlooked a great chance to
make money."