TAKING IN A GLASGOW SHOW.
The evening of my second day's stay in Glasgow I put in by taking in a
show at the theater. It was the Gayety Theater I intended to go to,
where vaudeville plays were given, but as the theater was a long
distance from the Gorbals District, I had some trouble finding it. The
theatrical performances in Glasgow begin early, some at half-past five
and some at six o'clock, and let out at about nine o'clock, which gives
those so inclined a chance to go to bed early. The days were long at
that season of the year, so that I arrived in front of the theater while
the evening sun was still high in the heavens. The theater building was
an immense one of stone and very lofty. In front of it was a long line
of people waiting to make a rush for good seats in the gallery, and I
joined the throng. There was a good deal of rough horse-play among some
of the fellows waiting there and a whole lot of chaffing. A chap behind
me gave me a kick in the rump and tipped my hat over my eyes, which he
deemed a very good joke. I didn't think it was and told him not to get
too gay, whereupon he roared with laughter. He told his neighbors that
they had a greenhorn among them, whereupon many in the crowd made life a
burden for me for a while. They made all kinds of chaffing remarks, they
jeered me, they hooted me and groaned. They were having a whole lot of
fun at my expense but I never said another word, for what was the use? I
was mad clear through, though. Had I only had a gang with me there might
have been a different tale to tell. I was alone and friendless. A fellow
thinks all kinds of things when a crowd gets after him.
The line was growing longer rapidly, and before the doors were opened a
couple of hundred people must have been on the street waiting. As soon
as the doors were opened there was a grand rush and scramble to secure
tickets. I held my own in the push, though I was nearly suffocated and
squeezed flat, but managed to secure a ticket after a little while, for
which I paid twelve cents--six pence. Cheap enough if the show is any
good. I rushed up the spiral stairway after the crowd, but before I got
half way up I was obliged to stop and blow off steam. The steps were
many and winding. I did not notice anyone else stopping for a breather
which led me to conclude that the Scots are a long-winded race. Two or
three times did I have to stop before I reached nigger-heaven, my
destination. The gallery was so high up and so close to the ceiling that
I could have touched the ceiling with my hand when standing up. Below,
clear to the orchestra seats, or "pit," as it is called, was gallery
after gallery. Some of these were divided off into queer contrivances
called "stalls." To me the stalls seemed like huge dry-goods boxes, with
the part facing outward, toward the stage, open, from the middle to the
top. The lower part was boarded in. They were queer-looking
contrivances, and the people in them looked as if they were caged. The
stalls were supposed to be private and exclusive--in a word, private
boxes.
Some little boys in livery were wandering about on the various floors
crying out "Program" with the accent on the first syllable, and as I
wanted one, I hailed a boy who gave me one and charged me a penny for it
(two cents). Printing must be dear in Glasgow, I thought, to charge a
fellow two cents for a printed piece of paper. I said nothing but
scanned the program. Here is what it said:
No. 1--La Puits d'Amour, Balfe; Band.
No. 2--Mr. John Robertson, Baritone Vocalist.
No. 3--Drew and Richards in their specialty act, Old Fashioned
Times.
No. 4--Mr. Billy Ford, Negro Comedian.
No. 5--The Alaskas--Ben and Frank--Comic Horizontal Bar Experts.
No. 6--Mr. Edward Harris, London Comedian.
No. 7--Miss Josie Trimmer, Child Actress, and the Forget-me-nots,
Vocalists and Dancers.
No. 8--Selection, Yeoman of the Guard.
No. 9--Sallie Adams, American Serpentine Dancer.
No. 10--The Gees, in their Musical Oddity, Invention.
No. 11--Collins and Dickens, in their Refined Specialty act.
No. 12--Mr. Charles Russell, Comedian and descriptive Vocalist.
No. 13--National Anthem.
Quite a lengthy program this and it looked to me as if it might be good,
especially the Serpentine Dancer, who was a countrywoman of mine, and
the darkies, who were probably countrymen.
After a moderate wait the lights were turned up, the orchestra tuned up
and soon the band gave us a selection by Balfe called "La Puits
d'Amour." I didn't know what "La Puits d'Amour" was but it didn't make
any difference to me. It was some kind of music. The selection was a
long one and the band sawed away at it as if they were never going to
stop. It was so long drawn out in fact that my wits went a wool
gathering and I nearly fell asleep, for tedious music is apt to make me
snooze. When the music stopped I woke up and was ready for business.
The first event on the program was Mr. John Robertson, Baritone
Vocalist.
The band played a preliminary flourish when out walked Mr. Robertson
dressed in a spike-tail coat, black vest and biled shirt. Hanging in
front of his vest was a long, thick watch-chain which must have been a
valuable one, for it looked like gold. Mr. Robertson sang a song and
kept a hold on his watch chain. The song was hum-drum and so was Mr.
Robertson's voice. Mr. Robertson made no great hit and when he left us
he took his chain with him.
Number two was Drew and Richards in their specialty act, "Old Fashioned
Times."
A lady and gent came upon the stage dressed in very old-fashioned garb,
and sang. Just as soon as the lady opened her mouth to sing I knew she
was a gentleman and she couldn't sing any more like a lady than I could.
I have seen female impersonators on the stage many a time and they
carried out the illusion perfectly, but this chap wasn't in it at all.
He gave me a pain. I wasn't sorry when this couple made their exit.
Mr. Billy Ford, the Negro Comedian, next came to the front. Now there'll
be a little something doing, anyway, thought I.
Mr. Billy Ford was not a negro at all but a Britisher with a cockney
accent. Maybe I wasn't astonished! Holy Smoke! He sang out bold as you
please just as if he were singing like a darkey and the gallery gods
went into ecstacies over him. They laughed, roared, and chirruped. They
seemed to think a heap of Mr. Ford, but I felt like going somewhere to
lay off and die. A nigger with a cockney accent! Oh my! Oh my! Will
wonders never cease?
The comic horizontal bar experts, the Alaskas, were very tame turners,
and to my view, anything but funny. I had seen better stunts than they
performed in free shows on the Bowery at Coney Island.
The sixth number on the program was Mr. Edward Harris, London Comedian.
Here at last was someone who could sing and act. Mr. Harris was from the
London Music Halls and was evidently a favorite, for he was given a
great reception. He was greeted with roars of welcome and shouts and
calls from the gallery gods that seemed unfamiliar and queer to me. Even
the people in the pit and stalls applauded loudly. Mr. Harris turned
himself loose and impersonated London characters in a way that brought
forth the wildest enthusiasm. Some of the gods nearly died laughing at
his comicalities and a man away down in the pit laughed out loud in such
a way that it made me think of a dream I once had when I saw ghosts
playing leap-frog over a graveyard fence and having an elegant time of
it. The noise this man made was a high sepulchral shriek, like theirs.
It was wild and weird.
The comedian was first class and the audience was loath to let him go.
They recalled him several times and he responded.
Number seven was Miss Josie Trimmer, child actress, and the two
Forget-Me-Nots, vocalists and dancers. This was another tame affair for
the two Forget-Me-Nots were Scottish lassies who got off coon songs with
a Scotch accent and had acquired an improper idea of coon dancing. Their
act was a caricature and a-- well, never mind. It isn't right to be too
critical. They were doing the best they could and were appreciated by
the audience, so it may be well for me not to say too much.
The next number was a selection by the band, "Yeoman of the Guard,"
which was played after a long intermission. I was getting rather weary
by this time and had half a mind to go home, but I wanted to see the
serpentine dancer, Sallie Adams, who was a countrywoman of mine. It
seemed to me I hadn't seen a countryman or countrywoman for a coon's
age, and I felt as if I just couldn't go until I saw Sallie.
When the time came for Miss Adams to appear on the stage, all the lights
in the theater were turned out and a strong calcium light was thrown
upon the stage. Sallie hopped into view chipper as you please, never
caring a whoop who saw her, countryman or foreigner, and she began to
throw diaphanous folds of cheese-cloth all over herself and around
herself. Different colored lights were thrown upon her draperies as she
danced, and the effect was thrilling and made my hair stand up. Sallie
was all right. She was onto her job in good shape. Maybe I didn't
applaud? I roared, I stamped and whistled, and my neighbors must have
thought I was clean off. The gorgeous spectacle reminded me of the
Fourth of July at home, when sky-rockets go up with a hiss and a roar,
Roman candles color the black skies, sissers chase through the air like
snakes, bombs explode and fall in stars of all colors. Siss! Boom! Ah!
When Sallie made her exit I made mine, for I had got my money's worth
and was satisfied.