Back to the circuit. Back to vaudeville.
It is November 1918. It is the Majestic in Springfield, Illinois. It is the act known as ‘No Mother to Guide Them’, the staleness of it catching in his throat, each line a thorn to be spat out. Back in vaudeville, back in drag. Full circle: ‘No Mother to Guide Them’ first brought him to the attention of Adolph Ramish, who introduced him to Isadore Bernstein for Nuts in May, but Nuts in May failed, just as every one of his subsequent pictures has failed. He is trapped in a perpetual cycle, one in which he is forced always to return to vaudeville to begin again, always in drag, always with ‘No Mother to Guide Them’, always with Adolph Ramish appearing afterward in the dressing room, always with Nuts in May, always with Isadore Bernstein, always with Carl Laemmle, always with Hal Roach, always with Larry Semon, always back to the Majestic.
Always older.
Michigan, Indiana, Iowa.
Always cold. Always tired.
Nebraska, Minnesota, Wisconsin.
Always with Mae.
The bounce, she says. You came in too hard.
A simple piece of business: she one way, he the other. They meet, they bounce. The Audience laughs.
– Did I?
– You know you did. You almost knocked me on my ass.
– I’m sorry.
– Did you take a drink before tonight’s show?
– What?
– It’s a simple question. Did you drink before tonight’s show?
– No.
– You’re lying.
– I’m not lying.
– That bounce hurt.
– It wasn’t deliberate.
– I don’t care. You nearly put my tits through my back.
– Mae, people can hear.
– Let them hear. What are you doing?
– Now I’m having a drink.
– Jesus.
– Mae.
– What?
– Mae. Don’t.
He drinks. He does not drink to excess, but he drinks. His problem is that he has no tolerance for it. He needs it, or thinks he does, but it does not take much to dull him, to make him numb. He does not tell Mae, but he believes that Hal Roach learned of his drinking, and this is one of the reasons why Hal Roach sent him on his way.
The other reason, he has heard, is Mae. Hal Roach runs a family company. Hal Roach prizes discretion.
He and Mae are not discreet.
He loves Mae, but Mae drives him crazy. He cannot function without her, but he can no longer function with her unless he first has a drink or two to steady his nerves. He is loyal to her, and she to him, but he is more loyal to himself, and she to herself. Mae believes that she could yet be a leading lady. If he becomes a success, Mae will be a success with him: as on the stage, so on the screen, or thus Mae reasons. But Mae is not good enough, and he cannot bring himself to tell her this, just as he could not make himself pitch her name for starring roles when he acted for Carl Laemmle and Hal Roach and Larry Semon. Mae is not a lead – he knows it, and the studios know it, but Mae does not, and so it remains unspoken – and when he drops down a rung to take character parts with Larry Semon, Mae does not descend with him. Character parts are beneath her, and Mae believes they should be beneath him too. They will not make him a star, and so they will not make her a star either.
But stars do not undress in freezing Wisconsin dressing rooms, and warm themselves with shared bottles of cheap liquor, and listen to midgets squabble and blackface comics complain about their billing. He is not a star, and Mae is not a star, because he has failed them both.
Mae returns to their lodgings alone. He remains where he is, where he will always be: in the theater. A copy of Variety has been smuggled into the dressing room. In a fit of rage over some imagined slight, Alexander Pantages, King Greek himself, has banned it from every venue on his circuit. Any performer found with a copy will be fired. But Variety is their lifeblood. It contains succor for those who dream of greater success but thrive on the failure of others – in other words, every performer ever born. Variety contains hope.
Variety also contains mortality, and in death lies opportunity.
More theaters are reopening after the recent influenza epidemic, although most of the West Coast circuit remains closed, and some vaudevillians there have sought work in shipyards to make ends meet. Many others have died, including performers, and thus vacancies will arise.
HARRY THORNTON DEAD.
London, Oct. 30.
Harry Thornton, of Thornton and Delilah, is dead of influenza, aged 35.
Thornton once won a $1,000 prize for
playing the piano continuously for 22 hours.
London. No good to him, no good to anyone here. Even if they could play the piano continuously for twenty-two hours.
RENE ROME DIES.
London, Oct. 30.
Rene Rome, entertainer, wife of
Fred. Rome, the author-comedian, is dead.
London again. Fred. Rome writes skits and pantomimes. They are popular with amateurs, although he has never used them in his acts.
Now, here: the guts of it.
William C. Clark, age 46, recently arrived from Australia, died Oct. 28 at the Hotel Marion. New York, of influenza, the same day he expected to appear in a new vaudeville playlet with his wife and daughter.
Burrell Barbaretto died Oct. 27 from influenza at the home of a friend at 433 St. Nicholas Avenue. His home was in Larchmont. Mr. Barbaretto was born in Fort Wayne, Ind., 41 years ago, and made his first professional appearance in 1898 with Eddie Foy and Marie Dressier in “Hotel Topsy Turvy.” He attained considerable popularity as a juvenile and has been prominent in many Broadway productions, among others being “Jumping Jupiter” and “High Jinks.” At the time of his death he was about to join the number one “Oh Boy” company on the road, playing the leading juvenile role. Funeral services were held in Campbell’s Funeral Church Oct. 29, the body being sent from there to Fort Wayne for burial.
Margorie De Vere, chorus girl, age 19, born in England, died Oct. 26 of pneumonia at the Metropolitan Hospital, New York. She came to this country three years ago. Rose Gibson, another chorus girl, of 113 West 84th street, who had but slightly known the deceased, attended to all the funeral arrangements, after having collected the necessary amount to defray expenses.
Dr. Howe, a brother-in-law of Bart McHugh, died of influenza Oct. 26. Mr. McHugh, who also lost a sister-in-law last week, was informed while in New York Tuesday his sister was dying of the disease. He is perhaps hardest hit of any agent in vaudeville. The deaths in his family leave in his care seven children, he having promised the parents to take care of them. Four professionals whom he represented died of influenza in Philadelphia on the same day.
The Oh Boy company will be taking on an understudy, at least. There is no shortage of chorus girls to replace Margorie De Vere. Bart McHugh can expect calls from those seeking to comfort him in his grief by offering their brilliance as a means of replenishing his depleted list.
The bottle is passed around. He accepts another drink. He reads on. He pauses.