An old Yankee fisherman up in Maine said to his son who was starting
out to seek his fortune, “Sonnie, mind what I tell ye, in this here
world you’ve either got to cut bait or fish.” Oscar Hammerstein,
humorist, father of six children, plunger, man of business, cigar
machine inventor, real estate speculator, vaudeville manager, composer,
theater builder and impresario, is one of the men who fishes.
[Illustration: OSCAR HAMMERSTEIN]
He fishes where he pleases, when he pleases, and how he pleases. “He
wants what he wants when he wants it,” and what’s more he gets it. When
he wants to do a thing he asks Oscar Hammerstein’s advice. If Oscar
Hammerstein says go ahead he goes ahead.
This man has the faculty of disembodying himself. He looks upon himself
objectively. He has implicit confidence in Oscar Hammerstein—in his
judgment, in his courage, in his indomitable perseverance, in his star.
The psychologists talk about the subliminal self. It is some such self
which is Oscar Hammerstein’s guide, philosopher, friend, and mentor.
I asked Mr. Hammerstein if he had a Board of Directors. He replied,
“Certainly; see that long table there with all those chairs round it?
Those chairs are my directors. I sit at the head of that table and vote
myself a salary of $150,000 and my Directors pass it unanimously. I
suggest; they approve.”
One day about forty-three years ago a rich father Hammerstein in
Berlin cruelly beat a young Hammerstein with a skate strap. That young
Hammerstein was Oscar, and he decided he had had enough of that sort of
thing. Taking his father’s violin he escaped from the music room where
he was imprisoned. Selling the violin for thirty dollars he bought a
steerage passage on a sailing ship bound for America. He says of this
incident:
“I landed on these shores covered with vermin and without a cent. After
a time I came to a sign which read, ‘Cigar Makers Wanted. Paid While
You Learn.’ So I went in and applied for a job—not because I had
any passion for making cigars, but because I didn’t want to starve.”
Within a short time this two-dollar-a-week cigar maker’s apprentice had
invented a machine for binding cigar fillers which he sold for $6,000.
His many inventions have revolutionized the entire cigar making
industry. He has now a music room and a machine shop. After three in
the afternoon he divides his time between composing and inventing. Mr.
Hammerstein is a man who makes and loses fortunes. The last time he
went under was about ten years ago, when his great three part Olympia
Theater failed utterly. He said, “That cleaned me out—lost one million
and a half. I realized that after the things were sold at auction I
wouldn’t have a dollar. Even to pay the rent for my modest apartment
was a problem.”
“What did you do?”
“Do! I lit a cigar and took a long walk.”
“How did you feel—discouraged?”
“Felt fine! Discouraged, not a bit! I’ve never in my life felt
discouraged or despondent. I’m something of a victim of melancholy, but
that has nothing whatever to do with external events. It comes over
me when my affairs are prospering most. But I’ve never been afraid of
anybody or anything.
“What I did is too long a story. But mark this! If you have an honest
conviction as to the right thing to do you can do it! If you have
absolute faith in yourself, other people are bound to have faith in
you. No question about it.”
Later one of Mr. Hammerstein’s assistants told me one thing he did
in this emergency. He sold his grand piano and with the proceeds as
his capital started the great Victoria vaudeville theater on Long
Acre Square. Its out of the way site alone irrevocably condemned it
to failure in the opinion of all the theatrical experts except its
builder. One of his sons is now running it with immense success.
“I have only one partner,” continued Mr. Hammerstein—“my knowledge of
human nature. I have the greatest conductor in the world—Campanini.
I went to Europe and saw him conduct and decided I must have him. I
met him and made him believe in me and he came. He had never heard of
Oscar Hammerstein. I didn’t show him my bank book. It wouldn’t have
impressed him if I had. It was the same way with Madame Melba and with
all the others. They liked me, they believed in me, and they came with
me. They won’t sing for a man they don’t believe in, no matter how many
thousands he may offer them.
“When I started this opera house over here my friends were on the
point of engaging a cell for me at Matteawan. Now my opera is a great
success. With the exception of Caruso the Metropolitan singers can’t
compare with mine. Of course, there’s not much money in this business.
If money was what I wanted I should sell suspenders or shoe strings.
“No, I never asked or took anybody’s advice about anything in my life.
Why should I? I know my own affairs better than anybody else can. I
have no secretary. I have no bookkeeper. Of course I have a treasurer
to handle the funds. I haven’t even a stenographer.”
“Why should I sit here and waste my time dictating letters about
matters that don’t concern me to people that don’t interest me. When a
letter really requires an answer I write a few lines in pencil on the
letter itself and send it back to the writer. Here’s my letter file,”
pointing to a capacious waste-basket, “and a very good one it makes.
I never could understand why people should feel obliged to answer
letters. All sorts of people write me about their affairs—not mine!
Why should I spend my time writing people about their own affairs? Of
course, helping people who deserve it is quite another matter.
“One quality that has always helped me immensely is my
faculty—absolutely—to wipe the past from my mind. I look only to the
future. I work only for the future. I drag no dead weights after me.
But, no man knows why he does things. He can’t help expressing what
is in him. The genius or talent or aptitude or whatever you call it,
that is born in him is bound to come out no matter what his outward
circumstances. The people who never discover their bent have none
to discover. If you are a reporter and you don’t like the way your
fountain pen works you make it work better. You invent another pen; and
then, before you know it, you find yourself a pen manufacturer.”
With twinkling eyes and one of his contagious, boyish laughs Mr.
Hammerstein got up from his desk and said, “Now I must excuse
myself to attend one of those Directors’ meetings I was telling you
about.”—Lyman Beecher Stowe.