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SHOWMAN
half-witted, flush or broke, knew there was a show in their midst. That was a minimum number of bandsmen and no such troupe as ours could afford to pay even one extra person. So you can see why the barnstorming trouper had to be a fair performer on something that went boom-boom or tootle-toot or umpha-umph as well as an actor, and why "must be able to double in brass" was as standard a line in the old theatrical advertisements in the Clipper as "write stating salary" and "a good dresser on and off stage." Many an actor and manager who was to become a name to conjure with has had to blow his soul into the small end of a slip-horn to advertise a performance of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" or "The Streets of New York" at the Town Hall tonight.
But a dusty street in a small western town, a blistering sun and the exertion of manipulating a tuba or a bass-drum made a bad combination. I was a pretty good performer on the snare-drum, but I always kept quiet about it, merely indicating that if I had to be in the band, I had a kind of acquaintance with that instrument. And I drummed dutifully— but outrageously out of time with no more roll than you'd get out of drumming on a fur cap. Within a hundred yards the leader would be showing distress signals, the populace on the sidewalk trying to keep time would be hooting derisively and, at the end of the parade, my drum would be taken firmly from me and I would be enjoined never again to pollute the band with my ungodly lack of
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