My Life in Vaudeville: The Autobiography of Ed Lowry

This Is Broadway

105 This Is Broadway Returning to Broadway and excited over the thought of invading a new field, I felt like a pioneer. None of my friends had yet strayed from vaudeville. They were such diehards and so steeped in tradition that you couldn’t convince them that their entertainment days were numbered. The vaudeville profession was loaded with pride and sentiment. Its people lived in their world. Their lives were dedicated to the Cause, as if the profession were a religion rather than an industry. An odd conglomeration, they fought with one another, about one another, and for one another. They thought I was touched in the head for turning down a route on the two-a-day and signing for a tour of the motion-picture theaters. This, to them, was forsaking your profession for a job in a factory. “Music rehearsal at 8:00 a.m.,” they giggled. “What are you supposed to do—stop in on your way home?” Backstage, the Rivoli Theatre, which combined stage shows and movies , was jumping with activity. A dozen stagehands had been hard at it all night. Over thirty musicians were already rehearsing “Scheherazade” for the overture. This theater was well equipped. There were exceptionally fine lighting, luxurious stage décor, and clean, spacious dressing rooms. I felt like an outsider, not seeing a familiar face among the musicians or stagehands. Where did they all come from? How strange that the Rivoli, practically next door to the Winter Garden and around the corner from the Palace, was no more like Broadway than Danbury, Connecticut. After rehearsal, I walked out of the stage door and was surprised to see hundreds of people standing in line waiting to buy tickets. I looked at my watch again—10 a.m. Is this for real? I couldn’t get over it. This was certainly a new kind of show business. 106 Th i s is BrOA dwAy I went to Freeman’s Restaurant, a performer’s hangout right by the Palace Theatre. Here I was having my second breakfast, but none of my old cronies were around. Hm, still sleeping, I guess. At twelve forty, the curtains opened at the Rivoli, and the show, advertised as the bargain matinee, began. In the first few moments, I noticed that the audience was neither discriminating nor critical. An old joke got just as hefty a wow as a new one. In these presentation theaters, most of the audience came to see the movie; the stage show was thrown in extra. There was no time for little personal touches, innuendos, professional subtleties, or tongue-in-cheek humor. In a dance routine, every step that looked difficult paid off with a round of applause. Every song that was sung was a sock, every joke was a yock, but hot or cold, the show had to be completed in fifty-eight minutes. We were constantly warned to conform to our schedule, which was adhered to just as strictly as a railroad timetable. The slogan was “get ’em in and get ’em out”—four shows a day, five on Saturday and Sunday. It was all so new. The Palace had been a showplace that was like a “sample room” where you showed your wares for the theatrical market. This seemed more like playing in a supermarket. Our show was reviewed in the dailies by motion-picture critics and also by the film trade papers, like the Motion Picture Herald and others. Michael L. Simmons, editor and critic of Film Daily, was an old school chum and lifelong friend. He was known as “Six-syllable Simmons.” When I finally deciphered his review, I knew the reason for his nickname. A half-dozen times, I had to refer to a dictionary before I knew whether I was a hit or a miss. It was a hit. No one before or after ever described my talent more vividly and with richer prose. The show, called Take a Chance, was cute and enterprising and got good results everywhere. No names were displayed on the marquee or in the advertisements. The public was challenged to take a chance on the show with no hint of who or what they were going to see. The idea was exploited arrestingly in advertisements that stressed the gambling theme. There were dice, question marks, racehorses, roulette wheels, and playing cards. The public was urged to take a chance and guaranteed against loss by a sign, “Money refunded if dissatisfied.” The...