“For God’s sake come to me quick. There’s a woman in my room!” Again he became quiet and the attendant said,
“It’s all right now.”
“Yes,” I replied: “she must have been a snake charmer.”
I always found insane audiences very appreciative. Probably the majority of them were “out of their head” on one subject only. Certainly their enjoyment of song and pantomime was very keen, and their interest in my exhibitions of ventriloquism was quite pathetic. Whenever I threw my voice in a certain direction, some of them would look under chairs and tables, in search of the supposed person who was talking. The poor creatures took such hold of my sympathies that I exerted myself to amuse them optically, for the eye is the surest route to the wits. I would, while on the platform, make quickly different articles of colored paper and give them to the patients, whose pleasure was as childlike as it was sincere.
On one of my visits I was startled by coming face to face with a notice which read “Almshouse wagon reserved for Marshall P. Wilder and party from 12 to 4.” On inquiry I learned that this wagon was a Pooh Bah among vehicles, serving by turns as patrol wagon, ambulance and hearse, so it took some jollying of myself to ward off gruesome imaginings and keep my risibilities in working order.
At one of the Almshouse entertainments at which the room was packed, I said, “This is the first time I ever knew a poor house to be such a large house,” and the audience “caught on” as quick as a flash.
The only painful experience of my years as an entertainer among the public institutions was at the Home for Consumptives, at Fordham. The patients were cheerful and spirited, as consumptives always are, and they seemed to enjoy my jokes mightily, but laughter usually brought on violent fits of coughing, so I would have to wait from five to ten minutes after a joke, before I dared venture another.
I always recall with pleasure a visit to Elmira, where I had the brightest and most responsive audience of my whole career. It was at the State Reformatory, and there were three or four thousand prisoners in the audience. Mr. Brockway, the Superintendent, said he would like me to talk about ten minutes, and asked kindly if that would be too long to talk continuously. Before I appeared he said to the boys,
“We have with us this evening Mr. Marshall P. Wilder. How many of you know him?”
Fully three-quarters of that great assemblage raised their hands. It was quite flattering to be so well known in a “profession” as cautious and exclusive as theirs. I found my audience so quick, appreciative and responsive that instead of restricting myself to ten minutes, I learned afterward that I had talked an hour and thirty-five minutes!