Fool" over I at once looked about to secure a play where the comedy
was subordinate to the pathos, as I was determined to launch an
ultra-serious play--not that the latter is more difficult; on the
contrary, I consider that it is harder to make people laugh than to
cry (when the humor is applied legitimately)--but the old precept of
Cazauran was forever singing in my ears:--"Remember, no one remembers a
laugh." I was determined to obliterate if possible the memories of my
preceding laughter epoch.
I imparted my views to Augustus Thomas who had just successfully
produced "Alabama" and he fell in with my ideas. We at once arranged
the terms for an original play.
The following June I met Maurice Barrymore who told me that he had just
come from the reading of my new play by Thomas. I had no idea that the
play was finished nor what it was about. Thomas had not even sent me
a scenario for which I was most grateful (I hate scenarios; they are
always so misleading.) I asked Barry what he thought about the play.
"Well, I like it immensely," he said, "but I don't know how it will
strike you, my boy. It is out of the common and most original. All the
parts are exceptionally well placed."
"What kind of a part is mine?" I asked.
"You play a Missouri Sheriff," he replied.
"Great Scott!" I thought, as visions of a low-browed, black mustached,
heavily armed gentleman appeared before me. I could see myself coming
on and saving the heroine, frustrating the plans of the villain and
arresting everybody at the end of the play.
Barrymore was most reticent concerning the play and non-committal as to
what he thought it would yield, or how he thought the character would
suit me. He simply said, "Go and hear Gus read it."
That evening, a sultry night in June, I called on the author, who was
just preparing to leave for a holiday in the country. The room was in
disorder; in fact, there was nothing for me to do but sit on a huge
Taylor trunk. I settled back as best I could as Gus quietly unfolded
the script.
I listened intently through the first act and was spell-bound. At the
end of every act I simply said, "Go on," and at the finish, "When
do we produce that play?" I wished it were the next day. "I am ready
whenever you are," he answered. We got together in a few days and
selected one of the best casts with which it has ever been my good
fortune to be associated, including Jeane Claire Walters, Minnie
Dupree, Mabel Amber, Burr McIntosh, Frank Carlisle, Neil O'Brien, Louis
Payne (now the husband of Mrs. Leslie Carter), Arthur Hoops, Louis
Barrett and Robert Wilson.
We produced it at Hooley's Theatre, Chicago, in September, 1893, and
I added one more success to my list and pegged another pin in my crib
board of pathos as "In Mizzoura" was born.
The simple little sheriff Jim Radburn I adored. He was so true, so
lovable, so honest! I never have grown weary of Little Jim. I have
seen two or three actors play him, but--whisper--I really like my
performance the best!
The rehearsals of "In Mizzoura" were replete with incident. It was
the first time that I had placed myself in absolute charge of a stage
manager and it proved a most delightful experience for one who had
always borne the weight of a production to become an automaton, moved
here and there under the guidance of Thomas who proved an excellent
stage director. My! How we all put our shoulders to the wheel after
Thomas had made clear the many hidden meanings that were not apparent
at the reading! The play as read did not appeal to many of the company.
Some even condoled with me. But I knew we were right and we went ahead.
We called the company together on a Thursday, the opening being set a
week from the following Monday. We rehearsed the entire play Friday,
called the first act perfect Saturday, two acts perfect Monday and the
entire play perfect Tuesday, when everyone came dead-letter-perfect, as
it is called. Thomas in the meantime had written in two new scenes.
After the opening we never called a rehearsal during the entire season.
We played to capacity business for four weeks, then foolishly went to
New York, opening at the Fifth Avenue Theatre, where the play failed to
draw. It received splendid praise, particularly in the magazines. Even
the daily papers praised the play, but condemned my daring to rob them
of their little funny man. I am sure, however, that I pleased the few
who were courageous enough to come and have a cry with me. The play met
with unqualified success throughout the country, with the exception of
New York and San Francisco, the latter city condemning both the play
and yours truly. The press was most severe, with the single exception
of that gifted critic, Ashton Stevens, who had the courage of his
convictions and whose praise of both play and star was as sweeping as
the others' roasts were severe.
"In Mizzoura" was the only hit of my disastrous Australian tour.
I consider "In Mizzoura" one of the greatest of American plays.
It has inspired many authors, particularly David Belasco, author of
"The Girl of the Golden West."
Wilton Lackaye met Sydney Rosenfeld, the author, on the grounds at the
Chicago World's Fair. Lackaye said, "Where are you going to-night,
Sydney?" Sydney replied, "I'm going to Thomas' opening, at Hooley's."
Lackaye said, "Well, I'll see you there as I'm going to Nat's opening."
How clannish we actors and authors are!
During one of the rehearsals of "Mizzoura," Burr McIntosh and I had
a scene that sadly bothered poor Burr. He fancied that he must be a
trifle more pathetic than I. His speeches should have been given in a
simple, matter-of-fact manner, but as I used a low tone Burr would go
me one better until we were both down in the sub-cellar of the drama!
We went over the scene many times but, try as he might, McIntosh failed
to understand the meaning or motive of the scene. Thomas would go over
the scene with me and place Burr in front to watch it to endeavor to
make him comprehend the author's meaning. Then Burr would try and try,
always forcing me to the basement. Finally, after hours of rehearsing
this scene, Thomas said, "Burr, stop. The trouble is you're thinking
when I wrote this part I had you in my mind. I did--but I wrote it for
your feet, not your head."
After "A Gilded Fool" was launched I at once made a contract with
Carlton for another play and in a few weeks he submitted a scenario
to me which I accepted. This play was to follow "In Mizzoura." During
the interim between "A Gilded Fool" and "In Mizzoura" Carlton wholly
evolved the plot of "Ambition." In time he submitted two acts. I was
more than pleased as the character of Senator Beck appealed to me. It
had a fine story and all the parts were unique and full of character.
After receiving the two acts I looked about for adequate people for the
rôles and was fortunate enough to secure the services of Annie Russell,
Henry Bergman and Clarence Montaine and with the other members of my
company, I considered it a perfect cast. Later I was fortunate enough
to be surrounded by such players as George Fawcett, Louis Payne, John
Saville, Estelle Mortimer and Jeane Claire Walters.
I arranged to open my season early in September at Miner's Fifth Avenue
Theatre, New York, and called my company for rehearsals of "David
Garrick." I was anxious to appear in that rôle in New York, having
previously performed it on the road with some degree of success. My
idea was to put on "Garrick" for one week and follow with "Ambition."
I still had only two acts of the Carlton play. I had been trying for
weeks to get possession of the last act, having some anxiety as to how
Carlton intended ending the play, but it was impossible to locate him.
He turned up on the first night of "Garrick," promising me my last act
of "Ambition" on the following day, assuring me it was finished. I
waited until Wednesday, but he failed to keep his word. I knew he was
unreliable, but never thought him ungrateful. Through his negligence we
were forced to announce "Garrick" for a second week. This was asking
the public to accept a pretty tall order, but there was no alternative.
One Friday, too late for rehearsal, I took it home with me and read
it most carefully and was very much disappointed. It plainly showed
the earmarks of hasty composition. However, there was no choice and I
produced it as quickly as possible.
On the first night we were all extremely nervous and up to the ending
of the second act I thought we had a failure. That ending, however,
gave me a splendid moment and I received several curtain calls. The
papers were very kind on the following morning, more so, I considered,
than we deserved. I played it two weeks to gradually decreasing
business, the last week being simply ghastly!
I honestly believe that I could have drawn more money alone, with a
desk and a glass of water. I had no faith in the play and after the
first performance began rehearsals of another called "A House of
Cards" by Sydney Rosenfeld. Previously I had sent it into the discard
after three rehearsals. It proved worthy of its title and tumbled down
shortly after at the Garden Theatre.
The manager of a Philadelphia theatre, where I was to open after the
engagement at the Fifth Avenue, came over and saw our performance of
"Ambition" (to a $90 house) and entered a most violent objection to
my appearing at his theatre in that play. I informed him that I had
nothing which I could substitute and that it would take me at least two
weeks to prepare any of the plays in my repertoire with the exception
of "David Garrick." There was no alternative; he must accept "Ambition"
or close his theatre. He concluded to take a chance and one of those
psychological events which shapes the destinies of players took place.
We opened to nearly twelve hundred dollars--and that was the lightest
house of the engagement! We played to capacity business there and
everywhere all through that season. It proved to be one of my greatest
successes.
I never understood Carlton's failure to furnish the play as he had
agreed until a few days after I opened in Philadelphia I read the
announcement of the production of a new play of his by a manager who
had previously refused to give him a hearing. He forgot (!) I had
lifted him from the streets of Boston, clothed him, loaned him money,
and taken him to my mother's home. He forgot (!) that when he became
suddenly ill it was my mother who nursed him back to health as if he
were one of her own children!
The last time that I saw this gifted but ungrateful man was a few
years ago at Atlantic City. He was a physical wreck, but mentally a
giant still. He had invented some new electric appliance and his mind
scintillated as I had never known it to scintillate before. I knew he
was doomed and felt grieved. I left his chamber with a heavy heart.
Since writing this poor Carlton has joined the majority.
[Illustration: TICKET SALE FOR IN MIZZOURA]
_Chapter XXXVIII_
GEORGE M. COHAN
What an extraordinary person is sunny George Cohan!
Fancy a young man, in the early thirties, owning his own playhouse,
performing there in the leading rôles, the author of his play and
lyrics, the composer of the music, associate manager of two New York
theatres, of another in Chicago, and with a chain of suburban houses!
This is making history with a vengeance. The position he occupies in
the theatrical world has never been duplicated and I doubt if it ever
will be. With all his well-deserved success he bears himself with the
modesty of a well-bred boy. To be privileged to meet him in private
life is a joy and delight. You will find him never obtrusive and always
gentle and respectful to his elders. One would never imagine him a
being of so much power. He fascinates me every time I meet him and I
always feel an inclination to put my hands upon his shoulders and just
listen to him talk. His keen sense of humor, combined with his calm
demeanor, always appeals to me.
How proud his parents must feel to be the authors of such a fascinating
book as Georgie Cohan! (I always call him Georgie. I can't help it. I
love the lad for his wonderful versatility.)
How I enjoy the attempts of some of the critics, in their futile
efforts to slur this man of success and to destroy the affection the
public has for him! Some even accuse him of being "common." Good! Bring
on some more commoners! We need them!
But nature is most discerning in bestowing her mantle of genius. She
weaves carefully and adroitly and is conservative with her gifts. She
wove her finest for clever Georgie and then destroyed the pattern. She
has no more to give.
Mr. and Mrs. Cohan, I congratulate you! You have given the world a
genius!
Hats off to Georgie Cohan!
It was while I was appearing at Ford's Theatre in Baltimore in 1911
that Georgie sent me a message which read as follows:--
"I am giving a supper in your honor next Wednesday night at
Friars Club House. Wire me that you will be there."
Immediately I replied. This is what I wrote:--
"I am there now, my dear Hector, and will eat nothing until I
meet you Wednesday at the Friars Club House. Have invited my
audience to join me. He seems an awfully nice chap. Wishing you
a Merry Christmas, but don't you dare wish me one, believe me
always thine,
RALPH GOODWIN."
Georgie insisted on addressing me as Mr. Goodwin for years after he had
reached a star's zenith. When I asked him to drop the formality he said
he simply could not do it. Thereupon I suggested we get around it. If
he couldn't call me Nat maybe he wouldn't stick on Ralph. And I in turn
have ever since dubbed him Hector--when we meet!
_Chapter XXXIX_
THOUGHTS VAUDEVILLE-BORN
How miserable are they who live in the past, who imagine when the sun
sinks behind their horizon it will never rise again! To be sure, it is
not pleasant to realize one is retrograding, yet it is better to forget
the errors of the past, realize the advantages of mistakes and benefit
by them "than, by opposing, end them."
During a short tour in vaudeville I had many opportunities for
serious thought, particularly when I visited the various cities
where I previously had been a conspicuous factor in my profession.
As I contemplated my name upon the illuminated signs in front of the
vaudeville theatres I also strolled through the streets and gazed at
the names emblazoned in front of the various legitimate theatres. Many
had played in support of me. Now they had usurped my place in the
standard playhouses. I was "in vaudeville!"
I reflected upon my companion players--the trained seals, the amusing
monkey, the docile elephant! As I wended my way through the sawdust
path that led to my dressing-room I wondered what my mission on earth
really was. Then philosophy took possession of me and convinced me that
we were all performing our respective duties in different environments.
It was just a case of "all hands 'round and change your partners!"
In vaudeville I was never happy. I was rather self-conscious, for
when salary day came around I felt as if I were cheating to take the
magnificent sum I was receiving for my twenty-seven minutes' work
twice a day. Then again I wondered if dear old Richard Hooley, in
whose theatre in Chicago I had played successfully for twenty years,
knew of the evolution that had placed his boy, as he always called me,
among the pot pourri of vaudeville. What would my good friend, Bob
Miles of Cincinnati, and John Norton of St. Louis, have said had they
seen my name as a head-liner in those cities where I had packed their
respective houses?
As I strolled by the theatres managed by those dear, departed friends
my truant thoughts, much as I antagonized them, would fly back to the
past. Once again I would go to the Theatre of Variety in quest of "Five
Shillings" and visions of a new and successful play for the next year
or the one after would come with the rising sun! When the clouds came
to obscure the sky of hope I would darken my chamber, bury the past and
wait for the morrow and accompanying sunshine to light my future down
the path of middle age.
In this precarious profession of ours we must accept defeat with
courage. It should stir us to higher aims, braver deeds, stronger
motives, inclinations and honesty of purpose. Never give up the fight
so long as you have the capacity to hit out.
Even a dying mule always has a kick up his leg.
If he has his health and mentality any actor under seventy has one
punch left.
I simply underwent a course of training in vaudeville, conditioning
myself for a fight to a finish. I am ready at any time during the next
ten years to produce a play that will appeal to the public. If I fail
to secure one--back to the ranch and simple life!
Which will it be?
I wonder!
_Chapter XL_
JOHN DREW
I have always had a profound respect and liking for John Drew's art and
I have witnessed his performances of many variegated rôles. True, the
man's personality always transcends the characterization, but isn't
that true of all great actors? Those who talk about Drew being always
the same in every part are unconsciously paying him great homage.
For the benefit of the younger members of my profession I want to state
that the most difficult rôles to play are those that fall to the light
comedian. He must be naturally human and true, for he is portraying
the character one meets in every-day life and, to quote from one of
Boucicault's plays, "The apparatus can't lie!"
Drew has been amusing the American public for about thirty-five years,
playing himself, I will admit. But the man's personality has made him
a conspicuous and an agreeable player. He has also been the means of
introducing not a few actresses to the world who have become famous.
Drew is a gentleman, on or off the stage, and while many of the
play-folk do not consider him a great actor, they must admit that
John is clean and that his father and mother were geniuses, which is
something of which to be proud.
_Chapter XLI_
"THE RIVALS" REVIVAL
"Ambition, like an early friend, throws back the curtain with an eager
hand, o'erjoyed to tell me what I dreamt is true."
It was with happy anticipation that I signed a contract with Joseph
Brooks to appear as one of the supporting cast with Joseph Jefferson
in an all-star revival of "The Rivals." The tour was suggested by
a performance in which I had appeared for a benefit given to that
sterling old player, William Couldock, by Mr. Jefferson and a number
of other well known players, including Henry Miller, William H.
Crane, Viola Allen and De Wolf Hopper. This performance met with so
much approval and gave such unqualified satisfaction that the charity
bestowed upon Couldock suggested a commercial enterprise and the
business instincts of Charley Jefferson and Joseph Brooks suggested a
tour that took place the following spring.
[Illustration: DICK GOLDEN
_We were pals for many years_]
We visited all the principal cities, never playing over two nights
in one place. Business was enormous, the management clearing many
thousands of dollars during the four weeks' tour. We were the
recipients of many attentions, our time being spent driving, dining,
and visiting various public institutions and colleges. We held
impromptu receptions nightly behind the scenes. A large table was
always spread on the stage laden with viands and many distinguished
people partook of our hospitalities. Our happiest times were spent in
the private car where we would congregate after the play and spend a
few hours in anecdote and song. My contribution was an imitation of
dear old Sol Smith Russell--a great favorite of Mr. Jefferson's.
My friend, Fred Stanley, now passed away, always proved a delightful
companion. He accompanied us on the entire trip. I really don't know
when Freddie slept on that trip. When I inquired how many hours of
sleep he averaged out of the twenty-four he replied, "I don't want to
go to bed. When you all retire that nigger porter and I swap stories
and he is funnier than the whole troupe! He has decided to remain awake
the entire tour and I promised to keep him company." And I really
believe he did.
Every man on the trip became very fond of Fred. He was a source of
great amusement. Poor Fred "went the pace" and finally the end came in
1903. We were pals for many years. I am the only one of the original
quartette left--Tony Hart, Dick Golden, Fred Stanley. They are all gone
and there is none to take their place. Only a memory remains, a sweet
one and yet how sad! Be patient, dear friends, and wait for me! God
bless you all!
What a bright and effervescent man was Fred Stanley! Among the
congratulatory messages that I received while playing in Australia,
upon the announcement of my engagement to Miss Maxine Elliott, was one
from Fred. It read:--
"Congratulations, old man. Pick one out for me."
A variety man, with whom I had performed years ago, casually remarked
to Fred, "Goodwin! Where does he come in? I started with him!"
"Indeed," replied Fred, "somebody must have tied you!"
We closed "The Rivals" tour in one of the New England towns, coming
direct to New York to attend an informal banquet given to me at the
Lambs Club by some of my friends previous to my departure for Australia
where I had determined to go for reasons which will be explained later.
My star of destiny was leading me to the other end of the world. I sat
down to the banquet filled with forebodings. It was not the terror of
the journey. It was a premonition that it was the wrong thing to do,
but Fate peeped in and said, "Go on!"
After a night spent in song, readings, speeches, etc., the familiar
drab dawn suggested that the time for parting had arrived. The boys
followed me to the door and as I started down the steps they sang "Auld
Lang Syne" and I drove off into the day.
_Chapter XLII_
WILTON LACKAYE
Of all the players now members of the Lambs Will Lackaye is the most
pronounced.
I am very fond of him and I think he likes me although he has never
expressed himself particularly in my favor. We were never pals, as the
word is now applied, but in all our friendly contests of badinage we
have always endeavored to play fair with one another.
Lackaye has a splendid brain, but he does not always use it kindly.
In this he has no hidden motive, but it acts quickly and his tongue
responds not always pleasantly. His wit savors more of the cynic than
the humorist. He always assails a citadel, however, never a snow fort,
and while his quick sallies many times provoke pain, as a rule they
are given with a knowledge that they were well deserved, at least from
his point of view. What I most admire about Lackaye is his honesty of
purpose and his unflinching courage. In debate he shows no mercy and
expects no quarter. He has all the instincts of the old school. He
believes in upholding the dignity of the player and will not pander
to the ephemeral parasites who have lately attached themselves to the
fringe of the drama, the managers "who present."
If there were more Lackayes and fewer Cranes the actor would soon be in
a position to assert his rights and maintain them.
I love some of Lackaye's remarks, particularly when he is annoyed.
The last one I heard appealed to me. It seems he approached a very
conspicuous actor who is now at his zenith with a request to join the
Lambs in their forthcoming gambol on tour. Lackaye suggested that
it would be quite a novelty for this player to revert to one of his
old-time specialties and present a short monologue as a Baxter Street
Jew, which once had made this particular actor famous. The actor who
was packing a New York theatre in a serious rôle replied:--
"My dear Will, your request is preposterous! I could not possibly
consider such an act! It would be suicide for me after struggling all
these years to make my public weep to return to a vulgar monologue and
make people laugh! Absurd, my boy, absurd! It would be fatal!"
Lackaye contemplated him for a minute, and remarked:--
"My dear ----, an onion will make anybody cry, but I have yet failed to
discover a vegetable that will make people laugh."
Oh! how true this is! And yet people will come out of a theatre with
swollen lids, expressing their delight at being privileged to cry! If
they only knew how easy is the one and how difficult the other, they
would pay more attention to the God-gifted one, appreciating the comic
player who kisses away the tear that flows.
My opinion of Lackaye's acting is only equaled by his of mine. Lackaye
has published his through the press. I have kept mine to myself.
Neither of us is particularly complimentary. We agree on art with
reference to ourselves.
Neither of us can act!
_Chapter XLIII_
"YOUNG" MANSFIELD