must reflect credit upon the theater, and your leading woman must be of
the same type as my leading woman, Rose Coghlan."
Charles immediately said, "The company shall be worthy of you and the
name it bears."
Lester Wallack agreed to rehearse the company and to permit his name to
be used in connection with it. After Charles left, Lester Wallack said
to his son:
"Watch that young man, Arthur. He is going to make his mark."
Arthur Wallack was about to take a trip to England, and Charles
commissioned him to engage the leading people. He therefore engaged
Sophie Eyre, who had been leading woman at the Drury Lane Theater, and
W. H. Denny.
Charles himself selected the remaining members of the company, who were
Newton Gotthold; C. B. Wells; Charles Wheatleigh; Max Freeman; Rowland
Buckstone; Henry Talbot; Sam Dubois; George Clarke; Fred Corbett; Louise
Dillon, who had been with him in the precarious Stoddart Comedy days;
Kate Denin Wilson; Agnes Elliot; and Grace Wilson.
At the time he engaged the Wallack Theater Company Charles had no
office. He was then living at the Coleman House on Broadway, just
opposite the then celebrated Gilsey House. Most of the engagements were
made as he sat in a big leather chair in the lobby, with one foot thrown
over an arm of it.
The principal capital that Charles had for this venture was five
thousand dollars put up by Daniel J. Bernstein, who became treasurer of
the company. Alf Hayman, whom Frohman had met in Philadelphia, was
engaged as advance-agent.
It was a courageous undertaking even for a seasoned and well-financed
theatrical veteran. Although Lester Wallack was well known, his theater
and its successes were not familiar to the great mass of people outside
New York. In those days theatrical publicity was not as widespread as
now. No wonder, then, that the daring of a young manager of twenty-five
in taking out a company whose weekly salary list was nearly thirteen
hundred dollars was commented on.
Charles called his aggregation the Wallack Theater Company. The
repertoire consisted mainly of "Victor Durand," a play by Henry Guy
Carleton which had been produced at Wallack's on December 13, 1884.
Subsequently the company also played "Moths," "Lady Clare," "Diplomacy,"
and Belasco's "La Belle Russe."
This tour, which was to write itself indelibly on the career of Charles
Frohman, began in Chicago and was continued through the South to New
Orleans, where a stay of six weeks was made at the St. Charles Theater.
Belasco joined them here for a week to put on "The World," which had
been produced at Wallack's a short time before.
In New Orleans occurred one of those encounters in Charles Frohman's
life that led to life-long friendship. Two years before, while playing a
Madison Square company at one of the theaters in St. Louis, he had met a
bright young man in the box-office named Augustus Thomas. Thomas was
then a newspaper man and was beginning to write plays. He told Charles
that he had just made a short play out of Frances Hodgson Burnett's
story, "Editha's Burglar."
In New Orleans Charles discovered that young Thomas was playing in his
own play at a near-by theater and went over to see him. After the
performance he visited him in his dressing-room, renewed his
acquaintance, and said to him with the optimism of youth:
"Mr. Thomas, I hope that some day you will write a play for me."
* * *
The company now made a tour of Texas, where the troubles began. Business
declined, but Frohman succeeded in landing the company in Chicago after
a series of misfortunes. Here Sophie Eyre retired and was succeeded by
Louise Dillon as leading woman. Charles, of course, had no money with
which to buy costumes, so she pawned her jewels and used the proceeds.
Sadie Bigelow took her place as ingenue.
Charles now started his famous tour of the Northwest which rivaled the
Stoddart days in hardship and in humor. The Northern Pacific Railroad
had just been opened to the coast, and Charles followed the new route. A
series of tragic, dramatic, and comic experiences began. The tour was
through the heart of the old cow country. One night, when the train was
stalled by the wrecking of a bridge near Miles City, Montana, a group of
cowboys started to "shoot up" the train. Frohman, with ready resource,
singled out the leader and said:
"We've got a theatrical company here and we will give you a
performance."
He got Rowland Buckstone to stand out on the prairie and recite "The
Smuggler's Life," "The Execution," and "The Sanguinary Pirate" by the
light of a big bonfire which was built while the show was going on.
This tickled the cowboys and brought salvos of shots and shouts of
laughter.
At Miles City occurred what might have been a serious episode. When the
company reached the hotel at about eleven in the morning Charles
Wheatleigh, the "first old man," asked the hotel-keeper what time
breakfast was served. When he replied "Eight-thirty o'clock," Wheatleigh
pounded the desk and said:
"That is for farmers. When do artists eat?"
The clerk was a typical Westerner, and thought this was an insult. He
made a lunge for Wheatleigh, when Frohman stepped in and settled the
difficulty in his usual suave and smiling way.
At Butte came another characteristic example of the Frohman enterprise
and resource. It was necessary at all hazards to get an audience. When
Charles got there he found that the wife of the leading gambler had
died. He expressed so much sympathy for the bereaved man that he was
made a pall-bearer, and this act created such an impression on the
townspeople that they flocked to the theater at night.
At Missoula, Montana, Charles went out ahead of the show for a week.
Approaching the treasurer at the box-office, he said:
"Will you please let me have a hundred dollars on account of the show?"
"I can't," replied the man. "We haven't sold a single seat for any of
your performances."
Frohman thought a moment and walked out of the lobby. All afternoon
orders for seats began to come in to the box-office. Late in the
afternoon, when Frohman got back, the agent smiled and said:
"Mr. Frohman, I can let you have that hundred dollars now. We are
beginning to have quite an advance sale."
Frohman had gone down-town and sent in the orders for the seats himself.
He used fictitious names.
Now began a summer of hardships. With the utmost difficulty the company
got to Portland, Oregon, where Charles established a sort of
headquarters. From this point he sent the company on short tours. But
business continued to be bad.
He started a series of "farewell" performances, as he did in Texas, and
placarded the city with the bills announcing "positively" closing
performances. These bills were typical of the publicity talents of
Charles Frohman. He headed them "Good-by Engagements," and added the
words, "A Long, Lingering Farewell." Under "Favorites' Farewell" he
printed the names of the members of the company with the titles or parts
in which they were known. "Good-by, Louise Dillon, our Esmeralda";
"Good-by, Kate Denin Wilson, Pretty Lady Dolly"; "Good-by, Charles B.
Wells, Faithful Dave Hardy"; "Good-by, Rowland Buckstone, Some Other
Man"--were typical illustrations of his attempt to make a strong appeal
for business.
Actual money in the company was a novelty. Bernstein's five thousand
dollars had long since vanished. When a member of the company wanted
some cash it had to be extracted from the treasurer in one-dollar
instalments.
Despite the hardships, the utmost good humor and feeling prevailed. Most
of the members of the company were young; there was no bickering. They
knew that Frohman's struggle was with and for them. They called him
"The Governor," and he always referred to them as his "nice little
company." All looked forward confidently to better days, and in this
belief they were supported and inspired by the cheery philosophy of the
manager.
Charles's resource was tested daily. He had booked a near-by town for
fair week, which always meant good business. At last he had money in
sight. The local manager, however, insisted upon a great display of
fancy printing. Charles was in a dilemma because he owed his printer a
big bill and he had no more lithographs on hand. A friend who was in
advance of William Gillette's play, "The Private Secretary," came along
with a lot of his own paper. Charles borrowed a quantity of it and also
from the "Whose Baby Are You?" company, covered over these two titles
with slips containing the words "Lady Clare," the piece he was going to
present. He billed the town with great success and was able to keep
going.
During the Portland sojourn Charles sent the company on to Salem,
Oregon. While there, six members had their photographs taken with a
disconsolate look on their faces and with Buckstone holding a dollar in
his hand. They sent the picture to Frohman with the inscription:
"From your nice little company waiting for its salary."
At Portland, Oregon, A. D. Charlton, who was passenger agent of the
Northern Pacific Railroad, and who had been of great service to Charles
in extricating him from various financial difficulties, said to him one
day:
"Frohman, I want you to meet a very promising little actress who is out
here with her mother."
Frohman said he would be glad, and, accompanying Charlton to his office,
was introduced to Annie Adams, a well-known actress from Salt Lake City,
and her wistful-eyed little daughter, Maude. They were both members of
the John McGuire Company. This was Charles Frohman's first meeting with
Maude Adams.
At Portland Frohman added "Two Orphans" and "Esmeralda" to the company's
repertoire. But it barely got them out of town at the really and truly
"farewell."
* * *
Now began a return journey from Portland that was even more precarious
than the trip out. Baggage had to be sacrificed; there was scarcely any
scenery. One "back drop" showing the interior of a cathedral was used
for every kind of scene, from a gambling-house to a ball-room. To the
financial hardship of the homeward trip was added real physical trial.
Frohman showed in towns wherever there was the least prospect of any
kind of a house. The company therefore played in skating-rinks,
school-houses, even barns. In some places the members of the company had
to take the oil-lamps that served as footlights back in the makeshift
dressing-rooms while they dressed.
At Bozeman, Montana, occurred an incident which showed both the humor
and the precariousness of the situation. Frohman assembled the company
in the waiting-room of the station and, stepping up to the
ticket-office, laid down one hundred and thirty dollars in cash.
"Where do you want to go?" asked the agent.
Shoving the money at him, Frohman said, "How far will this take us?"
The agent looked out of the window, counted up the company, and said,
"To Billings."
Turning to the company, Frohman said, with a smile, "Ladies and
gentlemen, we play Billings next."
Just then he received a telegram from Alf Hayman, who was on ahead of
the company:
_What town shall I bill?_
Frohman wired back:
_Bill Billings._
Hayman again wired:
_Have no printing and can get no credit. What shall I do?_
Frohman's resource came into stead, for he telegraphed:
_Notify theaters that we are a high-class company from Wallack's
Theater in New York and use no ordinary printing. We employ only
newspapers and dodgers._
At Missoula, Montana, on their way back, a member of the company became
dissatisfied and stood with his associates at the station where two
trains met, one for the east and one for the west. As the train for the
east slowed up the actor rushed toward it and, calling to the members of
the company, said:
"I am leaving you for good. You'll never get anywhere with Frohman."
The company, however, elected to stay with Frohman. In later years this
actor fell into hardship. Frohman singled him out, and from that time
on until Frohman's death he had a good engagement every year in a
Frohman company.
At Bismarck, North Dakota, the company gave "Moths." In this play the
spurned hero, a singer, has a line which reads, "There are many
marquises, but very few _tenors_."
Money had been so scarce for months that this remark was the last straw,
so the company burst into laughter, and the performance was nearly
broken up. Frohman, who stood in the back of the house, enjoyed it as
much as the rest.
Through all these hardships Frohman remained serene and smiling. His
unfailing optimism tided over the dark days. The end came at Winona,
Minnesota. The company had sacrificed everything it could possibly
sacrifice. Frohman borrowed a considerable sum from the railroad agent
to go to Chicago, where he obtained six hundred dollars from Frank
Sanger. With this he paid the friendly agent and brought the company
back to New York.
Even the last lap of this disastrous journey was not without its humor.
The men were all assembled in the smoking-car on the way from Albany to
New York. Frohman for once sat silent. When somebody asked him why he
looked so glum, he said, "I'm thinking of what I have got to face
to-morrow."
Up spoke Wheatleigh, whose marital troubles were well known. He slapped
Frohman on the back and said:
"Charley, your troubles are slight. Think of me. I've got to face my
wife to-morrow."
It was characteristic of Frohman's high sense of integrity that he gave
his personal note to each member of the company for back salary in
full, and before five years passed had discharged every debt.
* * *
On arriving in New York Charles had less than a dollar in his pocket,
his clothes were worn, and he looked generally much the worse for wear.
On the street he met Belasco. They pooled their finances and went to
"Beefsteak John's," where they had a supper of kidney stew, pie, and
tea. They renewed the old experiences at O'Neil's restaurant and talked
about what they were going to do.
The next day Frohman was standing speculatively in front of the Coleman
House when he met Jack Rickaby, a noted theatrical figure of the time.
Rickaby slapped the young man on the back and said:
"Frohman, I am glad you have had a good season. You're going to be a big
man in this profession."
He shook Frohman's hand warmly and walked away.
It was the first cheering word that Frohman had heard. The news of his
disastrous trip had not become known. Always proud, he was glad of it.
After Rickaby had shaken his hand he felt something in it, and on
looking he saw that the big-hearted manager had placed a hundred-dollar
bill there. Rickaby had known all along the story of the Wallack tour
hardships, and it was his way of expressing sympathy. Frohman afterward
said it was the most touching moment in his life. Speaking of this once,
he said:
"That hundred-dollar bill looked bigger than any sum of money I have
ever had since."
* * *
It was late in 1885 when Charles returned from the disastrous Wallack's
Theater tour, bankrupt in finance but almost over-capitalized in
courage and plans for the future. Up to that time he had no regular
office. Like many of the managers of the day, his office was in his hat.
Now, for the first time, he set up an establishment of his own. It
required no capital to embark in the booking business in those days.
Nerve and resiliency were the two principal requisites.
The first Frohman offices were at 1215 Broadway, in the same building
that housed Daly's Theater. In two small rooms on the second floor
Charles Frohman laid the corner-stone of what in later years became a
chain of offices and interests that reached wherever the English
language was spoken on the stage. The interesting contrast here was that
while Augustin Daly, then in the heyday of his great success, was
creating theatrical history on the stage below him, Charles Frohman was
beginning his real managerial career up-stairs.
Frohman's first associate was W. W. Randall, a San Francisco newspaper
man whom he had met in the Haverly's Minstrel days, in the mean time
manager of "The Private Secretary" and several of the Madison Square
companies on the road. He was alert and aggressive and knew the
technique of the theatrical business.
Charles Frohman's policy was always pretentious, so he set up two
distinct firms. One was the "Randall's Theatrical Bureau, Charles
Frohman and W. W. Randall, Managers," which was under Randall's
direction and which booked attractions for theaters throughout the
country on a fee basis. The other was called "Frohman & Randall, General
Theatrical Managers." Its function was to produce plays and was directly
under Charles's supervision. The two firm names were emblazoned on the
door and business was started. Their first employee was Julius Cahn.
These offices have an historic interest aside from the fact that they
were the first to be occupied by Charles Frohman. Out of them grew
really the whole modern system of booking attractions. Up to that era
theatrical booking methods were different from those of the present
time; there were no great centralized agencies to book attractions for
strings of theaters covering the entire country. Union Square was the
Rialto, the heart and center of the booking business. The out-of-town
manager came there to fill his time for the season. Much of the booking
was done in a haphazard way on the sidewalk, and whole seasons were
booked on the curb, merely noted in pocket note-books. Two methods of
booking were then in vogue: one by the manager of a company who wrote
from New York to the towns for time; the other through an agent of
out-of-town house managers located in New York. It was this latter
system that Frohman and Randall began to develop in a scientific
fashion. Charles's extensive experience on the road and his knowledge of
the theatrical status of the different towns made him a valuable agent.
Frohman and Randall at that time practically had the field to
themselves. Brooks & Dickson, an older firm which included the
well-known Joseph Brooks of later managerial fame, had conducted the
first booking-office of any consequence, but had now retired. H. S.
Taylor had just established on Fourteenth Street Taylor's Theatrical
Exchange, destined to figure in theatrical history as the forerunner of
the Klaw & Erlanger business.
Despite the high-sounding titles on the door, the Frohman offices were
unpretentious. Frohman and Randall had a desk apiece, and there was a
second-hand iron safe in the corner. When Frohman was asked, one day
soon after the shingle had been hung out, what the safe was for, he
replied, with his characteristic humor:
"We keep the coal-scuttle in it."
As a matter of fact there was more truth than poetry in this remark,
because the office assets were so low that during the winter the firm
had to burn gas all day to keep warm. When asked the reason for this,
Frohman said, jocularly:
"We can get more credit if we use gas, because the gas bill has to be
paid only once a month. Coal is cash."
Indeed, the office was so cold during that season that it came to be
known in the profession as the "Cave of the Winds," and this title was
no reflection on the vocal qualities of the proprietors.
It was during those early and precarious days when Frohman was still
saddled with the debts of the Wallack's tour that one of the most
amusing incidents of his life happened. One morning he was served with
the notice of a supplementary proceeding which had been instituted
against him. He was always afraid of the courts, and he was much
alarmed. He rushed across the street to the Gilsey House and consulted
Henry E. Dixey, the actor, who was living there. Dixey's advice was to
get a lawyer. Together they returned to the Daly's Theater Building,
where Frohman knew a lawyer was installed on the top floor. They found
the lawyer blacking that portion of his white socks that appeared
through the holes in his shoes.
Frohman stated his case, which the lawyer accepted. He then demanded a
two-dollar fee. Frohman had only one dollar in his pocket and borrowed
the other dollar from Dixey.
"This money," said the lawyer, "is to be paid into the court. How about
my fee?"
Frohman fumbled in his pocket and produced a ten-cent piece. He handed
it to the lawyer, saying: "I will pay you later on. Here is your
car-fare. Be sure to get to court before it opens."
Frohman and Dixey left. Frohman was much agitated. They walked around
the block several times. When he heard the clock strike ten he said to
Dixey:
"Now the lawyer is in the court-room and the matter is being settled."
In his expansive relief he said: "I have credit at Browne's Chop House.
Let us go over and have breakfast."
At the restaurant they ordered a modest meal. As Frohman looked up from
his table he saw a man sitting directly opposite whose face was hid
behind a newspaper. In front of him was a pile of wheat-cakes about a
foot high.
"Gee whiz!" said Frohman. "I wish I had enough money to buy a stack of
wheat-cakes that high."
As he said this to Dixey the man opposite happened to lower his paper
and revealed himself to be the lawyer Frohman had just engaged. He was
having a breakfast spree himself with the two dollars extracted from his
two recent clients.
* * *
Business began to pick up with the new year. The first, and what
afterward proved to be the most profitable, clients of the
booking-office were the Baldwin and California theaters in San
Francisco. They were dominated by Al Hayman, brother of Alf, a man who
now came intimately into Charles Frohman's life and remained so until
the end. He was a Philadelphian who had conducted various traveling
theatrical enterprises in Australia and had met Frohman for the first
time in London when the latter went over with the Haverly Mastodons.
Hayman admired Frohman very much and soon made him general Eastern
representative of all his extensive Pacific coast interests.
Hayman was developing into a magnate of importance. With his assistance
Charles was able to book a company all the way from New York to San
Francisco. Charles made himself responsible for the time between New
York and Kansas City, while Hayman would guarantee the company's time
from Kansas City or Omaha to the coast.
Frohman and Randall made a good team, and they soon acquired a chain of
more than three hundred theaters, ranging from music-halls in small
towns that booked the ten-twenty-thirty-cent dramas up to the palatial
houses like Hooley's in Chicago, the Hollis in Boston, and the Baldwin
in San Francisco.
It was a happy-go-lucky time. If Frohman had ten dollars in his pocket
to spare he considered himself rich. Money then, as always, meant very
little to him. It came and went easily.
* * *
While the booking business waxed in volume the production end of the
establishment did not fare so well. Charles had this activity of the
office as his particular domain, and with the instinct of the plunger
now began to put on plays right and left.
Just before the association with Randall, Frohman had become manager of
Neil Burgess, the actor, and had booked him for a tour in a play called
"Vim." A disagreement followed, and Frohman turned him over to George W.
Lederer, who took the play out to the coast.
A year after this episode came the first of the many opportunities for
fortune that Charles Frohman turned down in the course of his eventful
life. This is the way it happened:
Burgess, who was quite an inventive person, had patented the treadmill
mechanism to represent horse-racing on the stage, a device which was
afterward used with such great effect in "Ben-Hur." He was so much
impressed with it that he had a play written around it called "The
County Fair."
Burgess, who liked Frohman immensely, tried to get him to take charge of
this piece, but Frohman would not listen to the proposition about the
mechanical device. He was unhappy over his experience about "Vim," and
whenever Burgess tried to talk "The County Fair" and its machine Frohman
would put him off.