Shadowland (Sep 1919-Feb 1920)

Su/XDOWLAND A glimpse of the chorus 1 X K S P I T K in Arthur Hammerstein's ) the sweep new musical show, Al I J r , • ways You" of radl" calism over the land, despite the pyrotechnics set off in the nation-wide battles between capital and labor, the country is still safe for the tired business man. The chorus girl continues to flourish as wonderfully as of old. The bridge of thighs erected in those grandfatherly days of "The Black Crook" still spans the nation from New York to San Francisco staunchly and securely. And millions of sightseers view it and are the happier and more contented for it just as in the palmy past. Any first-rate economist — such as Stephen Leacock, for example — will tell you the country simply cannot go to the dogs so long as this bridge stands firm. You may take the word of Shubert or Ziegfeld or Dillingham or Erlanger, all of whom were among its architects, or the word of those former genial hosts of Broadway who merely talk o' gin and beer and who used to come in nightly contact with t. b. m. that the bridge will stand firm. They will see to it that it continues to serve as an instrument of safety for all men on their way to a reckless and radical old age. You may chatter of the spread of bolshevism until you are red in the face, but the development of strikes and profiteers and agitators will not affect the inherent greatness of America unless — and until — the chorus girl becomes extinct. And there is no danger that she will become extinct. Considered from the standpoint of governmental philosophy, she belongs to both the classes and the masses. Neither a Morgan nor a Marx can deprive her of this The Chorus Girl privilege. She would be suitable to either an aristocracy or a socialistic form of government. She can wear diamonds and silks and ermine and sables with the grace and distinction of a princess. But she is also at home in Russian smocks and bobbed hair and gingham and tortoise-shell spectacles and all the other habiliments of Greenwich Village socialism. Simplify her characteristics just a trifle. Consider her from the standpoints of personality and physique and you will agree with her own testimony that she possesses class, you will agree with the testimony of that impresario of burlesque, Mr. Billy Watson, that she also has mass. Indeed, Mr. Watson was so proud of the reputation for bulk which his organization established that he called his company "The Beef Trust." It is certain, then, that the chorus girl is unique in modern civilization. She can meet marquis or millionaire upon her own reservations and hold her assurance in the face of ostentatious matrimony. But she maintains equal poise in a proletarian character. She is able at all times to exert a defiant respectability. She can run the gauntlet of the Johnnies with a proud humility and toss her salary without a protest into the lap of a poor and industrious mother. Indeed, it takes all kinds of people to make a world of chorus girls. And the population of this particular world increases with each passing sh — year. Hordes upon hordes of chorus girls are in New York now, either playing in productions on view to the public or rehearsing in shows that aspire to reach Broadway before Louis V. DeFoe writes his season's summary. Hundreds more, perhaps thousands — no one really knows the number, with the possible exception of those theatrical saviors, the cut-rate ticket agents — are knocking at the gates, eager for the long run on Broadway and its chance for steadily accumulated funds, its chance for the fleeting glory of the stage that sometimes singles a girl out of the back row of the ensemble and brings her into spirited competition between managers and moving picture mag Fog'? Forty