Drypigment.net

The work of Thomas G. Moses (1856-1934) has been an inspiration to me throughout my career and is the muse for this tale too. For me, his work is a square in a patchwork quilt that covers theatre history atop fraternal sheets. I am weaving together four separate stories. The first of these stories examines the life and times of Moses, a subject near and dear to me since I created an index for his typed manuscript and scrapbook as an undergraduate student at the University of Minnesota. The second explores the origin of Masonic degree productions by Scottish Rite Masons and theatre practitioners who owned late-nineteenth and early-twentieth scenic studios. The third tale recounts my personal journey as a scenic artist and scholar. The final story concerns the acquisition of the Fort Scott collection and my responsibilities as the one-time Curatorial Director for the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center.

Here is a lengthy recap for those who have recently joined this online tale concerning my rationale for starting this manuscript. By the summer of 2016, I had supervised the removal and transport of a Scottish Rite scenery acquisition from Fort Scott, Kansas, to a storage facility in Bloomington, Minnesota. There it was to await completion of the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center stage where I was too lead a group of individuals to restore the entire collection. Seventeen drops would be ready to display for the opening of the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center on June 24, 2016. While on site in Fort Scott, I had also discovered some personal artifacts of Moses, left behind when he painted the scenery in 1924 that included a paint sweater, Masonic cap, paint brush and charcoal sticks.

By this point in my life I had studied Masonic Theatre since 1989 and restored over 500 historic backdrops in venues across the United States. My doctoral thesis was “Scenic Shifts Upon the Scottish Rite Stage: Designing for Masonic Theatre, 1859-1929” and historical scene painting remained my passion. As the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center’s Curatorial Director, I evaluated the Fort Scott scenery collection for possible purchase and transportation, estimated all of the restoration labor, provided timelines, assembled a crew, and ordered all of the necessary materials. This was just one small project of many that I had led during the planning and construction phase of the entire facility. I guided architects, theatre consultants, and interior designers to create a space that replicated a traditional Masonic center with a theatrical stage, c. 1914-1920.

My role as historical consultant for the entire endeavor began during 2014. This was during the same time that I placed the Winona, Minnesota, Masonic scenery collection into temporary storage to await the fate of their city council. My initial consulting agreement with the CEO of Minnesota Masonic Charities for work on the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center agreement morphed into a permanent staff position by June 1, 2015. Throughout the spring of 2015, the CEO of Minnesota Masonic Charities had repeatedly asked, “What will it take to get you on staff?” For months, he inquired, “How do you envision you future with us once the building opens?” After careful consideration, I closed my restoration business (Bella Scena, LLC), informed my clientele that I was unavailable for any future projects, and threw myself into the planning and construction of the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center. Little did I realize at the time, but the CEO was simply acquiring my services at a 40 percent reduced rate during their final year of construction. I also had no idea that the CEO would use my restoration specifications and hire a completely inexperienced crew to attempt a restoration of the Fort Scott collection after eliminating my position during July 2016 – one month after the building opened to the public. In the end, the Fort Scott scenery collection was irreparably damaged due to inappropriate conservation techniques and the application of hot-melt glue.

I walked away from the entire endeavor a “sadder but wiser” girl, trying to forget everything that had occurred and remain positive. However, I had not expected the systematic erasure of my contributions while working there from 2014 until 2016. My 11’ x 22’ stained glass design was now credited to the stained glass manufacturer. My position as opening exhibit curator was reduced to the role of a simple freelance consultant. The list goes on and on. After throwing myself into the project for two years, abandoning all other work in lieu of this endeavor, it looked like I had accomplished nothing on paper. On paper, the CEO had paid me from a variety of sources and ended up employing me as the Curatorial Director though Minnesota Masonic Eldercare Services and not the actual Heritage Center. This convoluted paper trail of employment made me virtually untraceable when looking at key players in the planning and construction of the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center. Hidden in plain sight and unaware of the endgame, I will never understand what warranted the CEO’s animosity toward me.

Initially, my spirit sank as I watched many in the Minnesota Masonic community, especially those that I had considered friends, look the other way as my position was terminated and my name dragged through the mud. Sadly, ill treatment by a Freemason in a position of power is not uncommon. However, the “turning a blind eye” from a fraternal family that I had helped for over two decades was extremely difficult to take. In the end, this project became a mere steppingstone on my path toward new discoveries in the shared world of fraternal scholarship and theatre history. In desperation for a distraction from my thoughts, I threw myself into theatre research and reached out to past clients. I was determined to make lemonade out of lemons and rapidly returned to the world of scenic art, design, and restoration. My six months of unemployment were a learning opportunity. I finally took the time to study some historical materials and make a few connections.

My husband, Master of Helios Lodge in Cambridge, suggested that I write a book. I refused on the grounds that I simply wanted to move onward, upward and away from Minnesota Freemasonry. I focused on my role as volume editor and contributor for the upcoming Santa Fe Scottish Rite book. It is slated to be published by the Museum of New Mexico Press in 2018.  I also took time transcribing the 1931 handwritten diary of Thomas Moses and inspecting his last theatre model – now held at the Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas, Austin. Finally, I set up a blog (www.drypigment.net) to share bits of technical information and traditions pertaining to historical scene painting techniques that I had discovered and documented over the years. I refused to be a victim of intellectual rape.

It was not until February 2017, while attending my husband’s conducting debut for a Singers in Accord event at the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center, that I was forced into action. The prior year, my husband had approached the general director for the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center with a proposal to pair musical selections with the scenic art of Thomas Moses. At the time, I was slotted to start the scenery restoration within the next few months and would have half of the collection completely restored by his 2017. Unfortunately, my position was eliminated and his journey became one wrought with frustration. I helplessly watched as the MMHC general director could not guarantee any restored scenery for his concert until the week before the event.

I sat in shock at the concert, seeing the extensive damage to Moses’ painted drops. Worse still were the comments by my friends who believed that I was responsible for this botched restoration. That evening, after the concert, I decided to take action and immediately distance myself from the unsuccessful restoration of the Fort Scott collection at the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center. I became obvious that I needed to speak out.

Initially, I attempted to take a positive spin on this tragedy and simply document my involvement with the Fort Scott collection, explaining its significance and providing an historical context. What started out as a modest discussion of the Fort Scott collection evolved after two major events that occurred during March of 2017. First of all, local Masons explained to me that the “official reason” given for my termination was my “lack of skills.” I was then credited, or blamed, for the selection and training of the crew that botched the restoration of the Fort Scott scenery collection. I immediately thought of a line written by the poet Dylan Thomas, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” I refused to go gentle into that good night and decided to share everything online.

And so, I continue my tale.

The Chicago Sunday Tribune had a Sunday Supplement titled “Worker’s Magazine: For the Man who Works with Hand or Brain.” On April 9, 1905, L. G. Pick wrote the article, “Stage Carpenter is a Star, Jack of All Trades.” Here is the second, and final, installment for what I posted yesterday:

“The stage carpenter’s work on a production begins a week or two weeks before a play is to be produced. Then he receives what is termed a “property plot” of the coming play. A property plot for certain shows reads more like a catalogue of a house furnishing goods firm than anything connected with the theatrical business. Everything which is needed for a play except the scenery, which is generally carried by the company listed on the “plot.” Each act generally requires altogether different “props.”

Here are a few things that were on the “property plot” of a recent play. Four carpet rugs, dark red; one card table, round top, thirty inches, dark oak; two bronze statues; one glass for whiskey sour; fifteen packages, assorted sizes to represent packages of groceries; one late; one tin water pail; four bound books; four clubs for crowd, one “wood crash.” This is about one-tenth of the items required on this plot and this was a small play.

When the stage carpenter gets this plot it is “up to him.” He has to get the things called for and he had to get them without paying anything for them. This is the only one of the puzzles to be solved in connections with staging a play. He must use his judgment and decide what size many of the various articles are to be and other things that go to make them applicable to a particular scene. Having decided this, he must go out and get them – without paying for them. This he does by borrowing from large downtown stores, paying them with passes to the show or occasionally with an advertisement on the program.

Often “props” has troubles that turn his hair gray before his “plot” is filled. For instance, in a play now playing in the city there was called for one étagère, filled with ornamental pieces.”

The stage carpenter who got this plot looked at this line, scratched his head, and took it to the head of the house. “See a furniture man,” said he. A furniture man was sought out and shook his head. “Not hear; never heard of it,” was his reply. Then the advance agent of the show came to town. “What’s an étagère?” was the first question fired at him by the carpenter. “Search me,” he smiled. Then the stage carpenter went to a friend of his who conducts a small antique furniture store and there, he found than an étagère was an old-fashioned “what-not,” and he breathed easier.

Something much akin to this comes up with each production that is made. Still the stage carpenter manages to smile through it all. When the “props” are all assembled and the old play leaves town and a new one comes to the theater is when the stage carpenter really begins work. The old scenery must be torn down and made ready for shipment, the old props taken off, and the new scenery and props put on.

The work of tearing out an old play and putting on a new one begins generally directly after the Saturday night performance and continues until the new play is put on and ready for the first performance. If one or both of the plays are being produced on a large scale, the time required to make the change is from thirty to thirty-six hours. During this time the stage carpenter must always be on duty, overseeing everything that is under his charge, and under these conditions nearly everything on the stage is under him.

On ordinary days the carpenter generally comes to work at 10 in the morning and works until the evening performance is over. His pay runs from $25 a week for the ordinary carpenter to $35 for the “star.” Thirty dollars is a high average. His work is hard, besides the length of the hours and there is little chance for promotion. A few stage carpenters have risen to positions as stage managers, but they are merely the exception to the rule. There is a season in the summer time when most of the men who fix stage settings for plays are thrown out of work through the closing of their theaters. Then some of them go into other branches of carpenter work and others, having saved some money, live on what they earn during the winter. But when the season opens again they are sure to be found back where the scenes are made unless some uncontrollable circumstance prevents.”

The 1903 pay range of $25 to $35 a week is the current equivalent of $660 to $924.62.

To be continued…

The Chicago Sunday Tribune had a Sunday Supplement titled “Worker’s Magazine: For the Man who Works with Hand or Brain.” On April 9, 1905, L. G. Pick wrote the article “Stage Carpenter is a Star, Jack of All Trades.” Here is the first installment as it should be read in its entirety:

“It’s fun to be in it after you once get into it, but I wouldn’t advise any young fellow to start into it with a hope of making a career through the work.” This is what a stage carpenter employed at one of the large theatres, a man of twenty years experience in his line, says when questioned in regard to the stage carpenter’s work.

“There are plenty of interesting things to see in and around the back of a stage, plenty of amusing things are always happening, which to a man with a sense of humor are a big manner of compensation, but that just about lets the job out. After a man gets to be a stage carpenter, he seldom goes any further. And no young man should thus limit his ambition.”

Despite the man’s advice, and surely he knows where he talks, it is not probable that there will be any serious diminution in the number of young men who will try to tread the way that leads to the glare of the footlights via a stage carpenter’s position. The glamour of the stage is over even this laborful position, and the “backs” of all the big theaters are full of young men who someday hope they will have the head carpenter’s job. Other’s who have not managed to get work anywhere on the stage are casting longing eyes toward the work. These and the public in general, including particularly the public that sits out in front, have the vaguest sort of notion of what a stage carpenter’s work consists of. None of them appreciate fully what the stage carpenter must know and be.

Stage carpenters work seven days out of the week. In this they are unique. Six days is generally reckoned a full week’s work, but Sunday and Saturday is just the same to men who see that the play is properly staged. They also work on an average thirteen hours a day, and when there is a change of play at the house where they are employed they sometimes have the privilege of being on duty thirty-six hours at a stretch. In this they also differ from most workmen, especially from other tradesmen.

But while the stage carpenter is, strictly speaking, a union tradesman, for the craft is well organized in all the larger cities, he is not to be classed in anyway with the man who builds your house or repairs your sidewalk, or does any of your work of the general house carpenter.

The carpenter is in most cases stage carpenter and property man in one. Occasionally the work is divided between two men, but usually the same man looks after the procuring of the “props” for a production as cares for the arrangement of the scenes of the play. In this double capacity the carpenter is much more than an ordinary workman. He is an artist, essentially an artist, if he is a success in his line. He, best of all men, knows how a scene is going to look after he and his men get through “putting it on,” and he knows best just what to do to make the people out in front believe that they are looking at the briny deep lashing itself to pieces on a rock bound coast, when as a matter of fact they are only seeing some loose canvas heaving under the efforts of three or four supers, and some brown canvas tacked to a frame. He knows how to place the “mountain pass” at the back of the stage so that the escaping hero may safely flee from the pursuing villains to his mountain fastness. No man, possibly with the exception of the star and the stage manager, has so much to do with the failure or success of a play. But the audience, which sits out in front and sees the finished productions, has no inkling of the truth. The carpenter doesn’t get his name on the bills.

But the knowledge of how to stage a play; how to fill a property plot, and actually make, if necessary, the scenes that are to appear on the stage, is not at all the knowledge that the stage carpenter must posses. He must be an all around “peach,” taking the word of a world renowned play producer for it.”

“He must know how to handle men. He always has ten or fifteen men under him. If he is at a big theater, and when the production calls for a large number of “supes” the carpenter – property man – is the man who must handle the “mob,” the “race track crowd,” or the “army.”

Sometimes this makes a hundred men that he had directly under him, and when one considers that “supes” and other stage characters are not of the meekest natures to be found, it will be seen that most men would have their hands full keeping this mob in order and seeing that it gets on the stage in the proper way.

Besides keeping this number of people in hand the stage carpenter must at the same time have his eye on the prop men and their work, see that the setting for each scene are done in proper time and proper manner, and give his attention to a hundred and one details at the same time.

To be continued…

William P. Davis, another Twin City Scenic Company founder, worked as the primary artist for the Chicago Civic Auditorium before moving to Minneapolis. John Barstow, and later his son William H. Barstow, were two of the Auditorium’s stage carpenters. Bartstow’s last name was occasionally spelled as “Bairstow” in various publications. While researching stage carpenters, I discovered a wonderful article about their work and the contribution of John Barstow when he designed the Auditorium stage.

On September 28, 1907, the Oregon Daily Journal (Portland, Oregon) published an article in their Sunday Supplement “Among Men who Work with Hand or Brain.” Jonas Howard wrote an article titled, “Boss Jack of All Trades. Glamour of Stage Due to the Carpenter” (page 49):

“The only jack of all trades who has mastered them all is the stage carpenter. What the stage carpenter doesn’t know or can’t find out could be written in a small book. He must be not only a carpenter of the first rank, but a plumber, machinist, painter, blacksmith, sailor, tailor, artist and common laborer as well. In fact, the stage carpenter must be an all around genius or he wouldn’t hold his job five minutes.

Stage carpenters begin their careers as assistants to the property men or scene painters.

During the first year of their apprenticeship they do nothing but the rougher jobs around the stage, such as moving scenery, repairing frames and helping the electrician. Later they are allowed to work some of the ropes that are used to manipulate the scenery and gradually work into the positions as fly men. It is not until a stage carpenter can make and repair “trick” stuff that he is called proficient in his business, and as “trick” stuff is as intricate and varied as the tricks themselves it is only the keen witted carpenters that reach the front of their profession.

“Trick” stuff is that part of the stage machinery that is used to bring about various spectacular scenic effects that are so common on the present day stage. Sometimes there is an automobile race to be brought off, and it is up to the stage carpenter to devise a scheme that will make an automobile run a mile or more at top speed in the space of 20 or 30 feet. To do this there must be a set of rollers under the floor to turn the automobile’s wheels. The country through which the race is run must be painted on canvas and wound up on upright rollers so it can whizz by at the rate of 90 miles an hour or so. All of this arrangement must be put together with skill or it would not endure through the performance.

Stage tricks are so numerous that there could be no accounting of them. Nearly every show has some mechanical device to produce its stage effects and the stage carpenter must be enough of a mechanic to be familiar with all of them.

In the Auditorium theatre in Chicago which has one of the largest stages in the world, there is 2,000,000 feet of rope and cables. To handle these and keep them in repair requires the services of a man who knows as much about ropes as a sailor.

In the producing houses more stage carpenters are employed that are used in the theatres where the stage productions are shown after they are once set up. When a play is produced all of its scenery must be made and painted and the work is under the supervision of the stage carpenter. Each piece of scenery must be made so that it can be used in the average theatre throughout the country, for it would not do to make the scenery to fit any one house.

John Barstow, former stage carpenter at the Auditorium, the stage of which he built, has been in the business nearly fifty years. He began his career in Europe, coming to this side shortly after the civil war. Before the Auditorium was built Mr. Barstow was sent to Europe to learn all he could about the stage arrangements of the best theaters and on his return he incorporated all of the best features of these houses in the Auditorium stage. His son, William H. Barstow, is the present stage carpenter at the Auditorium.

Most of downtown theatres in Chicago employ a staff of 10 or 15 stage carpenters, while the Auditorium requires the services of 30 men. Altogether there are 450 stage carpenters in Chicago and most of them belong to the union.

The average pay for the work is $5 for each eight hours [equivalent to $125 in 2017] and in the larger houses the work is done at 9 o’clock in the morning and works until 6 at night, then there is another shift to work in the evening, during the performance. When the play that is showing carries an extra lot of scenery or has a good many “tricks” some of the day men are required to be present during the evening performance. During the grand opera season the stage carpenters at the Auditorium report at 8 o’clock in the morning and do not get away until midnight.

Some of the best stage carpenters work in the cheap theatre. It is in these places that the thrilling melodramas are given and it is plays of this class that tax the ingenuity of the stage carpenter. It is only by a skillful handling of ropes and scenery that an automobile can be made to jump safely across the opening gulf between two blades of a jackknife bridge. A single slip might result in the death or injury of an actor.”

To be continued…

The stage effects that were discovered in Fort Scott, Kansas, at the Scottish Rite theatre were just a few common examples in a long history of designing spectacle for the stage. The 1924 version of Pepper’s Ghost for the 30^th degree and the volcanic eruption for the 17^th degree were relatively tame when compared with the commercial touring shows from the early twentieth century.

Stage carpenters and scenic artists, such as David A. Strong, initially designed scenic spectacles for Masonic degree productions. C. S. King of Sosman & Landis and W. K. Brown of Twin City Scenic repeatedly constructed certain stage effects for Scottish Rite theaters when degree productions initially appeared in the Southern Jurisdiction. They were just two individuals of the hundreds employed by scenic studios throughout the country. Today I look at Brown who was responsible for designing the stage machinery for many Scottish Rite Valleys, including the Minneapolis Scottish Rite where he was a member.

Twenty years after Charles S. King installed the stage machinery at the Grand Opera House in Minneapolis, a newspaper article discussed the venue’s first stage carpenter, William Knox Brown.

Published on January 13, 1901, the article was titled, “Experts Behind the Scenes.” It included a brief synopsis of Brown’s career as a stage carpenter. The main title line was followed by a subheading that stated, “Ability of Men Who Are Not Visible to the Audience is Tested by Such a Production as Hanlon Bros. Le Voyage En Suisse.” A series of illustrations followed, exploring the duties of stagehands, examining “Who They Are and What They Do – Some of Their Peculiar Experiments.” It was the image of stagehands working the lines that initially caught my eye.

Brown, Theodore Hays and William P. Davis started the Twin City Scenic Company, initially working out of the Bijou Opera House in Minneapolis. A wonderful history has already been written about the company and was published in the 1987 exhibition catalogue, “The Twin City Scenic Collection: Popular Entertainment 1895-1929.” It was Brown’s connection to touring spectacles and Davis’ history at the Chicago Civic Auditorium that I would like to highlight today as I continue to examine those who engineered stage effects. Theodore Hays was the business manager, Brown was in charge of the stage mechanics, and Davis led the painting at Twin City Scenic. All three had the necessary connections to make their endeavor a success. Brown had worked extensively for the Hanlon Bros. while Davis had functioned as the primary scenic artist at the Chicago Civic Auditorium.

The Star Tribune article noted that the “ruler of this realm behind the footlights” was titled “stage carpenter,” then proceeded to explain all of the different jobs associated with the technical elements of many productions. What really caught me eye was the description of the Bijou stage space in 1901.

Here is an excerpt that I found fascinating:

“The stage proper was divided by the old system of grooves, which were used to hold up the scenery into divisions, one, two, three and four, where the stage was extra deep, sometimes five and six. Grooves are a mechanical contrivance in which the scenes slide back and forth. This methods of stage setting is very seldom employed at the present time, the more modern arrangements of setting scenes in a box shape, supporting them with braces and connecting them by lash lines, being more common use. One as styled above is the first space back of the curtain line, and is five or more feet in depth, according to the size of the stage. Spaces two, three and four are equal to the distances from one, towards the rear. There are few theatrical productions that require more extensive stage room than the Hanlon Brother’s greatest spectacle, ‘A Trip to Switzerland.’”

The article noted that Brown was a “mechanic of experience” and “one of the best stage carpenters in the country” with a “thorough and comprehensive knowledge of the art of stage mechanism.” It then went on to describe his experience since first arriving in Minneapolis as a stage carpenter in 1882.

He was in his second year of presiding over the Bijou and credited with “that rare quality of being able to control men without trouble.” Brown started his career in Minneapolis as stage carpenter at the Grand Opera House in 1882. He also worked at the Grand Opera House in St. Paul before eventually transferring to the Bijou and the People’s Theatre. Brown left the area for work at a variety of opera houses by 1887, including Burd’s Opera House in Davenport, Iowa, Harris Theater in Louisville, Kentucky, and the Henrietta Theatre in Columbus, Ohio. He was later hired by the Hanlon Bros. as their master machinist for the production of “Superba.” Brown not only directed the staging of “Superba,” but also was engaged at the Hanlon Bros. for their private stage and workshop in Cohaset, Massachusetts. At this facility, Brown repaired and tested new stage effects and machinery.

I immediately thought of the “Albert, Grover and Burridge Studio” in Chicago where they had a space to light and display the completed scenes. Were the studios in Chicago and Cohaset part of a movement to construct spaces with theatrical stages to design, test and market new products for their clientele.

To be continued…

While supervising the removal of the 1924 Fort Scott Scottish Rite scenery collection, I stumbled across a variety of notes written on the inside the wooden sandwich battens. These battens were attached to both the tops and bottoms of each drop. Mathematical calculations, random notes, and small cartoons were jotted down in pencil during 1924. One batten even listed the organization of drops on line sets for the Fort Scott counterweight system. It was remarkable! My favorite discovery, however, was the pencil illustration of a counterweight rigging system that I immediately photographed and sent to Rick Boychuk. I recognized the familiar penmanship of Thomas G. Moses with its scrawling slant. His writing had been beautifully preserved for over ninety years, hidden in the center of the sandwich battens.

I am intrigued with the men who not only painted scenery for the stage, but also designed the stage machinery. The saying “necessity is the mother of invention” always comes to mind when I think of those who were able to engineer and paint transformation scenes. For me, the combined position of artist-engineer makes complete sense and provided much less of an opportunity for possible miscommunication! In any case, the stage mechanic must have understood how the painted product will appear. Similarly, the scenic artist must also have understood how the stage machinery would work. David A. Strong was one example of a theatrical artist and theatrical mechanic. He was not only recognized as a superb scenic artist, but also member of the Theatrical Mechanics Association.

Yesterday, I mentioned the value of hands-on experience for both theatre practitioners and scholars. The University of Minnesota Centennial Showboat provided training for not only design and scenic art techniques, but also stage machinery and construction skills. Today I start looking at those who simultaneously functioned as scenic artists and stage carpenters. I think back to the nineteenth-century production that used multiple scenery designers for a single show. This has always intrigued me when I read the lists of those credited with the production of individual acts and am curious about the visual unity of the entire show. In some cases, when an individual and wasn’t identified as producing the stage machinery, I can only believe that those credited with “scenery” were also engineering and constructing their own stage effects.

Roles noted in theatre programs became more delineated by the end of the nineteenth century. Technical theatre positions appear to be introduced and defined with job specific titles and duties occur. It is possible that the appearance of scenic studios contributed to the further division of roles in the theatrical labor pool.

Enter Rick Boychuk and his continued research concerning Charles S. King and the appearance of the counterweight system in North American theaters. For the past year, I have occasionally searched for information concerning King, a stage mechanic who worked at Sosman and Landis during the late nineteenth century. Usually I come up empty handed. Boychuk first introduced to me to King and his role as stage carpenter for the Crump Theatre in Columbus, Ohio. As a side note, Thomas G. Moses was credited with painting the drop curtain for the Crump, so they worked together. Both Moses and King were employees of Sosman & Landis at the same time.

Last month, I stumbled across mention of King as a scenic artist and immediately thought of David A. Strong, also an employee of Sosman & Landis Studio! In 1887, C. S. King was noted as the professional stage machinist who came from Chicago “to build and paint the scenery, rigging and traps for the stage” at the Opera House in El Paso, Texas.

To be continued…

I start today’s installment with a portion of John R. Rothgeb’s quote from yesterday: “Today the ad curtain is occasionally used in revivals of melodramas so that the audience can hiss at the villain, smile at the scenery, and feed self-satisfied with the sophistication of the 1980s.”

Various entertainment venues kept this type of entertainment alive in the 1980s whether it was commercial, academic, or community theatre. It attracts audiences because it is fun to be part of a communal activity. There is something delightful about viewing this type of production where you can cheer for the hero and hiss at the villain. Think about the popularity of sporting events and being part of a community who cheers together.

One longstanding example and educational training ground for theatre technicians and performers was the University of Minnesota Centennial Showboat. This was an academic venue that drew in thousands of repeat audience members every summer, creating a high visibility for the theatre department in our region.

For me, the combination of painting Showboat drops, Lance Brockman’s scene painting class, and the scenery collections provided an ideal training ground. Brockman not only understood the need to preserve this particular heritage, but also its value as an instructional tool. Learning historical scenic art techniques is much more than a mere examination of the past, it is applicable to many contemporary design and paint projects.

While attending the University, I had the opportunity to replicate historical sketches, enlarge sections of these compositions onto 5’ x 5’ flats with dry pigment, and then create full-scale scenery for a production. It was an invaluable experience that taught me how to “see.” This meant understanding how designs and compositions needed to be created when viewed from a distance. It provided me with an artistic foundation, similar to any drawing class or drafting lab. It was a necessary tool in my kit of techniques. Information that I learned while designing and painting Showboat drops was applicable to eight-story billboards for Times Square in New York, a theme park in Japan, local film productions, commercial murals, and many other projects during my career.

The U of MN Showboat also provided an opportunity to understand historical stage machinery. Where else could one study the creation and use of a roll drop? This is important knowledge as there remain many roll drops in venues scattered throughout the country. They are found in church social halls, Masonic lodges, Grange Halls, SOKOL theaters and other small public performance spaces. Their owners are often at a loss when a rope breaks or a scene is damaged.

Hands-on experience is essential in the preservation of theatrical heritage. There are theatre practitioners and scholars throughout the world who understand the necessity for this type of training, especially the exploration of past production techniques. For example, Chris Van Goethem has created a scale model of an 18^th century theatre (1:4). He understands that physically manipulating stage machinery is essential for students to understand the complexity and purpose of the equipment. Similarly, Jerome Maeckelbergh’s research with under-stage machinery at the Bourla Theatre and his scale tmodel (1:10) demonstrate the incredible sophistication of the machinery and possibilities for contemporary use.

In many areas, however, there seems to have been a loss of knowledge; at some point many forgot how technologically advanced theatrical productions were during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, as well as the trade techniques that created these complex stage settings. Painted scenery did not simply go up and down.  Brockman and many others understand the need to preserve our heritage, but their voices are often silenced. Without either the U of MN Centennial Showboat or the historical scenery collections I would not be the artist or designer that I am today. Unfortunately, the Showboat is no available for theatre students at the University of Minnesota’s Department of Theatre Arts and Dance for many reasons that I do not understand.

A wave of desolation washes over me when I contemplate the amount of scenery and skill that has disappeared since Rothgeb wrote the above passage. It is even more painful when I consider the recent loss of the Showboat and the destruction of the 1924 Thomas G. Moses collection at the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center. This is one of my incentives to write everyday as I continue to explore the life and times of Thomas G. Moses. It not only provides a rich context for his work, but also reminds people of our past and a theatrical heritage that should not be forgotten.

To be continued…

Part 151: John Z. Wood and the Twin City Scenic Company Collection

John Z. Wood traveled extensively for work after the financial travesty caused by his stepson Horace C. Tuttle in 1896. After painting for the Winnipeg Theatre, Wood journey to Minneapolis, Minnesota, and painted scenery for a variety of venues. I often wondered what drew Wood to Minneapolis. It might have been the connections that another Rochester Art Club founder, Harvey Ellis, had to the area. Ellis settled in the St. Paul, Minnesota, during 1886 and worked throughout the region for seven years before returning to Rochester. Some of Ellis’ designs include the Mabel Tainter Memorial Building in Menomonie, Wisconsin, and Pillsbury Hall, at the University of Minnesota campus in Minneapolis (East Bank).

It was in Minneapolis that Wood worked for the Twin City Scenic Company. His designs for drop curtains are currently part of the Twin City Scenic Co. collection in the Performing Arts Archives at the University of Minnesota Libraries. The backs of some designs include the name Robert J. Mork, a salesman for the Twin City Scenic Co. A few of Wood’s paintings also have competitive scenic studio stamps and markings on the backs, such as the Great Western Stage Equipment Co.

I keep referring to the scenery collections at the University of Minnesota and should explain its significance. Here is the link for the collections: https://umedia.lib.umn.edu/scenicsearch

If it were not for Lance Brockman’s passion to pass on historical painting techniques and acquire these collections to preserve a disappearing heritage, I would be doing something else entirely today.

From 1989-1991, I processed two scenery collections (Great Western Stage Equipment Co. collection and the Holak collection) while attending the University of Minnesota as an undergraduate student. A decade later, I help design, write the text, and assign all of the metadata for the online scenery collection database while completing my graduate work. All the while, I replicated the painting techniques for both small-scale renderings and full-scale scenery, mainly on my own time. My introduction to this material at the age of nineteen shifted my focus from performance to scenic art and design. I was immediately hooked on this aesthetic and the scenic artists who painted visual spectacle for popular entertainment venues – especially Scottish Rite theatres.

Lance Brockman was instrumental in acquiring the Twin City Scenic Collection for the University of Minnesota as an educational tool for theatre students, artists and all others interested in this theatrical heritage. Portions of the Twin City Scenic Co. collection were displayed in a museum exhibit and catalogue titled “The Twin City Scenic Collection: Popular Entertainment 1895-1929.” The exhibit ran from April 5 – June 14, 1987 and was curated by Brockman at the University Art Museum, located in Northrup Auditorium on the east bank of the Minneapolis campus. Ironically, this was the year that I started my college career, so I never saw the exhibit!

The catalogue that accompanied the show was dedicated to John R. Rothgeb. He had passed away in December of 1986, just four months prior to the opening of the exhibit. Rothgeb was a theatre professor at the University of Texas (Austin) who first linked the significance of Scottish Rite collections with theatre history. He contacted many Scottish Rite Valleys throughout the country inquiring about their scenery collections. Rothgeb’s scholarly contributions are monumental and worth study in their own right. Much of his research is located in the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas, Austin. He was particularly interested in Thomas G. Moses and the Sosman & Landis Studio. This was one of major reasons that prompted my trip to Texas last fall after the Scottish Rite photo shoot in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

The Twin City Scenic exhibit catalogue was dedicated to Rothgeb. Brockman wrote, “He will be missed, but the groundwork that he established will provide the necessary foundation ultimately to preserve for future generations both an integral link with nineteenth-century heritage of American theatre and an understanding of “the romantic tradition of painted scenery.”

As part of the dedication page, Brockman included two paragraphs from Rothgeb’s unfinished essay. It is well worth including in its entirety here, as his sentiment is even more significant at this particular point in time:

“The late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries in American are rich in theatrical history, but little remains of the romantic tradition of painted scenery. As each year passed, there are fewer who can recall the beauty and delight evoked by a finely executed painted drop. For the very nature of scenery implies its fugitive quality. One interesting aspect of this painterly tradition, the ad curtain is nearly gone and forgotten, for even those who remember seeing them in theatres have their memories dimmed. Theatrical history today tends to look upon turn-of-the-century through the eyes of the reformers of the “new Stagecraft” such as Hiram Moderwell: “We now rarely see and old-fashioned ‘drop’ scene, and have almost forgotten how absurd it looks.” [H. Moderwell, “Theatre of Today” (New York: John Lane Company, 1914), 21]. Today the ad curtain is occasionally used in revivals of melodramas so that the audience can hiss at the villain, smile at the scenery, and feed self-satisfied with the sophistication of the 1980s. The theatre of 1880, however, was vital almost beyond our imagination, consisting of perhaps 2,000 working theatres across the country with an audience made up of nearly every citizen. As a part of the scenic tradition of this period, the phenomenon of the ad curtain interestingly illustrates the commercial course of our cultural evolution. – John R. Rothgeb.”

To be continued…

Despite his success in fine art and some early theatre designs, Wood’s career hit a major obstacle in 1896 that resulted in a substantial financial loss. This event was like let the instigator that prompted Wood to seek employment at theaters. At that time, scenic artists could be considered a very lucrative profession. The substantial amount that one could make producing a variety of painted scenes was indicated in the lists of business transactions listed in Thomas Moses’ typed manuscript. You just needed to be fast and talented.

A newspaper article popped up in one of my online searches for John Z. Wood. In it, he was listed as the stepfather of Horace C. Tuttle (b. 1863). A sad story unfolded, describing family betrayal and subsequent financial ruin. Here is the article in its entirety from the “Democrat and Chronicle” (Rochester, NY) 30 July 1896, page 9:

“Bad Predicament of a Young Man. Horace C. Tuttle Spent the Money of His Parents. His Arrest Followed. The Man Represented to Them That He Wanted the Money to Engage in Business in New York – Taken on a Minor Charge. Horace C. Tuttle, a young man well known in the city, was arrested at Batavia last Monday on a charge of skipping a board bill. Young Tuttle’s home at No. 17 Chestnut Street with his stepfather, John Z. Wood, who is an artist with a studio in the Reynold’s Arcade.

Tuttle’s sudden downfall has excited no end of comment in this city, as it was the general impression here that he was prospering in business.   He was a member of the Yokefellow’s class of the Asbury Methodist Episcopal Church and was at one time prominently identified with the Y.M.C.A. After graduating at the Free Academy he went to work in Miller’s piano store on State Street. He became dissatisfied at his small salary and the hard work he had to do and made up his mind to do business on a larger scale. He accordingly unfolded to his stepfather and his mother the outlines of a plan that he said would make him speedily rich. He told his parents that he had been engaged as a traveling salesman with Newby & Evans, piano dealers in New York city, and that of course it would take some money to get started. The cash was forthcoming and the young man departed for New York in high glee.

Once in the metropolis the young man’s mind began to work upon larger lines. He would make himself a member of the firm and get his foster parent to furnish more money. In proof of his assertion young Tuttle sent to his stepfather a letter written by John C. Johnson, stating that Horace was undoubtedly a man of unusual ability and was certain to make his mark in the piano business. If they could get hold of the money it would be an excellent scheme to furnish him with the necessary funds to make himself a member of the firm Newby & Evans.

On the strength of the letter from Mr. Johnson, represented by young Tuttle to be the vice-president of the company, and by virtue of the importunities of the young man himself. Mr. Wood was induced to send along about $4,000 in money to make his stepson a member of the firm. Tuttle visited home occasionally, and was always expensively dressed and invariably had lots of money. This, his parents thought, he had made as a result of his investment.

About two months ago, as Tuttle had not visited home for some time, Mrs. Wood became alarmed at his long absence and wired Mr. Johnson, asking him where her son was. The answer came back from the firm Newby & Evans, but Mr. Johnson’s name was not at the bottom of the telegram. It said that there was no such man as “John C. Johnson” in the employ of the company and that they did not know any such person. Mr. Wood then called on Mr. Miller, the State street piano dealer, to find out something about Newby & Evans company. Mr. Miller did not know anything about them. Mr. Wood was shocked beyond measure. His stepson had represented to him that Mr. Miller was one of the leading officers in the company.

Other matters such as notes that were not met and board bills that had not been settled soon came to the notice of the unhappy couple and their eyes were soon opened to the fact that instead of investing the money the young man had been living on it and had spent most of the $4,000 that had been given him. Mr. and Mrs. Wood can ill afford to lose this amount and they are almost crushed by the news of the disgrace.”

The equivalent of $4,000 lots in 1896 is over $110,000.00 today!

To be continued…