Reminiscences of the Salt Lake Theatre

Reminiscences of the Salt Lake Theatre The Barber Shop and Scene Painter's Gallery— Sidelights upon the Pioneers and Worshippers of Thalia, Clio and Melpomene BY ALFRED LAMBOURNE, WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HEBER J. GRANT. PEN SKETCHES BY GEORGE M. OTTINGER Introduction.

T read with keenest interest the article by Alfred Lambourne in the Deseret News of Saturday, December 30, entitled, "Reminiscences of the Old Salt Lake Theatre," and if this article shall appeal to readers of the Era half as much as it did to me, I should like to see it reproduced. One of the things which stamped President Brigham Young a great man, in my estimation, was that he not only took great interest in the spiritual welfare of his people, but also in the temporal, for he established a savings bank, a co-operative store, and built the Salt Lake Theatre. I recall that when Gen. Lew Wallace, the celebrated author of Ben Hur and The Prince of India, was in Salt Lake some years ago, the then manager of the theatre asked if he would like to meet the President of the "Mormon" Church, and his answer was, "No." He afterwards said he knew that the prominent men who were connected with the early rise of the Church came from New England, and he thought they were a narrow, bigoted, sectarian lot. After the manager had shown him through Zion's Co-operative store, Zion's Savings Bank building, taken him to hear the organ in the great Tabernacle, and accompanied him to the theatre and the General ;

learned that Brigham Young established the store, and the Bank, and had the theatre and the tabernacle built, he requested to be introduced to the President of the Church. I learned from the late President JohnHenry Smith that after his visit here until the day of his death General Wallace was always a great admirer

530 IMPROVEMENT ERA of the Latter-day Saints. He made some very flattering remarks about the breadth of mind of the Churchman who had established a cooperative store, a savings bank, and built a theatre and a tabernacle. He considered that such a man was entitled to be called a statesman. There were so many thoughts and recollections arose in my mind, as I read the scenic artist's article on the theater, that I am sure I could fill many pages of the Era, were I to record a tithe of them. Speaking of the "barber shop" reminds me of the barber, John Squires, that pleasant, genial man who was everybody's faALFRED LAMBOURNE. voritei and wh for many years conducted a shop on Main street. "The watchman who sits implacable as fate," was William Derr, a man whom everybody liked, and whose son, George Derr, years afterwardsbecame treasurer of the Salt Lake Theatre. The "portly man" referred to, was the late President George A. Smith. As a broad-minded statesman and a man who took interest in everything tending to the uplifting of the community, he stood second only to Brigham Young. It seems very prope v that he should make a speech "in praise of peace," and very appropriate that he should be the father of our late, wellbeloved President, John Henry Smith, one of the greatest peacemakers and lovers of mankind I ever knew. "The actor" who was to impersonate "Sir Giles Overreach," was David McKenzie. and I can remember as a boy how he was my ideal hero, for he always played the heroic parts. I can also remember how I looked upon the late lamented Al. Thorne as a

REMINISCENCES OE THE SALT LAKE THEATRE 631 villain, as he always assumed this role. In after years, when I found what a genial, wholesouled man Al. was, I awakened to the fact that the stage often gives wrong impressions to the youth. Miss Sara Alexander was the "premeir danseuse," and is still New York, I believe. I, too, remember alive ; her home is in her "merry eyes and infectious laugh."

THE SALT LAKE THEATRE. In which was celebrated the 50th anniversary of its opening, March 8, 1912.

The "young lady," "charming, vivacious, petite," who was the admiration of all the boys who attended the theatre in those early days, was Miss Aseneth Adams, the mother of the renowned actress, Maud Adams. The "judge" referred to, who was to perform the marriage ceremony for the scenic artist, was the father of Manager George D. Pyper, the late Alexander Pyper. Those of us who knew the father do not think it strange that George D., his son, issuch a pleasant, genial, companionable fellow —how can he help it? He was born that way.

532 IMPROVEMENT ERA The "blind poet" was our late, well-beloved, Henry W. Naisbitt, who wrote that sweet poem, "Rest, rest, on the hillside, rest." The music tor this poem was written on the spur of the moment, for the President Joseph Young, funeral of the late father of President Seymour B. Young, by the "orchestra director," George Careless, who also wrote the funeral march for the great pioneer, President Brigham Young. A party once remarked to Horace G. Whitney, "1 understand that, musically, George Careless is now considered a back number." Mr. Whitney, than whom there is no better dramatic and musical critic, answered as quick as a flash, "The man who wrote the music for the song, "Rest, rest, on the hillside, rest," will never be a back number in music." The "counselor" who walked with Brigham Young, was the President Daniel H. Wells. I have always been late, well-beloved,

grateful that he was one of those who had a box, or more properly speaking, "a seat," in the old theatre, because I occasionally was one of its occupants, being counted in as a member of the family, an honor which, in after years, became a reality. I am sure, too, that some of my children will ever be proud of being entitled to refer to him as grandfather. The "first governor," namely, Heber M. Wells, not only made a magnificent record as the State of Utah's first executive, for r.me years, but he is considered by myself and many others as one of the best, if not the best local actor that Utah has yet produced. The "tall boy," the carrier of water to the upper circle, for the privilege of getting in, was your humble servant, and when the thirsty crowd in the third circle emptied the five-gallon coal oil can used as a water bucket, and I had to walk across the road to the nearest well,beyond the Social Hall, to refill it, I often wished that the "gods of the galleries" had filled up on water before they reached the theatre. Years later, when I was the president of the Salt Lake Theatre Company, and sat in my box and gazed up to the third gallery, I frequently thought of the "tall boy" who carried water to that section, and my mind went back to the time when he, too, appeared on the stage of the Salt Lake Theatre, as one of the pickaninnies in "Uncle Tom's Cabin." It hardly seems possible that before this article goes to print, performances will have been given, celebrating the 50th anniversary

REMINISCENCES OF THE SALT LAKE THEATRE 533 oi the opening of the Salt Lake Theatre. It seems but a short year since I, as a child, saw the building completed. There are many others not mentioned by Mr. Lambourne, whose connection with the Salt Lake Theatre is very vivid to me, and I will mention a few Hiram B. Clawson Phil Mar- : ;

getts; Jimmie Hardy, afterwards a celebrated actor in England; John T. Caine, subsequently our delegate to Congress; John C. Graham, the founder of the Provo Inquirer; and my mother's and my much beloved friend, Henry Maiben. These and a thousand other recollections come to my mind upon perusing Mr. Lambourne's article. I again express the nope that his "reminescences" may give your readers half as much pleasure as they gave me, and if so, they will thank you for reproducing them.

Heber J. Grant.

Reminiscences BY ALFRED LAMBOURNE. Thought, you said, Well, my friend, I hope that in this letter you will find something to suggest to your imagination the faith, the ambition, the hopes, the fears, the mistakes, the disappointments, the triumphs of the pioneers. I have reason to think of my schoolroom, of the ethics I was taught upon the scene painter's galley of the play house that I laud. "The thing done avails," said Landor, "and not what is said abou: it." Being of that same opinion, I always around the playhouse took a greater interest in the happenings, those that affected real life and helped to shape events, than in the plays or in the actors themselves. Upon the scene painter's galley I digested strong food. Sometimes the scenes I beheld were comic, sometimes tragic, sometimes they were blended, for Thalia will not always make her exit when enters Melpomene. But tonight my reminiscences are of the barber shop. The barber shop ? What was that ? you will ask. Well, the barber shop, my friend, was one of the many features which once made the historic theater so complete. In the early days the playhouse was as well equipped for all demands as is an oceangoing ship. There were the green room, band room, property room, carpenter's shop, scene painter's galley, manager's room, proprietor's room, costume rooms and others. But, of course,

534 IMPROVEMENT ERA the barber shop was unique. There the rough, the unclipt and unshaven actor could be made smooth-faced, by the artist, and made ready for his part, whatever it might be.

A "New Way to Pay Old Debts." Why this is to be a benefit night. No doubt the attendance will be large. For me,

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VIEW OF THE SALT LAKE THEATRE.

the years have rolled backward, the snow is falling, there is a mantle of white over the "City of the Saints." They shake the snow from their shoulders, those who come through the theatre side door. Those are door keepers, stage hands, property men, musicians, actresses, actors. But others who, we will see, are civic dignitaries and high officials of the Church. Many of those are c-vvners of stalls, benches I should say, and the social rank which the play house holds makes them not averse to certain prerogatives. The watchman, he who sits implacable as fate at the He knows each one's status; private entrance, he knows them all. he knows the rights or the accorded privileges of all those who come to the theatre side door. Of these there enters first into the barber shop a man, a very large and portly man. He has a rugged face, a face very

REMINISCENCES OF THE SALT LAKE THEATRE 535 much like, I should imagine, to Doctor Johnson, the one whom Boswtll has written into fame. This is the Church historian, he is a "counselor," too. He is the man who first planted a potato in all this surrounding land. The scene painter has heard him preach. It was in the tabernacle last Sunday, the sermon was very much like the man. He has heard him "speak," too. It THE BARBER SHOP. was in "The Bowery," under the roof of gathered branches on the Temple square. The man spoke in praise of peace. That was on the anniversary of Pioneer day — July 24—and he deprecated in the celebration the firing of cannon. He loved the stillness of the mountain valleys —he did not like to hear it broken ; the noise reminded him too much of the bells of Babylon. The opposites are there tonight. The scene painter, like others, lingers in the barber shop to listen to, or to exchange a word with, those who will pass through. The actor who is to impersonate Sir Giles Overreach is dressed for the part. He speaks for a few moments to the premier danseuse. The latter will rot take part in the play tonight, but will go to her seat in the parquette stall. She has bright, merry eyes, an infectious laugh. Angels were once seen to watch, so the writer was told, a performance in the theatre. They stood at the base of the proscenium arch. They must have been Puritan angels, for when

536 IMPROVEMENT ERA the danseuse appeared, in spite of all her fairness, her grace and skill, lhe angels were seen to weep. This appears to be a night of firsts. Here is a young lady, charming, vivacious, petite. There are young men among the assembling audience who will fall in love with her this night. She has this distinction —she was the first female child born in THE OLD TABERNACLE, WHERE NOW STANDS THE ASSEMBLY HALL. this mountain valley. Some day, however, her daughter is to win greater fame as an actress. Her name will shine brightly through all the theatrical world. Speed my pen Who is at the side door but "Crazy Bob." !

He ai>ks for the scene painter. The time has come to paint the "banner." There is a star within his brain, the madman says. He has visions of consuming fire. Like Mucklewrath, he preaches. Of money, silver or gold, "Crazy Bob" has none. He cannot pay thus for the service which he asks the" scene painter to perform. But in return for the painting of the banner, he will give ten fold. He will march at the head of his procession the meek, — the lowly, the pure in heart. He will plead for the scene painter when the proper time shall come. Grand old mad man, with his guidance, with his password, I shallgo triumphant through the gates of heaven. The demented one who called for the scene painter at the theatre door was large of stature, a man of wondrous strength,

REMINISCENCES OF THE SALT LAKE THEATRE 537 But now there passes through the barber shop a man who in size is a dwarf. He is slightly hump-backed, his face is pale, he is fragile. He is the bill-poster of the house. Talk with this man in public, and he is gentle, he is humble. But talk with him in private, touch him on this one subject, and his eye will burn as flame. What subject? Hopeless love. Ah! there is a heart in that misshapen body. Aye! and by the rood, the one whom he loves is at this very moment out in the theatre audience. She is in her father's private box. She is a blonde. She has eyes of blue. Indeed, her father is very important. Under the auditorium in the southeastern corner of the playhouse, the dwarf has a room. Here he has sacred relics, there he has bits of wearing apparel, there he has trinkets that her hand has touched. "O, I know what I am," he will sometimes say to the scene painter, "but may I not worship? Ah! and in the coming world?" Poor dwarf Then there are in reality such beings as that, such beings, !

I mean, as Quasimodo? Yes, this dwarf he can love as blindly, as hopelessly, as did the bell-ringer of Notre Dame. Certainly, did he but know, the young scene painter would look with wondering interest at the three men who now pass through the barber shop. But he is thinking not of the future now. Two of the men are not attaches of the play house in any way, but the third person conducts this night the theater orchestra. The first person is called "Judge." A time is to come when his son will be the manager of the house. A day will dawn, too, when for the scene painter he will perform the marriage ceremony. The second person shall one day be called "The Blind Poet." This man, to alleviate a deep sorrow, will yet write some beautiful verse, "Rest, on the hillside, rest." The orchestra leader will set beautiful music, a plaintive melody, to the beautiful words, and they will yet be sung over the mortal remains of tens of thousands. Indeed, the words and music will be sung over the wife that is to be of the scene-painter's when she, alas, is dead. The poet and the scene painter shall yet speak together of this, that is, wnen the poet's now brown, glossy locks are white as snow,

— when his eyes are of a wonderful blue but sightless. And tears shall stream down the cheeks of the blind poet, and he shall say in a tremulous voice, "Ah there in the love of the people, I am !

secure." But the other, the slightlv built musician, he with the dark

538 IMPROVEMENT ERA eyes and hair, the nervous gait ? It will be his task, too, to compose the funeral march of the leader, Brigham Young. Brigham Young, that is his voice, and it is a voice slow, measured, filled with an infinitude of self-will and determination. As this man passes through the barber shop all other voices in the room are stilled, and all ears are strained to hear what the e -c ...

THE SCENE PAINTER'S GALLERY.. president may say. It is a Yankee voice, there is no mistaking that. By his side walks a "counselor," and his son will be the first Soon the word will go from governor of the future state. dressing room to dressing room that the "Big Chief" has come tonight. Each actor and actress will do their best. Such was always the case when the president was in his box.

It was in the scene painter's galley that the writer first met Brigham Young. It was on an afternoon, rehearsal was over, the scene painter thought himself alone. Anon he heard in the barber shop below the sound of foot steps. Then slowly and firmly came up the gallery stairs. Then the maker appeared. it Unheralded and unseen, the great "Mormon" leader had come

;

REMINISCENCES OF THE SALT LAKE THEATRE 539 upon a tour of inspection. Brigham Young was famed for completeness; whatever he did, he did thoroughly. He possessed a genius for Those details he entrusted to others, but he details.

would see himself that his orders were carried out. He appeared that day to think especially of the play house's clanger from fire. He broke, with the end of his gold-headed cane, the thick crusts that had been allowed to gather over the barrels of salt. He shook his head and compressed his lips. He performed a labor which should have been done by others. No doubt but that the guilty party was reprimanded.

And the funeral of Brigham Young. It was impossible for me to disassociate that event from my memories of the play house. How hushed and still was the place The great man had built it !

his D"esence seemed everywhere. On the scene painter's gallery, there lay the idle brushes, there dried upon the big palette the brilliant colors. One could hear from there the noise of the great gathering crowds in the street. Later in the day I met my artist friend, G. M. Ottinger, who painted the very first scene —the garden, that was rolled out upon the theater stage. He had taken the death mask of Brigham Young. He had taken the measurements of the dead leader. He told me some interesting facts. He spoke of the delicate hands and feet. But the small, plump, white hand I already knew. They had been clasped in mine upon the scene painter's gallery. And at that time I realized that the Moses of the west had "sized me up" so to speak, morally, mentally and physically. The barber shop, how prosaic the name, how filled with poetry the place What sparkling wit, what words of badinage, !

what brilliant, repartee those walls have heard! O, it is like a "Dream of Fair Women," "A Ballade of Dead Ladys" to but think of the beauty that place has known! And the genius, too! Who has walked across the narrow space of this dingy floor? Among them, that of George Fancis Train, Oscar Wilde, the younger Charles Dickens, Theodore Tilton, Robert G. Tngersoll, Moody and Sankey, De Witt Talmage, Henry Ward Beecher, Henry M. Stanley, and Charles Kingsley, the author of Westward, Ho! — And many actors, Booth but I will not repeat the list. And the actresses? Who of such beauty could make a choice 7

540 IMPROVEMENT ERA

"Her loveliness with shame and with surprise froze my swift speech." Neilson, Modjeska, Langtry, they have passed through this little room. And Kate Claxton, and Rose Coghlan and Celia Howson, too. All those who were so fair in the by-gone days. And Rose Evans, with her eyes sea-green, and her hair bronzeTHE GREEN ROOM. gold, and Lucille Western, with hair and eyes like the midnight sky, — and lastly she Mary Anderson, who had been called the saint of the stage. But of their beauty one need not to make a choice. The Grecian Helen, so the legend tells, was blonde or brunette, according to the one who loved.

But the audience has become impatient, it calls for the play. Perhaps, at this moment there is a boy among the gallery gods who is vociferous as the others. If so, he has gained his admission into the play house by the carrying of water from a well a block away, and then up the steep and winding stairs that lead to the upper circle. I wonder if he imagines that some day he will

—

REMINISCENCES OF THE SALT LAKE THEATRE 641 be the president of the Dramatic association ? That tall boy, if he be there, will believe that the villain in the play is always a villain, in private life as well as upon the stage. There will come a time when he will tell the writer so. Ah Some of us have traveled since then— I mean since that !

night that I recall in the barber shop. Then we believed so implicitly. Now we have seen realities. There are those among us who have watched the moonlight fall upon the stone terrace of Elsinore, others have seen the twilight behind the towers of Glamis Castle, and others still have walked upon the Kialto and seen the tomb of the Capulets. Or still others have beheld where King Lear stood upon Dover Cliff, or lingered in Queen Catherine's rooms in the Tower of London — and the glamor of the play home came back to the mind. Tick Tick The clock runs fast. I had become so interested ! !

in these few reminiscences that I had almost forgotten that I was alone. Shall I take my hat, shall I don my coat, shall I go and look once more at the old play house ? Shall I go in at the small side door and ascend the stairs ? No ! no not tonight. The scene !

painter's gallery is dark and silent — there is no one there. It would be too solemn after those years there would be preached ;

too sad a sermon. Tonight I would be with the living and feel a peace for the dead. It is the Sabbath, too! It is the day of rest. Rest then, my heart Can you not feel that all is well ? Let the !

shadows be never so dark, there will come a time of light. Let the years glide by, then, until adobe and timber have crumbled away; we have lived our lives. And in the words of Hamlet "The rest is silence."