John Ellsler

One of the best loved regional managers in the middle years of the 19th Century, John Ellsler came from Baltimore in the 1850s and established a stock company on Frankfort Street (now West 6th Street) in the bustling metropolis of the Western Reserve, Cleveland, Ohio. It was the custom in those days for touring "stars" to come into town for a brief period of time--usually a week or two at most--and announce which plays they would perform during their stay. The stock company was expected to be able to support them, the bill usually changing nightly. It was therefore necessary to for stock performers to maintain a certain number of specific roles within their range or "line of business." Clara Morris, an actress who started with Ellsler in Cleveland and went on to become a major star in her own right in the 1870s explains:

"...At that time [mid 19th Century] men and women were engaged each for a special 'line of business,' and to ask anyone to act outside of his "line" was an offence not lightly to be passed over.
"For the benefit of those who may not be familiar with theatrical terms of procedure, I will state that a company was generally made up of a leading man (heroes, of course), first old man, second old man, heavy man, first comedian, second comedian, juvenile man, walking gentleman, and utility man.
"That term, 'heavy man,' of course had no reference to the actor's physical condition, but it generally implied a deep voice, heavy eyebrows, and a perfect willingness to stab in the back or smilingly to poison the wine of the noblest hero or the fairest heroine in the business; so the professional player of villains was a heavy man.
"The juvenile man may have left juvenility far, far behind him in reality, but if his back was flat, his eyes large and hair good; he would support old mothers, be falsely accused of thefts, and win wealthy sweethearts in last acts, with great eclat--as juvenile men were expected to do.
"Walking gentlemen didn't walk all the time; truth to tell, they stood about and pretended a deep interest in other people's affairs, most of the time. They were those absent Pauls or Georges that are talked about continually by sweethearts or friends or irate fathers, and finally appear just at the end of everything, simply to prove they really do exist, and to hold a lay's hand, while the curtain falls on the characters, all nicely lined up and bowing like toy mandarins.
"The utility man was generally not a man, but a large, gloomy boy, whose mustache would not grow, and whose voice would crack over the few lines he was invited to address to the public. He sometimes led mobs, but more often made brief statements as to the whereabouts of certain carriages--and therein laid his claim to utility.
"Then came the leading lady, the first old woman (who was sometimes the heavy woman), the first singing soubrette, the walking ladies, the second soubrette (and boys' parts), the utility woman, and the ladies of the ballet. These were the principal "lines of business," and in an artistic sense they bound actors both and foot; so utterly inflexible were they that the laws of the Medes and Persians seemed blithe and friendly things in comparison.
"'Oh I can't play that; it's not my line!' 'Oh, yes, I sing, but the singing don't belong to my line!' 'I know, he looks the part and I don't, but it belongs to my line!' and so, nearly every week, some performance used to be marred by the slavish clinging to these defined 'lines of business'
"...The manager, Mr. John A. Ellsler, was an excellent character-actor as well as a first old man. His wife, Mrs. Effie Ellsler, was his leading woman--his daughter Effie, though not out of school at that time, acted whenever there was a very good part that suited her. The first singing soubrette was the wife of the prompter and the stage-manager. The first old woman was the mother of the walking lady..." [From Clara Morris: Life on the Stage, McClure, Phillips & Co, 1901 pp 39-41]

Another star tells us of some of the artistic disadvantages of this system.
"A STAGE.TRICK REMEDIED"

"FEW theatre-goers of today realize the difference between the old traveling star and stationary stock-company system and the present one, when every star has his or her own support.
Though One could cite numerous individuals who have soared high in the theatrical firmament in spite of it, the effect of the former system could not but be pernicious in its influence on dramatic art generally, principally because of the lack of time on the part of the company to study and digest their work, and so give to it the respect and importance due to it as an art. Besides, it seemed to me anything but conducive to intellectual or artistic growth or to originality. It fettered and cramped one, and its conventionalities frequently descended to mere tricks. One of these, much practised at the time, was for the actor to stand in the centre of the stage as far back as possible (in the limelight, if there was one), so as to force the other artists, in listening to him, to turn their backs upon the audience, thus concentrating all the attention upon himself; then say his speech, whatever it might be, beginning pianissimo and ending fortissimo, after which he was to sweep grandly into the corner and wait for his applause, which usually came from "the unskilled" and made "the judicious grieve." Before learning the remedy for this trick, which had in it nothing resembling the manner of "Christian, pagan, or man," I often had an Ingomar, Colonna, Master Walter, take me by the hand, swing me below him, then spring back three or four steps, and keep me during all of his speeches with my back to the audience, literally forcing me down the stage until I was almost in the foot-lights. Dion Boucicault unfolded to me the antidote for this evil, which was, "Simply turn your back upon the bellowing artist, and in ignoring him, cause the public to do likewise." It was amusing to see how humbly the old-stager came down from his central position, and turned his back to the public-even that, to get you to look at him. These practices often grew into conflicts between actors playing lovers' parts. Each player acted for himself, and ignored the ensemble. From this and other equally pernicious traditions I soon learned that the training of those companies was worse than no training at all. Like the animals in Noah's Ark, they were composed of two and two "leads," "heavies," " juveniles," "walking," "utility," etc., and, if the theatre was prosperous, a dozen or two "thinkers," of both sexes. The vocation of these was, apparently, to listen, think, sympathize with the joys and sorrows of the hero and heroine, and gesticulate wildly and indiscriminately. They were accused by utility persons, who were a round higher on the ladder, and who occasionally made such remarks as, "Yes, my lady," or "The chariot waits, my lord," of carrying their gestures in a box, and using the same on all occasions. Each week brought a different star, with a round of new plays, to these companies (long runs were almost unheard of then), and they had frequently to memorize their parts while standing in the wings during the performance, awaiting their cues -"winging a part," it was called. Rapid study, a hurried rehearsal daily, the rearranging of their costumes for the ever-changing plays, left them no free time to reflect upon the characters they were to enact; and for this uncommon amount of work they gained but a meagre salary and a facility for memorizing, which is the smallest part of an actor's art." [ From Mary Anderson's autobiography A Few Memories Chapter VI ]