ROPING A CRITIC
Prologue—These critics have been interviewing Actors (and us other people that appear on the stage) for years. And none of the interviews have ever been right, cause they never told the truth. Course they couldn’t tell the truth about a lot of us, if they had he would have put us out of business. But they tried to be so kind to us and tell all the noble deeds that at the finish we had lost more friends than we had gained by the interview.
Now there is nothing interesting in an Actor but his act and you can get it at the box office price. This season you won’t even have to form in line. If you can get a party of three to go with you you can get a rate.
But I figured there was something interesting about a Critic. Why, there are scientists that spend a life time studying a Toad.
Now, I might not find out as much as these Toad experts but I am going to look one of these Critics over at short range for about an hour—as Actors have got plenty of time—we are not bowing much nowadays.
So I picked out the Male of the Species as they are not as venomous as the females. I picked out Ashton Stevens, principally on account of him being frail of statue and because I had seen his name one time on an Ash Can for endorsing a Wintergarden Show.
Act I. DRESSING ROOM COLONIAL THEATER.—Enter Stevens made up as Critic. Gray suit, leather buttons, Black Felt Hat on upside down (same one Dick Little used to wear), middle finger of each hand calloused from knocking Actors. Smoking Pipe which is against all Theater rules, but on account of being critic managers can’t say anything. The smoking really wasn’t as bad as the Tobacco.
I started in to interview him and he started in like an Actor by lying. So I stopped him right there and said: “Say, this is not a theatrical interview. I am representing the Public and I want the real dope on Critics.”
Q—Where were you born? Even a Critic has to be born.
A—I was born in San Francisco in 18—.
Q—Never mind when you were born—the reading public can tell by your jokes how old you are. Why were you born?
A—No answer.
Q—Well, if you can’t think of a reason neither can I, so we will let that question go. Did Frisco ever find out that you were born there?
A—Yes.
Q—Is that why you left there?
A—No answer.
Q—When did you first show symptoms of becoming a Critic?
A—When I had lost my job at everything else.
Q—Didn’t you tell your folks and didn’t they have anything done for you to cure this?
A—I was afraid to tell them.
Q—Who gave you your first job Criticing?
A—William Randolph Hearst.
Q—Why did he give it to you?
A—He heard me play the Banjo.
Q—He heard you play the Banjo and gave you a job as a Critic. I suppose if he saw me throw a rope he would make me a Society Editor?
A—Oh, but it is not for my Banjoing that he keeps me now, its for my writings.
Q—Oh, he has forgot that you taught him to play the Banjo—that’s why you still work for him?
A—No, its my writings. You see he took me from Frisco to New York and put me on the New York Journal.
Q—Now you say he took you there as Critic. Don’t you really think he might have been getting a little rusty on the Banjo and needed it tuned?
A—No, I stayed there 4 years.
Q—What happened at the end of 4 years, did you all run out of Tunes, or did you break the Banjo or what?
A—No; then he promoted me to Chicago.
Q—You felt that you had taught him all you knew. Did you bring the Banjo out here with you?
A—Oh, yes I have it; I will bring it over now and Show you how I play.
Q—Never mind bringing it over now or any other time. We will drop the Banjo until some time you feel you want a change of jobs. You can take it over to Medill McCormicks and teach him. He could at least amuse the other Senators with it and perhaps make you Editor of the Tribune. Now to get back to Criticing. What makes a Dramatic Critic?
A—Two Free Seats a Night on the Isle.
Q—Is it true that it is the only business in the World with absolutely no qualifications?
A—Yes; next to being a comedian with a Ziegfeld Show its the only thing that requires no training.
Q—Is it true that Dyspepsia is necessary to being a Critic?
A—Yes; its more prevalent now since the Movies come in.
Q—Don’t you think that Prohibition has lowered the Standard of Dramatic Criticism?
A—Yes; among those that didn’t look ahead and supply, I think that to be true.
Q—They still train on Scotch, don’t they?
A—Well, they are not as well trained as they used to be.
Q—Don’t you find a great many people that think they are Critics?
A—Yes, but I find very few that get paid for it.
Q—Do you believe in constructive Criticism?
A—No; I believe in entertaining Criticism.
Q—Do you get many letters kicking on your opinion?
A—Oh, yes; quite a few.
Q—In that way you can tell just how many read it, can’t you? I read where three out of four of every newspaper started failed. What percentage of dramatic Criticisms do you think is responsible for this failure?
A—I don’t know; I was never on a failing paper.
Q—That’s pretty good; that’s a Nifty. Now you Critics having never tried it, you don’t realize just how hard it is to be an Actor?
A—Yes, the more plays we see the more we realize it.
Q—Now, you say you have worked for Mr. Hearst twenty-five years for teaching him the Banjo. What instrument did Brisbane teach him and do you think I could interest him in a Base Drum? I hammer a mean Blues on one of those things.
A—You might snare him with that. It takes two heads to make a drum.
Now, Dear Readers—both of you—if this little interview has made you feel more kindly toward the Dramatic Critics, and has brought their overworked profession to the high standards to which I have tried to honestly picture them, my work will not have been in vain.