Chicago by day and night

by Harold R. Vynne

The Madison Street Opera House and the Park Theater, which were briefly mentioned in the preceding chapter, are two resorts that may be regarded as occupying a unique position in the amusement roster. The Madison Street Opera House gives two performances daily and its manager, the veteran Colonel Sam T. Jack, is reputed to be coining money. The size of the audiences that fill Col. Jack’s theater twice a day is attributable, possibly, to the fact that the house is devoted entirely to the presentation of burlesque. Companies of more or less merit appear from week to week, and in order that they may secure a “date,” it is necessary that they possess a number of shapely women in the cast. An artist would probably call the costumes of the ladies who appear at the Madison Street Opera House artistic. Certain it is that if they were constructed on any other plan than that of the present one they could not possibly convey a more liberal view of “the female form divine.” Indeed, there was one engagement that included the presentation of a series of classic tableaux, in which the complete suits of skintights that the ladies wore, were if anything more attractive than no costumes at all. No drinks are served in the Madison Street Theater itself, but it is situated over a large saloon which is easy of access by means of a staircase leading directly into the parquet. It is needless to say, perhaps, that the nature of the spectacular gems to be seen on the Madison Street Opera House stages are strongly calculated to produce thirst—especially in a masculine audience. Not very long ago the Chicago Mail undertook to “roast” the Madison Street Opera House, and to stigmatize its performances as improper. Mr. Jack at once sued the paper for libel. If a jury should have a notion to visit the theater it might materially assist in the rendition of a verdict in accordance with the facts.

The Park Theater, situated on State Street, in the “Levee,” or “Tenderloin” district, is even more democratic. Drinks are sold and consumed during the stage performance, and smoking is allowed. This is a favorite resort for “bloods” who, having come to town for fun, propose to see all there is in it. A party of three or four who purchase a box may, if they choose, enjoy the society of the actresses who will visit them between acts and have a pleasant, social time. It is within the bounds of decorum to invite the fair performers to drink, and if an acquaintance so auspiciously begun should be carried to even more agreeable lengths, why, who is going to complain so long as the City authorities permit its open programme? Not the manager, surely. He is there to see that his guests have a good time and will exercise all his efforts to the procurement of that end.

There are several wine-rooms upstairs, and in these one may enjoy a tete-a-tete and a bottle of champagne with his chosen charmer, if his inclinations (and his pocketbook) will permit him to go to that length. An amusing feature of the regime at the Park is the system whereby the actresses keep matters straight with “the house.” Under the rules, each “lady” is allowed a percentage on the money received for drinks that she causes to be purchased. She carries a memorandum book and pencil, and jots down every cocktail or whiskey straight that her admirer (for the moment) may purchase. After the “show,” when the audience departs, she goes to the bar and tallies up with the barkeeper. A balance is struck at the end of the week and the money paid over. An idea of the informality of the performances at the Park may be gathered from the fact that when James Owen O’Connor played there awhile ago, a lot of boys went about in the theater selling stale cats, cabbages and other garden produce to the audience—the same to be used for the purpose of pelting the actor! Anyone who wishes to see a “tough” audience and a “tough” show will find what he wants at the Park, which seems to be entirely within the idea of police regulation, nevertheless.

CHAPTER V.
FREE AND EASY SHOWS.

Under this caption come the entertainments of a more or less unstilted character; that is to say, entertainments that, while being in no wise disreputable, are nevertheless arranged with a view of catering to the tastes of people of both sexes who do not care to spend the evening in the narrow confines and the matter-of-fact atmosphere of a regular theatre. The modern music hall, or cafe chantant, of which there are so many in Paris and London, has not yet been duplicated to any great extent in this city. There are, however, a few places of the kind, widely separated by distance, that resemble the “old country” music hall in some respects. The old beer dens of noisome character that formed a blot upon the city’s escutcheon in earlier days have quite disappeared, and the few music halls that still flourish, besides being of a much more pretentious character, have in their management a much stronger claim to toleration. At any of these places an evening may be spent without serious prejudice to one’s morals and without contamination of any sort. If the jokes are a little “rocky” and the antics of the actors and actresses just a shade off color when viewed from the standpoint of strict propriety there is no reason why the spectator should go home convulsed with a sense of the depravity of the city that can suffer such things to be. The pleasure of the entertainment at these places is enhanced to a greater or less extent, according to the taste of the attendant, by the latter’s ability to solace himself with such liquid refreshments as his system may crave during the progress of the show. He may also smoke like a chimney if he so desires.

The old Tivoli restaurant and concert hall on Dearborn street, just below Madison, which was made famous by the assassination therein of Jim Elliott, the prize fighter, by Jere Dunn (the slayer being afterward acquitted on the ground of self-defense), has long since passed into oblivion and on its site, the scene of so many wonderful revelries, a fine office building now stands. When the Tivoli passed away there was for a long time a dearth of music halls in Chicago. At present, however, there are at least three resorts of the kind that may be mentioned for the enlightenment of those who desire to investigate this class of entertainment.

Over on the North Side, on the west side of Clark street, a few doors north of Division street, there is an establishment which in some respects is unique. It is reached either by the North side cable cars or by hansom cab, the fare for the latter being fifty cents for each person. This resort is known as Engel’s, and for several seasons past it has been the favorite with the blooded youth of the North side as well as of a large clientele of chance visitors. It was formerly kept by a man named Matthai and adjoining it was a smaller resort kept by a Monsieur Andre. Andre is now dead and his place closed. On the site of Mr. Matthai’s triumphs Mr. Engel now lives and flourishes.

Enter Engel’s at any time between eight and nine in the evening, after having paid the modest admission fee of ten cents, and you will find the large hall, with its imposing array of polished tables and rows of seats, rather sparsely filled. The early part of the performance consists of a series of musical numbers rendered by the orchestra, the members of which now and then take a lay-off for drinks. By 10 o’clock, however, there is a perceptible increase in the attendance and the white-aproned waiters are kept busy rushing to and fro supplying the wants of thirsty customers. The visitor, meanwhile, has been supplied with a printed programme which tells him what artists, ladies or gentlemen, are to appear that evening, and the manner in which they will endeavor to amuse the auditors. The curtain rises and a pert soubrette with a very gaudy complexion and abbreviated skirts trips to the foot-lights and sings a song of true love or something else equally interesting. She may awaken a hurricane of applause and then again she may not. The stars of the troupe are usually reserved for the latter part of the programme. Meanwhile more drinks are ordered by everybody and by 11 o’clock a general spirit of hilarity prevails, which is testified to by the added enthusiasm with which the advancing and retiring favorites are greeted. The last hour of the entertainment, between 11 and 12 o’clock, is usually devoted to a more ambitious effort of some kind. It may be an opera in one act, a burlesque of the current follies of the day, or anything else that will give an opportunity for the singing of “catchy” songs, the execution of intricate dances and, above and beyond all, the lavish display of feminine charms. It is a pleasant custom of the place for young men of means, possessed of more money than sense, to purchase bouquets, which are carried up and down the aisles on trays by attractive flower girls, and cast the same upon the stage at their especial favorites. When a more than usually attractive damsel sings an unusually taking song the boards upon which she treads are often fairly deluged with flowers, and the degree of grace with which she stoops to pick them up enhances in just that ratio the warmth of the plaudits which she receives. It is perhaps unnecessary to say that during this latter part of the show the added attractions of the spectacle presented, together with the concentrated enthusiasm of the performers, all grouped on the stage at once, increases the general demand for refreshments. The waiters are fairly scurrying hither and thither and the consumption of stimulating beverages is something enormous. During all this “Papa” Engel, as he is affectionately termed by his coterie of more youthful patrons, looks on with a bland and satisfied smile, noting with evident enjoyment the merry spirits of his guests and the rapidity with which they are enriching his coffers.