Those were halcyon days on Union Square. The booking of tours was as attractive as it was uncertain, attractive because it was uncertain! Who does not find a hazardous game attractive?

One man I've not mentioned was in daily evidence on the Square. He was fair, always faultlessly dressed, in frock coat, soft black felt hat, low cut waistcoat (showing an abundance of pleated shirt front, ornamented in the center with a single, glittering, pure white diamond), peg top trousers tapering down to a pair of dainty feet encased in the latest Parisian patent leather boots. He was straight of figure and easy of carriage and affected a drooping mustache. Also he bowed pleasantly to everyone he met!

In make up he suggested the type of man drawn by Bret Harte in the "Outcasts of Poker Flat"—John Oakhurst, gambler.

Such was Jack Haverly, the originator of the scheme of forming a theatrical trust or, as it is now called, a syndicate.

The idea must have worked its way into the brain of a little, rotund, breezy chap who always accompanied the genial Haverly. He was ever at his side, taking notes, penciled and mental, running to the telegraph offices with instructions from his master, always returning for more, his little furtive eyes constantly wandering from one point to another, calling his master's attention to matters of detail too complicated for the busy Haverly sometimes to consider. The little lieutenant never overlooked anything. Like a trusty sentinel was this little aide upon whom the mantle of the master was soon to fall.

Haverly neglected the business which formed the nucleus of his success and sought bigger and more alluring schemes only to encounter failure. He speculated in mines which soon brought about his ruin and he died, penniless and neglected, leaving only the legacy of an idea. But the little corporal who took advantage of the suggestions absorbed from Haverly soon arose from an obscurity as dense as that of his Corsican predecessor and Charles Frohman jumped over the horizon and in a short period amazed the theatrical world.

It was in the fall of 1878 that I chanced into Haverly's office in the Fifth Avenue Theatre building on a matter of business regarding my first trip to the Coast. In his employ at that time were Gustave, Daniel and Charles Frohman and Al Hayman. They were the representative staff, and Haverly, from out the quartette, selected Gustave as his chief, considering him the most brilliant of them all! Daniel, the present lessee of the Lyceum Theatre, confined himself to conservative lines and was quite satisfied to manage a first class stock company and one or two minor attractions. Charles was the Atlas destined to uphold the family name and make dramatic history.

While planning the scheme that has since made many men millionaires Haverly little dreamed that his rotund employee was also eagerly planning as he unfolded his plans to the others.

(If anyone doubts that Haverly was the first man who first thought of a theatrical trust, he need only refer to an old lithograph showing this astute gentleman on an elevation and in his hands various wires, to the ends of which are attached ten theatres. Haverly controlled these houses and about six attractions. There he stands, smiling and manipulating the wires. This was the birth of the syndicate.)

In a few years Charles blossomed forth as a manager. I think his first winner was "Shenandoah," written by Bronson Howard. The world knows of his rapid ascent, so I won't dwell upon his wonderful and well deserved success. I write of the man as I know him and Charles Frohman is a man among men. Yet he is seldom seen among men! Only a few are privileged to enjoy his magnetic society. I have been one of these. I have met him in my own home, in England, in my dressing-room, at his office, on the stage, when he and I were producing plays, at dinners, supper parties—in fact under every circumstance and in all walks of life. And he is always the same urbane, kindly, patient creature. He laughs at failures and runs from success—runs, but only in quest of another! He is one of the most scintillating persons in the world. Geographical space means nothing to him. His word is a contract. I have never known such perseverance, industry and thought combined in one man.

I am one of the few who knew what he was up against when he began his American invasion of England. A conversation held in my presence in my home at Jackwood, England, between three men who have since been associated with him advised me of a conspiracy to ruin him. But Frohman overcame them all, beat them at their own game and his methods have been imitated broadcast throughout the British Empire. The little corporal has made himself a factor in London and his name as a rule spells success.

He has brought before the American public the most celebrated players of the day, made so only by his undying energy and patience. I have often regretted that even after I had begun my career I had not started under his management, for notwithstanding his great business capabilities he has a naturally artistic temperament, combined with a wondrous sense of humor—splendid qualities in these days of commercialism.

One time, nearly twenty-three years ago, I sent for him to come to my residence on West End Avenue, New York, with a view of placing myself under his management. He listened very quietly as is his custom and when I had finished asked how remunerative the season I had just closed had been. I showed him my books thinking that disclosure might lead to results. After examining them most carefully he placed them gently upon the table and with that merry twinkle in his eyes his friends know so well said,

"My dear boy, you don't require a manager; you want a lawyer."

Later I played under his management in London and I am happy to say I caused him no loss. The engagement was a most happy one and I look back to the association with joy.

During my several engagements at his Knickerbocker Theatre he was seldom in evidence. The first night he would take his customary seat in the rear of the balcony and at the end of the play a slight knock would come at my dressing-room door. "Come in," I would say. The door would open and his bright, cheery face appear. "It's all right," would be the assurance and he would disappear as quickly as he came.

During the run of "Nathan Hale" I had not seen him for four or five weeks. One night I came into the dressing-room, turned on the electric light and there he sat in a corner, all huddled up. "What in the world are you doing there, Charley?" I asked. He quietly replied, "I am casting a new play and came here to get some inspiration. Good night." and away he went.

My next association with him was in the production of "Beauty and the Barge" at the Lyceum Theatre. I often regretted that I had not listened to his suggestions and gone on the road with the play, but the sting of defeat was too bitter and in a hysterical moment I decided to abandon it.

He offered no advice, but, as usual, when his stars are unhappy in their rÔles, he left me to determine the fate of the play.

Charles Frohman is the most unselfish man whom I have ever met in the theatrical profession. A spendthrift, so far as productions are concerned, with no thought of pecuniary results, no sordid desires, a slave to his work, and with a thorough appreciation of an artist's value, he has done more to increase actors' salaries, he has produced more plays and received less reward than any manager in the world. The history of the American stage will be incomplete unless the name of Charles Frohman stands conspicuous among the many.

Will history do the little corporal justice?

I wonder!

About the time that the idea of Haverly's began scintillating along the horizon it became noised about that a theatrical syndicate was to be formed—to make the booking of tours less irksome; to guarantee continued time in the cities; to amalgamate forces which would lessen the burden of the actor-manager—in fact everything would be done to enhance the success of both player and producer.

The Napoleonic Erlanger was the instigator and promoter of the finally adopted scheme and he was aided by the subtle Klaw, whom I had previously known in Louisville as a reporter—a silent, but ever watchful person. Associated with these clever gentlemen were the elusive Al Hayman, then a wealthy and powerful man; Rich and Harris, of Boston and Nixon and Zimmerman, of Philadelphia. This sextette made a very powerful organization.

Being possessed of a little business instinct I saw the danger, or rather the supposed danger, that lurked behind these samaritans of the drama, but not until I was approached by Mr. Rapley of Washington, Charlie Ford of Baltimore and one or two suburban managers did I realize what was in the power of this coterie if they succeeded in carrying out their schemes. Those managers realized their peril and were quietly soliciting the stars not to play at any other theatres save theirs, as they feared the Syndicate would book the then strong attractions at opposition houses, offering as an inducement better terms and time. Being loyal, as I have always tried to be, I assured them that I would stick. Then it occurred to me that if I could organize a syndicate of players we might be able to strangle the contemplated move at its very birth.

I succeeded in interesting Joseph Jefferson, William H. Crane, Stuart Robson, Sol Smith Russell, Richard Mansfield, Fanny Davenport, Francis Wilson, Modjeska, J. K. Emmet and four or five other leading players—and they all promised to stand by me. We were to elect A. M. Palmer president. I was to be the vice-president. We were all to form an incorporated company and play as one body. I even went so far as to have the papers drawn up. I worked incessantly night and day. I even had sites picked out and money guaranteed for theatres in Boston, New York, Chicago, Cleveland and St. Louis, providing I could guarantee the appearance of these players for five years.

Everything was going better than I anticipated when one day I received my first shock. The "dear old Dean," Mr. Jefferson, had reneged! He went back on every promise made to me in New Orleans. Crane, after being my guest for a week in Baltimore, going over every detail and agreeing that it was "a great scheme," quietly and unknown to me signed a three-years' contract with Joseph Brooks, a representative of the Syndicate. One by one they all left me, with the single exception of Francis Wilson, who had to stay, as he had been blacklisted by Nixon and Zimmerman with whom he had quarreled.

I was disgusted and quietly folded my tent and departed for Europe to ponder over the ass I had made of myself and to wonder what the Syndicate would do to me by way of a punishment I so richly deserved.

Imagine my surprise when Abe Erlanger called me into his office one morning after my return from Europe and after greeting me most cordially said, "Well, my boy, you didn't pull that thing off." I answered, "No, but I tried hard, Abe, I can tell you." He said, "I know you did. Some of your companions have lied to me, and they will get their's, but you have told me the truth and the Syndicate will always be your friend; at least I'll be. Your terms will always be the same, no matter what you have to offer, your tours booked and all your business done through this office without charge."

The Syndicate has kept faith with me, with but one exception. Only one man out of the eight has broken faith with me. They are all, barring this particular one, my personal friends.

I would rather have Abe Erlanger's word than a contract from Rockefeller.

After all, what a silly fight I contemplated making and what a blessing it turned out that I did not consummate it. The theatrical syndicate has in fifteen years made more actors and managers rich, improved the drama to a greater extent, built more theatres and increased patronage more consistently than has been accomplished by any other factor during the last century.

The only fault that I have to find with the Syndicate is that through its dignified and thorough business-like methods it has made the theatrical profession so alluring that unreliable imitations have broken through the windows of the drama and allowed the draughts of unsavory methods to permeate the stage.

Other so-called syndicates have sprung up and nauseated the thinking public with vulgar and obscene plays which, I am sorry to admit, some seem to fancy.

But everything will adjust itself in time and the theatrical syndicate, headed by the brainy Erlanger, will destroy all enemies of the drama. Honest plays and playwrights will receive their just dues, wholesome plays will be in vogue, and the names of Klaw and Erlanger will be synonyms for Honesty and Justice.