Former Farm Boy and Swimming Instructor
Told a Weird Yarn About Francis
Wilson to Get Behind Footlights.
Some very unusual experiences form the foundation-stones upon which rests
the stage career of Edmund Breese, who has become widely known for his
work as the Lion (a multimillionaire supposed to typify Rockefeller) in
the season's success, "The Lion and the Mouse."
Breese was a Brooklyn boy, with no tinge of the theater in any of his
forebears or surroundings. Before he reached his 'teens the members of his
family were in the habit of making frequent trips to Atlantic City, via
Philadelphia, where they had relatives, who now and then took young Edmund
to the play.
On one of these journeys the boy chanced to spy a notice outside the
Eleventh Street Opera House, where the Carncross Minstrels were holding
forth. This announced that a number of boys were wanted for a certain
production about to be made. Instantly young Breese was fired with the
determination to apply for a job on the stage.
Presenting himself at the box-office he made known his desires. A man
inside looked him over and said he thought he would do, and told him to
present himself on a certain day in the following week. Breese returned
home to Brooklyn all aglow with anticipation, informed his mother of his
good luck, and--well, was made very clearly to realize that school and
home and the keeping of early hours were his _metier_ just then.
It was some little time after this stirring of the Thespian bug in his
blood that he received another inoculation--also in the City of Brotherly
Love. He saw Dore Davidson in a performance of "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,"
and the characterization made such an impression on him that after he
reached home he took the first opportunity of showing his mother a
duplication of it.
At first she listened with the complaisant toleration of a parent anxious
to appear interested in a child's enthusiasms, but presently young Breese
became aware that she was following his depiction with absorbed attention.
"I really must have it in me to do something in the acting-line," he told
himself.
Becomes a Farm Boy.
But soon after this a big change in his life occurred. He left Brooklyn
and went West to study--what do you suppose? Nothing short of farming. It
was decided that he should learn to become a tiller of the soil, although
he had been born and brought up in a city.
At twenty dollars a month, then, he started in to milk the cows, do the
chores and make himself generally useful about the place. But it did not
take him long to discover that for a young fellow of eighteen, the
prospects in such a life were not very illuminating.
Finally he decided to give it up, and he went to Kansas City, where he had
a friend who obtained for him a post as bookkeeper in a mercantile
establishment. He continued in this environment for several months, but
one day he awoke to the fact that the more satisfactory he proved himself
as a bookkeeper, the more likelihood there was that he would never rise to
anything higher.
At this time he had twenty-one dollars in the bank, but it availed him
little, as the bank failed. With what he had in his clothes, he set out
for St. Louis, where he hadn't a friend, determined to find out if fate
could not do something for him in a city so big as that.
Made a Swimming Instructor.
He was walking about the streets on his arrival, his hands in his almost
empty pockets, wondering if anything would turn up for him or whether he
was expected to set to work and turn it, when his eyes were attracted by
a gaudy advertising wagon, emblazoned on both sides with the announcement
of a new swimming-school. The sight set a train of possibilities stirring
in the youth's mind. He was a swimmer and a good one; he hadn't neglected
his opportunities in having been reared so close to Coney's isle.
Noting the address of the swimming-school, he hunted out the place,
obtained an interview with the manager, and set forth his own
accomplishments with such success that he was forthwith engaged as one of
the swimming-masters at a salary of four dollars a week. This was
afterward increased to seven, and when one day he saved the life of a man
who was drowning in the pool, he was raised to the munificent wage of ten
dollars a week.
But now, in a city atmosphere again, the bug of acting began to stir
within him once more. The sight of the billboards and of the theaters
themselves, reawakened the old craving to strut behind the footlights. One
day, in poring over the columns of the papers devoted to amusements, he
came across the advertisement of one Lillian Graves, who desired a
comedian to join the Wild Rose Company at Eureka Springs, Arkansas.
Breese determined to apply for the post, but as the advertisement
requested that all applicants should state salary expected, he was stumped
to know at what figure to rate his services, having, of course, no
criterion by which to gage them. He consulted a friend in the
swimming-school, who advised him to ask fifteen a week, and then come down
to ten, if they kicked.
So Breese sat down and proceeded to concoct a letter which should have
recommended him as a novelist, whatever might have been its merits as an
application for a theatrical job. For fiction played the biggest part in
its composition. He boldly stated (in reply to the ad's request for
information as to experience) that he had been with Francis Wilson, with
whom he had played important roles, and he hoped that Miss Graves would
consent to give him a trial.
Imagine the elation of the youth when back came the answer that he was
engaged. He was directed to report in Eureka Springs at once. Arrived
there, he discovered that his mention of Francis Wilson had filled his new
employers with awe. He had been billed to play the leading role in "My
Awful Dad" and everything in the outfit was supposed to revolve about
him.
A reporter from the local paper waited upon him soon after his arrival,
eager to interview a man who had consented to appear with so humble an
organization as the Wild Rose after having played with Francis Wilson.