THE REVOLT OF THE ACTORS

The following is Francis Wilson's account of the birth of the Actors Equity Association:

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THE ACTORS' STRIKE

So far as his relations with managers were concerned, by 1912 the professional status of the American actor had become pitiable. Encroachment after encroachment had followed so swiftly that the actor had become little better than a "hired hand," something in the nature of a serf.

Despite his many protests in 1915 that nothing was further from his intentions than domination of the theatrical profession when he " cornered" the theaters and took complete possession of the "booking interests," the manager had now become not only supreme but autocratic. This was a reversal of the previous state of affairs when all, or nearly all, actors were managers which made for understanding, apprecation, and kinship. Control had passed into the hands of those who, having no opinion of the drama as an art, no sympathy or respect for its followers, were exploiting it as a commerce. They held, still hold, that all actors are temperamentally impossible and childlike. Since the advent of The Actors' Equity Association, however, this opinion is in process of swift amending.

This new regime in the theater has brought more formal business methods, perhaps more stability than its predecessors maintained, due to the fact that the newcomer is permanently located while the actor-manager was more or less a bird of passage. But in his contract relations with the actor, without whom nothing avails in the theater, this Syndicate manager brought to the conduct of his affairs a code of business ethics that was contemptible, the type of thing against which Roosevelt once waged war to the betterment of
the country.

These managers proudly declare themselves to be " shopkeepers." The mere mention to them of the word " art," whether with a small or a large " A," in connection with the conduct of a theater is like waving the conventional red rag before the equally conventional mad bull. There is no way to put into print what one of the richest and most powerful of modern managers gave me as his opinion of acting as an art, adding that he sold performances to the public as a department store sold soap to its customers. Furthermore, he regarded his coarsely frank statement as a mark of honesty and freedom from affectation.

It seemed extraordinary to me that these Syndicate managers not only acknowledged that their contracts with actors were unfair, but gloated over it. They waved the matter off airily with such remarks as :
"Yes, the contract may be one-sided, as you say, but you don't have to sign it. There it is, to be accepted or refused." More outrageous still was the admission and the defiance: "Yes, you are entitled to better treatment, but let's see you make us give it to you! ." Refusal to accept these contracts meant setting one's self against a monopoly, a " closed shop, " thoroughly organized to protect its interest, and it meant also being put on a list, perhaps, with those who were "not available for engagements." Such a thing as a " blacklist " has always been strenuously denied, but, if it was never actually written out, there was certainly the strongest mental reservation and individual declaration concerning it.

Arrogantly enough managers sat back and exclaimed with "Boss" Tweed: "What are you going to do about it?" And for a long time actors did nothing about it, could do nothing about it, because they were weak and unorganized while the managers were banded and strong.

In whatever light the manager chooses to regard himself, " shopkeeper," " business man," or what not, there is no question but that he is in charge of a public institution which wields a powerful influence for good or evil. If he directs that influence so that it be detrimental to public morals and decency, he then becomes a public menace.

The theater is the people's sweetheart. It is a rational, beautiful amusement, a great emotional power with which long, long ago the world made up its mind never to part, resenting definitely any effort at separation.

That he, rightly or wrongly, has assumed the guardianship of this temple of the people, that he owes any civic duty to the public, the manager seems not to be aware. The thing he knows and appreciates most about the theater is that it is a profitable " business " and that he is in it " for all it is worth." That he is responsible in any way to the public for what he produces or for the effect upon the audiences he seems wholly unaware, shouting insult and defiance at those who dare, as he puts it, to tell him how he shall conduct his business. But it is not wholly his business. It is the business also of the actor, and, likewise, the business of the public.

The manager has chosen a public institution in which to invest his capital. Out of this investment he hopes to make money, does make money, but that does not lessen his responsibility to the public. There is no objection to the manager making money. He deserves to do so for the courage of his investments in a business which, to the uninitiated, and sometimes to the wisest, is dangerously speculative, but there is every objection to his making money by abasing the public mind, as is not infrequently done, in a sordid appeal to indecency.

But what of the actor in this respect ? In what way , if at all, does he differ from the manager? Is he, as is sometimes asserted by the manager and the ignorant layman, tarred with the same stick for mere money getting? or does he seek the stage because he has aptitude for it, and fights his way into the medium through which he can give expression to the only gifts he possesses, as personality, magnetism, power of presentation?

It may be that there are managers actuated by finer artistic ambitions in connection with our stage, and there is much in William Gillette's terse declaration that "a manager must be either commercial or crazy," but I should like to say that in all my life I have never known an actor to whom, by comparison with his art, money was not a secondary consideration. His willingness to make a nomad of himself, his submission at times to humiliating conditions under which to labor, conditions of terms as well as surroundings, go a long way to prove this. And this he does for love of the thing he is doing, to compass the opportunity for self-expression. In that wide respect, at least, he differs in my opinion from the majority of manager.

I should think this interjection of doubtful value if some manager or person ignorant of the facts were not constantly declaring that the actor maintains the same attitude toward his profession as the manager.

Because of the unjust conditions spoken of, a great gulf had opened between the manager as employer and the actor as employee. It could not be otherwise. This gulf had been created, of course, not merely by the manager's opinion of the actor's art - that the actor has always borne with contemptuous indifference-but by the dishonest business relations forced with increasing severity upon the actor.

The old order of things was destroyed, the old harmony disrupted. The old relation between actor and manager had vanished never to return. The new relations, if more business-like, were far less sympathetic, and for that reason alone died and dies much of the actor's artistry. Actors were no longer engaged, they were " hired." Likewise they were never released, but " fired." Except for the few who vitally fitted into the business schemes of the new regime of managers, actors were boorishly made aware of the distinction. If anything but " strictly business " was expected of the managerial newcomers, that expectation, with rare exceptions, has been sadly unrealized.

For the increased demands made upon the time and application of actors there was no compensation, and injustices had become so flagrant as to be intolerable.

Originally, actors gave two weeks' rehearsal gratuitously, at the beginning of a season which lasted forty or more weeks. Now it had become no unusual practice to exact ten, even twelve weeks' rehearsal, without pay! . Sometimes at the end of this period the manager has decided not to produce the play, and has arbitrarily dismissed the players without recompense. He had used the services of the actors to discover that the play was not worth producing and felt under no ethical or financial obligations. When I explained this to some business acquaintances who wanted to know about the "row" between the manager and actor, they could hardly credit the statement. Quite often, if the public did not make an immediate response, the "season" would be summarily closed after one or two performances and the actors paid only for these performances. Think of it! Four to eight weeks' rehearsals for one or two nights' pay! There was an instance or two of actors rehearsing as long as twenty weeks, for different managers, without pay, the plays in which they rehearsed having been abandoned. This seemed perfectly fair to the manager's warped sense of justice. The actor was helpless. Of what weight was his individual objection, if he dared to make it, against organized and arbitrary management?

Engaged to play leading or other roles, actresses were obliged to lay out hundreds of dollars for costumes only to find that it was all a dead loss in a " season " that lasted but a few nights, or two or three weeks.

Until the " matinee performances " were inaugurated, actors played but six times a week. Then followed the Saturday matinee which soon became an unpaid part of the week's work. Boucicault began the midweek performances, which, being "extra," he always paid for. But Boucicault was human. With the incoming of the modern type of managers, all payment for the Wednesday matinee ceased. Matinee performances became more frequent. Managers immediately made their unilateral contract read that the number of performances would henceforth be governed by "the custom of the theater ." Being their own theaters they then proceeded to make the custom what they would. The injustice was augmented until fourteen performances were given in a single week for which no extra salary was allowed. These were full dramatic performances lasting the entire afternoon or evening. Finally one manager declared that so long as he paid the usual salary (nothing being allowed for extra performances), actors had no right to object to any number of performances the manager might elect to give.

After a month or six weeks of free rehearsals, some managers declared the first two weeks' performances of the play to be "rehearsal weeks before the public," and only half salaries would be paid. For Holy Week and the week before Christmas only half salaries were paid. Contrary to all custom, some managers obliged actors to pay their fares to the point where the performances began. Engaged in New York, actors paid their way to Chicago or Denver, if the play began the season there. On the other hand, even though the actor was engaged in New York, if the season ended in Denver or Chicago, some managers obliged their companies to pay fares to New York.
An actor " engaged for the season," and giving six to eight weeks' rehearsals, gratis, would often be dis missed without pay before the first performance of the play. At the option of the manager, at any time during the season the actor might be dismissed "without cause" on being given two weeks' notice. The actor had no reciprocal right. Even in so small a thing as the collection of the company's baggage for the season's journey, and the release of that baggage at the end of the season, some managers compelled the actors to pay all, or a part, of the transfer charges.

Clearly something had to be done before managers proceeded to the extreme of requiring players to act as butlers at the managerial table or as chauffeurs on managerial automobiles. It was imperative, then, that the manager not only be reminded of his responsibility to the public, but also that he be compelled to deal honorably with the exponents of the art he was commercializing.

This was the situation when, in 1913, a few prominent actors, grieving at the increasing injustices done their fellows, met with the hope of threshing out a remedy. As the result of many conferences, there was formed an organization to which was given the name of The Actors' Equity Association. It was high time to take such a step for, up to that period, bookkeepers, scrubwomen, and actors were about the only body of people who had not combined for protective purposes. From the beginning the new association was in deadly earnest. It gave proof of that earnestness and also gave evidence of vision by declaring that the new association should be conducted on a purely economic and business basis. It carefully eschewed all "social" features which had been a strong factor in wrecking previous actor societies.

I was asked to be the president of the new organization, asked to lead the actors in the formation and up- building of a body of professional people strong enough to swing the pendulum of fair play back into the groove in which it had swung before the dollar hound had taken possession of the drama, asked to help make the actors strong enough to oppose the unjust methods of a powerful but seemingly conscienceless opposition. I accepted and so for years brought upon myself volumes of managerial vituperation.

The speculating managers received this new actor organization with glee liberally mixed with contempt. They seemed justified in being amused because of previous failure on the part of actors to check abuses.

The real struggle of Equity was with actors who had to be educated as to the necessity of organizing. Naturally they hesitated to ally themselves with an association which might fail and so prejudice their chances of engagement. All previous associations of this character had failed, why not this one? Except in individual instances, actors were now cowed beyond belief. Some who were in demand held themselves exasperatingly aloof from the newly formed Association, through indifference or unwillingness to be concerned in a struggle of any kind, now that their lives lay in pleasant places.

Notwithstanding increasing abuses to which they, were being subjected, it took years of patient example, daily , hourly argument, encouragement, and enthusiasm to bring actors into the Association and up to the " sticking point." The Council sat as if for " company." Players were invited to meet them and state their objections to becoming members, to answer arguments of the Council or prove such arguments false, to acknowledge that the policies proposed, or in force, were good, or to supply others that were better. This won members, but not so rapidly as the feeling that spread through the acting profession that the unpaid Council, with the certainty of managerial disfavor, was unselfishly devoting time and mind, to the cause, that the Council was adopting the Syndicate's slogan of "business," and meant it.

Managers, however, continued quite unterrified, and absolutely indifferent to appeals from Equity for conference of any kind. By importunate correspondence, by occasional chance interviews with this or that manager, by publication of examples of the slave-driving methods of managers, in which both press and public were now manifesting interest and astonishment, the managers, after four years' evasion, deemed it prudent to meet as a body with Equity.

As a result of the meeting there came about a "standard contract" from which were omitted a few of the more flagrant in justices. It was far frorn being an equitable contract, and it was for a brief period, but it was a beginning. At the Hotel Astor in 1917, a Ratification Dinner was given and many complimentary declarations of faith were made by managers. One such, in the enthusiasm of a generous moment, was unintentionally amusing in trying to be emotional. This was his gemlike peroration: " I am proud of my part in this agreement, because I know it is just what 'C. F.' [his partner, the late Charles Frohman would like me to do. And, now, when we meet on the other side, I can look him in the eye and, clasping his hand, say, 'C. F., I done it!' " W ell, they are both on " the other side," and I find it difficult to resist a strong feeling, that " C. F. " is doing his utmost to avoid that handclasp.

This looked like an auspicious beginning of a more gracious epoch in the affairs of the drama. However , this promise of reform was short-lived, none of the managers caring long to keep faith. Our friend of the unconsciously humorous lapse was one of the first to break his word. Being specially organized for " business," Equity took cognizance of each breach of contract and, removing individual responsibility from the shoulders of its members, to their delight, haled the more flagrant offenders into court and beat them summarily. This led to a sitting-up all along the line and the taking of a good deal of notice.

Meanwhile, Equity was increasing in membership, in enthusiasm, and in determination. It evolved a set of new conditions by which it meant to stand, and took every means to bring about another meeting with the manager's association.. Equity meant not only to insist upon the managers disciplining their faithless members, but, the first bond between the two associations being about to terminate, to present new conditions that would make for the wiping-out of further injustices, especially those relating to the number of performances included in a week's work. Eight perfomances, with four weeks' rehearsals, gratis, being the limit it meant to allow, a liberally fair allowance, indeed! But managers, running true to form, were evasive. Because of this or that, the time was never convenient for them to cooperate.

To me the problem had now shifted. While I felt that, in case of a crisis being reached, the actors would be likely to stand firm, I especially felt that, if the manager s were to be made to accede to Equity's terms, they must be faced with something more than an organized body of players in whose ability to stand together they had no confidence. As a few of us in the Council saw it, our aggressive as well as our defensive move lay in alliance with The American Federation of Labor. Managers would have reason to fear such a coalition, for, in conjunction with it, after previous unsuccessful efforts without it, both the musicians and the theatrical mechanics associations had succeeded against managers. This made a precedent. But the bare thought of such an alliance was repugnant to many actors whose dignity was instantly outraged. However, many soon saw the light and being won over, became enthusiastic for the coalition. The contemplation of such a move on the part of Equity, if known, would give managers something to think of. Perhaps bring them to their senses, if anything could.

If managers were wise now, a "strike," with its attendant discomforts, expense, and dangers, might be averted. The wretched fear was that, accustomed to seeing actors yield to the power which employs, and blind to an inevitable reaction gathering strength under their very eyes, a reaction that had strong public sympathy, they would stubbornly force the issue. If the actor proved true to his principles, this could haye but one result, namely, managerial defeat.

Strikes cost money and the Actors' Association was poor, with but a few thousand dollars in its treasury. Managers, on the other hand, had unlimited means at their command and were stubborn. A strike meant many unemployed actors for whom Equity, naturally, would have a sense of actual responsibility. How was Equity to meet this? Her funds would not permit much of a strain. How it was met will be told in due order.

At this juncture came the threatened dissolution in partnership of Klaw and Erlanger who controlled the "booking" interests, the dates of engagements of companies, of the powerful theatrical Syndicate. This led to the formation of The Producing Managers' Association by the younger and successful producing managers, who, doubtful as to what would result from that dissolution, thought it wise, through Equity, to propitiate actors. Through a member of this new organization, Equity was promised a cession of all its demands which were to be handed to it on a silver platter at a breakfast to be given at the Hotel Claridge. Ad interim, the old Bourbon-managerial-dyed-in-the-wool implacables came to the front in the new association and, in place of the promised love-feast at the Claridge, there was enacted a funeral wake of the most vigorous character in which every dead misunderstanding, recrimination, and grievance between actor and manager was rudely reanimated.

In all previous meetings with managers, Equity had practically to go cap in hand. This invitation, therefore, came as a great relief. It promised to be a big step to a satisfactory understanding. Little need to add that it was accepted. In the opening speech, I touched upon this point and congratulated all concerned on the change of sentiment that I was given to understand had been wrought and, closing, said that whatever fair proposal was to be made would, of a certainty, be met with whole-hearted acceptance by Equity. Because of a willful or stupid misinterpretation, this opening address was the cue for a " brainstorm " on the part of the managers. I was accused of "gloating!" Just what there was to gloat over I cannot yet imagine, but so the accusation ran. I was cheerful, for I thought understanding near, but I had no thought to exult. At all events, it was evident that I was not sufficiently humble. " Seeked on " by a brilliantly double-negatived guardian of the spoken drama, the most picturesquely behaired of all managers became so violent that he pounded his fist into his goblet which was smashed by the impact. It was his "great moment " and he must be credited with making the most of it. It also added to the "comedy relief." Though emotionally besought to seek surgical assistance for a scratch, he heroically refused. The Equity president was threatened with personal insult and responded by declaring that he would meet it with insult if he of the graceful plumage should make good his threat.

Instantly there was an uproar of serio-comic confusion which was greatly enjoyed by those whose sense of humor would not forsake them. The traditional contest of the monkey and the parrot was being restaged, with fantastic embellishments. When quiet was restored and discussion resumed, so far as recitals of personal vauntings on the part of managers permitted, the droll spectacle was presented of the manager of America's most aesthetic theater repeating the astonishing argument, which had previously been voiced in the press by one of supposedly inferior mentality, that actors must of course share the responsibility of managerial enterprises; that if the manager's business declined, the actor should devote a part of his salary, never to be returned, to sustain managerial projects!

It mattered not that the actor would have no part in either the origin, arrangement, or direction of these enterprises; he must, perforce, become a peculiar kind of partner who shared the losses and participated in no profits! It was heads managers win, and tails the actors lose. Could anything be simpler! I replied that actors might be willing to come to the manager's assistance when there was a loss, but that it seemed only fair that he should share in case there were a profit. Judging from the astonished silence with which this proposition was received, I gathered the impression that if I had any regard whatever for managerial opinion I should instantly consult an alienist.

To precipitate an argument, to confuse the situation, and finally to dismiss the meeting with the declaration that it was impossible for managers to deal with impractical actors (and this is precisely what happened), the actors were sounded on the likelihood of joining the American Federation of Labor. It was admitted that Equity had given thought to such a step. Instantly the self-confessed "business men" were tremendously shocked that " artists " should dream of such an alliance. Here was a comic touch that called for unrestrained laughter, if one wanted to be impolite-that actors, upon whom managers had previously looked as mere property, commerce, pawns to be stuck on this square or that, as "hams," should now, in the opinion of these same "business men," suddenly blossom into "artists."

Considering that musicians and stage mechanics had won from these same managers by such an alliance, one was tempted to suspect a not too subtle motive on the part of the managers in applying this flattering epithet. It was too rich. It was so blatantly specious! The managers were told that they could stop such a move on the part of the actors by redressing the injustices, the abuses complained of. In that event Equity would then feel no necessity to join any other association, but that if it did seek an alliance with The American Federation of Labor, the unyielding managers themselves would be responsible.

A touch of delightful naivete was given the occasion by America's best double-fisted manager, who roared him like any sucking dove, in indignation that his actress wife and daughter should be obliged to join any society against their wishes. T o which it was said that there was no obligation whatever, but that they ought to be proud to enroll themselves in the only effective organization known in a quarter of a century for the protection of the people of their profession. He was especially eloquent and scornful as, with admonitory index finger, he demanded to know where and into what pitfalls Francis Wilson was leading these actors. "To victory," as I hoped, was the obvious answer, and so it was given. And, in con junction with as fine and upstanding a body of men and women as I have ever known that victory came to pass.

But to none at this meeting was permitted as much indignation, whether real or assumed (I suspect the latter), as to the " Yankee Doodle Comedian " and manager George M. Cohan, who, because he had once had an unfortunate experience, as he stated, with a labor strike among theatrical mechanics, decided, impulsively, I thought, to lose forever the fairest opportunity any actor ever had to become a real hero to his fellow players. Generous and actually performing many individual acts of charity, it seems remarkable that, with his theatrical lineage, he could have set his face against the righting of long-standing abuses to the people of his profession. This attitude of his is still a matter of amazement.

The climax to this remarkable meeting came when the managers suddenly staged a melodramatic tableau having for its object, among other things, the teaching of actors how to act. Led by the talented and virile Henry Miller, who has reached management by skillful stage-directionship and individual power, but who, as I see it, has been warped in his judgment by the terror of the "booking system" to which he and all others of his kind are subjected, the managers rose at his bidding and, actually lifting their pudgy hands to high heaven, declared they would never, no, never, employ an actor who belonged to a labor organization.

It was an extraordinary picture. Some of the managers could not make their hands behave - they would drop at right angles, while a few of the more curious "spoiled the picture" by looking around "to see how it was going." I would not have missed that sight for bags of gold. It was better than the climax of any second act I have ever seen. I wish now I had yielded to my impulse to start a round of applause. I am confident it would have met with a much-needed burst of laughter and calmed the situation. The tableau did not much impress the audience of Equity actors; it lacked conviction.

If this "Three Musketeers" or "Rosedale" performance was intended to frighten Equity, it was a failure. As a " bum " show, as the man in the street would characterize it, it was a huge success. One thing it did. It furnished George M. Cohan with material for an hilarious sketch given at a gambol of The Lambs. It would be pleasant to record that the managers at last realized that they were contending with people who were the heart and soul of the theater, people upon whom they depended for their daily bread, to say nothing of their luxurious automobiles; people to whom they owed a long future of kindness and courtesies for past injuries and injustices, that, in short, the managers saw the light, and finally consented that simple justice be done and thus avoid the humiliating checkmate to which ultimately they were obliged to submit. To do credit, a few of them were so inclined, but were overruled by the older, reactionary forces who could not admit the possibility of defeat by their " hired hands."

Having been invited to breakfast with the managers, not to discuss the situation, but, as Equity was led to believe, to receive confirmation of the abolishment of certain abuses, Equity was insulted and told to go home as a body of impossibles with which it was impractical to deal. A few days later, Equity had joined the American Federation of Labor. That was its answer to the hymn of hate which managers had sung to it at the Claridge breakfast.

The determined stand actors were making was having its effect. There were signs of much more complaisance on the part of managers who, through envoys, individual representatives, actually brought themselves to yield to all demands except that which limited the number of performances per week. On that they were adamant. For a brief moment, it was a question whether in order to avoid a " strike," it would not be advisable for Equity to submit without insistence on this point, but, considering how much this meant in freedom and independence, Equity refused to compromise. Days of parley followed, but in the end, managers relying on the unbroken precedent that actors had never been able to hold together in an emergency of this character, and fortifying themselves with the assurance that history would repeat itself, rejected the proposed demands.

The "strike," the only one of its kind, the most picturesque America has ever known, was on. Strange scenes, mostly good-humored, were enacted in the theater districts where costumed players, with speech and drolleries entertained the crowds turned away from the places of amusement which were closed because of "No Performance," "Actors on Strike."

A feature of the actors' strike was its parade. A friend who had arrived from Europe in time to see the players march down Broadway said: " I have seen many of the great processions of modern times, but when I saw that thin line of actor people walking down that broad street, as an earnest of their intentions, I thought it one of the most pathetic sights I had ever seen." This was a great shock to me; for those of us who were so deeply concerned felt it to be the biggest procession the world had ever known. I freely confess to a swelling of the heart and a lumpishness in the throat such as I had never known before. That, I am sure, was the state of all those who participated. It was the actors' declaration of independence parade.
No colonial of 1776 marched with prouder step.

The contest seemed an unequal one even to some in the Equity fold, but I urged that failure was impossible if the actors stood loyal- I dinned that into the ears of the players until they must have grown weary with its iteration. I insisted, after so many years of patient effort, that it would be better to fail and try again than lose the chance to test the power of Equity through the fealty of its members.

Many efforts were made to shake and disrupt Equity, but nothing availed. Actors were firm and confident. The plans successfully used in a previous vaudeville " strike " were brought forward by the managers and pushed with much vigor. They consisted of vilification of the actor leaders, of tempting offers of extremely lucrative engagements and unusual opportunities to individual players. There was also a dash of "frightfulness" injected by the serving of quarter-million-dollar summonses and in junctions, and any procedure thought likely to discourage and carry terror into the heart of the actor body. But the greatest stress was laid on the instruction to use flattery. If all else failed, it was thought that actors, if told they were "great" or were the coming Garricks, or the future Rachels, would instantly surrender principles for which they had been fighting for years.

A touching incident in the "strike" was the response of Equity members to the call of the Council for funds. Men and women of the drama, who, as the world's goods go, had practically nothing, stepped forward bravely and paid their tributes in amounts they could ill afford to spare. It showed how much they were affected and how deeply determined they were to win their battle for fair play. No cause could be lost with such a valorous spirit.

In this war between managers and actors there was no question of wages, great or small, but simply of the abatement-not abolition -but merely abatement of injustices which had grown with increasing severity, and a struggle for fairer conditions under which to labor. If I live for a thousand years I shall never understand how Equity's opponents dared to have their side of this contention made public.

Managers were markedly cunning in the way they bent certain prominent players to their will, persuading them to influence, or attempt to influence, their fellow actors against their best interests. There was no more dramatic scene in the whole " strike " or in the days immediately preceding it than that of Edward H. Sothern coming to a crowded Equity meeting to explain that managers were willing to grant the demands of the players provided they would come into conference without their president, whom managers absolutely refused to recognize and with whom they would positively not deal. It was a courageous thing for Sothern to do, for the meeting was in no mood to receive such a message. He jeopardized his popularity with his kind, and all men love to stand well with their fellows.

Sothern's entrance with the Council at the meeting was the signal for great enthusiasm, his presence being interpreted as an open espousal of the actors' contention. Moreover, I, the president, whom the managers so discredited, was in the chair and had not only to " put the question," but restrain the assembly. I went further and advised the actors to think seriously of Sothern's proposal.

If the managers could be trusted, the struggle was at an end, and the injustices would be abolished. What more could be asked? The president declared his willingness to step aside to permit the actors to attain their object, that having been his only aim, his only ambition, in becoming their leader. The question was formulated to Sothern's liking and put to the meeting:

" Do you wish to treat with the managers independent of your president?"

The thundering "No" that came back was thrilling to me whatever it was to Sothern. If there had been a weakling in that assembly of actors and he had answered "Yes," I should have died of mortification.

No one questioned Sothern's sincerity He thought he saw a way to end the fight and tried it. He had applauded Equity and its conduct in times past. The situation was tense and, like a few other actors-very few, thank Heaven-he had been misled and probably acted hastily.

William Hodge, of "The Man from Home" fame, told me an amusing incident indicative of the ire of the Lee Shubert manager during the strike period. Hodge was "trying out" a new play by Owen Davis in a town not far from New York and, as a financially interested party, Shubert had gone up to see the performance which had not made a strong impression, as sometimes happens with plays when first produced. For one reason or another, Hodge and Shubert had little opportunity that night to discuss the matter, but agreed to do so the following morning. Bright and early next day Shubert learned of the closing of a New York theater through the action of Equity in "calling out " its members, and he was bursting with anger when he encountered Hodge. On his part, Hodge was depressed with the reception given the play, but knew nothing of what had taken place in New York. At these cross-purposes the following conversation ensued :

Shubert. Seen the papers ?
Hodg.e. Yes.
Shubert. Awful, ain't it!
Hodg.e. Pretty bad.
Shubert. By Gawd, somebody ought to kill that fellow!
Hodg.e. (Believing Shubert to be referring to the author of the play.) I think so, too.
Shubert. All his life, that Wilson
Hodge. Wilson! What Wilson?
Shubert. Francis Wilson, of course.
Hodg.e. What's he got to do with it?
Shubert. Whv haven't you seen? That d-d Equity has been closing theaters!
Hodge. Oh, I thought you meant the dramatist!

As soon as the actors realized that they possessed unlimited earning power with which to support their cause and, above all, that public sympathy was with them and, therefore, against the managers, it became merely a question of days when actors might halt and listen to managers try out their voices on "The Swan Song."

By a series of extraordinary performances, given at the Lexington Avenue Opera House, all the great players of the day, with a few exceptions, volunteering their services, Equity speedily provided itself with the sinews of war.

As stated, every conceivable effort was made to break the loyalty of the actors. Twice within a short period, I had the unusual experience of being sued for an aggregate sum of half a million dollars. It gave one an altogether exaggerated feeling of importance. It is a joyful remembrance to me now that so great was my confidence that it never occurred to me to safeguard my property.

There were numerous threats on the part of managers, in the event of the " strike " succeeding, to abandon the theater forever - to seek more congenial pursuits. If memory is to be trusted, the operation of an elevatorwas contemplated by one of these guardians of public thought, and of another, retirement to a back room where, like King Ludwig of Bavaria, his players were to perform for him alone. What could possibly have been the object of these threats ? It is not recalled that they brought out the slightest protest on the part of the public which assumed what must have been a painful, if not brutal, indifference. Under this dreadful menace, too, actors remained stoically calm.

With the hope of stampeding Equity members, an opposition association was formed. It represented the views of managers and was named "The Fidelity." It was nicknamed the "Fidos." As is known, its members were made up chiefly of relatives of managers, business associates and connections of managers, together with those who saw the advantage of open espousal of the managerial cause, and those who appear to be deaf, dumb, and blind to the well-being of their profession.

One of the bold reasons put forth by the producers for their unwillingness to grant the demands of the Actors' Association was that such demands were prohibitive and, therefore, impossible. If granted, the business part of the drama could not be conducted with profit. To the uninformed this seemed a reasonable statement. It nicely lent the impression that perhaps a body of easily excitable players, with vain and inordinate estimate of their own value, were trying to take advantage of a number of fair, clear-thinking business men by driving an impossible bargain. Perhaps that was the impression that was intended to be lent. It was argued that, though it might be well to humor players occasionally, they must be made to understand now that there is such a thing as reason, such a thing as limit to demands, that an individual was not to be lightly driven to the unprofitable pursuit of his business.

It was, therefore, something of a shock to those who supported this view when, not long after, these fair, clear-thinking business men offered, through their Fidelity Association, better terms and conditions than Equity was demanding for them. It seemed incredible, yet there it was. A body of fair, clear-thinking business men stultifying themselves with such a fool proposition as:

"We cannot afford to do what you ask. It would ruin us. Therefore, if you will accept, we will give you more than you ask."

When this tender of terms was made, people laughed for a week. Of course this offer had a "string" tied to it. For a quarter of a century producers have been busy tying strings to offers to actors. Acceptance necessitated desertion of Equity. This was Cohan's trump card which shriveled in the playing. He quit the managers' association to join the Fidelity. Through his leadership in the "Fidos" and the dangling of one hundred thousand dollars, the thought was, perhaps, to disrupt Equity. If such was the intention, and it certainly had that appearance, it had the same miserable success as Sothern's effort to send Equity leaderless to the producers. "All dressed up and nowhere to go," that one hundred thousand dollars wandered about aimlessly for a while and finally went to that noble charity The Actors' Fund of America. For Equity's part in swelling the treasury of The Actors' Fund, the directors of which, anomalously enough, are mostly managers, Equity has not yet received any grateful acknowledgment.

When the settlement of the strike came about, Equity of course insisted upon the better terms offered by the managers. They were granted, just as even still better conditions could have been granted and the actor still not have been upon a wholly equitable basis. It is worth recording that in this struggle it was "the excitable actor " who was calm and the stoic manager who was excitable.

Meanwhile, I had been speeding along under forced draft. With all actors I had been doing my "bit " in the disposal of Liberty Bonds and setting myself afire by trying to make ten thousand people hear with a voice geared to less than half that number. The inward part of me rebelled and, becoming frightened, I consulted an eminent specialist. I was informed that I was threatened with a serious condition of the heart. "With care, and by conforming to certain dietetic conditions, etc., etc., the end might be indefinitely postponed." Especially was I warned against all excitement ! . Coming out of a clear sky, and at a time when I needed all the force and energy I possessed, this bolt was like a sentence of death. I died every day for the next year, from apprehension. My family and close friends all died with me, from sympathy.

I was not only alarmed for myself, but, so great is the power of conceit, I was alarmed for Equity. I seemed so much a part of it, and it of me, that I wondered what would become of both if I ceased to guide.

A strike, like a monarchy, is best conducted autocratically. We deemed it best to place that power in the hands of our Executive Secretary, Frank Gillmore, who had every detail, of course, at his finger-tips. He conducted the affairs of the Association from this point to the end so splendidly as to shame all egotism out of me, and to make me wonder if it would not have been better if he had had control from the beginning.

However, I kept moderately busy in Equity's behalf in conducting the enthusiastic rallies at the Lexington A venue Opera House, in rushing off to Boston and to Chicago to speechify to actors, in reminding them that loyalty alone would bring victory which they held in the palm of their hands, in informing the deputies of various companies that Equity had decided to call upon them to take action at once, and none failed to obey.

When I had time to think of it, I kept taking note of myself to see if I were showing signs of collapse or combustion. Neither happened, so I pegged away and began to smile again. At first, this did not happen too often, for, having been atrociously inoculated with fear, every pinch of pain, previously unnoticed, became the signal for an anticipated crisis. I was not afraid of anything so much as of being afraid, and I wondered how I could rid myself of the feeling. After a while a friend of mine by the name of Fate came to my assistance. She burnt up my house in the middle of the night, but was gracious enough to let me escape. She tossed and gored me with an automobile and gave me a number of minor shocks and excitements, any one of which it was said ought to have proved fatal, and, finally, by this means cured me completely of the habit of fear into which I had fallen. Altogether I was given a strenuous time, but the price was not too great for the relief afforded.

The strike was a long, hard struggle both for the managers and the actors, but the managers were finally forced to capitulate. Equity made a new record in such matters. Going into the contest with but eleven thousand dollars, at the end of the struggle, after paying many thousands of dollars to unemployed actors, Equity's bank account showed a credit of over a hundred thousand dollars.

The actors won their victory by their loyalty, by the force of public opinion, by the aid of their allies who stood by them unfalteringly, and by the justice of their cause. No small factor in that victory, too, were the earnest, determined men and women who stood high in the field of the drama and had nothing to gain in a personal way by the success of the cause and everything to lose by its failure, men and women who stood up bravely for an ideal, love of their profession and the protection of their less fortunate fellows.

There have been many explanations given as to the specific act or action which finally induced the managers to surrender after so determined a stand. First, it was their conviction, at last, that the actors would never yield. Second, it was the decision given against them by Levy Meyer, the legal representatives of Erlanger, Dillingham, and Ziegfield, after an interview held at the Ritz with Frank Gillmore and Francis Wilson.

Actors must never forget the reply of Ethel Barrymore when she was asked why she took their side of the contention :
"These are my people!" Nor must it be forgotten that the lamented Frank Bacon, coming late in life to his success of "Lightnin', " put it aside to attest his love for his fellow players. Heavier than most actors are aware was the burden laid upon the shoulders of Paul Turner, Equity's Councilor. He was not only looked to for legal advice and guidance, but consultation on matters of policy, and for criticism and encouragement. He failed in none. A tower of strength was honest John Cope. Absolutely fearless, it was a joy to have his support on any question. No man I ever knew more hated sham, nor more vigorously did his best to smash it. The unruffled fidelity, the calm, sage advice of George Arliss were ever to be depended upon. In marked contrast of manner was Florence Reed, a fine spirit of enthusiastic determination. No more patient, loyal, and faithful service was rendered by any member of Equity's Council than that given by Grant Stewart, Josephine Hull, and Katharine Emmet. In generosity, loyalty , and in inspiration none exceeded the radiant Lillian Russell.

As for Frank Gillmore, it only remains to be said that Equity presidents and presidents emeritus may come and go, but if Equity is wise, Gillmore will go on forever. I wish I had space to mention everybody concerned in that fine old struggle for justice. W e were of many kinds and characteristics, but we had but one heart the core of which was Equity.

Even as late as the hour of conference for the settlement of the strike, it was declared by Bainbridge Colby, the chief counsel for the managers, that the basic law of society being adherence to agreement, to plighted and written word, the actors had outraged it by refusing to keep their engagements and by " going out on strike," and staying out until their demands were met. Quite aside from the fact that from time immemorial managers had been industriously fracturing a large part of the Ten Commandments in their agreements with actors, it should be well noted, in regard to this specific charge of the former counsel, that there was no longer any agreement to violate. By serving notice upon the Actors' Association that they no longer intended to abide by their agreement, that henceforth, in all infractions of contract, they would act as judge and jury without the agreed-upon representative of the actor being present, the managers themselves had nullified their contract.

The actor, then, felt himself free to fight for this right of representation of which the manager had so summarily deprived him, as well as for the abolition of longstanding wrongs. Like his forbears of Revolutionary days, he refused longer to be taxed without representation. It was well for the managers that the end came when it did. A few steps further on in the struggle, and there would have come an upheaval that would have revolutionized the theater in America, likely for its advantage. No one but the few cognizant of the matter knows how close that upheaval was.

Notwithstanding that the actors' strike had nothing to do with "minimum wage," nor wage of any kind, which is one of the first considerations of all labor organizations, producers willfully declare that the object of Equity's strike was no different from that of any labor strike. This is not the fact. It is, besides, misleading. Equity did "walk out," as any labor organization walks out, but not because it had been refused higher wages. Let me emphasize the statement that wages, money, had no part in the matter. Equity struck for the overthrow of injustices which had become intolerable. It was the principle, and not the money involved.

Another misleading statement is that Equity is a " closed shop " organization. In that it is affiliated with the American Federation of Labor, thanks to the stupidity of managers, Equity is a labor organization. It is, and must ever be, deeply grateful for the invaluable assistance and guidance given it by that body at a time when that assistance and guidance should have been made unnecessary by managers themselves. But Equity is not a labor organization as managers would have it understood. And its doors, its " shop," unlike the doors of the " syndicate" are never " closed " to any member of the theatrical profession.

Another " shop " over which managers are now, 1924, somewhat perturbed, is "Equity Shop," formulated by Equity for self-protection. It is not generally known that it costs Equity many thousands of dollars per year to bring home companies culpably abandoned by managers. These companies, as are all other companies, are composed of Equity and non-Equity actors. When the companies are deserted, Equity takes charge and pays pro rata when, as often happens, the apprehended managers are legally forced to " settle." Payment to non-Equity actors bred discontent in the loyal actors, who resigned in great numbers, refusing to pay for what non-members got for nothing. What was the remedy ?

There is no way now for any actor to escape protection and the enjoyment of many other advantages secured by Equity. T o prevent disruption by secession, to hold all actors in line for the common good, even to protect managers from contract jumpers, was Equity's problem.

It will be solved, it is hoped, by Equity Shop which requires all actors who wish Equity protection to support their association by becoming Equity members. Managers may have all Equity companies, or all non-Equity companies. Equity actors claim the right to refuse to play with any but Equity members. Incorporation of " Equity Shop " has been asked for and granted in the new agreement with managers, June 1, 1924.

Managers do not like it. Their main objection appears to be that it is an Equity suggestion. They believe that in some way it will give Equity too much power. This they fear. If, since Equity has had power she had in any way abused it, there might be reason to fear. Considering the fact that managers have, with remarkable unanimity, violated their agreements with Equity while she has lived up religiously to every iota of hers, the fear does not appear to be well grounded.

Until recently, the aim of managers, their openly expressed wish, was for an association composed of themselves and actors to whom alone, it was feelingly said, should belong the right to guide the destiny of the theater. They would own the theaters, of course, and do the guiding. The actors would do the rest. However easy it would be to imagine a theater of that Pickwickian character, made up of employers and those to be employed, it assuredly would not be safe for the actor. It requires but little vision to judge the result. It might well be summed up in the quaint old interrogation addressed by one Herr Spider to Mademoiselle Fly.

I like to think that there are many indications of a theater belonging to the public and controlled by sympathetic people in conjunction with the actor. I hope this institution of the people, with its great emotional power of laughter and tears, will soon come gallantly into its own, for its own.