Vaudeville Is Dead

Marc J. Yacht

Charley Snodgrass’ only suit hung loose on his frail 85-year-old frame. His buttoned white shirt appeared two sizes too big, and his broad red tie along with his wide brimmed hat brought to mind Zoot suits, gangsters, and the big band era. He opened the door to Sol Weinstein’s office located in an old walkup building on Manhattan’s East side and greeted Minnie, Sol’s secretary. She was filing her red nails. Charley had his small Yorkie, Lupo, under his arm.

“Hi Minnie, I am here to see Sol,” Charley breezed by her so quickly that by the time she could say Sol was busy, he had already opened the inner door and greeted her boss in his private office.

“Charley, come on, what are you doin’ here? I told you there’s no work. Nobody cares about dogs jumpin’ through hoops and doin’ summersaults.” Sol sat back on a large tattered leather-covered wooden chair, chomping on a big unlit cigar. “There is no work Charley, I’m lucky if I can make the rent. Minnie hasn’t been paid in 2 weeks.”

Minnie quickly followed Charley in. “I’m sawry’ Mista’ W-i-n-e-nste-e-e-n, I tried ta’ Stap’ Im’ but e’ was too quick. You’re a bad boy Chawlieee’. Ya’ haf’ ta’ show some respect!” Minnie spoke in her perfect Brooklynese who few, even those from Queens, could understand.

“It’s OK Minnie. Such craziness. Oye’ Charley, such a schmuck, but its good to see you. Take a seat. You remind me of better times.”

“Sol, how can you say there’s no work out there? You made lots of money from my dog act. And this here Lupo, she’s the best. Look at her. She’s the smartest one yet. Let me show you.”

With those words Charley gently stood Lupo on her front paws atop the large desk before him. “Hop Lupo, Hop!” The dog started to bounce on her paws gracefully across the desk.

Charley made a motion with his hands and Lupo flipped backwards onto her rear paws and then spun around once, twice, three times while Charlie guided her circling his index finger above her. “Good girl, good girl.” Charley pulled a treat out of his pocket.

Sol leaned back and let the demonstration proceed.

“Here’s something none of my other dogs could do. Charley signaled Lupo to stand on her rear paws. “Lupo, two plus two.”

“Arf, Arf, Arf, Arf,” came the reply. Charlie provided a treat.

“Lupo,” Charley caught the dog’s attention. “Three plus three.”

“Arf, Arf, Arf, Arf, Arf, Arf” came the response. Lupo, got another treat, her bright eyes fixed on Charley’s pocket.

“She does a lot more Sol. Isn’t she terrific?”

“Charley, Charley, you’re right, 40 years ago we made a lot of money with those dogs of yours. But nobody’s interested today. Nobody cares about trained dogs, clapping seals, or sword swallowers. Charley, vaudeville is dead.” Sol let out a sigh and reached out to pet Lupo, who was now resting at the center of the desk.

“Hey Sol, remember Mary the Dancer. We used to call her ‘The Top’.

“Yeh, Mary, I remember. She was one of mine. She was a nice lady.”

Charley continued, "She always opened the show. The audience adored her. She was a tall delicate blond and would dance out onto the stage. Everybody was in love with her, even Morey the theatre manager. She would wear that pink tutu and start spinning and spinning. The crowd ate it up. That’s why they called her ‘the top’. She could spin forever.”

Sol nodded in agreement.

“Well it’s a sad thing Sol, I knew she was from Utica, and I figured I’d try to find her as I was passing through, must be ten years ago. Sure enough, I saw the family name in the phonebook. Yovick, was her name. I knew that had to be a rare name. Anyway, I went to the house and knocked on the door. Sol, a young girl answers, I almost had a heart attack. That little girl looked just like her. She askes me what I want and I am speechless. I had to gather myself. Anyway, her father comes to the door and I am able to ask about Mary. When I tell him I remembered her from the old days, you wouldn’t believe the welcome Sol. Soon, everybody was cryin.’ I broke down myself. They wouldn’t let me leave. We talked all night about Mary. She had passed away several years before in a nursing home. It went bad for her in the end because of strokes. I told them how much the little girl looked like her. Well they take me into a room full of pictures, there she is Sol in her tutu, and one picture has me in it, in the wings, holding the original Lupo, Sol, Lupo number one. Can you believe it?

“That’s a great story Charley, I feel bad about Mary. I always wondered what happened to her and so many others. Remember the knife thrower, Oh he was crazy, what was his name, Merlin? Marcus?”

“You’re talkin’ about Mandrake. Is that who you mean?” Charley replied.

“Mandrake, that’s right Mandrake, like Mandrake the magician.” Sol gave a laugh and continued. “He and his wife used to fight like banshees. Morey, the theatre manager, and I had a side bet whenever I went to see the act, that this would be the night he would stab her to death.”

“Sol, you’re right,” Charley added. “I used to follow that act once in a while. They were forever at each other’s throats.”

“Anyway, I will always remember this one show.” Sol paused to gather his thoughts. “Mandrake, who was tall and lean, always wore this ebony cloak with red lining and a black beret. The knives were bright steel and he held them like an open deck of cards in each hand. He’d place them on a table with the points facing the audience. Deftly, he would lift and examine every one carefully rubbing his fingers along each edge of the blade. His wife, Zelda, that was it, would enter on stage in this long black dress and an angry look, probably remembering their last free for all. Then she would place herself against the wheel. At the finalé of the act he would slowly glide across stage, tie her to the wheel and go back to his knives. The wheel would start to spin.”

Sol leaned far back on his squeaky wooden chair and continued the tale. “I was standin’ with Morey at the back of the theatre, ‘This is the night Morey, I’m telling you tonight he is goin’ to kill her! Look at him, he hates her.’ Anyway he starts throwin’ the knives. Thump, thump, thump! All of a sudden she lets out a blood-curdling scream. Morey turns white as a ghost and I am holding him up. My knees start to buckle and I feel chest pain. I grab on to a post with my other hand. Mandrake runs to the wheel and stops it. There’s blood dripping from her forearm, he had clipped her arm with the knife. Somebody from the wings ran out with some bandages and the curtain drops. The whole place was in chaos. Morey and I rushed back stage. She was fine. In her usual fashion, she was hurling obscenities at him. But here was the amazing thing, he’s crying like a baby. He was absolutely distraught. She stopped screaming for a second, and noticed how upset he was. Anyway, she threw her arms around him, including the bandaged one, and said ‘its okay darling, it happens, don’t worry, I’m fine.’ Anyway, I took Morey out to dinner, and never made the bet again.”

“Hey Sol, remember the Ramoli family, there were seven of them. They were always plastered. Even the little ones were drunk. I am the next act this night, so I am in the wings. If you remember, they would open the act cart wheeling one after the other onto the stage. The old man would come out first, followed by his wife and the rest of them. Anyway, the teenager must have missed his mark and got to far down stage and cartwheels right into orchestra pit. One foot strikes a cymbal, which sails across the stage and the other leg goes through the snare drum. Sheet music and instruments are flying everywhere. Bernard, the conductor, breaks his baton into a hundred pieces banging it wildly on the podium.

“Charley,” Sol interrupts, “ I was there. You know, I seem to remember this. Tell me the rest.”

“The band never had much love for the Ramoli family who never missed an opportunity to complain about the quality of their music. Well, the next thing you know the whole ensemble jumps on this kid. Then, the rest of the Ramolis, jump into the orchestra pit. The audience thinks the whole thing is part of the act and is howling with laughter. Morey is next to me back stage and repeats over and over, ‘Oh my God, Oh My God!’ It takes security and additional police to pull them all apart. The audience is still screaming and rolling in the aisles. I don’t think they ever figured out it wasn’t staged. Things get organized and the rest of the evening concludes without incident.’

Sol leaned back on his chair laughing and shaking his head.

Charley continued, “Anyway, I’m standing with Morey backstage after the show. Bernard, the conductor appears, you may remember he was an Englishman. He has a swollen eye, a cut on his forehead and a torn tux jacket. Not to forget bloodstains on his shirt. He looks Morey straight in the eye and with his British accent proclaims that he will never play for that bloody bunch of drunken ruffians again. With that he turned on his heal revealing torn trousers exposing red boxer shorts and heads out the stage door. Well, I got to tell you Sol, I laughed so hard I peed myself. Morey, who was biting his lip through the whole speech, could take it no longer turned around and howled for thirty minutes. For the next two weeks whenever he saw me, he would break up. The Ramolis later swore they would never abuse the orchestra again and it was business as usual.”

“I remember the Ramolis. Your right, they were always drunk, even the kids. They weren’t mine, Cohen stole them from me.” Sol raised his eyebrows and sighed, “That rat used to have spies watching who came up here, then offer them a better deal. Cohen, may he rest in peace, deserved the Ramolis.”

Minnie opened the door to the inner office. “Mista' Whineste-e-e-n yaw’ two o'clock a-point-e-ment’ Miss Seabring is hea’.”

“Thanks Minnie, tell her to wait a bit, I’ll be with her. Hey Charley, you want some tea, you always liked tea.”

“I’d like that Sol, thanks.”

“Minnie make some tea for us.”

“Sure Mr. Dubya, comin right up.”

“Its good to talk about those days Sol. Just now I am remembering Lily Valone and her beautiful voice. She would sing Beautiful Dreamer and bring the audience and the rest of us to tears.”

“Charley, those days are gone. Nobody wants Beautiful Dreamer any more than they want to see a dog act. What people want to see today are scantily clad teenyboppers gyrating around the stage acting like they’re screwin’ the entire audience. They sing but nobody listens. People don’t want music they want to look at tits, bare bellies, and ass, then fantasize about humpin’ cheerleaders and girl scouts. That lady, waiting in the outer office, Miss Seabring, she’s got a Mary Pickford act. In her act she’s tied to the train tracks singing, Daddy Come and Save Me. I mean who the hell cares, whose goin’ to want to watch this. Tits and ass, the locomotion, that’s what people want.”

“I hope your wrong Sol. There’s a lot of good people out there.” Charley’s jaw dropped, the smile left his face and tears filled his eyes.

Sol continued, "This guy up in Hartford comes up with this brilliant idea. He wants to put together a vaudeville show and he got some numbskulls to back it. Anyway, he asks me to send him some acts. That’s how I got Mary Pickford here.”

Minnie entered with tea and cookies and placed them on the desk.

“Thanks Minnie,” Sol and Charley picked up their cups. Charley’s dog rested, somehow forgotten in the conversation. Charlie gave Lupo a cookie that he snapped up.

“I don’t get it Sol, what happened to people, the world’s gone crazy. Folks used to be nice to each other. My children treat me like a bum. They don’t even want me to visit. I’ve got great-grandchildren I haven’t seen. They wouldn’t care if I lived on the street. You think I’m a bum, Sol?”

“You had the best dog act, Charley, the best. You’re no bum, I always respected you. You had class. I’ll never forget when that little girl got hurt in that pyramid trick. The family was Chinese and couldn’t speak a word of English. I remember how you helped those folks, Charley. They stayed with you. I knew about that, everybody knew about that.”

“I used to get cards from them you know, but that was years ago.” Charley continued to sip his tea.

“You were the best, Charley, you’re still the best, don’t ever forget it.” Sol looked him straight in the eye.

“All right, let me tell you about Miss Mary Pickford here, her name is Barbara Seabring, I’ve never seen her but she comes highly recommended. As I was saying this nut case up in Connecticut is puttin’ this show together and I’m gettin’ these acts for him. You know what, I hadn’t thought about a dog act, but why not. Maybe you two can go up together. Keep each other company. Let me see her and make sure the act is halfway decent and maybe it will be a go. Wait out in the reception area awhile. ”

“Thanks Sol, that sounds great, that’s just great.” Charley picked up Lupo and left the office, but quickly after closing the door reopened it and stuck his head back in.

“What now Charley, what now?” Sol shook his head.

“It’s true, it’s true!” Charley blurted.

“What’s true,” responded an agitated Sol.

“She looks just like Mary Pickford,” answered Charley. “Just like Mary Pickford.”

End