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SHOWMAN
history of the old Madison Square Garden, the one with St. Gaudens' gilt Diana on top. If I didn't have something going on there, I was racking my brains for an idea that would get me back. I stepped farthest out of character probably when I tried giving a big theatrical ball in the Garden, to be an annual event along the lines of the French Ball which, under the auspices of the Cercle de l'Harmonie, annually tore New York wide open. It didn't turn into an annual event— it was a miserable failure. But the French Ball was something worth shooting at. I suppose the modern Beaux Arts affair is the nearest thing to it— and the Beaux Arts lacks the build-up which the name French carried with it forty years ago. By definition anything French was considered very naughty and most intriguing. Everybody who could raise the price of a ticket went to catch a glimpse of that wicked Paris. The society folk occupied the boxes to be stared at for a while and then went home. The commonalty stayed on to watch the can-can being danced in the middle of the floor and to get gloriously fried in the wine rooms that were set up in odd corners of the place. Toward the shank of the evening those French Ball wine rooms looked like the remains of an Orangemen's riot.
Lots of the time I was taking over somebody else's idea after he'd failed with it. But my woman suffrage exhibition at the old Garden was my own idea— one of the earliest large-scale recognitions of the suffrage movement America ever saw. It was still another fif
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