My Life in Vaudeville: The Autobiography of Ed Lowry

No Excuses in Show Biz

51 No Excuses in Show Biz Toward the end of World War I, we played a week’s engagement at Proctor ’s Theatre in Newark, New Jersey. During the morning rehearsal, on opening day, Harry Fitzgerald phoned to say he would be at the matinee with Flo Ziegfeld. “Let’s have a good show, Kid. You’re practically in.” Breathlessly, I broke the news to Teddy. Immediately, our dressing room became alive with excitement. “I knew it, I knew something good would happen today,” she shouted excitedly. “It’s in my horoscope. I read it in the paper this morning. I want to wear my yellow dress. Yellow is my lucky color. Sweetheart, please attach the iron for me. I want to press the dress.” She then grabbed me, we kissed, and she jumped for joy as she squealed, “Honey, this is it. I just know this is it.” Meanwhile, I was fidgety, a bundle of nerves. The only cure I knew in those pre-Miltown days was to busy myself physically. I started hoofing in the dressing room and then went into a limbering routine that was rather violent. In a squatting position, I bounced around like a monkey, spinning, turning, and stretching. Nijinsky himself never went through a more varied assortment of gyrations. Next, I picked up my clarinet and exercised my fingers like a virtuoso. Anything to keep occupied. At last came show time. As we walked backstage, we laughed nervously when we realized we had forgotten to eat lunch. It was almost time now. We embraced, then kissed. and said, “Good luck.” As I turned, I was sure I saw Teddy bless herself. While the preceding act was bowing off, we stood in the wings all keyed up and in position to make our entrance. Suddenly, the front curtains closed, and the lights went out. Then the curtain reopened slowly, and a bluish light gave the stage an eerie appearance. A man solemnly walked to the center and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the management interrupts this performance so that we may all join in silent prayer for our boys, over there.” 52 nO exc u se s i n shOw Bi z The organist played a hymn. Soon it was finished, and so were we! Lights went up, the card boy put our card on the easel—Ed Lowry and Irene Prince in “Fifty-Fifty.” The orchestra started our music. Two introductions , first pianissimo, second double forte, and out onstage, we ran for twelve full minutes of tumultuous silence. I don’t wish to be disrespectful, but when we finished our act, it sounded like the audience was still joined in silent prayer for the boys over there. Our opening routine of nifties went right out the front door. My comedy song, “With his hands in his pockets and his pockets in his pants, he gets a little wiser every day,” and all the topical tag lines that went with it created as much hilarity as a dirge. Then came Teddy’s entrance in her male attire, of which Variety’s Hal Halperin had said at McVicker’s Theatre in Chicago, “Anyone who doesn’t applaud this number should be reported to the Society for the prevention of cruelty to dolls.” Well, my little doll should have stayed in bed that afternoon.We went through our unison dance. Teddy’s outfit was an exact replica of mine, in miniature. As we started for the exit, Teddy jumped on my back, I carried her a few steps and then set her down and said, “Fifty-fifty,” then I jumped on her back, and she carried me off, and I shouted, “Sixty-forty!” No doubt the two people who applauded were her mother and father. We still had hopes because next came our big finish, my knee drops. I never did them better. I remembered everything Bill Robinson had taught me and performed like mad. We rated two quick bows that just gave Teddy time to ask under her breath, “Who does the embalming here?” In spite of the poor audience response, we felt we had given a good performance. I had often heard it said that good producers make their own appraisal of talent and are never influenced by audience reaction. Comforting myself with this thought, I rushed over to New York, anxious to hear Ziggy’s verdict. Fitzie didn’t mince words. “Too bad, kid, but as far as Ziegfeld is concerned , you’re dead.” I...