Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1897-11-20
TOO MUCH GRAND OPERA

| IF the play house which has been Civ
ing nightly performances next to my
boarding house is not moved pretty soon.
/ or prohibited. I will have to move my
| toothbrush and slippers elsewhere. That's
ALL"
Inc speaker was a young man about
town, who looked II he needed sleep
ard rest. The Star reporter to whom he
| made the statement regarding the play
house was surprised.
why, I thought you were stil at the
place on street. between 9th and IO.h,
said the reporter knowing that there was;
no theater in that locality.
Il have never left it," said the young
nan with the tired expression, but the
play house is there all right. If you &C.
CT pied the second STORY back room as do
You would realize it. Over in an adjoining
back yard is the fiat roof of a chicken
house. or something of the sort. with a
fence around it. the top Of the inclosing
fence coming flush with the roof
1t makes one of the finest cat theaters
you ever saw. and they hold nightly per-
formances there. which for all around
bum singing and acting would eclipse
band of the Hoota Hoota natives, on a tour
of half-night stands through the Upper
Congo district. with bread fruit for admis-
sion tickets. The performers are hart
workers all night. and when they get start
ed on the fiat roof of that chicken house,
1t would take nothing less than an earth
quake to move the performers and audi
ence. Every one of them is star per-
former-right out in the open. you know
and they have lusty voices. which would
make the heartiest female baritone sick
with envy.
Il used to pride myself on the lot of brio
a-brdc and knick knackS / had in my
room. II looks now like an empty garrett
In deserted tenement. The only thing
left, believe is giided horse shoe above
the door. This. by the way, is securely
lnl tn fhA Sc
bcssed inscription Home, Sweet Home
worked by my little sister, and framed for
her sake, went out the window long ago. to
pay tribute to the voices of the furred
Thespians in the adjoining back yard.
THE first night performance was given
by the cats l remember 1 was dreaming
that was up in the Klondike, picking up
nuggets on a mountain side Suddenly l
imagined there was an avalanche, and then
tEat l was on a railroad track. with an
engine whistiing at me fendishly. only a
few feet away. From this 1 glided into
another dream, which was that l was
present at the Centenary Concert Of the
Steam Whistles of the World.
when l became more fully awake I
thought that all of the victims of Jack the
Ripper had come to life, and he was killing
them over again, and they were rehears-
Ing their shrieks. Murder was being COM
mitted, l was certain. but it was only
murder of melodious sounds.
'The cats had begun their season of
grand opera on the roof and judging from
the number which lined the top of the
fence about the roof it must have been
"A large and appreciative audience The
leading tenor was a large black cat, who
constantly occupied the cente. of the stage
and lifted up his voice without fear or
favor. A bootjack never phased this feline
James Owen O'Connor. with the high
pitched voice. and dumb bells. far from
making him stop, did rot cause him even
to hesitate Occasionally other members
or the company would sing their parts,
and the audience would join in with buzz
saw effect, which caused the stone deaf
roomer above me 10 rise and knock at my
door to know If gas was not escaping
somewhere about the house. While he could
not hear the sounds, he could smell and
taste them.
The only thing 1 can hope for is that the
grand opera may not have long run. the
performers may be taken with fatal cpl
demic, CT the play house burns down. It's
no use to try and drive them away. 1 have
a nice landlady, and like the location of
my rooms, but grand opera every night in
the week. Sunday not excepted, would
wear out the strongest"