Charles Frohman: Manager and Man

by Isaac Frederick Marcosson; Daniel Frohman

But this night promised a sensation even greater. As the crowd in the lobby thinned, the strains of the overture crashed out. Through the open door the little boy saw the curtain rise on a scene that to him represented the glitter and the glory of fairyland. Beautiful ladies danced and sang and the light flashed on brilliant costumes. With their unsold books in their hands, the two boys gazed wistfully inside. Charles, always the aggressor, fixed the doorkeeper with one of his winning smiles, and the doorkeeper succumbed. "You boys can slip in," he said, "but you've got to go up in the balcony." Up they rushed, and there Charles stood delighted, his eyes sparkling and his whole face transfigured.

During the middle of the second act Gustave tugged at his sleeve, saying: "We'll have to go now. You follow me down."

With this he disappeared and hurried home. When he arrived he found the home in an uproar because Charles had not come back. Gustave ran to the theater, but the play was over, the crowd had dispersed, and the building was deserted. With beating heart and fearful of disaster to his charge, he rushed back to see Charles, all animation and excitement, in the midst of the family group, regaling them with the story of his first play. He had remained to the end.

That thrilling night at "The Black Crook," his daily contact with the actors who came into the store, his frequent visits to the adjoining playhouses, fed the fire of his theatrical interest. The theater got into his very blood.

A great event was impending. Almost within stone's-throw of the little cigar-store where he sold stogies to Tony Pastor was the Old New York Theater, which, after the fashion of that time, had undergone the evolution of many names, beginning with the Athenæum, and continuing until it had come under the control of the three famous Worrell sisters, who tacked their name to it. Shortly after the New Year of 1869 they produced the extravaganza "The Field of the Cloth of Gold," in which two of them, Sophie and Jane, together with Pauline Markham, one of the classic beauties of the time, appeared. Charles had witnessed part of this extravaganza one afternoon. It kindled his memories of "The Black Crook," for it was full of sparkle and color. Charles and Gustave had made the acquaintance of Owen, the doorkeeper. One afternoon they walked over to the theater and stood in the lobby listening to a rehearsal.

Owen, who knew the boys' intense love of the theater, spoke up, saying: "We need an extra page to-night. How would you like to go on?"

Both youngsters stood expectant. They loved each other dearly, yet here was one moment where self-interest must prevail. Charles fixed the doorkeeper with his hypnotic smile, and he was chosen. Almost without hearing the injunction to report at seven o'clock, Charles ran back to the store, well-nigh breathless with expectancy over the coming event. With that family feeling which has marked the Frohmans throughout their whole life, Gustave hurried down-town to notify their eldest brother to be on hand for the grand occasion.

Charles ate no supper, and was at the stage-door long before seven. Rigged up in a faded costume, he carried a banner during the performance. His two elder brothers sat in the gallery. All they saw in the entire brilliant spectacle was the little Charles and his faded flag.

Charles got twenty-five cents for his evening's work, and brought it home bubbling with pride. To his great consternation he received a rebuke from his mother and the strong injunction never to appear on the stage again.

This was Charles Frohman's first and only appearance on any stage. In the years to come, although he controlled and directed hundreds of productions, gave employment to thousands of actors in this country, England, and France, and ruled the destinies of scores of theaters, he never appeared in a single performance. Nor had he a desire to appear.