Now we arrive at another important event in our theatre's history, the first engagement of John McCullough. For several years Lawrence Barrett and John McCullough had been the lessees and managers of the old California Theatre in San Francisco, and in spite of Barrett's known sagacity as a manager and notwithstanding the succession of brilliant stars presented at the California and the magnificent stock company kept to support them, the venture was not a financial success, and Barrett and McCullough were forced to succumb. Then it was that McCullough began his career as a star; what reputation he had made up to this time was as Edwin Forrest's leading man. "Larry" Barrett had "starred" some in the character of Elliott Gray in "Rosedale," now they were both out of a job and looking for engagement. Barrett went East and resumed his starring in "Rosedale" and gradually drifted into the Shakespearian roles. McCullough went to Virginia City, Nevada, with a picked-up company, and played his first star engagement. They took to the "genial" John very kindly there, and worked him him up a rousing big benefit; those were the palmy days of the Comstock and everybody had money, actors were at a premium in the camp and the old theatre was packed at every performance. The "Benefit" netted McCullough over two thousand dollars and "John" was glad he was an actor. He knew we had a fine theatre and a good company in Salt Lake, so he made arrangements to come and play with us a spell. On November the 26th, he opened in "Damon" and followed it in quick succession (playing nightly) with "Richelieu," "Hamlet," "Othello," "Shylock," Volage in "Marble Heart," "Richard III," "Robbers," "Macbeth," "Brutus," "Romeo and Juliet," etc., etc.
This was a very notable engagement, in more ways than one. It was notable for its length, covering a stretch of twenty-three nights; likewise for its strength, as George B. Waldron and Madam Scheller, who had both returned from a Montana tour, were added to the company to stiffen the cast—here we had really three stars and a strong, capable, self-sustaining stock company in the cast of all the plays during McCullough's first Salt Lake engagement, which lasted three weeks, terminating on September 17th. Again the stock company was left to its own strength and resources and even after this brilliant trio of dramatic artists, McCullough, Scheller and Waldron dropped away from us, the managers, with never-failing confidence and temerity, put forward the stock once more to plough through the billowy Christmas time, past the new year and on to February 10th, when we welcomed another acquisition to the ranks in the person of Miss Annie Lockhart.
Miss Lockhart was an English lady of liberal education, refined and cultured; and although she had not posed as a "star actress," she had an extended and varied experience on the stage. She had been for several years in Australia in the stock companies of Melbourne and Sidney, where she had met, loved and married an actor by the name of Harry Jackson. Harry was a talented character man, but the flowing bowl was his weakness and Annie in time wearied of his indiscretions and indulgences, "shook him off to beggarly divorcement," left him in San Francisco and came to Salt Lake in quest of an engagement. She must have made a very favorable impression on the managers, for they put her in as stock "star" up to March 1st, and she continued a member of the company up to her fatal illness in the following November. Annie Lockhart was at this time about thirty-two years of age, a woman of comely appearance and gentle mien, and if not great like Julia Dean, Annette Ince, or Charlotte Crampton, was always pleasing and satisfactory. She delighted in such characters as "Matida" in "Led Astray," the dual role in "Two Loves and a Life," "Janet Pride," "Peg Woffington" and kindred light comedy characters. Miss Lockhart was a very tasteful dresser; she always made a good appearance in her part. During her long stay with the stock company a number of stars appeared. The first after her engagement was James A. Herne, who opened on March 1st, 1869, in "Rip Van Winkle." Herne's "Rip" made a great hit and had an extraordinary run of five nights. Herne played ten nights doing "Solon Shingle," "Captain Cuttle," and some other characters. Then he was joined by Lucille Western who appeared as the leading stellar attraction supported by Herne and the stock company. Miss Western opened in her original character of "Lady Isabel" in "East Lynne." It was undoubtedly a great performance of the character, but the recollection of Julia Dean Hayne in the part was still fresh in the public mind, and she had made such a powerful impression in this character that Lucille Western was compared with her only to her disadvantage, notwithstanding she was the original "Lady Isabel." We had now in rapid succession Western's entire repertory which included "The Child Stealer," "Green Bushes," "Oliver Twist," "Flowers of the Forest," "Don Caesar de Bazan" (with Western as the Don), and "Foul Play." Miss Western's engagement proceeded smoothly and drew large audiences. One of the Herne-Western performances created a genuine sensation in Salt Lake. It was "Oliver Twist." In the scene where Bill Sykes (Herne) kills Nancy (Miss Western), both Herne and Miss Western sought to make the murder as realistic and blood curdling as possible. The murder is done off the stage in a room on the left; Sykes is supposed to beat Nancy to death with his ugly stick which he carries through the play. To carry out the realism of the beating a pad was made of a number of wet towels; these Herne struck with a piece of board, making a sickening thud which Lucille accompanied with a scream, each one growing fainter, until it became a groan, then Bill steals across the stage and off at an outer door and Nancy, almost dead, drags herself on till she gets to the centre of the stage, her face completely hidden by her dishevelled hair when she gets to position centre she turns her face which has been covered from the audience, throws her hair back and reveals her face covered with stage gore. On this occasion the picture was so revolting that several women in the audience fainted—everybody was shocked. The actress had made it as revolting as possible, thinking to make a sensation. She succeeded, but had she been a woman of finer feelings, instead of seeking to make the picture as horrible and repulsive as she could she would have studied how to make it effective without being repulsive. President Young was very angry over it. The picture was very abhorrent; there is no knowing what the physiological results were; it was rumored afterwards that a number of children were birthmarked as the result of it. The President gave orders that the piece should not be played again and sent messengers all over the city to tell the people not to go and see it if it was put on again. Of course the managers withdrew it in deference to his wish, but there is no doubt the house would have been crowded had it been repeated, for the prohibition only aroused a greater curiosity to see it; forbidden fruit, you know, is generally most hankered after. The play has been done here several times since President Young's death, but never in such a shocking manner.
On the night of the "Benefit" Lucille chose to show us what she looked like in male attire, so she put up "Don Caesar" and appeared in the role of the ragged cavalier. Before the play was over it was very apparent that Lucille had been indulging in the ardent, but she managed to get through without materially marring the play. The next night, however, was Charles Reade's "Foul Play." This piece was entirely new to the company, never having been done in the theatre before, so that the stock company was hard pushed with study to get their lines, but with their accustomed industry and regularity they were all au fait on this first occasion, and the play might have scored a genuine success if the "star" had done her part towards it; but she repeated her indulgence of the night before and to such a degree that by the opening of the fourth act she was in a very sorry plight. This act is on an uninhabited island; there has been a shipwreck and the hero and heroine have been washed or driven or blown onto this island and with a few of the ship's crew are the only survivors. As the act opens Robert Penfold (Lindsay) and Helen Rolleston (Miss Western) are discovered on a high cliff looking for a sail. The few survivors of the crew have gone in search of fresh water and something to eat, and the two leading characters have the entire act between them until the finale when a rescuing party arrives with a boat. Here was a dilemma; never was a stage lover placed in a more embarrassing position. It was quite apparent to him as they ascended to the cliff before the rise of the curtain that the stalwart Lucille was not in proper condition for climbing cliffs, more particularly stage cliffs, which are generally pretty shaky affairs, and the probability of a sudden and unlocked for descent was anything but a pleasing prospect to Mr. Lindsay. To still further embarrass him he discovered that Lucille's tongue was decidedly thick, in fact she could scarcely articulate. The curtain should never have gone up; it would have saved the management, the actors, and particularly Miss Western, a vast amount of humiliation; Miss Western should have been suddenly ill; or an announcement made to that effect and the audience dismissed and their money refunded if necessary; they should have been spared the agony of witnessing a really great artiste rendered imbecile and helpless by an uncontrollable appetite for liquor. But the curtain did go up and down went Lucille. At the very first step she made to descend she staggered, and in spite of all that her stage lover could do to steady her she made a sudden unsteady descent and landed in a kneeling position on the stage. Oh! the agony of that moment! With assistance she staggered to her feet, and now as she attempted to speak her first speech in the act, a new terror seized me. Her words were thick and inarticulate—not heard at all by the majority of the audience, who now began to realize the true condition. It was evident to everybody on the stage that she could never get through the act, and so the stage manager, after another abortive attempt on her part to say her lines, sent on the boat with the rescue party and the finale of the act was reached. Never was such a scene between a pair of stage lovers so horribly mutilated as this; never was an act so fearfully and unintelligibly abbreviated as this one, and never did a rescue party arrive more opportunely. It plucked the "star" from immediate disgrace, an embarrassed actor from despair. It was no wonder the audience remained for the last act, for they had before the end of the fourth act divined the true state of affairs and they stayed, curious to see how it would or could end. The last act was a court room scene and the star had to sit on the witness stand. She did not make a very intelligent witness but sat there with a bright green silk gown, with a face flushed to redness, and looking the picture of helplessness. How we got through that act, I don't think anyone engaged in it could have told, but with the prompter's assistance reading most of Miss Western's lines, we blundered through and the final drop came on the most inglorious and trying performance I ever had part in.
The manager promptly cancelled Miss Western's engagement, although she had one more night to play. The following night "Arrah Na Pogue" was put up with Mr. Herne in the part of "Shaun the Post," but as if the fates had decreed that this Herne-Western engagement should end disgracefully, if not disastrously, this last night went on record as losing one for the managers and a discreditable one to the solitary remaining star. Owing to the fiasco of the night before, a rather slender audience was in attendance to witness Mr. Herne's last appearance. Whether this fact had to do with the sudden indisposition and collapse of Mr. Herne on this occasion, there is no means of knowing, but the writer has ever been of the opinion that it was the very perceptible falling away of the patronage and his chagrin and vexation over Miss Western's conduct of the night before that wrought upon the actor's nervous system to such a degree that he declared himself unable to appear. The writer's dressing room was so situated that he could not hear what was transpiring on the stage. When the curtain time arrived and I came down to the stage all made up for "Michael Feeney," to my great surprise I was informed there was to be no performance; the audience had been dismissed owing to the sudden illness of Mr. Herne. Herne was seated on the big curtain roller and a number of the company around him, offering sympathy and assistance to the disabled star who appeared to be in great agony. I returned hastily to my dressing room and divested myself of Michael Feeney's habiliments, and resuming my own attire, was soon back to Mr. Herne's side and proffered my assistance to help him to his hotel. In the meantime a doctor, who kept his office a few doors west of the theatre, had been called in and he requested us to bring Herne to his office. There were few hacks or gurney cabs in those days, and so with the assistance of Mr. Hardie and myself, Mr. Herne managed with difficulty to reach the doctor's office. This doctor was one of the old school of practitioners and like Felix Callighan, in "His Last Legs," he proceeded to "cup" or bleed the patient. After he had relieved Herne of a quart or so of superfluous blood, he bandaged the cupping; gave the patient a dose of regulation stimulant and directed the patient to be taken to his hotel and placed comfortably in bed. It was a quarter of a mile to the White House and there was not a hack or vehicle of any kind available, so Hardie and I formed a seat for the sick actor by locking our hands together and getting the patient's hands over our shoulders, we carried him to the White House. By the time we got him up a long flight of stairs to his room, we were tired and winded, although Margetts and McKenzie, who had accompanied us, took turns at the carrying business. Scarcely had we got the sick actor in bed before a knock at the door (a sort of frightened knock) was heard, and as we said "come in" the door opened and Miss Western, clad in her night gown, with a shawl around her, timidly entered and inquired with great anxiety what the matter was. On being informed that Mr. Herne had been taken so ill that the audience had to be dismissed, and he carried home to his room, she became hysterical. Bursting into tears she exclaimed, piteously, "Oh, my God! This is awful! Oh, Jimmie!" addressing herself passionately to Herne. "I wish we were home with mother!" She evidently had not fully recovered from her carousal of the night before, and in her half stupid, half hysterical condition, moaned and prayed as if some terrible calamity had befallen her. Herne rapidly recovered from his illness and the co-stars left Salt Lake. Lucille never returned, but Herne came back early in 1874 and hovered between Salt Lake and Ogden for a long time, and finally drifted to San Francisco, where he became the stage manager of the Bush Street and afterward of the Baldwin theatre when Tom Maguire, "The Napoleon" of the Pacific coast, as he was called at the time, opened that popular theatre. That was before any of the Eastern managers had invaded San Francisco.
The Herne-Western engagement closed on April 17th and was closely followed by Fannie Morgan Phelps, who played from April 20th to May 20th, appearing in a new line of plays for the diversion of the stock company as well as the public. She opened in "Meg's Diversion," and proved to be a prime favorite. "The Deal Boatman," "Black Eyed Susan," she seemed to have a partiality for nautical pieces and succeeded in making the seashore heroines very attractive. Fanny stayed four weeks with us, then went to Montana. She never paid us a second visit although Salt Lake treated her very handsomely in the way of patronage. Mrs. Phelps was a widow; her husband, Ralph Phelps, a popular actor, was killed by a blow from a tackle block on board of the steamer coming from Australia.
Our next stellar attraction was Charles Wheatleigh, who opened on May 20th in "Sam," supported by Annie Lockhart and the stock company. Wheatleigh gave nine performances, the pieces presented being "Sam," "Lottery of Life," "Arrah Na Pogue," "After Dark," and "Under the Gaslight." Charley Wheatleigh was rather a brilliant comedian. His plays proved very popular and he played a memorable engagement.
The next engagement was one that eased the labors of the stock company, giving most of us a rest. It was the Howson Opera company. It was quite a family affair. The company consisted of Pere Howson, Mere Howson, John Howson, Frank Howson, Clelia Howson, and Fannie Howson. They were a very talented musical family and played light opera very well indeed. They opened in the "Grand Duchess," their cast being filled up with members of the stock company who could sing. They played from January 1st to the 20th, each opera being played twice or three times. The Howsons were well liked and made many friends, both in and out of the theatre.
Prof. Hartz, a magician, followed the Howson engagement, holding the stage from January 21st to the 26th.
On June 28th, 1869, George D. Chaplin made his first appearance at this theatre in "Hamlet," playing thirteen performances, closing July 10th in "Armadale." Chaplin made a very favorable impression and later played a longer engagement. He had been leading man for Ben DeBar in St. Louis, and was a versatile actor, fond of playing "Hamlet" and "Macbeth," in which, if not great, he was always pleasing. Then, as if to prove his versatility, he would put on a burlesque called "The Seven Sisters," and appear as the principal sister. George had a handsome face, and a very plump physique, and made up for a woman, he was a study.