My Life in Vaudeville: The Autobiography of Ed Lowry

Two Strikes—Walked Again

130 Two Strikes—Walked Again Warner Brothers bought out Skouras brothers, but the Skourases ran the theaters, and I wasn’t affected at all until our second musicians’ strike. My contract called for pay under any conditions, so I was shipped off to the Stanley Theatre in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. John H. Harris, later owner of the Ice Capades, had just taken over the post of zone manager of all the Warner theaters in the Pittsburgh area. J. H. came from an illustrious theatrical family. His parents, on both sides, were pioneers in the vaudeville field. The Harris and Davis theaters dated way back. Dick Powell, who was not yet established as a name attraction, had been the permanent emcee. He was moved out to East Liberty, Pennsylvania, and I took over Dick’s spot at the Stanley. To put this theater on a paying basis was quite an undertaking. Meaning: it was a huge mausoleum. It seldom enjoyed two successive winning weeks. Loew’s Theatre in Pittsburgh had caught on with a stage-band policy, and attendance for the Stanley Theatre was poor. Spyros Skouras came to town for the opening and decided to use the same formula we employed in St. Louis. I had been converted to this policy, but Harris became difficult. After the first show, he was disgusted. “How you gonna win over a town,” he beefed, “if you leave all your stuff in the dressing room?” John was used to seeing me in vaudeville, where I unloaded everything I knew in fifteen minutes. I had since learned to sell myself as a personality who could weave a show together in a showmanlike manner and fill every void or weak spot with whatever ingredient the show needed. By praising the other entertainers, I ingratiated myself with both actors and audience. As time went on, my versatility got across, and the surrounding show was usually a success. Skouras figured it might take ten weeks to get rid of the 131 TwO sT r i k e s —wA l k e d Ag A i n pool-hall element out front and draw in the hausfraus and flappers. The change was gradual. Strangers on the streets were beginning to call me Eddie, and I could feel the frigid atmosphere thawing out. Harold Cohen, Variety critic and drama editor for the Pittsburgh Post Gazette, became an enthusiastic booster and a wonderful friend. To quote Cohen, “Lowry is the smoothest M.C. ever to hit this burg. The others can all take lessons from this personality.” There was a time when John Harris wanted to resign because he felt his hands were being tied, but time worked in our favor and in spite of the discordant start, John and I became real pals. Our business zoomed and, in the lingo of the trade, I was box office. We had it made! Johnny and I had much in common. We both loved show business. He hated to go to bed at night and was full of unexpected capers. You never knew when he’d suddenly appear on the scene with either Vince Barnett or Luke Barnett for one of his practical jokes. The Barnetts could dig up more crazy makeup than Max Factor. After they had fooled the same person for the third and, sometimes, the fourth time, Johnny’s big, robust laugh would rock the building. Before long, it was my turn to fall victim to John’s jocular pastime. First, he prevailed on me to visit with him at his penthouse after the show. I sent my car to the garage, and John promised to drive me home. “Ed, call down for some ice and ginger ale while I make a long-distance call on the other phone, will ya?” Sucker that I was, I fell for one of his pranks. Up came an odd-looking character with a mongrel dialect impossible to identify. He was surly, clumsy, and impudent. I was gradually simmering and getting ready to come to a boil, when he dropped the bucket of ice on the floor. He started picking up the dirty ice cubes and dropping them into the glasses. As I remonstrated with him, he was opening a bottle of ginger ale that he succeeded in squirting right in my face. I was just grabbing a chair to let him have it when Johnny bounded back into the room and pounced on Barnett, who, in turn, took a beautiful pratfall. Johnny then...