THE THEATRICAL SYNDICATE

Below are two differing contemporary accounts of the rise of the Syndicate. While there are two sides to every story, as my old debate coach used to tell us, "Figures don't lie, but liars figure." Choose for yourself.

This account of "The Birth of the Syndicate" by Daniel Frohman puts a sympathetic spin on the events which led to the near monopoly created by the author's brother, Charles Frohman. (seen below right)

Charles Frohman's talents and energies were very much like those of E. H. Harriman in that they found their largest and best expression when dedicated to a multitude of enterprises. Like Harriman, too, he did things in a wholesale way, for he had a contempt for small sums and small ventures.

Going back a little in point of time from the close of the preceding chapter, the final years of the last century found Frohman geared up to a myriad of activities. He had already assumed the role of Star-Maker, for Drew and Gillette were on his roster, and Maude Adams was about to be launched; The Empire Stock Company was an accredited institution with a national influence; he had started a chain of theaters; his booking interests in the West had assumed the proportions of an immense business; he had begun to make his presence felt in London. Yet no event of these middle nineties was more momentous in its relation to the future of the whole American theater than one which was about to transpire -- one in which Charles Frohman had an important hand.

Despite the efforts made by the booking offices conducted by Charles Frohman and Klaw & Erlanger, the making of routes for theatrical attractions in the United States was in a most disorganized and economically unsound condition. The local manager was still more or less at the mercy of the booking free-lance in New York. The booking agent himself only represented a comparatively few theaters and could not book a complete season for a travelling attraction.

In New York the manager was an autocrat who frequently dictated unbelievable terms to the travelling companies. Immense losses resulted from small traveling companies being pitted against one another in provincial towns that could only support one first-class attraction. Most theatrical contracts were not worth the paper they were written on.

Charles Frohman had first counted the cost of this theatrical demoralization when his great "Shenandoah" run at the old Star Theater had to be interrupted while playing to capacity because another attraction had been booked into that theater. He and all his representative colleagues in the business realized that some steps must be taken to rectify the situation. Piled on this was the general business depression that followed the panic of 1893.

One day in 1896 a notable group of theatrical magnates met by chance at a luncheon at the Holland House in New York. They included Charles Frohman, whose offices booked attractions for a chain of Western theaters extending to the coast; A. L. Erlanger(left) and Marc Klaw (below, right), who, as Klaw and Erlanger, controlled attractions for practically the entire South; Nixon and Zimmerman, of Philadelphia, who were conducting a group of the leading theaters of that city, and Al Hayman, one of the owners of the Empire Theater.

These men naturally discussed the chaos in the theatrical business. They decided that its only economic hope was in a centralization of booking interests, and they acted immediately on this decision. Within a few weeks they had organized all the theaters they controlled or represented into one national chain, and the open time was placed on file in the offices of Klaw & Erlanger. It now became possible for the manager of a traveling company to book a consecutive tour at the least possible expense. In a word, booking suddenly became standardized.

This was the beginning of the famous Theatrical Syndicate which, in a brief time, dominated the theatrical business of the whole country. It marked a real epoch in the history of the American theater because within a year a complete revolution had been effected in the business. The booking of attractions was emancipated from curb and cafe; a theatrical contract became an accredited and licensed instrument. The Syndicate became a clearing-house for the theatrical manager and the play-producer, and the medium through which they did business with each other. Charles Frohman contributed his growing chain of theaters to the organization and secured a one-sixth interest in it which he retained up to the time of his death.

Once launched, the Syndicate proceeded to ride the tempest, for the biggest storm in all American theatrical history soon began to develop. Out of the long turmoil came a whole new line-up in the business. It affected Charles Frohman less that any of his immediate associates in the big combination because, first of all, he was a passive member, and, second, he had a kingdom all his own. Yet the story of these turbulent years is so inseparably liked up with the development of the drama in this country that it is well worth rehearsing.

Although the Syndicate standardized the theatrical contract and made efficient and economical booking possible, it did not immediately secure the willing cooperation of some of the best-known traveling stars of the day. They included Mrs. Fiske, Richard Mansfield, Joseph Jefferson, Nat C. Goodwin, Francis Wilson (then in comic opera), and James A. Herne. They were great popular favorites and had been accustomed to appear at stated intervals in certain theaters in various parts of the country. They booked their own "time" and had a more or less personal relation with the lessees and managers of the theaters in which they appeared.

The Syndicate began to book these stars as it saw fit and as they could be best fitted into the country-wide scheme. A scale of terms was arranged that was regarded as equitable both to the attraction and the local manager.

These stars, however, refused to be booked in this way. They denied the right of the new organization to say when and where they should play. Out of this denial came the famous revolt against the Syndicate which blazed intermittently for more than two decades.

Chief among the insurgents was Mrs. Fiske, who had returned to the stage in Tess of the D'Urbervilles, a dramatization of Thomas Hardy's great novel. Her husband and manager, Harrison Gray Fiske, was editor and publisher of The Dramatic Mirror, which became the voice of protest. Mrs. Fiske refused to appear in Syndicate theaters, and she hired independent houses all over the country. Such places were few and far between in those days, and she was forced to play in public halls, even skating-rinks.

Mansfield (right) became one of the leaders of the opposition to the Syndicate. He made speeches before the curtain, denouncing its methods. His lead was followed by Francis Wilson (below, left), and subsequently by James K. Hackett, David Belasco, and Henry W. Savage. The fight on the huge combination became a matter of nation-wide interest.

All the while the Syndicate was growing in power and authority. Gradually the revolutionists returned to the fold because desirable terms were made for them. Only Mrs. Fiske remained outside the ranks. In order to secure a New York City stage for her Mr. Fiske leased the Manhattan Theater for a long term.


It was during these strenuous years, and as one indirect result of the Syndicate fight, that a whole new theatrical dynasty sprang up. It took shape and centered in the growing importance of three then obscure brothers, Lee, Sam, and Jacob J. Shubert by name, who lived in Syracuse, New York. They were born in humble circumstances, and early in life had been forced to become breadwinners. The first to get into the theatrical business was Sam, the second son, who, as a youngster barely in his teens, became program boy and later an assistant in the box-office of the Grand Opera House in his native town. At seventeen he was treasurer of the Weiting Opera House there, and from that time until his death in a railroad accident in 1905 he was an increasingly powerful figure in the business.

Before Sam Shubert was twenty he controlled a chain of theaters with stock companies in up-state New York cities and had taken his two brothers into partnership with him. In 1900 he subleased the Herald Square Theater in New York City and thus laid the cornerstone of what came to be known as the "Independent Movement" throughout the country. He had initiative and enterprise. Gradually he and his brothers and their associates controlled a line of theaters from coast to coast. In these theaters they offered attractive bookings to the managers who were outside the Syndicate. The Shuberts also became producers and encouragers of productions of a large scale.

For the first time the Syndicate now had real opposition. A warfare developed that was almost as bitter and costly in its way as was the old disorganized method in vogue before the business was put on a commercial basis. It naturally led to over-production and to a surplus of theaters. Towns that in reality could only support one first-class playhouse were compelled to have a "regular" and an "independent" theater. Attractions of a similar nature, such as two musical comedies, were pitted against each other. In dividing local patronage both sides suffered loss.

During the last year of Charles Frohman's life the Syndicate and the Shuberts, wisely realizing that such an uneconomic procedure could only spell disaster in a large way for the whole theatrical business, buried their differences. A harmonious working agreement was entered into that put an end to the destructive strife. Theatrical booking became an open field, and the producer can now play his attractions in both Syndicate and Shubert theaters.

This account of the Syndicate is from the opposite side of the controversy. Francis Wilson was one of the most vocal of the stars opposing the Syndicate and its methods. His side of the story:

Up to 1895, the theatrical profession was mainly in the hands of actors and actor-managers. In that year a number of men, mostly Hebrews, and formerly silent partners, advance agents, box-office attendants, etc., banded themselves together in a close corporation and, through affiliation and leases, got possession of the principal theaters throughout the country and closed the doors to all actor-managers who would not submit to their terms.

This managerial " closed shop " was known and is still known as the " Manager's Lockout " or " Theatrical Syndicate." It was composed of six men. Al Hayman, of San Francisco and New York; Klaw and Erlanger, of New York; Nixon and Zimmerman, a theatrical firm of Philadelphia, and Charles Frohman, of New York.

Frohman was a reluctant member of the organization and often said that he got a lot out of it-but it was mostly trouble. This statement, however true when made, scarcely tallies with the fact that the Klaw and Erlanger part of the Syndicate "assisted" the Frohman part at times to the extent of nearly, if not quite, a half million dollars.

Whatever the attitude of the Syndicate may have been toward the actors it employed, and it certainly has not been one which it could regard with pride, it has unquestionably shown a sustaining generosity toward itself.

The drastic action of the Syndicate in compelling actor-managers to submit to its terms or go elsewhere, there being nowhere else to go, did not apply to the rank and file of actors, but only to those who headed or controlled their own companies, the so-called " stars." These " stars," whose talent had won great favor with the public, were the most important attractions in the country, but were outnumbered by the " starless " companies which had been organized, or had come under control of the men forming the newly composed " Syndicate." Managers of theaters in cities and towns outside of New York mostly resented this Syndicate as much as did the " stars," but were forced into affiliation with it by the threat of not being permitted to play the numerous Syndicate attractions, the formation of a powerful opposition, and the fear that the " stars " would ally themselves with the Syndicate. As it well knew, the Syndicate had the out-of-town manager on the hip; for, if forced to play only the Syndicate's comparatively inferior attractions, while it might keep his theater open for a longer period during the season, it would mean great loss of prestige with the public and still greater loss of profit. But, as was cunningly suggested by the Syndicate, if the out-of-town manager joined with it, there would be no theaters in which the " stars " could appear, and the out-of-town manager would soon have not only the Syndicate attractions, but also the" stars " as well. It was as plain as day. The out-of-town manager yielded. The actor-managers were unorganized, had no stomach for organization, and were, therefore, an easy and natural prey.

The contention of the Syndicate was that it must control the " bookings " of theatrical companies throughout the country in order to avoid the ruinous opposition that happened from two prominent companies appearing in the same city or town at the same time; also that it could not run its theaters and pay the percentages demanded by some unattractive " stars " whom it did not wish to "book" at a loss. There was reason in the first plea, none in the latter. Refusal to play unprofitable " stars " was the answer. It was only too evident that the Syndicate had "cornered" the theaters throughout America and was attempting to shut out all competitors and to bend everything in one direction, namely, the commercializing of the drama. When it was suggested that, given the power it was seeking, it might well lead to the boycotting of many worthy plays and players, that nothing would be easier than a yearly scaling-down of the player-managers' incomes until these player-managers were under the domination of the Syndicate, the Syndicate to a man was shocked that its intentions should be so misconstrued.

"What, take possession of that which had always belonged to the actor, which of a right should always belong to him! Dominate the drama? Never!" It was unkind and unjust to suggest such a thing! A simple
protection of minor financial interests they declared was all that was sought. We shall see later how sincere was this disclaimer.

The application of the "third degree" methods of the Syndicate to the dramatic profession as a whole was considerately postponed to a later period when the Syndicate should have more firmly entrenched itself and felt surer of its ground. Just at this moment, with such players as Joseph Jefferson, Richard Mansfield, Fanny Davenport, Nat Goodwin, James O'Neill, Mrs. Fiske, and Francis Wilson arrayed against it, the Syndicate felt itself skating on thin ice and the outcome of its startling action much in doubt. It was also opposed by David Belasco.

Strongly organized, expert in matters of commerce and " business," its struggle was with nervous, sensitive, temperamental people to whom, as a rule, matters of business were distasteful, and especially to whom the thought of organizing to protect an art, their art, as mechanics organize to make employers unhappy, was repellently objectionable. "No," said most of these players, Richard Mansfield in particular, " let us not band ourselves into an association to oppose this Syndicate threat. It would be a mistake to lose the dignity and strength of individual, independent action"; and, so saying, helped to seal our doom. With such ideas the players never had "a Chinaman's chance" of success, as the saying goes.

Jefferson, nearing the end of his long and brilliant career, and fearful, in the event of the Syndicate's success, of what might happen to his sons, all in the acting profession, grew lukewarm and straddled the issue. Richard Mansfield opposed the managers, but played in their theaters and remained importantly "individual " and independent. N at Goodwin, who was determined to build a chain of theaters from Maine to Oregon, and, seconded by A. M. Palmer, mean t to drive the Syndicate into the sea, fell a victim to alluring offers of increased percentages and the promise, later fulfilled, to play in a theater on Broadway where he had never before appeared. Fanny Davenport, who was going to do anything rather than surrender, soon changed her mind. Belasco was scarcely considered, it being felt that sooner or later he would ally himself, as a theater manager, with other managers.

I never had much confidence in either the stability or business acumen of that "eccentric planet" Goodwin, and I viewed with special distrust his large idea of a transcontinental chain of theaters. I felt that we had a man's-sized job on our hands in trying to defeat the Syndicate. I still think, with proper cooperation and direction, that defeat would have been accomplished.

The situation was a serious one. T o my mind, the managers had determined to wipe out of existence the control of any company by an actor, because such control was inimical to their plans. It was evident to me from the beginning that, with the Syndicate in control, the receipts of all companies must satisfy the greed and caprice of that organization, or the companies would be abandoned. They would have no theaters in which to play. It was a foregone conclusion that the kind of play produced would be that which drew the most money, irrespective of its quality or character. There would be but one thought as to that. The receipts were the thing. It was an easy step to the conclusion that the financial returns from the smaller cities and towns throughout the country would ultimately fail to satisfy. Y et when I uttered such a thought, I was declared to be an alarmist. I did not foresee the complete abandonment of the smaller cities and towns, as to dramatic amusement, which has come to pass, except for moving pictures.

Sure enough, with the coming of the equally commercial Shuberts, there was soon no actor-manager in America, even at the head of his own company, and no matter how large his name might appear . who was not directed and controlled by Syndicate managers. Furthermore, if these jointly opposed, there is not now an actor-manager great or small in America who could follow his profession. How did these managers, this Syndicate, obtain a footing in the theatrical profession which was once, not long since, in possession of the actor and the actor-manager ? How came they in a profession in which they are really unnecessary ? If ever there were such a thing as a fifth wheel to an enterprise, they are it. There are just three essentials to this whole beautiful matter of the drama, no more, . the author, the actor, and the audience. They are of equal importance and hold the same opinion of managers. All the rest can, and should, be hired. It is probably
entirely due to the actor's lack of appreciation of his duty to himself and to his profession that managers as we now know them have come into existence. And there they are dominating the situation and quite convinced that they are the sun around which the entertainment, refreshment, and instruction of the world revolves, yet caring nothing for the ethical part of it.

Like Barnum, they are " showmen." Like him again, they are proud of it, but unlike him they never boast that "my show is one of the greatest moral influences of the age." They have too many Woolly Horses, Mermaids, and Joice Heths in them. Barnum's last question to his secretary was: "What were the receipts of yesterday ? " And then followed the expression of regret that they were not so good as at the Olympia, in London. The Syndicate are very like Barnurn in this. Indeed, of such is the kingdom of the Syndicate.

In the old days, the actor-manager maintained a "stock" company the year through, or nearly so, in various cities throughout the United States, as, in New York, the Mitchells, Burtons, and Wallacks, the Burtons and the Davenports in Philadelphia, the Conways in Brooklyn, the McVickers in Chicago, the Popes in St. Louis, the Fords and the Albaughs in Washington and Baltimore, etc.

To these theaters came as traveling "stars" the Edwin Forrests, the Booths, the Charlotte Cushmans, the Mrs. D. P. Bowers, the Lucille Westerns, the Maggie Mitchells, the Joseph Jeffersons, the W. J.
Florences, the Barney Williarnses, the Lottas, etc., who depended on the resident stock company for professional support in their tragedies and comedies. Causing many rehearsals and often resulting in uneven performances, particularly in the early stages of the engagements, the " stars " finally traveled with their own companies. This involved the employment of assistant managers and advance agents to aid the " stars " in matters of routine, and so allow them to conserve their energies for the more congenial task of acting. An assistant manager is seldom less than " a courtier-like servant " with a natural ambition to become associated financially through investment or what not with a winning enterprise. Sometimes these " investments," in form of loans, could not be repaid readily by the actor-manager and an interest was exacted or given in lieu of cash. The right, then, to suggest, even to dictate, grew.

From this condition of affairs to independent management was still not an easy step, but it was made possible by the detachment and comparative freedom of the agent or assistant manager to come and go in the actor-manager's interest, and by that agent's indefatigable energy in searching out new material for his "star, " who, with proper activity, could and should have done it for himself. Routine knowledge once acquired, soon the more venturesome and speculative of these assistant managers, agents, etc., swift to realize how much the actor-manager would welcome freedom from all financial responsibility, assumed that responsibility, too often, alas, with little to support it but a glib tongue and irrepressible optimism! It is because the men composing the Syndicate thought faster, not better, moved quicker, than actors that the latter lost direction and control of their profession. An analogous case is that of the artists and the dealers in art. The dealers often not only control the prices of the pictures, but dictate the vogue of the artist.

Finally awake to the danger of the situation, it became important to know how this attempt at control on the part of the commercial manager was to be fought. Among the youngest but not the least successful of the actor-managers, at the time, I did not presume to advise. I was present when Goodwin, carefully coached by A. M. Palmer, and several others, met for consultation in Chicago. Goodwin had to leave quickly to fill an engagement in New Orleans. En route, he telegraphed me long messages of enthusiastic appeal to which I soon replied that I would surely join with my fellow players in what I felt was a just cause. A few days later I was astounded to read in the daily papers that the irresponsible Goodwin had gone over to the Syndicate, declaring he would have nothing to do "with Francis Wilson's mad scheme to oppose it "!

It was no "mad scheme" of mine. I had not originated the opposition. It arose spontaneously. But I approved it heartily, and was proud to be invited to participate in it. Once in, I stayed in until beaten down hopelessly by the defection of my fellow actor-managers. Of all who started out so bravely to oppose the usurpation of the Syndicate but two "stars" of any influence remained- Mrs. Fiske and myself. So
situated, we had about as much chance of halting the Syndicate as a couple of old women armed with brooms would have in trying to keep Niagara from sweeping over the Falls. It is no disparagement of
Mrs. Fiske to say that, though always an artist, she had not then the professional distinction she now enjoys.
She had just returned to the stage after an absence of four years. While it is true that she had had success
in Ibsen's A Doll's House, two years were yet to pass before she would be seen in Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and four years until her presentation of Becky Sharp, which was to delight the world and bring her real renown. From a financial point of view---and that was the only view it cared to take-the Syndicate did not regard Mrs. Fiske as a star of the first magnitude whatever may now be said to the contrary. They were unwilling for this reason to allow her the same terms as other stars.

It may be admitted, then, that at this juncture of the struggle, I practically stood alone. Though I did what I thought was best, I probably did the wrong thing. The principle of the matter had not changed, of course.
There were just two alternatives open to me- to commit hari-kari on the doorstep of the Syndicate, or leave the country. Being but a human being, I stayed to fight on when opportunity and stronger wills would insure success.

In those days, all dates to play at theaters were tentative. Later, they were either canceled or confirmed.
No dates were sure until contracts were signed. Not knowing which of the two theaters in Washington would or would not go into the Syndicate, if it prevailed, I had dates held at both theaters. This was but ordinary protection. The Syndicate, always put to it to justify itself, on learning of this protective measure, cried "Treachery!" and declared I was to be "made an example of as a shining mark, for the benefit of lesser offenders." If the assumption and arrogance of all this had not been so comic, it might well have been maddening. Here was I, a member of a profession in which actors ought to have something to say as practitioners of the art, being publicly proclaimed as " an offender," because I opposed an assault upon my profession by a band of commercial exploiters.

Prohibited, except in New York, from playing in any theater of importance, I was obliged to rent the "Variety" theaters of the various cities throughout the country. The public did not understand and cared little about the theatrical squabble; and, not understanding, would not follow those of us who went into unaccustomed places to play. I t is strange even now, it was shocking then, to know that so great an artist as Sarah Bernhardt, refusing to be "controlled" by a syndicate of managers, was obliged to play under a tent.
The little fortune that I had saved was greatly diminished in the unequal struggle, and I determined, rather than surrender, that I would abandon America and attempt to make my way to success in England. I hated England because, under the wretched teaching of our schools, I had been taught as a boy that she was to be despised as our greatest enemy and oppressor that nothing could be more despicable than a monarchy, however liberal and however much desired by people living happily under it. Like many another narrow American, even long past adolescence, I was still fighting the War of Independence. However, my hatred of England was mild as milk by comparison with the feeling that was mine for those who were literally driving me out of my own country. The more I studied the situation, the less I liked it, and I began to feel that I deserved to be driven out if I could not find a way to circumvent my friends the enemy. Of what use was the thing with which I was doing my alleged thinking if it did not serve me in such an emergency.

The fight was over. The enemy had decimated our ranks by flattery, cajolement, and tempting offers of increased monetary certainties and comfortable bookings, and so, had won the battle. Our people, meeting for the first time in their existence an emergency of this character, had fallen victims to what should have been easily detected as cheap cunning, and had especially fallen victims to their own selfishness and egotism. There was a lesson in all this, and I made up my mind that, if ever again the two parties met in conflict, the specious cunning of the one side and the disloyalty and egotistic selfishness of the other should be exposed, so far as I had the power, to a full measure of ridicule. The two sides did meet again in conflict, a bitter one, and the loyalty of the actors, brought about by a half-dozen years of industrious education, won the day. But that was The Actors' Strike, an account of which will be given in another chapter.

Meanwhile, how was I to extricate myself from the dreadful position in which I found myself, how avoid expatriation ? W as I to sit down and calmly permit the money-changers in the Temple to walk all over me?
The matter gave me many an anxious, many an indignant, thought. Then it occurred to me that there was such a thing as fighting the Devil with fire. It was only too evident that independence as to where and with whom one should play was lost to the American player, that henceforth he must appear only where he would be allowed! An extremely bitter, uncoated pill for any well man to swallow, yet there it was, to be taken or rejected as prescribed.

I was cribbed, cabined, and confined. As was said by a writer at the time, " I confessed myself, after a year and a half's fight, overwhelmingly defeated." Y et I could not bring myself to ask for what had previously been solicited of me, the privilege of appearing in a series of first-class theaters throughout the country. I knew instinctively, because of the determined opposition I had offered to the plans of the Syndicate, that I, as the " shining mark," the most outspoken opponent, was not going to come off too easily if I were " to crook the pregnant hinges of the knee" and, bowing to the managerial "thrift," did a little " fawning." The plan I conceived to avoid the necessity of appealing to these men for an opportunity to appear in leading theaters was as follows: I was playing my company in a "Variety" theater in Philadelphia. With my trunks half packed to leave the country, if my scheme miscarried, I purposely bumped into Samuel F. Nixon-Nirdlinger, of the Philadelphia firm of Nixon and Zimmerman. Nixon was a vain little person with a tremendous appreciation of Nixon as an astute business man. In different ways he could squeeze more juice out of a business orange than any man I have ever met, and I have met many such squeezers. This quality in him was to be feared, but it was not to this side but to his vanity, I meant to address myself, and he succumbed like a meek and lowly Christian. I had always been greatly in favor with him. At the theaters he managed in conjunction with Zimmerman (quite another kind of person), I had played many long and successful engagements. Once he had refused to permit Erminie to be given without me at the Chestnut Street Theater, admittedly to his greater profit.

It was lamentable to be obliged to appeal to any one at all for the privilege of pursuing my profession, but there it was, and I must face it or begin life anew in another land. I did not want to begin life anew anywhere. The chances were much against those who so began. It was sure to be a long, hard, and doubtful pull. I had had that long, hard pull once, and had come through it victoriously, and I rebelled at being forced, like a newly released criminal, to make any such new and hazardous beginning. My feeling was not the less bitter in reflecting that these people, scarcely once removed from aliens, were forcing out of his country a man with several generations of American ancestors back of him.

As my indignation grew at the thought of expatriation, I realized that, though I could now do nothing against such odds, it was possible to live to fight another day, and that I could not fight if I did not stay.
I stayed. Under humiliating circumstances, to be sure, but I stayed.

Out of the wreckage I was adroit enough to make a part of that Syndicate pay what amounted to fifty thousand dollars for the privilege of associating itself with me, when with a little more patience the Syndicate must have forced that association for nothing.

This was not a poor bargain for one who had broken his fortune in fighting for a principle which he consistently hugged to his heart while biding his time for another opportunitv. It seemed a thousand years in coming. When it did arrive in the formation of The Actors' Equity Association, advantage of it was taken to the full, to the discomfort of the Syndicate, the triumph of justice and the placing of the actor in his present position of respect and power.

I had stood firm against the Syndicate until long past the time when there was a possible chance of success to the actors' side of the controversy, and until our power to resist had been shot to pieces.

After the greeting, which was polite, Nixon began, as I felt he would, by saying how foolish I was to fight on against the all-powerful Syndicate; the struggle being now in its second year. I declared myself satisfied with the situation, and that the Syndicate was not unlikely to meet with an unexpected opposition that would soon give matters theatrical an entirely different aspect. Busy with the thought he had in mind, this weak threat did not have any terrifying effect. " You' d better come on in," he said, " and resume playing to the old-time receipts at the Broad" (Street Theater). "We have always gotten on well together, and I'd like to be the one to take you over to our side."

"What," I replied, "go cap in hand to the Syndicate and say, , Please may I play in your theaters? ' Never!''
"You won't have to go to the Syndicate and ask for dates," he said quickly. "I'll be only too glad to get you all the dates you want!"

"No," said I; ''I have no doubt you miss these old-time receipts, but with a business I have built up through my own efforts and energy I shall never consent to share it gratuitously with anybody. Ask for a 'date,' I never will, for I know that will lead to a demand that I surrender an interest in the thing, which, whatever else it may be, is, and always has been, my own. To that I never would consent."

There was a long pause, and then he said: " Why don't you sell an interest in your company, and make the purchaser your business partner ? He could attend to securing a route from the Syndicate, which seems to stick in your crop."

I appeared to be taken with this idea, as if it might in some way lead to the solution of the difficulty. Taken with it as if it had in no way been something upon which I had spent nights of thought, and the very thing I had been leading him on to suggest.

"That's not a bad idea," I replied, "for it would keep me from personal contact with the Syndicate. But I had thought never to part with any portion of my enterprise. The man that gets it would have to pay a good figure."

"What figure?" he asked.

" I am not prepared to say," I answered, " the thought of it is so new, but any one who will meet me at his office tomorrow morning at ten o' clock with a certified check for so much money"-naming the amount- "can have a half interest in my business for five years. I thought never to consent to such a thing, but since talking to you, I have changed my mind."

We parted with one of us-not Nixon-acting, as never before, the part of utmost indifference. That night at the theater I got a telegram from him saying he would meet me at his office and with the check the following morning. He kept his word. I got the check which, with only moderately computed interest for the time of our agreement, amounted to fifty thousand dollars.

This was surely something saved from the struggle, in addition to the formidable menace of banishment which was the consideration at the moment that gave me most concern. As I viewed it, it also was a million per cent greater than the treatment that would have been meted out to me had I gone to the Manhattan
contingency of the Syndicate. I had been outspoken in opposition to the conduct of the drama falling into the hands of a " trust "; into the hands of men who meant only too evidently to exploit that drama purely as a commerce. F or months in speeches before the curtain and in the press I had pictured that Syndicate as a band of marauders who had the drama by the throat and were slowly but surely choking it to death. In the circumstances, now that they had won their point, I felt, if they could have willed it, my punishment, as Gilbert expresses it, would have been something lingering and accompanied with burning oil.

Had I determined to remain in America at whatever cost, Nixon, or any member of that Syndicate, must have acquired that business interest for nothing, as I have stated. I could not have helped it, for there was no other move for me to make in the theatrical field. A few days later, I explained this fully to Nixon. He gave me a swift look, and said something about what was to become of him in the next world, as "W ell, I'll be d-d!" I hope he has escaped, for, with all his foibles, Nixon bore the financially inevitable with a chuckle.

I had fought the Devil with fire, and won-what? The privilege of remaining home, of being a citizen in my own country. I should have been humble and grateful, I suppose, but I was not. Instead, I was rebellious and resentful, and stayed so for years.

There was a little satisfaction in dealing the enemy a heavy blow in the financial " solar plexus," the region of his conscience, but I was not too proud of my "victory"; it had the taste of myrrh in the mouth. I was soldier enough to make my defeat as costly as possible. Circumstances were such that I had to bend or break. Broken, I could do nothing. I accepted the momentary taste of myrrh. I say momentary , because it became evident to me that such a sweeping victory as the Syndicate was having would lead to injustices from which the people of the dramatic profession would be sure to suffer. Present, I might be of service. I had been a witness to leadership on the actors' side of the question, and was not favorably impressed with it. Given the opportunity, I began to believe that I might do better. It was not possible to do worse. Y ears later , when The Actors' Equity Association was formed to check the intolerable injustices of this Syndicate and other managers, and I was asked to be its president, I accepted with more cordiality than I permitted to be seen.

The Syndicate went on unhindered for years, doing as it pleased, making things easier for itself and more difficult and intolerable for everybody else, actors, dramatists, and other managers outside its ranks. It decided when and where a play should appear, or whether it should appear at all, and even what monetary share it should have in the play. It decided what changes a play should undergo after acceptance, no matter to what well-meant but ignorant maltreatment it was subjected. It decided that a season's engagement should last but a few nights, and were brutally frank about it. It paid what it pleased, when it pleased, and where it pleased, and under conditions and agreements so one-sided, so far as the actor was concerned, as to be laughed out of court when, as occasionally happened, they reached there. Of course it produced and countenanced the type of play that " pulled the dough." With that, all thought, all ambition ended. It was a noble institution!

Then came the Shuberts.

They were no better and, in some respects, worse. It was a sad day , though, for the Syndicate when the Lord said, " Let there be Shuberts ! " They were " the little willful thorns" in the rosebud side of the Syndicate. They have become its master. How they contrived to interest capital to construct theaters throughout the country and became the powerful competitors of the Syndicate is one of the mysteries of the theatrical profession. The history of it would make interesting reading, perhaps interesting disclosures.
Strong and extraordinary as the Shuberts have been in construction, competition, and opposition, strong as the Syndicate has been, they would have been weak by comparison with the coalition formed against them by the actors had the actors held against them in the 1890'S as they did in 1917.

This account of the state of the Syndicate in 1901 is by a journalistic writer rather than a theatrical personage with some vested interest. While his point of view is perfectly clear, Norman Hapgood's facts are probably reliably accurate. [The Stage in America, 1897-1900, The Macmillan Co., New York, 1901]

In the recent development of the drama in America there has been no single phenomenon so distinct and strong as what has been commonly called the Theatrical Trust. Its growth was rapid, its power immense, and the history of its rise, if intimately known, sounds like a melodrama or a satirical romance. Average human nature among actors and managers has many constant features. The trust grew out of the love of money. It is wholly commercial. How many outside of it are much influenced by unselfish considerations? There is some truth in talk about art, but more cant. Most of the trouble between actors and the Syndicate has been over terms, and, in most cases, when the players who talked most about intelligence and freedom were offered more money, they became silent.
The excessive love of wealth is one of the gloomy qualities of American life. It influences you, the reader, and me, the writer, as well as the actor, the playwright, and the manager. In all walks there will be found exceptions. Augustin Daly worked for fame and his immediate satisfaction, producing only as many mere money-makers as he needed to continue his career. Heinrich Conried, a German to be sure, gives up to cheap farces only as many weeks of each year as will enable him to produce, during the remainder of the season, worthy modern plays and the great classics. Even when the mercenary spirit exists it need not be absolute. Richard Mansfield spoke large words about his independence, and when the temptation came he ate them. Yet it does not follow that he cares nothing for art. Not even the power of the Syndicate, for instance, could force him wholly into plays of innocuous idiocy, as it does some of his fellows. In this story the heroes are not angels, or the weaker persons villains, although most of them are frail.
During the season of 1895-96 it became known that a combination was being formed to control many theatres, consisting of Nixon and Zimmerman of Philadelphia; Klaw and Erlanger, and Hayman and Frohman, both of New York. By February it was announced that thirty-seven first-class theatres were in the hands of the Syndicate. To each of the houses thirty weeks of "attractions" were to be guaranteed. The essence of the system, from that day to this, with constantly increasing scope and power, has been that the theatres take mainly such plays as the Syndicate desires, on the dates which it desires, and receive in return an unbroken succession of companies, with none of the old-time idle weeks. Another inducement to the owners of theatres was the promise of better terms from travelling managers; but the actual outcome of that idea is not so clear. Avoidance of conflicting plays, or of a series of plays too much alike, was also one of the proposed advantages, but this has turned out a difficult object to gain, especially with the necessity of changing all dates to suit big Syndicate successes; and many theatres have the ordinary padding, farce comedies, for weeks at a time.

This combination was made possible by the prior work of the individual firms composing the Syndicate. Hayman had gained control of many theatres in the far West, and Klaw and Erlanger gradually secured a number on the route from Washington to New Orleans. Few companies can afford to jump the distance between those two cities, so with the best houses in Richmond, Norfolk, Columbia, Atlanta, Montgomery, and Mobile in their hands, Klaw and Erlanger were practically masters of that territory. Later they obtained similar power over the route coming down from Ohio or Pennsylvania through Tennessee, until they could dictate to companies wishing to go from Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, or Chicago to New Orleans. A Southern manager tried to get enough theatres to keep New Orleans open from the North, but failed. The first of the large cities to be entirely controlled was Philadelphia, where the theatres were in the power of Nixon and Zimmerman; and at first the most the Syndicate could do was to shut a company out of the Quaker City; but soon a number of cities of almost equal importance were barred. To be practically controlled, a city need not have all of its theatres in the hands of the Syndicate. If the routes approaching it are dominated, the power is almost equally complete. San Francisco, for instance, has an independent theatre, the California, but few companies from the East can afford to go to the Pacific coast without playing in such places as Denver, Salt Lake City, Omaha, Toledo, New Orleans, St. Paul, Minneapolis, Kansas City, in all of which towns the leading theatres are under syndicate control. When it is remembered that most of these are one-week stands, the difficulty of getting along without them will be obvious. Control of the one-night stands, especially in the rather unprofitable South, is less important for the better class of companies, but to be shut out of Cleveland, for instance, where no theatre of any kind is free, means much. Detroit and Providence are further illustrations, as are smaller places like Utica, Syracuse, Wilkesbarre, Rochester, Reading, Lowell (Massachusetts), Newark (New Jersey), and Jersey City.

Of course, it is possible for a company, if it finds all the first-class theatres barred, to go into second- or third-class houses, if there happen to be any. When the formation of the Syndicate was first rumored, and fear and incredulity were showing themselves about equally among the travelling managers, Joseph Brooks, who now has close relations with the Syndicate, said: "Suppose a trust controlled the best theatres in Boston, and for some reason tried to shut out Mr. Crane. What would be the result? Why, I should simply go to a second-class house and raise the prices, and thus bring another first-class house into the field."

This escape, which was neat enough in theory, has accomplished little. The manager of a cheap theatre dislikes to raise his prices for a single engagement, because his public is likely to be displeased; so he will do it only for particularly profitable companies. Again, the "attraction" which goes into a house out of its class loses the advantage of the theatre's clientele, and only a very strong attraction can afford to do that. There are always a certain number of theatre-goers whose habits are almost irrevocably connected with certain houses. These people would go to see a play at Powers's in Chicago, perhaps, where they would never think of going to see the same play and the same actors on the West side. They saw The Moth and the Flame at the Lyceum Theatre in New York, but not at the Grand Opera House. Another set saw A Female Drummer when it was at the Manhattan, but not when it was at the Star. The failure of that very able play Griffith Davenport in New York in 1899, at the Herald Square, was attributed partly to its appearance in a theatre where frivolous pieces had preceded it. That was pushing the principle too far, and it is often pushed too far; but it none the less counts for much. It was on this theory, indeed, that Mr. Hayman laid great stress in his newspaper defence of the Syndicate, holding that as the theatre, not the company, drew the audience, the division of profits should be more favorable to the local managers.

There is not even a barn free in Cleveland; but in Brooklyn, for instance, the manager of a dramatic company hostile to the Syndicate might go to the Academy of Music, and if his attraction was strong enough he could overcome the obstacle of the identity of that house with other forms of entertainment. In Toronto, Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Columbus, he could take a similar course. In Louisville he could play in a big music hall. In Cincinnati he could go to the Pike Opera House, where the highest seats are usually seventy-five cents, double the prices, and meet, in this case, little difficulty with the clientele, since it is made by a stock company which, though cheaper in price, draws the same kind of people as the more expensive theatres. There is the same condition in Baltimore. The larger the city the more difficult it is to overcome the character of the theatre. If Mrs. Fiske should appear in a music hall in Buffalo, for instance, the reasons would be understood and her business would be but little damaged. If she went to the Bijou in Brooklyn, or a similar theatre in Boston, or, a few years ago, before it became geographically unavailable, to the Park Theatre in Philadelphia, she would suffer badly, because these places are so large that the attention necessary to overcome the things taken for granted cannot be rapidly concentrated on any one event. If even Duse or Bernhardt should appear at high prices in New York City at the Star or Fourteenth Street, thousands among those who would flock to the Knickerbocker or the Empire would never think of entering the new ground.

As this great combination has fastened its grip more and more strongly on all the principal cities, some theatres have avoided ruin by becoming the homes of stock companies. Some of them are competent and profitable, and their use in keeping alive the best plays after they have had their first vogue is considerable. One may sometimes find plays at the Murray Hill Theatre in New York, for twenty-five cents, which will be essentially better than anything which then happens to be purchasable for two dollars, on Broadway. These companies exist also in Cincinnati, Pittsburgh, Boston, Montreal, Columbus, Indianapolis, and many other cities, with apparent prosperity. If the richer class of theatre-goers had as many repertory theatres run for their benefit as their humbler fellow-citizens, they would have no cause for complaint.

The reception of the idea when this combination was first discussed makes a dramatic contrast to subsequent history. Managers tried to organize in opposition, and immediately failed. Then the leading actors took a hand, and their story is touching. Nat Goodwin (left), Francis Wilson, and Richard Mansfield were the leaders in an effort to form a combination of stars, strong enough to defy the Syndicate and make their own dates with the theatres, and their own terms. They said, with undoubted truth, that if there were dozen very popular actors who refused to give up their business independence, the Syndicate could never become a real monopoly, and probably could not last. Mr. Goodwin's lawyers, therefore, drew up an agreement, to be signed by leading actors, first, and later by as many others as chose to join. Finally, early in 1898, a different agreement was signed by a few actors, to last until the end of 1899.

It provided that, as "both artistically and pecuniarily the good of the many is being subordinated to the profit of the few by the combination before mention," an association was to be formed "for the promotion and protection of an independent stage in this country." The members were to book either through the executive committee of the association, or directly; the only point being that they should not book through any agencies or exchanges; practically meaning, that they should not book through Klaw and Erlanger, the booking branch of the Syndicate, although they could play in the Syndicate theatres if the local managers would deal directly with them. A sum of five thousand dollars was to be forfeited by any member who did not keep his agreement and pay his assessments.

This last provision frightened one or two of the actors interested, but the agreement was ultimately signed by Francis Wilson, James A. Herne, James O'Neill, Richard Mansfield, and Mrs. Fiske. Nat Goodwin had gone over to the Syndicate long before this. The World gave this account of his performance: -- The Trust settled this opposition characteristically and in short order. Knowing Goodwin to be the head and front, the life and soul, of this effort, they tackled him with the promise of giving him dates where and when he wanted them, and of a long engagement at the Trust's Knickerbocker Theatre. Goodwin's weakness for New York engagements being well known to them, they induced him to desert the embryonic alliance of stars and join the issue with the Trust.

Joseph Jefferson, whose high position made his assistance much desired by the rebels, on March 13, 1897, had a signed telegram in the New York Herald, in which he said: --"The first that I heard of a Theatrical Syndicate was the receipt of a letter from one of its leading managers, desiring me to play at one of its theatres. At the same time I got a communication from one of the anti-Syndicate managers, trusting that I would not join the new combine, which he deprecated as an unfair movement, and asking me not to desert his house. I declined the offer of the Syndicate manager and acted with my old one. Another old manager from one of the anti-Syndicate theatres wrote me in the same strain, and asked my advice as to how he should act to protect himself against the octopus who was gradually coiling himself around the old legitimate managers.' I was about to reply and encourage him to meet the matter boldly, and that I would stand by him, when, to my surprise, I found that both of the old managers had joined the 'octopus.

About this time Francis Wilson announced that he had cancelled all contracts for Syndicate houses, and would never play in one of them again. Mr. Hayman said that, on the contrary, the Syndicate had broken its dates with Mr. Wilson, because he had held time in two theatres in Washington without the knowledge of the Syndicate. He also said: "Mr. Wilson was a shining mark, and we determined to make an example of him for the benefit of lesser offenders."
Mr. Wilson gave out the following statement: "Our difficulty with the Syndicate is precisely the result I predicted, last summer, would be one of the advantages of aiding and abetting such a combine. Disagreement over one or two dates would lead to the arbitrary cancelling of the whole season's tour if intrusted to their hands. They denied, with wounded feelings, that they would ever be so base as to abuse their power. They were most plausible then. They had ostensibly combined for two most worthy purposes, -- to protect the strong attractions from playing in opposition to each other, and to restore, to a position of profit, many theatres throughout the country that had been losing money. I feel sure I am correct when I make the assertion that more than two-thirds of the managers, travelling and resident, are bitterly opposed to the organization and the policy of this combination of speculators, pure and simple, yet such has been its growth and its arrogance that fear and self-protection from its arbitrary power have prompted them to submit to its dictation, temporarily at least.

The newspapers all over the country took up the fight, the World leading the attack, for some time, until it was overcome by sudden quiet, the Sun almost alone taking an active position in favor of the Syndicate. In March, 1897, the Dramatic Mirror sent out sixty-five letters to managers, asking their views, and received only six replies, showing what awe the combination already inspired. An øactor, Wilton Lackaye, remarked later in an interview in a Southern newspaper, the Nashville American that one thing only was certain, the actor who took sides would be injured whether he spoke on one side or the other. In spite of danger, however, a number of significant opinions found their way into print during the next few months, among them these:

William Dean Howells: --"Not merely one industry, but civilization, itself, is concerned, for the morals and education of the public are directly influenced by the stage. Every one who takes a pride in the art of his country must regret a monopoly of the theatre, for that means 'business' and not art." Thomas Bailey Aldrich: --"The inevitable result of a Theatre Trust would be deterioration in the art of acting and discouragement of dramatic literature. Certainly that is not a consummation devoutly to be wished."

Augustin Daly: --"I do not believe that the best interests of dramatic art nor the highest aims of the theatre will be served if the spirit of competition is chilled, crippled, or destroyed; and the first aim of all such combinations or syndicates must be to absorb opposition and to kill off rivals or rivalry."

Brander Matthews: --"The history of the theatre abounds in attempts at monopoly. Some of them seem to succeed for a little. All of them fail in the end. All such attempts are foredoomed to inevitable failure. The stars, in their courses, fight against them."

Joseph Jefferson: --"When the Trust was formed, I gave my opinion as against it, considering it inimical to the theatrical profession. I think so still."

Richard Mansfield: --"Art must be free. I consider the existence of the Trust or Syndicate a standing menace to art. Its existence is, in my opinion, an outrage and unbearable."
Mrs. Fiske: --"The incompetent men who have seized upon the affairs of the stage in this country have all but killed art, worthy ambition, and decency."

Francis Wilson: --"Dramatic art, in America, is in great danger. A number of speculators have it by the throat, and are gradually but surely squeezing it to death."

James A. Herne: --"The underlying principle of a Theatrical Trust is to subjugate the playwright and the actor. Its effect will be to degrade the art of acting, to lower the standard of the drama, and to nullify the influences of the theatre."

Henry Irving once gave his views in the London Chronicle on this subject: "When I was in America, lately, a deputation of actors assured me that the Syndicate System is the curse of the American stage. Actor-managers, at all events, have made sacrifices for their calling, and protected its interests, and it will be an evil day for those interests when they are left to the mercy of speculation."

Francis Wilson drew a cartoon which represented the Trust as a huge octopus, the scales labeled with the various ills which he imputed to the Syndicate, some of these charges being fair, some malicious. Mr. Wilson and Mr. Mansfield kept up a constant fire in speeches before the curtain. Mr. Wilson said, at Buffalo, as quoted in the News of that city on December 12, 1897: --"This Trust is an ubiquitous invention of the enemy, to harass and squeeze out the life and soul and all ambitions of players, who are anxious to advance the interests of their profession."

He said, in Boston, on December 19: --"If these men have their way, this will, perhaps, be the last time that I shall have the honor and pleasure of appearing before you." In another speech, he said: --"Who loves fair play more than an American, and what choicer subject could one select upon which to address an American public than that of independence?"

On December 2, he sent this to the World: "We are in the hands of the enemy; God help Francis Wilson."

In the same paper, a few days later, appeared the following characteristic effusion: -- "It is merely a question how far each actor is ready to be a hero in the fight. It is not conceivable that any artist, who respects himself and his profession, can be forced to submit to these speculators; unless the actor is wilfully blind he must know the method the Trust employs. Every actor who puts a dollar into the pocket of the Trust is supplying a new link for his own fetters. Every actor who works for the Trust is working against his fellow-artists. The Trust cajoles where presently it will command. Once it succeeds in accomplishing its present purpose, there will be nothing but the Trust. Ambition will be futile. The independent actor-manager will have to disappear. The public will be obliged to take what the Trust gives it. Actors will be able to obtain employment only through the Trust. Playwrights will be dependent upon the Trust. Theatrical advertisements, since there will be no competition, will be limited to two-line announcements, and also the dramatic critic's occupation will be gone. This is not fiction. It is truth. Shall actors be beggars at the door of the Trust? It is the artist that the people go to see, him and his work. It is the artist in whom the people are interested, not the members of the Trust. Recent experiences have confirmed my intention to play in halls or dime museums, in preference to houses controlled by the Trust.
--Richard Mansfield."

On December 18, Francis Wilson said, in New Haven: --"There are a few of us nobler spirits, and I think I may justly say that we are nobler spirits, who will not submit to the dictation of the Trust. Some of those who do not wear the yoke of this combination are Richard Mansfield, James A. Herne, Mrs. Fiske, and three or four others, and we hope that we may be permitted to follow our art without paying tribute to the Trust."

The next month a paper on the Trust appeared in the Dramatic Mirror, from which these are extracts: --"Its characteristics are greed, cunning, and inhuman selfishness." "Every actor in America should at once join the Actors' Society of America." "Stars, heading successful organizations, should learn this truth: Self-interest is best secured through the ability of the many to gratify their reasonable wants, not through the ability of the few to dictate terms and conditions." "The few leading actors who are standing for the independence of the American actor, and for the liberty of the stage will not desert you. They cannot be cajoled, intimidated, or bribed; you may trust them. They may be beaten, but not subjugated." "I regret that Mr. Jefferson has taken no action. He was cradled in the theatre. The theatre made him famous. The actors loved and honored him. I can well wish he had espoused their cause." "I hope that Mr. Goodwin, who does stand for the highest art he sees, will speedily learn that the Trust, which grants him personal immunity, will withdraw that concession the instant it is strong enough to do without him. He is an artist, and his place is among the Independent stars." "As for me, I was an actor when the members of the Trust were in swaddling clothes. It is conceded thatI have contributed something to the literature of the stage and to dramatic art, and I therefore refuse to be driven from the stage of my country, but the gentlemen who have the lessees and owners of a number of playhouses by the throat. --James A. Herne."

By this time, most of the rebels had succumbed.

Fanny Davenport had written, in August: --"Of two evils I believe in taking the lesser, and as that was really a beneficial evil to me,I did not hesitate. I could not believe it wise or dignified to play cheap houses even at high prices, nor politic to be shut out of my strongest cities with a new play on my hands. It would have been 'cutting of my nose to spite my face,' and as Messrs. Klaw and Erlanger met my wishes in every and all particulars, I could really see no sense in opposing them in filling the dates I desired.
"Our theatrical career at the best is short, and I have come to the conclusion that friends are better than enemies in it. There are now not five managers out of the Syndicate: Mr. Schoeffel, Mr. Miner, Mr. Hopkins, and in no other city are any but cheap houses open. If you are met with perfect accord and every wish granted, what sense, save a childish one, in standing out?"
Others took the course thus frankly described. Look for a moment at the story of Richard Mansfield. In December, Mr. Mansfield wrote to one of the combination of stars, usually called the Anti-trust: "Let me persuade you and the other members to ask Mr. Daly to accept the presidency. He is a man of great executive ability, of great influence, and has a commanding position. Moreover, he has his theatre in New York, and he can give time and thought to our cause (which is the cause of the actor all over the world), and will therefore deeply interest him.
"I shall be most happy to serve in the ranks, and you perceive I am firing away as hard as I can."

Mr. Daly refused, on the ground that he knew actors and would not trust them to hold out an instant in the face of temptation. Was he right? On January 24, 1898, it was announced in the morning papers that Mr. Mansfield had reconsidered his position, and intended to play Syndicate theatres.

He wrote himself, June 22: "People will class us amongst the 'unsuccessful,' if we do anything more just now in this direction, and fight chimeras." As soon as he was safely at peace with the Syndicate, his manager, Mr. A. M. Palmer, wrote to one of the few remaining members of the opposition:

"I think he regrets that he signed the agreement and blames me for having persuaded him to sign it against his own judgement. At the same time he does not wish it to be understood that he does not fully sympathize with you in the unselfish struggle you have made against monopoly, and he would be the last to jeopardize the successful issue of your efforts."

Two prominent actors stood now practically alone in the fight. Mr. Herne became silent. Mrs. Fiske and Mr. Wilson were still standing by their guns. Augustin Daly quietly maintained his independence. He said little, but he meant what he said. He booked where he chose, and it is said that when Klaw and Erlanger tried to dictate to him, he sent a sharp reply. Had he not suddenly died soon after, it is reasonably certain that he would either have played entirely outside of Syndicate theatres, or that Klaw and Erlanger would have yielded. Daly's theatre is now the property of Mr. Daniel Frohman. Almost every month shows another theatre added to the list.
Mr. Wilson continued to talk. In February, 1898, he made a strong and lucid statement to the St. Louis Star: "When I broke away, they said Mr. Wilson would be driven out of the business if money could accomplish it. Well, here I am, not a whit worse off for my experience. I have met with some difficulty in booking my attraction. One-night stands are more frequent. I don't always get into the first-class theatres.

"Let Joseph Jefferson, Nat Goodwin, Billy Crane, Julia Marlowe, play at the Fourteenth Street Theatre. Would the people go to see counter attractions at the Olympic or Century in preference?
"Actors are an emotional, impressionable, I might say shiftless, lot. ... Nat Goodwin was going to build a chain of theatres from Portland, Oregon, to Portland, Maine, to fight the Trust. They offered him ten per cent more than he had usually been getting, and placed him in theatres he was anxious to reach. That put an end to his big talk.

"The idea of the Trust is to make one first-class and one second-class theatre in every city. One house gets all the heavy business. The other the lighter forms of comedy entertainment. What house gets the heavier business? The one controlled by members of the Trust. Messrs. Hayman and Davis, owning the Century, are not going give the Olympic any the best of the St. Louis bookings. They are doing the same trick in Chicago and New York. After a while will come a different scale of prices for the two houses. There is where the Trust collar will rub.
"Next year Mrs. Fiske and Francis Wilson will not be the only people outside the Trust. We can draw money, and every dollar we play to is a dollar out of the Trust's pockets. If we were half a dozen, instead of two, the end of the Trust would be in sight.

"As for inconvenience, it is slight. All it amounts to is our inability to get into a few cities. We can't touch Detroit, but I don't know that any one is consumed with a desire to play in Detroit. Newark is closed. I can't get into Philadelphia this year, but I will next season. There are Fourteenth Street theatres all over the country. Nobody that has a show the public wants to see need ask the Trust for permission to present it."

Well, Mr. Wilson, who could speak so sharply, was, it is understood, about the end of 1898, offered fifty thousand dollars for a half interest in his business by one of the firms comprising the Syndicate, Nixon and Zimmerman. He asked one night to consider the offer, and then accepted it. On January 2, 1899, the event was announced. His reasons, given to friends were these: --

In other words, he admitted that in a fight of a year and a half with the Syndicate he had been overwhelmingly defeated.

Mrs. Fiske then stood alone. If the Syndicate process of absorbing theatres goes on, she may be able to play in few American cities, but her hard and successful fight has added to her glory.
Such is the story up to the time of printing this book. It remains only to point out a few principles, most of them already indicated in the speeches of the rebellious actors.

I have taken a glimpse at the number of theatres controlled by the Trust. Let us now get some idea of the actors under the management of the firms comprising the Syndicate, or closely allied to it. Sir Henry Irving, whose views have been quoted, toured America in 1900 under Charles Frohman's management. In that year Charles Frohman was either the controlling or the active manager of: William Gillette, John Drew, Annie Russell, Maude Adams, Julia Marlowe, Henry Miller -- The White Heather; Because She Loved Him So, two companies; At the White Horse Tavern; The Empire Stock Company; His Excellency, the Governor; Phroso; The Girl from Maxim's; Secret Service; The Cuckoo; The Little Minister, No, 2; Under the Red Robe; Zaza, No. 2, with an interest in Zaza, No. 1.

His brother, Daniel Frohman, not a member of the Syndicate, but in such close relations with his brother that all his force can, in emergencies, be added to the power of the Trust, was then managing the tour of the Kendals. He also managed: E. H. Sothern, James K. Hackett, The Daniel Frohman Stock Company; A Colonial Girl.

Klaw and Erlanger managed the Rogers Brothers, who made much money, Ben-Hur, an enormous pecuniary success, and various other things. They got their principal power out of the fact that the whole Syndicate booking was in their hands, subject in part to the orders of Charles Frohman and the interests of other associates. Andrew Mack was managed by Rich and Harris, in close touch with the Syndicate.

Now, what of prominence, still taking the same year, was there outside, besides the one open enemy, Mrs. Fiske?

Several stars and companies, in whom the Trust had no direct ø Kø interest or power, feared to incur in any way its displeasure. All, I believe, except Mrs. Fiske, played in Syndicate theatres part of the time.2

It will readily be seen that with only one star in revolt, a few neutral and submissive, and most of the decidedly successful ones in practical control, the Syndicate added to its almost complete mastery of the playhouses an equally dominating influence over the players.

Although there are the two principal sources of power, there are others corollary in nature.
In their desire to influence the press, the members of the Syndicate are only like other managers. In their ability to do it, they are unrivalled. In New York, at least, it is not the obvious method, taken by smaller managers, of withdrawing advertisements. It is much subtler, in its essence like the deference which is always given to the very powerful. Their influence on any New York newspaper of the first class, even on the Sun, is probably not greater than Mr. Daly exercised on them. The fact that they have most of the news to distribute helps them enormously with papers which exist primarily for news. Their control of most of the plays gives them exceptional opportunities to pay dramatic critics to write and rewrite certain acts or plays and to give opinions. The fundamental principle is that the king can do no wrong. It is the vague but strong desire to be "in it" -- the tendency to treat with respect and caution any great power. That is a psychological necessity. All the gossip, all the serious interests, of the world in which most dramatic critics breathe, centre in the doings of Mr. Frohman, his associates and dependents. Take an illustration. Phroso was one of the poorest melodramas given in New York for a long time; The Conquerors, one of the coarsest and dullest. The Ghetto was a rather strong play; Children of the Ghetto, an unusually strong one. The first two were highly praised and constantly talked about by the New York press; the last two were first attacked and then neglected. Had Charles Frohman produced the last two, he would have been praised for high ideals. Had Liebler & Co. produced the first two, they would have met one storm of condemnation, followed by silence. This is not venality. It is simply that the point of view is strict toward equals, reverential toward monarchs.

The power of the press is not easily exaggerated. Paragraphs all over the country, for a solid year, assured feverish attention to Maude Adam's Juliet. Any item about the intentions of Mr. Frohman is eagerly quoted everywhere. If he produced the worst play ever seen, it would hardly receive the abuse heaped upon Mr. Zangwill's drama. If he produced Griffith Davenport, the critics would shake themselves into alertness for its good points, whereas for Mr. Herne they expressed the sufferings caused by what they deemed its dulness. Now, the New York papers are seen by perhaps twelve million people, including the newspaper men all over the country. A Syndicate attraction is put into New York just as soon as it has been "tried on the dog." It then becomes known through the land. A non-Syndicate production may have to wait a year or more before it can get into New York at all, and until it does, it loses the immense help of the New York press. Your man in Troy, with a salary of twelve dollars a week, is the type of the theatre-goer through the country. If he has three "shows" to choose from during a certain week, he spends his dollar on the one he has heard of. He would have heard of The Christian even had it never been in New York; but Griffith Davenport would be playing a dangerous game to go to such towns before a New York run had made the idea familiar. It would be deserted for the familiar names.

Think of the effect of this truth on new productions. Mr. Frohman can produce something and get the benefit of this immense advertising at once. Perhaps it is only some farce which loses money in New York, yet after it has been forced to run months there, it is so well known that it can at least go on the road to act as fair padding for the many theatres which have to be fed by the Syndicate in return for their submission. If anybody else produced such a failure, he would be likely to lose what money he had. He couldn't keep time in New York. Klaw and Erlanger would not book him on the road. The outsider must succeed at once and succeed greatly, or the country is barred to him. This means practically that the man with a few thousand dollars, who is willing to help on a young star in whom he believes, or a play which thinks good, in order to make a few thousand more, is helpless. He must aim only at overwhelming successes. He must gamble, -- win all or lose all. Moderate returns are usually the reward of really high-class plays, so this situation means the survival of the mediocre.

The same conditions which make it difficult for new plays to gain a hearing, put obstacles in the path of an ambitious young actor, who wishes to star and has modest backing. Unless he makes a hit with great suddenness, he cannot get into enough good theatres to give him a season's work under favorable auspices. The surest way to-day for an American actor to become a star is to serve faithfully in the Frohman ranks until he is widely enough known to head a company; and this is a poor way, because he cannot then have a repertory, but at best one part a year. Where is the sense in a repertory, when more money can be taken in by one play, at far less expense?
This same principle is at work in the selection of plays. Nothing does more than the existence of this powerful association to prevent the growth of the American drama. Charles Frohman, who almost alone supplies it with plays, avoids risk by accepting only dramas already tested abroad or the work of playwrights already established. The actor-managers are practically the only persons who produce the plays of untested Americans. Mrs. Fiske within a short time put on Becky Sharp, the first dramatic work of Langdon Mitchell, and Little Italy, by Horace Fry, until that time unknown, and just before that, Tess, made by Lorimer Stoddard, then little known, and Love Finds the Way, adapted from the German by Marguerite Merrington, whose reputation was very slight. Mr. Crane and Mr. Goodwin also have their eyes open for American work. Mr. Frohman and his associates have almost a corner in the plays of foreigners and of the established American authors. The ease with which they put No. 2 companies on the road gives the playwright greater royalties. Their domination of the theatres gives them better time and longer runs. They have greater influence with the public. Mr. Frohman has the reputation of absolute honesty in his accounts and of uncommon generosity, not universal qualities among theatrical managers. For these reasons, anybody not at peace with the Syndicate would probably find it hard to secure a play by Barrie, Jones, Pinero, Gillette, or Fitch; and George Bernard Shaw has frankly expressed his unwillingness to displease that aggregation. For the same reasons, an unknown author with a good drama would need to look elsewhere, and his only hope would be, that he had, not a worthy play, but one capable of making a sensation immediate and unmistakable, so that after a few nights or weeks, with or without giving up an interest in it, dates could be procured from Klaw and Erlanger. Even then the worst dates might be given, if the interest was not shared; but the distribution of dates is of little importance with a sensational success, though it may mean life or death to a play of which the drawing power is moderate.

The actor had advantages and drawbacks somewhat corresponding. Like the playwright, if he be in favor with the Syndicate, he can have constant employment and prompt pay, and he is, therefore, naturally often willing to take a smaller salary than he would accept from an outside manager. Like the playwright, he is not called upon for the higher qualities. Charles Frohman, with the multitude of actors under his control, would have difficulty in casting a really great play. When he bent all his resources for months to the success of Romeo and Juliet, in the spring of 1899, the result, compared to what Mr. Conried could do with a German classic, with his own company, in three weeks, or even to what Mr. Sothern or Mr. Mansfield have done with Shakespeare, was amateurish, and the acting in L'Aiglon was wretched. It is doubtful whether, with hundreds of actors to draw from, he could have put on Becky Sharp as well as Mrs. Fiske did, or Griffith Davenport as well as Mr. Herne did -- each vastly limited in choice by the monopoly. The power of the combine, of which he is the producing head, makes for mediocrity in acting as in plays. A play in an unexplored field must rely almost wholly upon the actor-managers, and a drama which rose into the highest tragic or comic greatness would find harder obstacles the higher it stood. As a rule, also, the best things done here, as the Tyranny of Tears and Trelawny of the Wells, are copied in almost every detail of the production from the foreign presentation. The Syndicate managers, however, do not try to reproduce the successes of Sudermann, Hauptmann, or Ibsen, or the encourage in any way the sterner aspects of the drama in America. They dread anything austere and tragic. It means to them the same as unpleasant or dull. Obviously, therefore, actors are kept from showing talent in some higher lines as surely as are playwrights.

Nor, even within the limitations set by the Syndicate taste, does an actor stand quite on his own merits. A player in favor with one of the leading powers in the Trust has many of the advantages of the favorite of a king. He, or let us say she, will receive more attention in the press. Seldom will conflicting attraction be found in the towns while she is there. She may extend her time and throw out other bookings. Her rivals will be prevented from doing this. Time will be held generously for her, and if she is unsuccessful, cheap companies can be dumped in to fill her time while she goes elsewhere. When Francis Wilson drew his cartoon of the Octopus, he labeled one scale "Special routes for our own attractions," and another "Impossible routes for outsiders." There is a sliding scale, even for their own attractions, according to their closeness to the throne. This is universal human nature, but its effects are increased by the combination.

The full text of the Syndicate agreement, signed in 1896 by the six parties to it, was put in evidence in a libel suit which Mark Klaw, representing himself and his associates, brought against Harrison Grey FIske in the early part of 1898. The most important provisions in the agreement are these:

"No attraction shall be booked in any of the said theatres or places of amusement (or in any which may be hereafter acquired as aforesaid) which will insist on playing an opposition theatre or place of amusement in any of the cities above named (or any which may hereafter come under this agreement) unless the part hereto having the theatre or place of amusement in said competitive point shall give his or their consent in writing to permit said attraction to play in the opposition theatre or place of amusement.

"The parties hereto mutually covenant and agree that so far as the attractions owned by them respectively are concerned (or in which they may hereafter, during the continuance of this agreement, become interested) they will play the same in the theatres or places of amusement herein above mentioned (or hereinafter to be included), or they will remain out of the cities in which said theatres or places of amusement are respectively located.

"It is hereby understood and agreed that the respective parties hereto can only play any of their attractions in any opposition theatre or place of amusement if they obtain the written consent of the party hereto having a theatre or place of amusement in said competitive point."

As long as this agreement continues, and is successfully enforced by a group of men controlling most of the first-class theatres in the United States, their power will be absolute. This royal power, as I write, shows no signs of disintegrating. Many say that without Charles Frohman to feed the theatres with productions, the Trust would collapse. Others think that if Hayman, Klaw, or Erlanger should be taken away, the complicated business system would not be continued. Whatever may come to pass in the future, it is still true that this Syndicate can say to the theatre owner: "If you do not do business with us on our own terms, we will not let you have first-rate attractions. If you do, we will destroy your rival, or force him to the same terms. For the bookings we will take a share of the profits." To the actor or travelling manager it can say: "You must play in our theatres or in barns. For our theatres we make our own terms. We will show you contracts, but they will not be signed by us until the last moment, so that your bookings or terms may be changed at our convenience." To both they can say: "Nominally, we act as your agents. In reality, we are your absolute masters."