My Life in Vaudeville: The Autobiography of Ed Lowry

Good-Bye, Meal Ticket

72 Good-Bye, Meal Ticket Upon Teddy’s departure for New York, a few minutes before I left for Chicago, we clung to one another, saddened by the prospect of being separated. Still very much in love and unabashed at our own sentimentality, we were not ashamed of our tears as we said good-bye. We weren’t used to parting—not even temporarily—and when they announced Teddy’s train, we really made the emotional pendulum swing. The temptation to change our plans was so intense that I was about to redeem Teddy’s New York ticket and buy one for Chicago, but she refused. Teddy knew and understood me. I was either blessed or cursed by a driving determination to make good. This arrangement of going in different directions until I got started was a “must.” I knew if Teddy was near and available, the pressure from the agents would defeat my whole purpose. After Variety broke with a short story of our split, Teddy was offered some flattering jobs. Several established entertainers who propositioned her on a partnership basis also approached her. Teddy was not even slightly interested, though she had cause to feel flattered. We had our own understanding . If I made the grade on my own, she would forget her career and share the fruits of mine; if I didn’t make it, “Er, well, let’s forget that thought, because I was determined to make it.” Teddy wasn’t stagestruck and had no inclination to demand a share of the spotlight or fight for bows. She was proud of the fact that I wanted to be the breadwinner for the family. From this point on, being a wife became her profession, and, luckily for me, she made it her career. There was no welcoming committee on hand to meet me in Chicago. I was as popular as a gallstone. Our many friends all seemed to share the opinion that I had gone looney. It was heartwarming to know that Irene, as Teddy was known professionally, rated so well, but the final crusher came 73 gO Od -By e , me A l Tic k e T my way in the office of Variety, where I called on Hal. He roared like the MGM lion and really told me off. “Ed Lowry, you must be completely off your rocker. You have just cast aside the greatest meal ticket any man could wish for. I can pick up the phone right now, and in one hour I’ll guarantee you and Irene three years’ work.” There was no use trying to explain that I didn’t covet a meal ticket. This kind of talk merely made me more determined than ever. “Now look,” Hal persisted, “get on the telephone to New York and bring Irene out here, or call the depot and arrange transportation to go back there. Personally, I’m through talking to you until you start thinking like a normal human being.” This was my very dear friend. He had no axe to grind; this was how he honestly felt. I slunk out of Hal’s office, low and discouraged. He had absolutely no confidence in my ability to make the grade alone, and he left me with a funereal preview of what to expect from the various booking agents. Digging around the music publishers to pick up some stock orchestrations I would be needing for the act, I told my plans to a couple of song pluggers, who acted as if I were intending to steal their sheet music. They told me to forget going it alone. It was my conviction that these people were wrong, and I lost no time trying to prove it. I played a two-day stand at the Marlowe Theatre, a small-time dive with an enthusiastic audience. That gave me an opportunity to get organized—that and two additional days at LaSalle, Illinois, where I experimented and switched material until I developed a workable routine. Next day in the Woods Theatre, I got lucky and bumped into Murray Bloom. Though he was in the music business, at the moment Murray was searching madly for a likely person to emcee a big anniversary show in Davenport, Iowa. A few hours later, I was on my way to play a week at the Capital Theatre in Davenport. This engagement turned out to be just my dish. Gravy! Rave notices from two dailies. I was thrilled over these write-ups and...