Variety (August 1907)

8 VARIETY THE OTHER SIDE By Bert Levy. the stage manager of Keith's Philadelphia, why each dressing room now has a name instead of a number on the door. A few weeks ago I was privileged to rummage among the "curios" in the pri- vate desk of a certain manager prominent in the administration of the Western Vaudeville Association. We commenced a discussion as to al- leged unfair treatment accorded artists. He pointed to a drawer, and told me to look over a few intellectual letters re- ceived from grateful artists which were treasured by the Association. This is a specimen: •To Martin Beck, Ksu.. Dear Mr. b««-k:—1 uave applied to your office again for tbe orpbeum circuit, and aa you uo uot Heem Inclined to give it to me, 1 intend 10 ua»e all tue excellent noticea 1 received In the or- pneum cltlea pnoiotfrapnlcatiy enlarged and pmce them In the lootdea ot and piajr tne ten cent nouses wherever you uave a theatre. Yours, etc." The artist who signed the above letter had played the Orpheum Circuit for two consecutive seasons. The Orpheum man- agement did not deem it wise to play the act a third time, and notified him in a kindly way there waa plenty of other ter- ritory. The result waa the impertinent letter quoted. The artist has not yet suc- ceeded in securing the ten-cent circuit. Here is another "nice" letter: •To Mr. l>ear Friend:—I have worked 82 aolld weeks for you, and worked hard, making goud every- where. We have been lue biggest hit >our rot- ten circuit baa ever known, and laat weea goi otoe curtain calla and a speech at l>ts Moluea. let you bave tne gall to aa* ua to open tbe auow here. But we dun't have to work, we've aaved a bit. When we iound we nad to open the show, my nusband went ami got drunk and reiuaed to go on. is this tbe wsy you treat periormers Mho nave stack to you? lours, A certain mimic caused a good deal of merriment at the 'Frisco Orpheum on the Monday afternoon he did not—well he did not "lift 'em" oil' their seats—and he: tade the usual exit at the prompt instance, loudly denouncing the manager for the benefit of the stage hands. "Say! where in h—1 is John Morrissy—I'll show him— Where is that bum manager. I'll throw my contract in his face. Where's John Morriasyt" Mr. Morrissy was standing near and at the sound of his name stepped forward, saying, "Anybody looking for me?" The great, angry and indignant mimic simply said: "How do you do, sir. I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before 1" Aa an instance of the way an artist can misunderstand the motives of managers— just because they are managers—I'd like to repeat a story I heard from one very high up in the United Booking offices. Two very fine young fellows made rather a good impression with an excel- lent sketch, and have been kept busy dur- ing the last few months. Recently they arrived in New York where they finished the season. They were being discussed by a gTOup of managers, and every one agreed that the act and actors were very bright, and their recent rise in the busi- ness waa the subject of much favorable comment. The manager who was looking after the booking of the act suggested that the boys be given their route sheet for next season so they could take a vacation—in fact, it was decided to give two season's booking at once. To the surprise of the booking manager, when he told the news to the act, his mo- tives were entirely misunderstood, and he was accused of trying to tie the act up and prevent the opposition getting it Many artists complain of the lack of ap- preciation shown by managers. Long and sad experience has taught the manager to control his feelings and to put it in the words of one of the big men: "If you give a performer an inch, he will want a yard." As an illustration a situation which oc- curred at Keith's, Philadelphia, will inter- est. The stage manager was confronted with an awkward difficulty, inasmuch as the bill contained three or four names each of which was fully entitled to head- line honors. After much discussion with his superiors it was decided that the big people should be billed alike and that to avoid all possibility of causing ill feeling or jealousy a man absolutely unknown and a cheap act should be billed as head- liner. Early next morning a poor, shabby- looking artist with an imitation dress suit case stepped from a train and made his way up Chestnut street. Picture his abso- lute astonishment to find himself "billed" for the very first time in his life. He could not believe his eyes and even stepped up and felt the billboard to see if he was dreaming. As he passed into the theatre he asked the doorkeeper for mail. "What name?" inquired the old man. "Headliner," an- swered the newly-found star. For the first time in his vaudeville life he neglected to shake hands with the stage hands and barely noticed the orches- tra or stage manager. He made straight for dressing room Number One on the stage and deposited his shabby grip and locking the door put the key in his pocket, proceeded to hand his music to the or- chestra. In the meantime several real headliners arrived and the stage manager proceeded to show Miss So and So, a prominent prima donna, into dressing room one—on the stage, for she had several quick changes to make. Finding the door locked he discovered that the "headliner" had taken possession. Calling the new star aside the manager, good naturedly, explained the situation and asked him to quit. But the "head- liner" stood on his rights and dignity, ab- solutely refusing to give up the star's room. "I'm the headliner," he proudly said, "and I want all that's coming to me." The stage manager appealed to him, but the haughty one was obdurate. The manager in telling me the story ex- plained: "I was afraid to lose my head for he might have quit and left us without a headliner. I just had to keep my teeth together. As a last resource I threatened to have his stuff Hung from the room and as I anticipated he threatened to quit and 'bust up the show.'" There is no doubt that if you give the wrong sort of an artist an inch he'll take a yard. If anyone doubts the story, aak J. C. NUGENT TAKES ISSUE. "The Oaks," Canal Dover, O., July 29. Editor Variety: "The harm done by the unthinking art- ist" (editor's note preceding Bert Levy's article, "The Other Side," in last week's Variety) is a deeply diplomatic line. To efface the harm done by the un- thinking artist it will be necessary to efface the unthinking artist himself. This, I beg to hold, is as impossible as it is undesirable. As impossible as to separate from the honest and capable critics who are really actuated by a desire for the betterment of the vaudeville stage, the so-called critics who delight in dragging forth trifling faults which would never other- wise be noticed; who confound hyper- criticism, ridicule, blackmail and ill-na- tured sarcasm with real criticism, and who, ungoverned by the law which re- strains the equally "honest" Anarchist, hurl from the safety of their obscurity, envious obloquy at those who, whatever their faults, are without defense. As impossible as to separate from the army of reputable managers and agents the occasional faker and thieving specu- lator. As impossible as light without dark- ness, heat without cold. And undesirable in the case of the artist, because, in many cases, if you make of the unthinking artist a thinker, you kill the artist in him. By this I do not mean that a think- er cannot be an artist, but that many artists cannot be thinkers. Ruskin says, "Show me an artist who talks of rules and I will show you a second-rate man, and if he talk much of rules he is a third-rate man, and not an artist at all." The true artist has a gift. He knows not why or whence, nor does he care, but as the bird sings, regardless of written rules, so the artist does his thing, with his whole heart and soul, and if his gift be real, his art unconsciously squares with all the rules of art. He is abnor- mal, yes. Not because his intellectual faculties are out of proportion to his gift, but because his gift is out of symmetry with his intellect. It is because of this abnormal gift that he commands an ab- normal salary. It is because of his other- wise normal average that he has faults and follies in common with his fellows. What if he does foolishly boast and brag or make himself ridiculous? That is his privilege and does not seriously affect either the thinking artist or the thinking manager. They know that if he be not a real artist the obscurity of the long grass awaits him as surely as ultimate oblivion awaits the critic who prostitutes his high mission, as the slough of disrepute awairs the "shoe-string" manager and bribe- taking agent. In short, the foolish talk of the un- thinking artist is a personal matter, and our own George Washington has said: "Personal habits, customs and costumes, eating, drinking, breathing and speech, in- cluding, presumably, the care of the teeth and nails, are not subjects of govern- ment." It is not within the province of any or- ganisation or of any organ devoted to the upbuilding of the great institution of modern vaudeville to teach managers or artists either manners or morals. For this we have schools and churches, and as the best right of government lies in the consent of the governed, so with re- sponsible beings, the choice of teachers should lie with those to be taught. The principle objection to these covert shafts of ridicule against the "unthink- ing" artist is that they reflect on all artists. Fpr the unthinking reader puts them all in one class, and all readers are unthinking when reading of the vaude- villian. The reader knows them as clowns, and does not want to think them otherwise. But the initiated know better. While there is always the occasional "ham" who makes himself ridiculous, the very great majority go in and out of the alley stage door quietly. They are hard working, conscientious people who seldom meet the manager, and not infrequently do not meet each other during a whole week's engagement. As a class they mind their own business to a commendable degree. I have seen outsiders, with hungry ear and inquisitive face, intrude into their social conferences a thousand times. 1 have yet to see an artist "butt" into a conference of outsiders. And good feeling between men, whether managers, artists or agents or newspaper men, will also remain a personal matter. When personal affinities attract man to man, all dividing lines disappear. But men are neither cowed nor todied into friendship, be they managers or artists. The relations between managers and artists—and I refer now to the thinking element of both classes—cannot but be friendly because they are both in the same business. Many machines have wheels which revolve in opposite direc- tions, but to the same end. Should these wheels lock spokes, they wreck not only each other, but the whole machine. Neither manager nor artist governs the eternal law of supply and demand, but they are governed by it. The thinking artist rejoices to see the manager get rich, so long as he puts his riches back in the show business, and the thinking manager, who is the servant of the real purchaser, the public, rejoices to pay the high salary, provided only that the act is worth what he has to charge the public for it. Neither can cheat the other with- out cheating the public, from which both draw their initial right to exist, and while temporary exceptions may blind the un- thinking, the thinking element of our profession know full well that in the last analysis the public refuses to be cheated. The real tangible belt which regulates all the complicated wheels of our ma- chine is the contract, and all pertinent teachings should tend toward raising the standard of business integrity; toward impressing upon thinking ait-1 unthinking that they write their honor with their signature. J. C. Nugent. (Mr. Nugent is well known, author of several pieces, and a player in vaudeville. He has asked that his letter be printed as written, which has been done. If Mr. Levy desires to debate the points Mr. Nugent raises, he will do so, otherwise we shall answer the letter in our next issue.—Ed.)