The Art of Stage Dancing / The Story of a Beautiful and Profitable Profession

HOW TO LOSE WEIGHT

To get rid of superfluous avoirdupois is one of the necessary steps to beauty. A ponderous actress has a limited field. Certain character parts, a few vaudeville acts, a singing turn, or a burlesquing of her own abnormality (if she has the personality to carry it off with), and there her availability for stage purposes ends. But you cannot dance and waddle at the same time. "It isn't done." If you aspire to be the kind of stage dancer that the public demands and that we produce in our courses, you will have to submit to diet and exercise, the only coin of the realm that will buy physical beauty and perfect development. There is no other way. Medicines for this purpose are dangerous, because they contain poisons, like arsenic and mercury. Make up your mind to either abandon all hope of a dancing career, or to faithfully follow the prescribed routine of proper exercise and non-fattening foods. If you continue to take into your body the foods that build fatty tissue, no exercise alone will dispose of the excess fat that is sure to result. While our exercises in the studio do help greatly, they cannot entirely correct a basically wrong condition unless supplemented by proper diet. And diet alone is not sufficient, either; you must have the exercises along with it.

DIET TO DECREASE WEIGHT

You must partake of no soups, nothing that is fried, no gravies. The only meats that you will be permitted to eat are roast lamb, lamb chops, broiled or boiled white fish, or white meat of chicken or turkey; no other meats of any kind, no other fish of any kind.

Vegetables. You may have any green vegetables, especially plain spinach, carrots, string beans, lettuce, celery, onions, sliced tomatoes, never any stewed tomatoes or beets. But you can have beet tops. Radishes are hard to digest.

You are not permitted to have any pastry, and by that is meant pie, cakes or cookies; no candies of any kind; no ice cream or ice cream sodas, no sarsaparilla or ginger ale, no liquor, no smoking, no cigarettes. You are not to take any liquids while having your meals.

You are not to partake of whole milk, cream, or white bread. Use little or no sugar or butter. The only kind of bread that you are permitted to eat is the whole-wheat bread, gluten bread, or whole rye bread. You may take stale bread toasted. Gluten bread is good when toasted.

You are prohibited from taking coffee. You may take very weak tea—very weak—but there should be no sugar in the tea, nor should there be any cream in it. You may have a slice of lemon in your tea. Lemon juice can be squeezed on the lettuce instead of using sugar or rich dressing. Vinegar on the lettuce or spinach, and plenty of it, is permissible.

Buttermilk is excellent, and so is postum, but the postum should be taken without sugar and used with hot skimmed milk, not cream.

For fruits: take baked apple, applesauce, grapefruit, orange juice, raspberries, blueberries, huckleberries, a few strawberries—not many—occasionally.

About potatoes: no potatoes except a baked white potato, occasionally—no sweet potatoes, no French fried, home fried, hashed or creamed potatoes—no mashed potatoes; the only kind you are permitted to partake of being the well-baked white potato, and you may eat the skins if you like, but do not butter the potato.

For cereals: take bran, bran flakes or hominy—but the hominy must be cooked for one hour and a half. That is the best cereal for your diet. The hominy should be flavored with about one-half teaspoonful of currant jelly, put into the hominy and stirred up, just to give it a little taste. Do not use any cream, milk or sugar on your hominy, which is really the most nutritious cereal when cooked this length of time.

I am reproducing here the Ned Wayburn daily menu for a reducing diet. It is one I have worked out carefully and studiously and used successfully on many of my pupils and myself. By means of this diet and my studio exercise I reduced myself from 262 pounds to 207 pounds in twelve weeks—a loss of 55 pounds, and felt better when I got through than I did when I began, but, I do not advise anyone taking off weight too fast. With my method of reducing all of the unhealthy fatty tissue will be gotten rid of before the remaining firm muscular tissue will be distributed about the body. You may get thinner in the face first, and about the thighs last. Be patient; it may take you six months or longer. Unless you have gland trouble or some other serious disorder it will go in time, provided you will work to get rid of it and stick to the diet for not less than three months. Those taking the conditioning work lose an average of about one pound per week, while those who are trying to build up gain about one-half pound each week after they have gotten rid of all the unhealthy unnecessary tissue, those underweight frequently losing five pounds before they begin to show any gain. It will surely bring back youthful buoyancy and insure your health and figure for the future. After you have succeeded in getting down to the right poundage you can go on my balanced diet for those who have reduced, but you will still have to do about ten minutes of my exercises every morning, and you must never over-eat again.

Hamburger steak with tomato sauce (2 cakes); string beans or asparagus; 1 thin slice rye bread; 1 small pat butter; glass of skimmed milk or coffee with skimmed milk; raw apple, orange or pear.

Note: If overweight is excessive omit all desserts given in menus except raw unsweetened fruits.

Any one of the above breakfasts contains 350 calories of heat or energy. Any one of the above luncheons contains 500 calories. Any one of the above dinners contains 650 calories. The day's total will be 1500 calories.

You will no doubt be interested in hearing the story of a young lady, Miss Ann Constance, who came to me a little over a year ago to be reduced. She was sixteen years old, was five feet five inches in height and weighed one hundred and seventy-nine pounds. At the end of nine months, under the treatment I am recommending for those who are overweight, she tipped the scales at one hundred and nineteen pounds. Her photographs, in this book, taken "before and after," will tell the story better than I can in words. Miss Constance is in better health today than she has ever been before in her life; and she has become an exceedingly good dancer—recently with the Greenwich Village Follies and at this writing just beginning a career in the movies with the Famous Players at their Long Island Studios. She is, however, only one of many girls whom my diets and exercises have helped.

ANN CONSTANCE.
(Before she entered the Ned Wayburn Studios.)

ANN CONSTANCE.
(After she entered the Ned Wayburn Studios.)

We have never failed in reducing any of our pupils who came to us for that purpose, but we have to have their coöperation, of course. Quite recently we had a very puzzling case that challenged the Sherlock Holmes in us, and I think it will interest you to know how we solved it.

A young lady of really huge proportions, resident of another city, called on me at the studio accompanied by her mother, and placed herself in my charge for reducing. I studied her, arranged a special diet for her and she entered the class in limbering and stretching. I watch the progress of all my pupils, and expect them to record the change in their weights every week. I watched this young lady with especial care, and was dumbfounded to notice that she was steadily gaining in weight. She never lost a pound but kept on adding fat to more fat all the time, notwithstanding that she was working her head off in the classroom—when she came to class. She skipped seven lessons of the twenty in the first month's course, reporting for only thirteen, finally insisting that the lessons were not doing her any good.

I felt that there must be something wrong and wrote the mother of the girl about it, as she had requested me to do. She told me that the girl had a charge account at a certain hotel where she took her meals. I asked the mother if it would be possible for me to get the meal checks signed by her daughter, which would show just what she had eaten. The meal checks were turned over to me. I found that the girl had been eating the pro hibited things; that about once in two weeks she had followed my diet, and at every other time she had eaten everything she liked—enormous meals, consisting of starchy foods and all sorts of desserts—mostly sweets. I also found out that she had been taking some of the other girls at the studio along with her, fattening them up. The mother was inclined to be easy with the girl. I called her father's attention to the matter, because the girl paid no attention at all to me, and as far as I could see was hurting the school. Of course she was only fooling herself.

I insisted that we were not going to fail with her, and her father came to New York to see me. About this time the girl was taken ill, suffering with acute indigestion and finally the mumps. On my advice her father took her home. Lately I have heard from the young lady, and she wants to re-enter the school. If I decide to take her back, she will have to keep strictly to her diet and attend regularly, which I believe she is now ready to do, as she has gained much weight since leaving here.

Lillian Russell was a beautiful woman, with a personality and a stage presence. She was fond of the good things in life, and was obliged to watch carefully a tendency to embonpoint. She has gone on record as saying that lots of walking, lots of dancing, and two meals a day was all the reducing exercise she ever employed. She advised a light breakfast, no luncheon, and a good dinner, with no between-meals, no "piecing," no candy. The chief trouble with this plan is, that one is apt to become ravenous by dinnertime and over eat at that meal, and thus undo what you are attempting. The best way is to follow the Ned Wayburn diet faithfully, and take three meals each day, just as I have suggested.

DANCING AND GOOD HEALTH

THE dance is its own justification. It needs no excuse, nor do the many millions who share its delights need to be told how beneficial it is to them. They know that they are healthier and happier men and women, and therefore get more out of life and give more to others, because they dance. If the purpose of life is, in the words of an immortal document, the pursuit of happiness, surely those who train their bodies to move in harmony with natural laws are fitting themselves for capacity to enjoy all that life brings. To live well requires good physical health, for which a prime requisite is an abundance of pleasant exercise. Not alone to those who are free from the necessity of the various forms of exertion that are termed "work," but to every human being, exercise is as necessary as food. To those whose daily callings involve substantial physical labor, the need for exercise is just as great as for those of lighter employments. And nowhere can there be found so satisfactory a bodily exercise as in the dance. Sports, outdoor games, horseback riding, etc., have their place, but are available to a comparatively small percentage of all the people. Now that the introduction of the automobile has turned America into a nation of riders on soft cushions, the need for proper exercise has become more important than ever.

To live well, breathe well, sleep well, the body demands activities that will develop and strengthen it. The most delightful form in which this want can be supplied is in the dance.

The universal desire of mankind is for enjoyment; the qualification of physical, mental and aesthetic needs. To enjoy requires the possession of the Roman prime essential; a sound mind in a sound body. So closely are physical and mental health related, so complex the reactions of a disordered nervous system on bodily health, or the effect on the mind of physical weakness, that the wisest doctors do not pretend to say this illness is either wholly mental or physical. They do know that some violation of the laws of right living, some neglect to follow natural impulses, is chiefly responsible for the long list of ills that afflict mankind. And they are unanimously agreed that proper diets and an abundance of exercise are far better than cures; they prevent disease.

It is not necessary to go into physiological details to explain why the well-nourished body demands suitable exercise. That it does is an admitted fact. The question that confronts the millions who know that their bodily condition is not what it should be is: "What must I do to make myself stronger, and capable of enjoying life better?" The obvious answer is: "Dance."

In dancing there is found a form of exercise that stimulates circulation of the blood to the remotest finger tip; that develops, under proper training, every muscle; that aids digestion to perform its functions of supplying nourishment to every tissue of the body, and brings to the dancers the glow of vigor and animation. These effects of the dance have long been proved by the experience of millions of men and women. Other millions who have not yet tried it will sooner or later make the experiment. They will find that life takes on a new outlook, that instead of listless indifference they are actively interested in many things that they formerly ignored; that with restored bodily vigor they have quickened minds and better appreciation of all their daily contacts with their fellows, and that they are enjoying each day's existence with a zest never known before.

The dance is a physical, mental and moral upbuilding. It brings a greater capacity for success in the daily tasks and duties. It stimulates and restores. It shows the door to the glooms and welcomes gladness. It brings self-confidence in undertaking new enterprises, and banishes the mental depressions that result from bodily ills. It forms new circles of agreeable companions, and affords opportunities for congenial friendships. It avoids wasted expenditures for nauseous drugs and doctor's bills. It puts humanity in harmony with fundamental natural laws, and makes of all who resort to it healthier, happier and better men and women.

SHOWMANSHIP

DO YOU know what "repeaters" are in the language of the stage?

They are people who like a show well enough to patronize it more than once—well enough to spend their money to see it a second or a third time, perhaps many times, and bring their friends to enjoy it with them. There are many more "repeaters" on occasions when attractions have real merit of one kind or another than the casual public dreams of. The show manager watches for them and spots them, and rejoices greatly when he finds them abundantly in evidence, night after night, for he knows then that he has displayed real showmanship in his selection of a cast, a play, and in its rendition. The frequent return of a pleased patron accompanied by his companions attests the success of a show in stronger terms than any other one thing could possibly do. I go on record as saying that no show was ever a real financial success without it produced "repeaters." It is a real test of genuine showmanship, recognized as such the world over by every shrewd theatrical manager.

Good showmanship consists of the ability to anticipate the verdict of the playgoing public. The successful showman must have his fingers on the public pulse in matters that concern entertainment. He cannot afford to guess. It is too expensive. He must correctly diagnose the case in advance of prescribing for its needs if he expects to be successful.

The wise showman always plans his play to have the very widest possible appeal, for the public is many sided, and a single narrow idea will fail to touch it at all points, as it must do if it is to have a popular acceptance. He knows, being a wise showman, that people come to his playhouse for entertainment, pleasure, laughter and relaxation, and not for a learned discourse on some abstract or wearisome theme. There are proper places for the lecture and the "big wind," but that place is not in the theatre of the wise showman. It is his business to create his proffered entertainment into a valuable piece of property that shall declare actual cash dividends at the box office. That is being a successful showman, and he who does this exhibits real showmanship.

The successful stage dancer must possess showmanship. That is why the subject is brought into this book on stage dancing—that dancers may be made to realize a need of which they may be wholly uninformed.

It takes showmanship on the part of the dancer to get fully in touch with the audience, get down to their level, if you like to say it that way, and never go over their heads. Successful dancers always use good judgment in their offerings. The same kind of dance does not do for vaudeville, musical comedy, revue and opera. Each requires its own kind of dance. The revue has its own audience, the musical comedy one of another character, vaudeville still a third kind, and opera still another. Here is where the dancer's showmanship comes in—to recognize this difference and adapt the offering to the audience before whom he or she appears.

Dancers who would profit to the fullest extent in their profession must learn how to absorb this essential element known as showmanship, in the various ways in which it may be done.

Reading along right lines is very important. Read the dramatic reviews and criticisms in the daily press, and read regularly the leading theatrical weeklies. Identify yourself with your profession in this way; read "shop" and talk "shop." Make it a point to see and study other dancers, in vaudeville, musical comedy, opera and revue. Meet your fellow dancers in their own habitat, behind the scenes. The actual experiences that you are recommended to undertake in your own behalf in the chapter I have called "Making a Name" will be invaluable aids to you in harvesting a lot of the best grade of showmanship.

Travel will help you learn a lot. The traveled and successful theatrical person is always alert, quick, bright, posted in all important matters that concern the profession and all who are connected with it.

Those who take my courses as students of dancing are given a wide mental as well as physical training, to prepare them to cultivate showmanship that shall complement their skill as dancers when they become professionals. I call my lectures "inspirational talks," for I do want what I say about their future careers to be inspiring to them, and encouraging and beneficial. I speak to my pupils from many years of stage experience, and I know if what I say is heeded and given full consideration they will be better dancers and secure better engagements, and do so in less time, as a result.

HELEN FABLES

Good showmanship in dancing consists also in being able to "sell" one's own personality in a dance. Select your offerings to suit your public. Put in the effective "tricks" in your exits that are so important in inviting applause. And learn to leave your audience "hungry" for more of you. Let them go away with a wish that they might see more of your dancing. That is your cue in successful showmanship, my dancers. Let the audience come back to see the same show again in order to once more enjoy your pretty work. That means "repeaters," and repeaters, as I told you, mean successful showmanship, and both artistic and financial success.

It is never good showmanship on the part of the dancer, or of an actor or actress in any part, to let the audience know that you know they are out there. The way you handle an audience will have much to do with the opinion of your work that will be held by the big men in the theatrical world, who may be among those present at any performance, you never can tell when—and they, remember, are hiring good dancers now and then. Their judgment of how you handle an audience is worth consideration.

And bear in mind, too, that the most important part of your dance is the very end of it, the finish, upon which always depends the applause and the recall. You like to earn your bow, and that is right. Take your bow in front of the audience gracefully and quickly. Don't milk the audience dry by your bows. Never do that. Get general applause, but don't work up a lot of bows. Come right back, bow modestly and do a short dance, to acknowledge the applause. Such good work as that will stand the inspection and secure the approval of every theatrical manager whose approbation you value. An audience does not want to see you take bows. Bows simply gratify the vanity of the artist.

So, you see, there is quite a bit of showmanship for the dancer to study and acquire, and it is very much worth while for all stage dancers to put it into practice, early in their career.

There are entertainment values that the showman himself must be able to create from his available material, which he will find and develop in dialogue, lyrics, tuneful music, voice, singing, dancing, characterization, costumes, settings, scenery, properties, lighting, and everything else connected in any way with the stage picture or the presentation of his offering. The publicity and exploitation of the show will tax his showmanship from another angle and is of great importance to the success of the play or the artist. The selection of proper music also has much to do with the appeal to the auditors. No musical show can ever be made a success without beautiful, appealing melodies, or "song hits," as we call them.

And now one final word of advice to my dancers: Three minutes is long enough for your solo dance. Concentrate your efforts. Do not present a long-drawn-out and padded dance that will weary everyone. Brevity is the soul of good dancing as well as of wit, and you will be wise to heed this from the very start of your professional stage career. Never show a dance to any prospective employer unless your dance has been thoroughly set and properly rehearsed with whoever is to play the music, pianist or orchestra. Never offer any excuses at such a time. Be sure of yourself, and only do one dance, your very best one.

“WHO’S WHO” IN THE SHOW

TO THE members of an audience attending a theatrical performance it may appear as though the actors were the entire show and the only principals concerned with the carrying on of the affair. Of course the man in the box office, the ticket taker, and the ushers have been in evidence, and there is the orchestra and its leader. Others than these have not been seen or heard, and so perhaps are given no consideration. Who the "others" may be, or if there are any others, and of what their services to and interests in the show may consist, would puzzle many theatre-goers to determine with any degree of accuracy.

Let me take you "behind the scenes," as you may call it, but "back-stage," as we say in the theatre-world, in this matter and disclose the forces that move the puppets on the stage; the powerhouse that generates the current that moves the whole machinery of production. The intricacies of theatre management may come as a surprise to you.

Chief of all comes the owner, the promoter, known to the profession as the Theatrical Manager. He it is who selects the author of his contemplated production, and also the writer of the lyrics and the composer of the musical score. He engages the producer, the creative genius who realizes the possibilities of the production and directs and rehearses it, and the principal actors and singers, and some of the members of the chorus as well, but the producing director usually recruits his own chorus and dancers. A most important step is the choice the manager is to make of a producer, or production director, on whom is to devolve the entire handling of all matters back of the curtain line from the day of his selection to the rising of the curtain on the initial public performance. He is well aware of the importance of this choice, and places his reliance only on a man known to be thoroughly experienced and competent in this line of work. Having selected him, the theatrical manager steps out of the picture and the producing director assumes control. And this control is absolute in his domain. Not even the power behind the throne, the man who placed him in his position, is allowed to interfere in any way whatsoever with his orders or plans. The wise theatrical manager possesses full knowledge of this and keeps hands off. Should he venture to countermand a single order of his producer, the latter would be certain to say "Take your show and direct it yourself," and walk out.

And the reason why no producer of the first magnitude will brook interference, opposition or disobedience from any source is, that he is held strictly responsible to the owner for the form that the show takes and for the manner in which it is performed. His own reputation is always at stake in every production of which he accepts control. He makes the show a success, if he is that kind of a producer, and is entitled to the credit of successful accomplishment. If, on the other hand, he gains a reputation of "breaking" rather than of "making" the show, his career is abbreviated in short order. His job depends upon making good; he is the "realizer," the dominating and master-mind of the show.

Let us name some of the duties that devolve upon the ubiquitous producer:

He must know by heart the book, lyrics and music of the entire play, and bring out to the full, in all of the actors, principals and chorus, every possibility that their parts, acts, songs, dances and groupings permit or demand. All the comedy must be developed and emphasized, and the personality of the cast studied and properly brought to the fore. The principal artists engaged for the production are under his sole direction. He creates all solo and ensemble dances; gives all readings of the dialogue, sets the dialogue syllable by syllable, devises nearly all the entrances and exits for everyone on the stage, indicates the tempo for all songs and dances.

He must be capable of inspiring the lyric writer and composer, the costume designer and the scenic artist. He must possess imagination, suggest the locale, color and architecture—the atmosphere—of all scenes, select the color schemes for all costumes and scenery. He makes up all orders for scenery, costumes and properties, and must, to that end, know both qualities and costs; prices per yard of silks, satins, and every kind of material required in the production, whether for wardrobe or in the scenic effects. He must order the correct number and size of shoes, stockings, tights, wigs—everything, in short, that the company supplies to the players, which is usually all save the street clothes which they wear into the theatre. The orders for properties include all furniture, rugs, bric-a-brac, draperies, and everything else that serves to dress the stage or the performers. If period furniture is called for, the producer must be competent to say what is correct for the locale and the period.

He must furthermore make out a plot for the switchboard, to control every lighting "cue." There will be a front light plot for the "floods" and "spot-lights" as well as separate plots for side-lights, overhead lights, and all the rest, to be thrown on or off at a certain cue. This necessitates his knowing how many and what colors he requires in front of each lamp for his many different lighting effects.

For each act the location on the stage of all scenery and furniture must be definitely determined, as well as the exact place for each performance, and the producer determines the location of the same, and the different heads of the mechanical staff mark the stage ground-cloth in colored crayons or water-colors for the guidance of the stage carpenter, property man, and electricians, upon whom devolves the duty of setting the stage, props and electrical equipment. The producer is absolute monarch behind the curtain line, his dominion extending not only over the actors, singers and dancers—the entire company—but also over all members of the mechanical staff and the orchestra. He alone is responsible to the owner for the successful presentation of the performance. His is a man's size job.

How many American producers of the supreme type, capable of the bigger things, are there in the United States?

I know five. And I know them all. Five out of 110,000,000 people. How many do you know of?

W.C. FIELDS

The Stage Manager takes the show from the Producer after the opening performance and is thereafter responsible for everything connected with the show back of the curtain line. He it is who presses the buttons that run the curtain up and down, and gets the performance under way and keeps it moving, changing the scenery and lights exactly as arranged by the Producer. He is accountable to the Company Manager for the way every performance is given, and maintains a close supervision over the principal artists and the chorus, sees to it that they stick to their script and do not interpolate matter of their own or "guy" each other or the audience. Actors or actresses who are insincere in the parts assigned to them should be barred from the professional stage. There is evidence of "guying" an audience at times in some of the best companies on the part of some players of established reputations who should be ashamed of themselves, and who certainly should be punished for such offenses. I have known some star comedians to go on the stage intoxicated, which is an unpardonable offense, and for which such persons should be driven out of the show business. If an actor would dare do such a thing in a company directed by me, I would go before the curtain and denounce him to the audience and refund the price of admission. An actor who would do a thing like that is called a "ham," which means a common person with no mentality or breeding,—a type that is practically extinct now in the theatre.

The Stage Manager is responsible for every facial makeup, and will personally pass upon each individual's appearance. He is usually an actor of long experience, and knows makeup thoroughly, but not the straight makeup for youth as taught in the Ned Wayburn Studios which is the makeup I perfected when glorifying the celebrated "Follies" beauties. He is capable of maintaining discipline, and is the watch dog behind the curtain. He commands respect by reason of his knowledge, experience and good judgment. He has presence of mind and is able to handle any emergency that comes up. He must thoroughly know his business. He is versatile. Like the several instructors in my studios, who have had long stage experiences and specialized training for their jobs, the Stage Manager is able to answer any question that can come up concerning stage matters, and he is able to understudy and play most any part in an emergency.

The Assistant Stage Manager is under the Stage Manager. In the larger productions there are often two assistants. He has charge of the chorus, male and female, and is required to make all calls, to get the principals and chorus to the stage. He calls "half hour," thirty minutes before the overture time, "fifteen minutes," fifteen minutes before the overture time, and "overture," and when the overture is called everybody in the opening of the first act must come to the stage. He does the clerical work for his department and keeps the record of attendance, etc.

The Musical Director, who is the leader of the orchestra, is responsible to the Stage Manager for the way in which all music is played at every performance, as well as for the correct rendition of all vocal numbers on the stage. Every tempo throughout the play is his personal responsibility, and the composer exacts of him the most careful and effective execution of the score as written. It is he, too, who conducts all music rehearsals. He and his entire orchestra are members in good standing of the American Federation of Musicians, and the amount and time of their service in the theatre are definitely agreed upon and duly set forth in a signed contract in established legal form and binding upon both parties.

All shows carrying scenery require the services of a Stage Carpenter, who is the custodian of all scenery and scenic effects, drops, solid drops, cut drops, leg drops, gauze drops, borders, exteriors, interiors, ceilings—all flat stuff and set stuff. (I am using the usual stage nomenclature for these, assuming that you will know the meanings of most of them, can guess at others, and won't care especially if one or two are not in your vocabulary. Stage jargon has crept pretty well into the understanding of the general public, till now most theatrical terms are matters of common knowledge.) The scenery is set for each scene on the exact floor marking indicated by the producer. Stage-hands, known as "Grips" in stage parlance, set the scenes.

There is usually a second stage carpenter, or second-hand assigned to work at the side of the stage opposite the stage carpenter, and a boss flyman, whose station is up above in the fly-gallery. He gives the "flymen" the cues to lower and raise the scenery as required, upon receiving signals by "buzzer" or "light-flashes" from the stage.

The property man, known as "Props," has charge of the furniture, rugs, pianos, telephones, everything of this nature, as well as of all hand-props, such as bric-a-brac, books, flowers, fruit, food for stage banquets, table silver and china, everything in fact that the play requires—even to a prop baby or any animals required. It is his duty to see that all props are in place for each act, ready to the hand of each player as the action calls for them.

There is also an Assistant Property Man, who has charge of the clearers, the men who set the "props" and clear off the trappings after each act, preparatory to setting the scene for the act following. At the close of the last act of the play the stage is again cleared, both of props and scenery, to permit unobstructed passageway. This is a state requirement, enacted as a fire-prevention measure.

The Chief Electrician operates the switchboard and is the custodian of all lights on the stage; that is, of all portable lamps, of all that actually light. A lamp that is merely a prop or a decoration and not used to yield light is under the control of props and no electrician will touch it. The Assistant Electrician has the responsibility of all lamps in the theatre other than those on the stage.

Nobody ever touches a light in the theatre. A call goes out for the electrician if anything goes wrong with a light anywhere. Nobody ever shifts or moves any part of the scenery except the stage carpenter or the crew under him. None but props ever places a piece of furniture on the stage. If you want a chair moved half an inch you must call the property man to do it, otherwise the several unions involved will immediately and without any question stage a drama of their own that is not down on the bills; one that may really turn out to be next door to a tragedy, since the penalty for failing to observe union requirements would undoubtedly be to stop the performance, walk off the stage and fine the stage-hand who was guilty of over-stepping the bounds $100.00 and ban him from the union.

Every musical production has its wardrobe mistress, and sometimes, if large enough, her assistant, both good seamstresses. The dressing room assigned to them is called the wardrobe. All costumes are in the care and charge of the wardrobe mistress. She alters and keeps them in repair, and sends out to be pressed or cleaned when occasion demands. The wardrobe women also have a union.

The Company Manager represents the owner of the show and controls the "front of the house." He has nothing whatever to do with matters back of the curtain line, which are strictly within the province of the producer or stage manager. He has enough cares and important duties of his own without going back stage to find more to add to them. Moreover, any effort on his part to dictate to the producing end would cause an immediate rupture. He knows that, and attends strictly to his own affairs. Probably in no other craft, trade or profession is the line so carefully drawn between the business end and the producing end as in the show business. It is the Company Manager who is the custodian of the funds, handles all the finances and acts as paymaster. He maintains a close supervision over the sale of tickets sold at each performance and with the aid of the resident house manager and house treasurer "counts up" the tickets directly after the sale has stopped for each performance, usually after the curtain goes up on the second act. He makes up the payroll at the end of every week and pays the company on Saturdays during either the matinee or evening performance, as is required by the standard theatrical contracts.

The Company Manager is the watch dog of the show from "front." The box office receipts tell him a story that he must heed, and he is quick to catch its warning. There comes a time when even the most successful play must be withdrawn from the stage or continue at a financial loss. He is a wise company manager who can correctly determine the exact point to call a halt and terminate a run for the best interests of the owner and all others concerned. And it is because he can do this that he holds the important position that he does. He is almost invariably an experienced showman. Furthermore, his multiple duties require him to be a diplomat if he would maintain his standing for preeminence.

When the company travels, he arranges the transportation, provides rail or other transportation, supervises and controls everything connected with the entire trip. He is held financially responsible, and signs many contracts. The Company Manager handles everything connected with money and transportation and is an important cog in the wheels of things theatrical.

There is a press representative connected with the show who finds plenty to do in attending to all newspaper advertising and advance writeups, publicity, photographs, billboard posters, photograph lobby frames and other display matter, as well as all other printing, including the newspaper ads and the distribution of printed matter. The fixing of the prices for tickets, which is most important, is usually his duty, provided he is a shrewd showman. The Press Representative, or Director of Publicity, or "Agent" as he is known professionally, is generally found about two weeks in advance of the company arranging every detail to anticipate a successful opening or presentation in each city, or "stand," as it is called.

So much for the personnel of the show's management and working crew.

Now we will say our company has just arrived in town and taken over the theatre in which it is to appear for an engagement.

It finds at the theatre a resident house manager, a resident house treasurer, in charge of the local box office, and his assistant treasurer, who acts at times as relief for his chief, opens the box office in the morning, and sells the gallery tickets at show time. There is a house music director, a permanent chief usher and the other ushers, front ticket takers, an advertising agent, bill poster, a day and night stage door tender, who are usually watchmen, who are custodians of the building, besides the janitor and cleaners.

RAY DOOLEY

There is no conflicting of authority by reason of the arrival of our show upon the scene. It is understood by all hands that the show staff takes precedence of the house staff, and all work together for the general good, to put over a perfect and complete performance and get the public's patronage and approval.

One thing you will do well to remember if you ever become a member of any theatrical business or mechanical staff:

If you have occasion to purchase anything for the show or theatre at any time, be sure to get the company's stage manager's OK, or order or voucher of some kind in advance. It is an invariable rule of the craft that any purchase of over five cents made without this formal sanction will not be paid by the management, but will be considered as a donation—however involuntary—on your part.

There is one very important man behind the curtain at every performance on every stage, whose rule is arbitrary and absolute, and who is not on the company payroll. This is the house fireman, a city officer, with the power of the city and state behind him. The fire regulations are posted in plain sight on every stage. "No smoking" is one peremptory order that admits of no violation. Woe unto the actor or actress, principal or chorus girl, who tries to sneak a smoke in a dressing room, if found out! The fireman is using his nose as well as his eyes, and the familiar odor of a surreptitious cigarette will lead him straight to the culprit. Mr. Fireman is authorized by law to enter any dressing room under such circumstances, and no matter what the state of your toilet, he will exercise his authority, enter your room—and remove you forthwith. Fine or imprisonment, or both, are the legal penalties for violation of the no smoking law, and for using a flame or canned fuel, in most theatres. Principals have before now been taken off the stage in the midst of a performance and landed in jail, necessitating the dismissal of the audience. It is a mighty important man who can do a thing like that, and consequently the fireman commands the profoundest respect of every member of every company, from the chief all the way down the line.

No man is ever employed back of the curtain line in any first class theatre who is not known to be of good character. Those who are old in the theatrical business know this fact. If you harbor any other idea of these men, get it right out of your mind. Every theatre manager today demands that his employees be qualified in respect to character as well as in ability.

Now that I have taken you back of the curtain line and out into the front office and shown you just how the wheels go 'round that make the show go, you have become aware that there is something more in the theatre business than a mere group of good actors and singers and dancers doing their best to please you up on the stage. The more the machinery of the stage is kept out of sight, the better the management and the greater the satisfaction, both to the folks behind the curtain and the audience out front. Your attention should not be distracted from the play, the opera, the spectacle, by the intrusion of any noise or the appearance of anything or anyone not concerned with the actual presentation. The drop curtain or the tableau curtain should move silently and without revealing the human agents that manipulate them.

Scenes and sets should be made in silence and out of view of the spectators. No person should ever be in evidence on the stage, not even momentarily, save only the actors, whose presence you expect and welcome. Otherwise the illusion is interrupted, perhaps destroyed—and ours is an art where illusion holds a major place in imparting pleasure. Such an extraneous element would also break the continuity. It is not tolerated in the best houses.

So you see there is a definite reason why the "men behind the guns" in the battery of the stage are out of sight and so, often, out of mind. The hard work of the producer and his faithful subordinates is shown only in the superior attainments of his troupe and the ensemble as presented to your vision. They, themselves, the men who finance, prepare, rehearse and drill the show into shape, are seldom in evidence—never on the stage.

PROFESSIONAL COACHING AND PRODUCING FOR AMATEUR ENTERTAINMENTS

I AM often called upon to "put on" an amateur show, and the call is not confined to New York alone, but extends to many far distant cities. These are usually community or social affairs, charity organizations, college shows, or entertainments by the employees of some large establishment. Once I have put a show across for these lovers of theatrical activities, the habit of continuing the plan of giving a show seems to have become established, for with many cities and clubs and associations the call continues year after year, an annual or periodical production under my direction being demanded. This indicates that I have been successful in directing the non-professional in a theatrical way, and I am sure it is so, for I have handled the whole situation and the "company" just as I would if they were going on the professional stage, taken personal charge of everything, coached principals and subordinates, put the show across, and been on hand to see the results.

Spread here before you is the story of just how I organize, coach, develop and handle an amateur company in a musical comedy or revue performance to occupy a full evening's time on a theatre stage; from the first "call" of an untrained troupe of inexperienced actors to the final curtain of the actual, completed performance.

MOONLIGHT BALLET, FOLLIES OF 1923

First of all, I make a call for anyone and everyone who would like to take part in the entertainment. This call is usually made in a hall, sometimes in the ballroom of a hotel, but usually in a large hall where there is a good floor and a piano. I always have a pianist in attendance.

I take the people who are going to take part in the ensemble first and arrange them according to their height, always having the shortest person to my left. Sometimes a great many people will try out for a thing of this kind. I have had as many as three and four hundred at many of the calls, and possibly more than that. I have always arranged them, as I say, from my left according to their height.

Then I get them to stand in a huge semi-circle before me, as large a semi-circle as the hall will permit, and if I have too many for that one semi-circle, I put the others behind them into other semi-circles. I begin by placing my first semi-circle shoulder to shoulder. I watch their shoulder heights and their head-lines all the way along the semi-circle. The semi-circle will begin at my left, cover the whole side of the hall—whichever is the longest side—and the end of the semi-circle will be at my extreme right. I have my table and chair in the center, but near the wall opposite this semi-circle. The pianist I usually have on my left-hand side, if it is convenient. He must have his piano turned in such a position that by looking slightly over his shoulder he can see me as well as the group.

I number the entire group, beginning with number one and running consecutively from my left as far as they will go. Then they are required to sit down in the same order. Each person must have a seat and they occupy the same seat at each call, after the elimination process. Before I do anything else I have their names taken, with addresses and telephone numbers; the first and last names directly opposite the number that I have given them. Then they stand up and I arrange them in straight lines across. Sometimes I will have eight in a line across, and I may have six lines of eight to begin with; sometimes eight lines of ten, and perhaps as many as twelve in a line, all depending on the shape and size of the hall.

After they have been arranged in perfectly straight lines one directly behind the other, the next thing I do is to teach them the eight different directions, which are so important. Let me recall them to you: (1) left oblique, (2) left, (3) left oblique back, (4) back, (5) right oblique back, (6) right, (7) right oblique, and (8) front. They are taken through these directions until I am sure they understand them thoroughly. Then I divide the foot into four different parts, just as I do in my courses: the toe (the end of the shoe), the ball (the half-sole), the heel, and the flat. I always make them stand with their knees together, their heels together, the left toe pointed to left oblique, the right toe pointed to right oblique, hands down at their sides, the weight equally distributed between the two feet, heads up, and looking straight front on a line with their eyes. I insist upon their standing this way. Every time they come to their places on the floor during rehearsal, I remind them of it.

Now, I begin to show them simple movements in order to get them to shift their weight easily and to give them confidence. First the hopping step. When they do this I can immediately tell just how far they can go in my dancing—by giving them what I call the hopping test. They hop on the ball of the left foot eight times and they repeat that eight more times, on the ball of the right foot to a 4/4 tempo. Then they hop on the ball of the left foot for eight counts, and alternately for eight on the right foot, through a number of refrains or popular choruses. I caution them to be careful about bending the knee when they land the weight of the body on the floor, because many of them have never danced before in their lives. They know nothing about it, but by bending their knee they make a cushion for their weight, and they must land on the ball of the foot, not on the heels.

After I try them out doing that, I put them in a circular formation, where everybody can see me, for I stand in the middle of the ring. I turn them toward the left hand, and I start them around in a circle on the hopping steps; left hop, right hop, left, 2, 3, 4; right hop, left hop, right 2, 3, 4; alternately through, in time with the music of a popular 4/4 tune. This test has never failed with me. I can immediately find the clumsy, awkward ones and select the apt ones. This, of course, I do in my mind, making mental notes of their numbers. After I get them back in a straight line at the end of the hall I call out the numbers of those who have qualified, but I do not hurry to do this because many times they are nervous at a first tryout. So I encourage them as much as I dare to. One has to be tactful at such times. But right away you can find your awkward people and also those who have a natural grace. I can pick them out immediately.

They move around in a circle. Many times I will stop them and divide them into smaller groups, all the time noting the ones that get it and the ones that don't. I will get to know number 1. I will watch her or him, and I will say to myself, 1, 3, 5, 8, 9, 14, 16 and 18 have it; the rest haven't. Then I ask them to sit down. I can find out just about the way they are going to do my work from this little tryout. I never individualize my criticism.

The main idea is to find out the ones who are interested. There are always some people who come to these calls who are out for a lark, and they must be eliminated at the first call. After the hopping test I am able to pretty well decide just which ones are going to get the ensemble work—and very often you will find some splendid natural dancer in a group like this.

Then I have another little test that I use in a 2-4 movement. Two hops on the left, two hops on the right, two on the left and two on the right. Get them to do that to a 2-4 tempo.

After I determine in my own mind those who are most apt, I ask the members present if they have ever done anything in the way of any individual stunt, either a dance or a song, or if they ever played a part in amateur theatricals. Usually a few will stand up, and I bring them around my table one at a time to get an idea of what they have done. I get them to write down their names and addresses and exactly what they have done or what they think they can do, gradually getting the whole thing on paper. In this way I am getting all of the available talent organized.

In the meantime I am watching the members of the ensemble. I am trying them out in some of the simple routines. I gradually work them into it before they realize it. I get them all enthused about it, and through long experience I am able to tell which group is going to be what I call my dancing girls or boys. They will be the smallest ones, five foot one, five foot two, three and four. Then I pick out those who are a little slow in picking up the steps, and they will be the "mediums," the sort of "in between" ones. Then I pick out the very best type of show girl, usually the taller girls, who can't move as fast as the smaller girls, but who have grace and good figures, and who are good looking. Until I have the three final groups, of course, I make all the members of the ensemble dance. The show-girl will be more dignified perhaps, with a stately bearing. Naturally I pick out the girls who have natural aptitude to do my work properly and make them the real dancers. I have eight, twelve or sixteen of these in a set, never any more. Then the others who don't dance quite so well will be the mediums, and then the show-girls who can stand in the back of the stage, or at the corners, and dress the stage or do "parade numbers," or walking numbers. After I get these sets worked out I give them their next call and take the principals in hand.

Then I have copies of the manuscript, and usually carry along three sets of the parts. If it is a play, I have the play completely read. If it is a revue, I have all of the skits and numbers with me.

I have the principals come in and sit down in a semi-circle before me while I seat myself behind the table on which I keep my papers and the brief case in which I carry the "scripts," parts, etc., and we have a meeting similar to the meeting that was held with the ensemble. The pianist is there, and they bring along their songs. Whoever is going to be the stage manager of the company is also there. He is usually one of my coaches that I carry with me. The local casting director and usually the president or chairman, also sit at the table at the left side of me, with my own assistant (the "coach") at my right.

Now, those who want to read parts for me are put at one side into one group; that is, those who wish to try to handle important parts in the dialogue. Then I place another group together which expects to do solo dancing—at the other side. They are called principal dancers. Then I make a separate group of those who expect to sing, or to do any sort of a musical specialty, or any kind of a "stunt" that might be included in the show. I have had the greatest variety of specialties in a show. I have had them do magic, burlesque magic, play ukuleles, and all sorts of stunts which I have placed effectively in a show. We had a man in the Princeton show who did a little trick with a cigarette that was a scream. I saw him standing around, and I asked him if he could do a specialty. "I don't think so," he said. He was smoking a cigarette at the time, and he said "This is the only thing I can do." He took the cigarette from his mouth, broke it in two, lit both ends of it, and he was smoking with both ends of the cigarette sticking out of his mouth. Then he put another cigarette in his mouth and did the same, and finally he lit the third cigarette without using his fingers but from the other butts in his mouth. Well, I had him do this stunt in the second act, in a proper spot, and it stopped the show every performance. Some of those connected with the show told me before the show that they didn't think what he was doing was going to get over, but I told them in as nice a way as I could to mind their own business, as I always do, and I put this "bit" in. I put a 50-ampere spotlight (very strong) on his face, and he did just this little trick beautifully. Well, there was more talk about that than anything else in the whole show. It had commercial value and it helped the box office. People went especially to see him do it. We had stunts there that had been planned for a year, and they didn't get as much favorable comment as this one little trick did. Of course, it was properly fitted in, cued in, as we call it, just as everything else has to be in the right spot.

WILL ROGERS

I only point this out to you to tell you that sometimes in arranging your recitals or shows—whatever you may call them—you will find a lot of talent which you would otherwise overlook unless you go about it the thorough way that I do. I do the same with a professional organization, because after all I am a builder of entertainments and I must know entertainment values in order to make a success of my business. I must be able to recognize and fully realize talent when it is present. You must have a lot of patience to do this work. Some people are able to do lots of things that will prove entertaining. After all, what you are concocting is an entertainment. You should always aim to present something different, something original or novel that will surprise and amuse your audience, not the hackneyed old stunts that everyone has seen time and again.

After I get them divided into groups and get their names down, I go through the tests for principals. I will always hear the songs first; but before you hear them sing they have to put down on paper what they have ever done before, how much training they have had, and so on. Then they go over to the piano and sing. But I usually try to be tactful and let amateur singers tryout for me with no one listening, to spare them embarrassment. From the piano they come up to the table and sit down before me. As they are sitting before me, I note their appearance. I engage them in conversation. I note their teeth, mannerisms and personalities, incidentally classifying them in my mind and casting them in my mind's eye. If they are in any way possible and I feel that they should be given a chance, I make a note of it and the songs I want them to try.

Then I grade them, number 1, number 2, 3, 4 and so on. All of those who are trying for the leading parts are graded as they should be, but always on paper so that I will not forget or overlook anyone.

After I am through with them I go through the solo dancers the same way and mark them and what they can do. I get them down on paper. As I see them dance I find out which is the best dancer, with the idea of placing her or him in the show to good advantage. That's the important thing in planning your show. They all have to be placed in a certain sequence in the show. If the best numbers are all in the first act, you kill the act or acts that follow. The success of any show is in the way it is laid out. It is the placement of the personalities, and what they are given to do—when they do it—that makes or mars the entertainment. One with a great deal of personality can go into your show, and if not cast properly he or she will kill the rest of the show. Casting must be done with good judgment and common sense.

After I have my list of singers and dancers worked out, then I pick the people who are capable of playing the parts. Some of them may have had previous experience, but never perhaps professional coaching. Now the reason why these amateur shows are usually so rotten is on account of the incompetent coaches who put them on. It is always the fault of the stager if the show doesn't go over. Some of them are terrible. They don't know anything about the show business. They don't know how to lay out a show. They don't know how to put on the dancing. They don't know a comedy scene when they see one. They do not understand how to rehearse dialogue or how to set the inflections of the voices which make the lines get over as they should. These coaches are usually people without any actual staging experience, consequently they are not competent to rehearse anybody. Amateur organizations all over the country are beginning to realize the necessity for professional stage direction in order to register success, both artistically and financially. It is not nearly so costly to employ my organization as it is to have some other which is only giving a very poor imitation of us, which means a thoroughly competent staff of real producing directors, who are up to the minute with their dance routines and everything else required. If you will take the trouble to investigate you will no doubt discover that the coach you have employed has been to my school for a very short time, just in order to get our latest dances and ideas in staging. Why get this service at second hand? It will cost no more to get it from me direct.

Before you let them read a part for you, you should first hand them a copy of their part and tell them to go to one side and sit down and read it through thoroughly. Some of them don't know anything about a part. A copy of a part is typewritten, and the dialogue that they are to speak begins at the margin. The cue that they speak on begins about an inch away and there is a dotted line in front of the cue, but always what they are to say starts at the margin when parts are properly typewritten. Parts are made up of what we call speeches. It may be four lines or four words or two words or even one word. "Yes" is a speech. What they should know is what their speeches are. What they have to say is called a "speech," and in parenthesis must always be the "stage business" or what they are to do. Stage directions should always be in parenthesis. They are sometimes typed in red ink on the first copies of the parts.

When they study the dialogue, they should try to fathom the speech; that is, they should form a mind's eye picture of what the line conveys to the audience. That is how I teach them to study. They read a sentence. A sentence is supposed to express a complete thought. They must get the proper inflection by reading it out loud. No method of expression is brought into play yet. By that I mean no pantomimic by-play or facial expression. They are only reading at first. In most of the amateur shows, the players never do anything else but read the parts. They read, crossing back and forth whenever the coach thinks they ought to cross, and it doesn't mean a thing. I watched that very thing in an amateur show not so long ago, and it was inane. Nobody should move from one place on the stage to another without a reason for moving. There is a reason for every inflection of the voice. A person with common sense will read a part intelligently, but only a person with a dramatic spark inside of the body will be able to act a part naturally. If the dramatic spark is not there, no human being will put it there. If it is there, a real director will discover it and awaken it and make much of it.

After this first reading rehearsal, where the parts should be cast, more than one person can be tried out for the different parts. I make a call for the dialogue rehearsal where I walk them through the action, holding the parts in their hands as they walk through the physical action of the play. You will find that each one has his or her own idea as to how it should be done. I have them speak their lines distinctly and slowly at first. While this is going on I do not allow any visitors. Not one word is spoken except by the person who is reading the lines, or myself. I make notes as to who reads the parts best. Many times you will find that the local folks will have ideas about who is to play this part or that part. I pay no attention to them at all. I always use my own judgment about such things; in fact, about everything concerning the production. I don't allow anybody else to dominate the show or arrange anything for me. But you must know your business before you can assume such an attitude.

The Art of Stage Dancing / The Story of a Beautiful and Profitable Profession

About This Book

HOW TO LOSE WEIGHT

DIET TO DECREASE WEIGHT

NED WAYBURN’S DAILY REDUCING MENUS

MONDAY

BREAKFAST

LUNCHEON

DINNER

TUESDAY

BREAKFAST

LUNCHEON

DINNER

WEDNESDAY

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LUNCHEON

DINNER

THURSDAY

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DINNER

FRIDAY

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LUNCHEON

DINNER

SATURDAY

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LUNCHEON

DINNER

SUNDAY

BREAKFAST

LUNCHEON

DINNER

DANCING AND GOOD HEALTH

PROFESSIONAL COACHING AND PRODUCING FOR AMATEUR ENTERTAINMENTS