Daily Yellowstone journal., 1888-04-25
6 AT THE ONE NIGHT STANDS.
Actor W. j. Florence Gives Some of HIS
Experiences at the Cheaper Theatres.

Actor w. j. Florence Gives Some of His
Experiences at the Cheaper Theatres.
The n night stand is commonly made
In q theatre owned and managed by some
fairly successful bill poster or alderman
o. real estate Spectator, who knows as
much about a play house and the way it
ought TO be run as l know about the
Sanskrit originals of Mr.. Arnold's poems.
A good many of these theatres are ON
upper floors above shops and offices.
They are approached by flights of narrow
and winding stairs, and | never go out of
one. without thanking my stars that there
has been no fire or panic during the
night. Queer things happen in these up
stairs places once in a while. John Nc
Cullough was playing "Hamlet'i in a the
atre OF this sort some years ago. Just
beneath the stage was afurnace, attached
to a bakery or something Of that kind, l
believe, and when the trap was opened
for the grave digger to get in, a gush Of
hot air came up that was sitting. The
curtain went up, and you can wager
that the grave digger made lively time
getting that pit ready for Ophelia. The
sweat poured from the poor man in
streams. and he piped his little song and
whistled his little speech and got out OF
there with a jump. When the queen
came TO scatter flowers on Ophelia's cof-
fin the hot air caught them up and
waited them into the flies, for they were
made of tissue paper. The curtain cut
off that scene with a roar from the audi
ence.
In these cheaper theatres the manager
does not attend TO business. but lets the
house run ITSELF" and whatever you
need in the way of properties you must
beg, borrow, or buy, for he cannot be
looked to, or, at least, relied on, TO fur
nish a sofa, a fire screen. or a pitcher Of
water. The only time that heis punctual
is when the business nan is counting up
receipts. The stage in these theatres
is usually small, the scenery bad, the
picked up orchestra set your teeth on
edge. the programmes are cheaply printed
and full Of errors: Ii ghting, heating, ven
tilation and cleaninI are subjects that the
proprietor has not brought himself 3
consider, and you begin your nights
work under most discouraging circum-
stances. You change your clothes in a
perfect sty Of a dressing room, with cold
air whistling through partitions Of un-
painted boards; you wash in a battered
tin basin; you make up with a light
or only n side of your face, and there
is no lock N your door. Then you 20 TO
your hotel-aud there's another precious
circumstance.
Hotel life in cities, as a rule, is not
bad, especially il you have your pick Of
rooms and name your hours for meals,
but you should see some of the hotels out
west, and, worse still, down south. To
all appearances they are comfortable and
clean, and a glimpse of the dining room,
with white cloths and porcelain and black
waters in place, is like n promise Of
merry sunshine; but wait until your din
ner comes-hog. hominy. hog, water,
hog, dry bread, then more hog. Every
thing swims in pork fat. aud the cook
throws in sand and cinders by way Of
seasoning. A troupe that struck a town
in Georgia one day when the regular
dinner was over could not get a blessed
thing 10 eat but bacon-no eggs, vegeta-
bles, bread, butter, coffee. milk or tea
Just fried bacon. The star of the troupe
glared over the table and went away,
followed by the rest, and bought some
crackers in a grocery.
Then there are the hours. You get
through your play at II, go TO your hotel,
rise at 4 or 5 to catch a train for your
next stand, get there at noon, have
something 10 eat, skirmish around for
properties, perhaps rehearse, eat your
dinner, go 10 the theatre and act and
often have to take your next train d.
reetly after the performance. But there
from these g~rumblings one might fancy
an actors life to be all shadow and no
sunshine. | have not dwelt on the pleas
ures Of the life because they are more APP
parent, and everybody knows them-the
kindly appreciation Of the public, the
good words one has from press and peo-
pie, the odd and interesting sights and
adventures one meets in travelling. the
information that even the dullest picks
up when he knocks around The world for
some years, the friends one makes and the
intervals Of ease and comfort that come
when an actor has established his reputn-
ton and his play has become popular.
An actor life, like most mems lives. has
more pleasure Than rain it.-W. j. Flor
ence in New York World.