FREE AND EASY SHOWS.
[Illustration]
Under this caption come the entertainments of a more or less unstilted
character; that is to say, entertainments that, while being in no wise
disreputable, are nevertheless arranged with a view of catering to the
tastes of people of both sexes who do not care to spend the evening
in the narrow confines and the matter-of-fact atmosphere of a regular
theatre. The modern music hall, or _cafe chantant_, of which there
are so many in Paris and London, has not yet been duplicated to any
great extent in this city. There are, however, a few places of the
kind, widely separated by distance, that resemble the “old country”
music hall in some respects. The old beer dens of noisome character
that formed a blot upon the city’s escutcheon in earlier days have
quite disappeared, and the few music halls that still flourish, besides
being of a much more pretentious character, have in their management a
much stronger claim to toleration. At any of these places an evening
may be spent without serious prejudice to one’s morals and without
contamination of any sort. If the jokes are a little “rocky” and the
antics of the actors and actresses just a shade off color when viewed
from the standpoint of strict propriety there is no reason why the
spectator should go home convulsed with a sense of the depravity
of the city that can suffer such things to be. The pleasure of the
entertainment at these places is enhanced to a greater or less extent,
according to the taste of the attendant, by the latter’s ability to
solace himself with such liquid refreshments as his system may crave
during the progress of the show. He may also smoke like a chimney if he
so desires.
The old Tivoli restaurant and concert hall on Dearborn street, just
below Madison, which was made famous by the assassination therein
of Jim Elliott, the prize fighter, by Jere Dunn (the slayer being
afterward acquitted on the ground of self-defense), has long since
passed into oblivion and on its site, the scene of so many wonderful
revelries, a fine office building now stands. When the Tivoli passed
away there was for a long time a dearth of music halls in Chicago. At
present, however, there are at least three resorts of the kind that may
be mentioned for the enlightenment of those who desire to investigate
this class of entertainment.
Over on the North Side, on the west side of Clark street, a few doors
north of Division street, there is an establishment which in some
respects is unique. It is reached either by the North side cable cars
or by hansom cab, the fare for the latter being fifty cents for each
person. This resort is known as Engel’s, and for several seasons past
it has been the favorite with the blooded youth of the North side as
well as of a large _clientele_ of chance visitors. It was formerly kept
by a man named Matthai and adjoining it was a smaller resort kept by a
Monsieur Andre. Andre is now dead and his place closed. On the site of
Mr. Matthai’s triumphs Mr. Engel now lives and flourishes.
Enter Engel’s at any time between eight and nine in the evening, after
having paid the modest admission fee of ten cents, and you will find
the large hall, with its imposing array of polished tables and rows
of seats, rather sparsely filled. The early part of the performance
consists of a series of musical numbers rendered by the orchestra,
the members of which now and then take a lay-off for drinks. By 10
o’clock, however, there is a perceptible increase in the attendance
and the white-aproned waiters are kept busy rushing to and fro
supplying the wants of thirsty customers. The visitor, meanwhile, has
been supplied with a printed programme which tells him what artists,
ladies or gentlemen, are to appear that evening, and the manner in
which they will endeavor to amuse the auditors. The curtain rises and
a pert soubrette with a very gaudy complexion and abbreviated skirts
trips to the foot-lights and sings a song of true love or something
else equally interesting. She may awaken a hurricane of applause and
then again she may not. The stars of the troupe are usually reserved
for the latter part of the programme. Meanwhile more drinks are
ordered by everybody and by 11 o’clock a general spirit of hilarity
prevails, which is testified to by the added enthusiasm with which
the advancing and retiring favorites are greeted. The last hour of
the entertainment, between 11 and 12 o’clock, is usually devoted to a
more ambitious effort of some kind. It may be an opera in one act, a
burlesque of the current follies of the day, or anything else that will
give an opportunity for the singing of “catchy” songs, the execution
of intricate dances and, above and beyond all, the lavish display of
feminine charms. It is a pleasant custom of the place for young men of
means, possessed of more money than sense, to purchase bouquets, which
are carried up and down the aisles on trays by attractive flower girls,
and cast the same upon the stage at their especial favorites. When a
more than usually attractive damsel sings an unusually taking song the
boards upon which she treads are often fairly deluged with flowers,
and the degree of grace with which she stoops to pick them up enhances
in just that ratio the warmth of the plaudits which she receives. It
is perhaps unnecessary to say that during this latter part of the show
the added attractions of the spectacle presented, together with the
concentrated enthusiasm of the performers, all grouped on the stage at
once, increases the general demand for refreshments. The waiters are
fairly scurrying hither and thither and the consumption of stimulating
beverages is something enormous. During all this “Papa” Engel, as he is
affectionately termed by his _coterie_ of more youthful patrons, looks
on with a bland and satisfied smile, noting with evident enjoyment
the merry spirits of his guests and the rapidity with which they are
enriching his coffers.
The ground floor of Engel’s is exclusively devoted to the sterner
sex. No ladies are allowed on that floor; up above, however, a roomy
balcony runs around the hall and lady patrons of all ages and grades
of attractiveness sit at the tables with their escorts and enjoy the
entertainment with the rest. No gentleman is allowed in the balcony
unaccompanied by a lady and no lady can enter it unescorted. The
popping of corks and the sparkle of champagne are perpetual adjuncts
to this part of the house and the balcony itself, it is safe to say,
forms no inconsiderable part of Mr. Engel’s gold mine. Nobody who does
not wish to buy anything, however, is ever requested to do so, the
ten cents admission fee entitling the visitor to every privilege of
the house. Occasionally, it is true, a bit of disorder may break out,
caused by some indiscreet visitor imbibing not wisely but too well, but
it is very speedily squelched and there is no case on record where a
person guilty of causing disorder in Engel’s ever repeated the offense.
Another feature of Engel’s, and many people find it an agreeable one,
is the stage boxes. These boxes are located above the stage and behind
the curtain, being arranged in such a way that persons seated therein
may view all that is going forward on the stage itself and still remain
invisible to the audience. With prominent citizens, or other people
who like to keep their attendance at the music hall a secret, this is
an advantage not to be denied. Occupants of stage boxes, far from being
denied the privileges of quenching their thirst, are granted every
facility for so doing. There is a neat table in the rear of the box
and an obsequious waiter stands steadily at the door ready to minister
to the wants of patrons. It is quite permissible, if the occupant of
a stage box desires, to send the waiter around behind the scenes to
inquire whether this or that fair actress will not deign to imbibe
something at your expense, an attention which she duly acknowledges by
stepping daintily up beneath the box and, as she quaffs the soothing
beverage, nodding her thanks to the donor. A spirit of good nature
prevails throughout the entire performance and when it is all over
nobody has been hurt very much by his contact with this strange element
of life in a great city.
[Illustration]
There is another feature of Engel’s which merits a word or two of
mention. Promptly at 12 o’clock, in obedience to the mandate of the
city fathers, the front doors of the place are closed as tight as a
drum. Adjoining the bar, however, is a commodious _cafe_ where parties
of friends, from two to ten in number, may sit down and enjoy any
sort of a repast that their appetites may crave, with all the liquid
accessories thrown in. You, young man, who may have become interested
in an especially charming member of Mr. Engel’s _corps de ballet_,
may, if you stay in this _cafe_ long enough, possibly be rewarded by
a sight of your charmer for a moment, emerging from behind the scenes
in her street clothes after the performance. You are tolerably safe
from giving her offense if you offer her refreshment at your expense,
though if it happens that she is accompanied by a stalwart cavalier who
appears to exert a proprietory influence over her, it is just as well
to reserve your attention for some more appropriate season. Some of
Mr. Engel’s coryphees take supper regularly every night in his _cafe_,
the costs of such meals presumably being charged against their salary,
unless some outside devotee at their various shrines should feel an
inclination to pay the bills. Mr. Engel himself, animated by we know
not what generous impulse, has been known to sit at the head of a long
table, around which were grouped a dozen or so of the lady members of
his troupe, and cheerfully invite them to eat or drink their fill at
his expense. Some wag, who noticed this spectacle on one occasion,
made an observation to the effect that Mr. Engel seemed to be having a
good time with his harem, and for that reason, possibly, it has been
customary among the flippant and irreverent young men who frequent the
place to jocosely refer to it over their wine as “Engel’s harem.”
All in all, it is not such a bad sort of place to visit, especially if
the visitor is desirous of seeing something a little unusual in a place
where he will not be bothered by a demand for a too strict observance
of the proprieties. In any event it is a good place to go if you happen
to be in that part of the town after midnight and are possessed of
a thirst of the sort that only some of the choice alcoholic liquids
dispensed by Mr. Engel and his aids can quench.
On the South side are two well-patronized resorts that, while
resembling Engel’s in some respects, differ from it in others. Baum’s
Pavilion, situated at the point where 22d street and Cottage Grove and
Indiana avenues merge together in a sort of triangle, has been famous
for many years as a concert hall, _cafe_ and dance house. It is a
large structure of two stories and adjoining the building is an open
air expanse or beer garden, dotted with trees, which is always crowded
on summer nights. The pavilion is reached from three sides; the main
door faces north and entrance can be had either through the beer garden
on Cottage Grove avenue or through the restaurant on Indiana avenue.
The style of entertainment presented at Baum’s varies from week to
week. Sometimes it is a first-class variety show, at other times Mr.
Baum grows more ambitious and puts on a full-fledged comic opera troupe
as an additional divertisement. The admission fee is 25 cents and the
visitor may select his seat according to his fancy. If it is the summer
season (that is when Baum’s pavilion is best patronized) the open air
garden is only separated from the hall where the opera is in progress
by open arches, and one may sit at his table and smoke and drink with
nothing but the blue vault of heaven for a roof and at the same time
have wafted to his ears the exhilarating music from the stage within.
While the stage show is, of course, the principal feature of Baum’s
and the one from which the establishment draws its steady patronage,
the dances that are given there usually every Saturday and Sunday
night, at the nominal admission fee of fifty cents per couple, are
always numerously attended. In the winter season, when the garden is
too frosty to be agreeable and is closed up in consequence, the dances
are held in the hall above the saloon; but in the radiant summer, when
dancing is at best a fatiguing pleasure, they take place on the ground
floor. Between the dances the revelers may adjoin to the open air and
partake of whatever refreshments their hearts and souls most desire.
It is a “free and easy” spot but, as in all other places of the kind,
the best of order is always maintained, the least semblance of unruly
conduct being sternly checked by the management. Any one who violates a
second time the system of etiquette that governs the place is promptly
pitched into the street and never again admitted to the hallowed
precincts unless he manages to conceal his identity.
The crowd that attend the summer night dances afford excellent
opportunity for study; all classes of men and women are represented
there. The well-to-do club man who stays at a distance and sips his
lemonade in peace and quiet is content to find his share of amusement
in watching the antics of the throng; the hard-working and respectable
mechanic, who works his best at his trade for six days in the week, is
evidently enjoying the bit of recreation that is yielded to him there.
Scattered in the crowd are salesmen, barbers, bookmakers, bakers,
butchers and almost every other type of the young manhood of the day.
Perhaps there may be a few confidence men, bunco steerers, and types of
even more dangerous classes, but they are not to be feared. They are
there for recreation, not for business; for they know very well that
if they made the slightest effort to ply their calling in that place
they would be promptly spotted and handed over to the authorities. As
to the feminine portion of the assemblage, one is at a loss to convey
an adequate idea of it in an off-hand description; it varies with the
seasons and the weather. As a general thing, however, you will see
there from fifty to two hundred girls and women, some of them the wives
and sisters of the mechanics and tradesmen above mentioned, who, like
their male relatives, are out for a good time, but the majority are
young girls of quite independent standing--servant girls, saleswomen
and others, many of them strangers in the city, perhaps, possessed of
no sterner guardians than their own consciences, and are pleased to
select whatever means may suit them best to pass their spare time.
They see no reason why they should not spend at least one evening in
a little uproarious festivity. When the dance is at its height and
the enthusiasm of the dancers roused to its highest pitch the visitor
invariably receives the worth of his money. It does him good to see so
many people enjoying themselves, and there is very little doubt that
if he is of fairly presentable appearance and sufficiently discreet to
work the matter rightly he may without much difficulty obtain a partner
for him self and join in the general _melee_ of ecstatic enjoyment.
As a general thing the festivity winds up about midnight, but if a
few select parties desire to remain a little longer no very serious
objection is likely to be made. A very agreeable evening may be passed
in this place and the fact that the pavilion has remained where it
now stands for more years than one cares to count without any serious
protest from the aristocratic residents of this neighborhood, speaks
well for the order with which it is conducted.
On the east side of 31st street, between Rhodes and Vernon avenues,
there is a much more pretentious concert and dance hall than either of
those previously mentioned. It, also, is the enterprise of the same
Mr. Baum who runs the 22nd street place. It is a much more imposing
structure, having a stone front and a wide entrance brilliantly lighted
by electricity. An admission fee of ten cents is charged and the
great hall at the rear, in which the stage performance takes place,
will accommodate nearly one thousand people. Much the same class of
entertainments as those to be witnessed at Engel’s are presented
here, with the difference, however, that there are no stage boxes,
no balcony for ladies and no means, so far as one may ascertain, of
making acquaintances among the performers. Occasionally some singers of
higher merit procure engagements at this place and the quality of the
music that they contribute to the entertainment is not improved upon
in many of the down-town theatres. Half of the hall, the east side, is
reserved for ladies escorted by gentlemen; the other half is for the
exclusive use of the male patrons. Refreshments of all sorts are served
all through the evening at the polished round tables, thus enabling the
visitor to satisfy his hunger, as well as his thirst, with any sort of
a meal during the progress of the performance.
On the second floor is a ball-room of imposing dimensions and
magnificent furnishings. On off nights it is rented out to various
societies for their dances, but on very frequent occasions the
proprietor advertises a ball that is invariably attended by the youth
and beauty of the middle classes residing in the neighborhood. As is
the case at all places where liquor is indiscriminately dispensed, a
pleasant feeling of informality, not to say hilarity, prevails; the
chance visitor, who may nearly always procure admission for himself and
his fair companion, if he has one, by the payment of the stipulated
fee, may be certain of passing a pleasant time.
There is a place on the West side, near the Ashland club, 575
Washington boulevard, which is for that reason known as the Ashland
Club Annex. There is no especial reason for mentioning it save that the
weary wayfarer, if he happens to learn the pass-word for the night,
may enter at almost any hour and secure hilarious enjoyment. The place
nearly always contains a rollicking crowd of young men who are up to
any and every sort of mischief, and manage by their antics to create
unlimited amusement for any strangers who choose to happen in. As a
rule the “pass-word,” if it may be so called, consists in a series of
variegated taps on the window with the end of a lead pencil, their
number and regularity signifying to those inside whether the applicant
is to be trusted or not. This precaution is considered necessary on
account of the fondness of the West side policemen for descending upon
such places entirely without notice and carting off all the inmates
to the station on a wholesale charge of disorderly conduct, which
disorderly conduct consists in their frequenting such a place after
lawful hours. It has been a long time, however, since such a raid was
made.
The Lyceum theatre, while perhaps not deserving of the title of a free
and easy resort, is, nevertheless, a place where variety shows of a
broad description are to be seen at any time. The Olympic, on South
Clark street, opposite the Sherman House, is another resort of the same
calibre. There is an afternoon show at the Olympic every day in the
week, and as a rule it attracts good audiences. The rates of admission
at both of these places are very low, and, considering that fact, the
entertainments offered are in every way satisfactory.