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MOTION TIC TV RE MAGAZINE
WILLIAM SHEERER
Soon a shout of encouragement came to me from above. One of the heroes of the company, a rope tied securely under his armpits, was carefully lowered over the side of the cliff. Slowly but surely he came to my assistance. And, when almost at the rope's end he took me in his arms, I realized that what might have been a fearful tragedy had been averted by my own presence of mind in grasping that bush as I flew toward certain death.
The Laugh Is On Me
By WILLIAM SHEERER
Twenty years in legitimate, vaudeville and Motion Pictures has given me varied experiences, I was playing interlocutor with the Leon Concert Company, once one of the most pretentious minstrel
offerings on the road. One night, as I was "making up/' I received a telegram which read : ' ' Regiment ordered out; if coming, report tomorrow."
As is often the case with an actor, I was "flat," and, in order to raise the necessary carfare, I "hocked" my trunk and sold various parts of my wardrobe — wigs, hats, shoes, etc.
I succeeded in raising the fare and returned to the theater just before I was to sing Paul Dresser's then famous song, entitled "The Lone Gray." The gentleman who had taken my place as interlocutor rose and, with a long face, addressed the audience :
"Ladies and gentlemen: As you doubtless know, the Spanish War has t>een declared, and there are a number of people in this audience tonight whose husbands, sweethearts, fathers and brothers will be leaving for the front. Mr. Will Sheerer, one of our members, is a sergeant in the Seventy-first Regiment of New York. Mr. Sheerer has just received a telegram to report to his regiment in New York City, and I beg to announce that tonight he will sing for the last time Paul Dresser's famous song, 'The Lone Gray.' "
Lake Placid is the ideal country for picture-making. We were taking scenes for a Scotch picture called "Rob Roy," in which I portrayed several characters, or, in other words, "doubled." I believed I was thru for the day, when the director asked me to play one of the dead men on the battlefield. I donned the costume of kilts and assumed the graceful position of a "dead one."
As I lay there meditating upon the hardships of a player 's life, the director shouted at me, "Your kilt!"
' ' I know I am, ' ' I retorted.
"No, no," he cried; "your kilt!"
"I know I am kilt," I bellowed. "I have seen more dead men on the battlefield than you have ever seen in a picture."
"No, no," he insisted, "your kilt!" And he rushed over and adjusted my fancy plaids to his own liking.