Travels of A Scenic Artist and Scholar: ‘Gene Field and the Tabor Opera House

Copyright © 2020 by Wendy Waszut-Barrett

I continue to explore the history of the earliest scenery painted for the Tabor Opera House between 1879 and 1882.  Evelyn E. Livingston  Furman was integral to the preservation of the scenery at the Tabor Opera House in Leadville, Colorado. She was a good steward, one who safeguarded many stage artifacts throughout the building. Furman’s publication, “The Tabor Opera House, a Captivating History,” pieces together many loose ends regarding the early stage and stories about the Tabors. I have repeatedly returned to her work for the past few years, searching for additional clues. Gretchen Scanlon also explored the history of the Tabor Opera House in “A History of Leadville Theatres.” It is an insightful and entertaining publication about popular entertainment and a variety of performance venues in this rough mining town.

In my own writings about the Tabor Opera House, I try to rely on historic newspaper articles, understanding that there is always a margin of error with the retelling of any story. It is easy to jump to conclusions about history, trying to piece it together in a tidy progression of events. When I catch one of my own mistakes, I often go back to correct the error and update my writing; that is the beauty of a digital format, it becomes a living document. For today’s post, I followed a trail of breadcrumbs to Eugene Field, the son of attorney Roswell Field, best known for representing Dred Scott. ‘Gene Field became part of the Tabor story early on and was recently credited with painting the Royal Gorge drop.  Spoiler alert: He was a writer and not a scene painter.

In regard to the earliest scenery installed at the Tabor Opera House, it is clear that both Furman and Scanlon relied on the same historic newspaper articles for sources. I have now located many of the same sources, as well as a few more. Unfortunately, neither Furman nor Scanlon cite specific sources in their works. This presents a challenge for others to further substantiate their claims. 

In my continuing examination of early Tabor Opera House scenery, here is a recap. The original scenery, stage machinery and drop curtains were delivered by James E. Lamphere, scenic artist, and Mr. Barber, stage carpenter, in 1879. By August 1882, the building and stage were renovated. On August 23, 1882, the “Leadville Daily Herald” reported, “there will be a change for the better in regard to scenery, scene shifting and drop curtains. Those ridiculous hitches in scene shifting that have heretofore occurred on one or two occasions will no longer take place.” If the stage arrangements were bad enough to be changed  within two years, it is unlikely that those responsible for the original arrangements were rehired. In fact , H. C. Sprague is credited as the stage carpenter for new arrangements. I have yet to locate any mention of a scenic artist, however, keep in my that many talented stage carpenters during this period could also paint, and paint well. The theatre industry was not as compartmentalized as it is now.

Furman also writes that the original roll curtain from the Leadville Tabor Opera House was taken to Denver for the premiere of “Silver Dollar.”  In a later chapter Furman describes the original drop curtain’s composition but does not cite any source.  Her description of the first drop curtain by Lamphere is identical to a similar description published in the “Leadville Weekly Herald” on Nov. 15, 1879: “The drop curtain is a masterpiece from the brush of Mr. Lamphere, and represents a glorious mountain scene, at the base of which is a fine old castle, with a stream running at the foot; alongside of the water is a rugged road, which ends in the winding of  canyon” (page 3). Scanlon describes this same scene for the original drop curtain. It is improbable, however, that this curtain survived beyond the 1882 renovation; it was likely repainted or replaced well before the Elks purchased the building in 1901.

Furthermore, Scanlon writes that a second drop curtain that was delivered to the Tabor Opera House a few years after the venue opened; this timing would coincide with the 1882 renovation. Scanlon credits Gene Field with painting the second drop curtain that replaced the original, writing “A few years later, Tabor contracted to have a new drop curtain painted by Gene Field” (page 132).  Scanlon goes onto explains that Field’s drop curtain depicted  Royal Gorge, and it was still being used when the Elks enlarged the stage in 1902. Furman also writes about the Royal Gorge composition, but not as a replacement for the first drop curtain, just as another roll drop with a hefty price tag of $1,000. Furman includes the Royal Gorge drop as part of the original scenery painted by Lamphere. This is where it would have been extremely helpful if either author had cited any source in regard to the $1,000 expense or Gene Field as the scenic artist.

Of the Royal Gorge drop Scanlon continues: “It was taken down, and there was a great deal of debate over what should happen to it. Some thought that it should be hung in the Carnegie Library or donated to the Leadville Pioneers for safekeeping; others thought that the main part should be cut out, framed and hung in the opera house. The curtain stayed in the opera house. In 1932, it was lent to the Denver Theater for the premiere of the movie Silver Dollar, starring Edward G. Robinson, based on Tabor’s life. What happened to the curtain after that remains a mystery.”

Gene Field wasn’t an artist, he was a writer who wrote for various newspapers. In 1883, the “Larimer County Independent” reported, “Without Gene Field and the Tabor Opera House, Denver would be a barren waste” (Fort Collins, Colorado, 24 May 1883, page 2). Decades later, newspapers would reminisce about the relationship between Field and Tabor: “That the reputation of the Tabor Grand spread in ever widening circles during the early years of its history was due, in certain measure to the theater itself, but more, it is believed, to the stories about its personnel and players, written in the Denver Tribune between 1881 and 1883 by Eugene Field, who was earlier associated with the Kansas City Times, then in his twenties Field glorified in lampooning prominent people, particularly the newly rich. Mr. Tabor, his son Maxey and William Bush, first manager of the theaters, were his eternal targets. Copies of the tribune were demanded even in Mexico, London and Canada. So the Tabor Grand acquired far renown” (Springfield Leader and Press, Springfield, Missouri, 5 June 1921, page 8).

I located the source that connects Field with the Tabor Opera House drop curtain, but he was not noted as the scenic artist. On Jan. 1, 1903, the “Herald Democrat” reported, “There is a story about Tabor and this curtain which may or may not be true, but it is worth repeating. Gene Field was originally responsible for it.”  Field was not responsible for the painting of the drop, but the telling of the story about Tabor and the drop. The 1903 article continues to share the story, as originally told by Field:

“It is said that when Tabor got the curtain, the artist had painted a portrait of the late William Shakespeare for a centerpiece. Shakespeare, the artist thought, was a proper person to pose for a picture symbolical of the thespian art to which the building was to be devoted. When Tabor saw the picture he is said to have asked whose picture that was. “Why, that’s Shakespeare,” said the artist. “Who the — is Shakespeare?” roared Tabor. “Take his face out of that if you want to make a portrait gallery of the curtain, put my picture there.”

Five years earlier, “The Saint Paul Globe” shared a similar on January 23, 1898:

“It was when the building had been completed and the artist was painting the drop curtain that Tabor came in. As he watched the progress of the work, he asked the artist: “Whose picture is that which you are painting in the center of the curtain?”

“Shakespeare,” replied the artist.

“Who is Shakspeer?” asked the future senator.

“Why,” said the artist, “he is a great man who has written the greatest plays – the Bard of Avon, you know.”

“Shakspeer?” said Tabor. “Seems to me I’ve heard the name somewhere. But what in thunder has Shakspeer done for Leadville!”

“Nothing that I know of,” said the artist.

“Then paint that picture out and put me in.” And that is the way Tabor’s picture came to be in the drop curtain.”

Here is an earlier version from 1890  that appeared in the “Norfolk Virginian” (12 Nov. 1890, page 8) and the “Pittsburgh Press (9 Nov. 1890, page 12). The heading for the article in the “Norfolk Virginian” was “Not Acquainted with Shakespeare.” The heading for the article in the “Pittsburgh Press” was “Senator Tabor’s Drop Curtain.” The story for each was identical:

“When the building was completed he hired an artist to paint some suitable designs on the drop curtain. The artist did so. While the finishing touches were being put on, the Governor and Senator ambled into the building and inquired:

“Who’s picter’s that?”
Shakespeare’s,” meekly replied the successor of Raphael.

“Who’s Shakespeer?”

“Why, he’s the standard author of tragedy and drama – the Bard of Avon you know.”

“Shakespeer, Shakespeer’ seems to me I’ve heerd the name summer, but what in thunder has he done for Leadville?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

“Then paint the picter out and put mine in.”

And it was done, and Tabor’s picture remains there to this day.”

The story was again repeated at the time of Tabor’s passing in 1899, but Tabor’s portrait was no longer on the drop curtain. His portrait was painted on the proscenium arch; this is what I have proposed in past posts, as Tabor’s portrait would remain visible throughout a performance, whereas a drop curtain scene is raised at beginning of a production.  The following article was originally published in the “New Orleans Times-Democrat,” but quickly spread all across the country and appeared in many other newspapers. Here is the article in the “Sacramento Bee” from May 13, 1899:

“Soon after the late Senator H. A. W. Tabor, of Colorado, made his first million,” said a former resident of the Silver State, “he built an opera house at Leadville. It was a very fine building for the day and place, and with characteristic liberality he determined to spare nothing in its appointments. Among other experts he engaged an extremely competent New York artist named De Moro to do the decorations and gave him absolute carte blanch. This greatly pleased the painters, and he did a remarkably fine piece of work. When the job was completed he sent for Tabor to inspect it, and the latter was delighted with everything until he looked at the proscenium arch, in the center of which was a superb medallion portrait of Shakespeare. “Who is that fellow, anyhow?” asked the new millionaire, frowning ominously. “That is William Shakespeare,” replied De Moro, in surprise. ‘Well, he didn’t have a blamed thing to do with building this theater,’ said Tabor, sternly. ‘Rub him out and put me in.’ The artist was furious and adopted a unique method of getting even. Tabor wore an enormous purple-black moustache, which always had the appearance of being imperfectly dyed, and De Moro proceeded to duplicate the weird armament on the upper lip of the bard of Avon. He then painted in a standing collar and red cravat, labeled the ghastly composite ‘Hon. H. A. W. Tabor,’ and went back to New York, cursing everything in Colorado. The De Moro portrait stood  unchanged for many years and was regarded by frontier art critics as a speaking likeness.

‘Up to middle age Tabor’s life was one of great hardship,’ continued the Westerner, “and when he suddenly became fabulously rich he plunged into luxuries like a starving man wading into a banquet. One of his early freaks was the purchase of several magnificent lace nightgowns, which cost $1000 apiece and which he kept locked up in a safe during the day. Eugene Field was editor of the Denver Tribune at the time, and those lace nightgowns made him simply hysterical. He wrote columns upon columns about them, describing the garments in detail, with numerous diagrams depicting sections fore and aft. The diagrams were hideous affairs, which Field carved out himself with a penknife on the back of old wood type. He used to describe how Tabor would forget the combination of the safe and sit up, shivering and naked, half the night trying to remember the right figures. Although he kept Denver in a roar for weeks, and made Tabor so wild that one day he rushed into his office, snatched the unfortunate nightgowns out of their compartment and tore them to thread. “There, now!” he exclaimed, wiping his forehead and kicking the tattered fragments into a corner. ‘I hope than cussed fool will be satisfied. I’ll be hanged if I ain’t going to get a gunny sack,’ he continued, ‘cut some holes in the end for my head and arms, and then sleep in it for the rest of my life!”

“When Tabor was appointed to the Senate to fill an unexpired term of exactly twenty-nine days, Field broke loose again and had all kinds of fun with the old man. He declared that Tabor opposed the tariff bill on the ground that it encouraged lawlessness in the West. ‘I don’t know this Tariff Bill,’ he reported the Senator as saying in a speech, ‘but we have entirely too many of ‘em out where I live. There’s Wild Bill and Buffalo Bill and Pecos Bill and Billy the Kid – all no good. If you let Tariff Bill have anything to do with the Custom House he’s liable to steal the Atlantic Ocean.’ Many of the honest folk took these flights of fancy seriously, and drove Tabor nearly distracted by long letters of remonstrance, urging him to read up and get posted, so as to not disgrace the State. At the expiration of the Senator’s brief term he circulated an autograph album among his fellow-members and the incident tickled Filed immensely. He gave what purported to be a copy of the ‘sentiment’ inscribed in the volume by the different statesman – such things as ‘When you see this remembers me. Roscoe Conkling.’ And ‘Sure as the moss grows ‘round a stump you are my darling sugar lump – I mean chump – Geo F. Hoar,’ and similar nonsense, all of which maddened his victim. I think Gene Field was the only man Tabor never forgave, for in spit of his gaunt, forbidding exterior, the miner magnate was as tender-hearted as a girl. He was really full of sterling qualities, and in his proper sphere he would have been anything but grotesque. One thing is sure – if every fellow he helped in secret would have joined his funeral procession the other day he would have gone to his grave like an Emperor of old.”

To be continued…