Part 7

Strangely enough, music and moving color always fascinated Charles Frohman. At that time, for it was scarcely more than a decade after the Civil War, there were many parades in New York, and all of them passed the little Broadway cigar-store. To get a better view, Charles frequently climbed up on the roof and there beheld the marching hosts with all their tumult and blare. Here it was, as he often later admitted, that he got his first impressions of street-display and brass-band effects that he used to such good advantage.

A picturesque friendship of those early days was with the clock-painter Washburn, perhaps the foremost worker of that kind in this country. He painted the faces of all the clocks that hung in front of the jewelers' shops in the big city. He always painted the time at 8.17-1/2 o'clock, and it became the precedent which most clock-painters have followed ever since.

Charles watched Washburn at work. One reason for his interest was that it dealt with gilt. The old painter took such a fancy to the lad that he wanted him to become his apprentice and succeed him as the first clock-face painter of his time. But this work seemed too slow for the future magnate.

* * *

Now came the first business contact of a Frohman with the theater, and here one encounters an example of that team-work among the Frohman brothers by which one of them invariably assisted another whenever opportunity arose. Frequently they created this opportunity themselves. To Gustave came the distinction of being the first in the business, and also the privilege of bringing into it both of his brothers. Having hovered so faithfully and persistently about the edges of theatricals, Gustave now landed inside.

It was at the time of the high-tide of minstrelsy in this country--1870 to 1880. Dozens of minstrel companies, ranging from bands of real negroes recruited in the South to aggregations of white men who blacked their faces, traveled about the country. The minstrel was the direct product of the slave-time singer and entertainer. His fame was recognized the world over. The best audiences at home, and royalty abroad, paid tribute to his talents. Out of the minstrel ranks of those days emerged some of the best known of our modern stars--men like Francis Wilson, Nat Goodwin, Henry E. Dixey, Montgomery and Stone, William H. Crane, and scores of others.

One of the most famous organizations of the time was Charles Callender's Original Georgia Minstrels, hailing from Macon, Georgia, composed entirely of negroes and headed by the famous Billy Kersands. Ahead of this show was a mulatto advance-agent, Charles Hicks. He did very well in the North, but when he got down South he faced the inevitable prejudice against doing business with a negro. Callender needed some one to succeed him. A man whom Gustave Frohman had once befriended, knowing of his intense desire to enter the profession, recommended him for the position, and he got it.

All was excitement in the Frohman family. At last the fortunes of one member were definitely committed to the theater, and although it was a negro minstrel show, it meant a definite connection with public entertainment.

No one, not even Gustave himself, felt the enthusiasm so keenly as did little Charles, then twelve years old. He buzzed about the fortunate brother.

"Do you think you can get me a job as programmer with your show?" he asked.

"No," answered the new advance-agent. "Don't start in the business until you can be an agent or manager."

On August 2, 1872, Gustave Frohman started to Buffalo to go ahead of the Callender Minstrels. Charles followed his brother's career with eager interest, and he longed for the time when he would have some connection with the business that held such thrall for him.

Life now lagged more than ever for Charles. He chafed at the service in the store; he detested school; his one great desire was to earn money and share in the support of the family. His father urged him to prepare for the law.

"No," he said, "I won't be a lawyer. I want to deal with lots of people."

Charles frequently referred to Tony Pastor. "He's a big man," he would often say. "I would like to do what he is doing."

A seething but unformed aspiration seemed to stir his youthful breast. Once he heard his eldest brother recite some stanzas of Alexander Pope, in which the following line occurs:

The whole, the boundless continent is ours.

This line impressed the lad immensely. It became his favorite motto; he wrote it in his sister's autograph-album; he spouted it on every occasion; it is still to be found in his first scrap-book framed in round, boyish hand.

Now the singular thing about this sentiment is that he never quoted it correctly. It was a life-long failing. His version--and it was strangely prophetic of his coming career--was:

The whole--the boundless earth--is mine.

Meanwhile, Daniel Frohman had gone from The Tribune to work in the office of The New York Graphic, down in Park Place near Church Street. The Graphic was the aristocrat of newspapers--the first illustrated daily ever published anywhere. With the usual family team-work, Daniel got Charles a position with him in 1874. He was put in the circulation department at a salary of ten dollars a week, his first regular wage. It was a position with which personality had much to do, for one of the boy's chief tasks was to select a high type of newsboy equipped to sell a five-cent daily. His genial manner won the boys to him and they became his loyal co-workers.

With amazing facility he mastered his task. Among other things, he had to count newspapers. It was before the day of the machine enumerator, and the work had to be done by hand. Charles developed such extraordinary swiftness that patrons in the office often stopped to watch him. In throwing papers over the counter it was necessary to be accurate and positive, and here came the first manifestation of his dogged determination. He never lost his cunning in counting papers, and sometimes, when he was rich and famous, he would take a bundle of newspapers, to help a newsboy in the street, and run through them with all his old skill and speed.

* * *

Though his fingers were in the newspapers, his heart yearned for the theater. This ambition was heightened by the fact that his brother Daniel, having heeded the lure of Gustave, joined the Callender Minstrels as advance-agent, while Gustave remained back with the show. Slowly but surely the theater was annexing the Frohman boys. In the summer of 1874 Charles was drawn into its charmed circle, and in a picturesque fashion.

It was the custom for minstrel companies and other theatrical combinations to rent theaters outright during the dull summer months. The playhouses were glad to get the rental, and the organizations could remain intact during what would otherwise be a period of disorganization and loss. Gustave, therefore, took Hooley's Theater in Brooklyn for summer minstrel headquarters, and on a memorable morning in July Charles was electrified to receive the following letter from him:

You can begin your theatrical career in the box-office of Hooley's Theater in Brooklyn. Take a ferry and look at the theater. Hooley is going to rent it to us for the summer. Your work will begin as ticket-seller. You will have to sell 25, 50, and 75 cent tickets, and they will all be hard tickets, that is, no reserved seats. Get some pasteboard slips or a pack of cards and practise handling them. Your success will lie in the swiftness with which you can hand them out. With these rehearsals you will be able to do your work well and look like a professional.

Charles immediately bought a pack of the thickest playing-cards he could find and began to practise with them. Soon he became an expert shuffler. Often he used his father's cigar counter for a make-believe box-office sill, and across it he handed out the pasteboards to imaginary patrons. A dozen times he went over to Brooklyn and gazed with eager expectancy at the old theater, destined, by reason of his association with it, to be a historic landmark in the annals of American amusement.

He wrote Gustave almost immediately: