He must be capable of inspiring the lyric writer and composer, the costume designer and the scenic artist. He must possess imagination, suggest the locale, color and architecture—the atmosphere—of all scenes, select the color schemes for all costumes and scenery. He makes up all orders for scenery, costumes and properties, and must, to that end, know both qualities and costs; prices per yard of silks, satins, and every kind of material required in the production, whether for wardrobe or in the scenic effects. He must order the correct number and size of shoes, stockings, tights, wigs—everything, in short, that the company supplies to the players, which is usually all save the street clothes which they wear into the theatre. The orders for properties include all furniture, rugs, bric-a-brac, draperies, and everything else that serves to dress the stage or the performers. If period furniture is called for, the producer must be competent to say what is correct for the locale and the period.

He must furthermore make out a plot for the switchboard, to control every lighting "cue." There will be a front light plot for the "floods" and "spot-lights" as well as separate plots for side-lights, overhead lights, and all the rest, to be thrown on or off at a certain cue. This necessitates his knowing how many and what colors he requires in front of each lamp for his many different lighting effects.

For each act the location on the stage of all scenery and furniture must be definitely determined, as well as the exact place for each performance, and the producer determines the location of the same, and the different heads of the mechanical staff mark the stage ground-cloth in colored crayons or water-colors for the guidance of the stage carpenter, property man, and electricians, upon whom devolves the duty of setting the stage, props and electrical equipment. The producer is absolute monarch behind the curtain line, his dominion extending not only over the actors, singers and dancers—the entire company—but also over all members of the mechanical staff and the orchestra. He alone is responsible to the owner for the successful presentation of the performance. His is a man's size job.

How many American producers of the supreme type, capable of the bigger things, are there in the United States?

I know five. And I know them all. Five out of 110,000,000 people. How many do you know of?



The Stage Manager takes the show from the Producer after the opening performance and is thereafter responsible for everything connected with the show back of the curtain line. He it is who presses the buttons that run the curtain up and down, and gets the performance under way and keeps it moving, changing the scenery and lights exactly as arranged by the Producer. He is accountable to the Company Manager for the way every performance is given, and maintains a close supervision over the principal artists and the chorus, sees to it that they stick to their script and do not interpolate matter of their own or "guy" each other or the audience. Actors or actresses who are insincere in the parts assigned to them should be barred from the professional stage. There is evidence of "guying" an audience at times in some of the best companies on the part of some players of established reputations who should be ashamed of themselves, and who certainly should be punished for such offenses. I have known some star comedians to go on the stage intoxicated, which is an unpardonable offense, and for which such persons should be driven out of the show business. If an actor would dare do such a thing in a company directed by me, I would go before the curtain and denounce him to the audience and refund the price of admission. An actor who would do a thing like that is called a "ham," which means a common person with no mentality or breeding,—a type that is practically extinct now in the theatre.

The Stage Manager is responsible for every facial makeup, and will personally pass upon each individual's appearance. He is usually an actor of long experience, and knows makeup thoroughly, but not the straight makeup for youth as taught in the Ned Wayburn Studios which is the makeup I perfected when glorifying the celebrated "Follies" beauties. He is capable of maintaining discipline, and is the watch dog behind the curtain. He commands respect by reason of his knowledge, experience and good judgment. He has presence of mind and is able to handle any emergency that comes up. He must thoroughly know his business. He is versatile. Like the several instructors in my studios, who have had long stage experiences and specialized training for their jobs, the Stage Manager is able to answer any question that can come up concerning stage matters, and he is able to understudy and play most any part in an emergency.

The Assistant Stage Manager is under the Stage Manager. In the larger productions there are often two assistants. He has charge of the chorus, male and female, and is required to make all calls, to get the principals and chorus to the stage. He calls "half hour," thirty minutes before the overture time, "fifteen minutes," fifteen minutes before the overture time, and "overture," and when the overture is called everybody in the opening of the first act must come to the stage. He does the clerical work for his department and keeps the record of attendance, etc.

The Musical Director, who is the leader of the orchestra, is responsible to the Stage Manager for the way in which all music is played at every performance, as well as for the correct rendition of all vocal numbers on the stage. Every tempo throughout the play is his personal responsibility, and the composer exacts of him the most careful and effective execution of the score as written. It is he, too, who conducts all music rehearsals. He and his entire orchestra are members in good standing of the American Federation of Musicians, and the amount and time of their service in the theatre are definitely agreed upon and duly set forth in a signed contract in established legal form and binding upon both parties.

All shows carrying scenery require the services of a Stage Carpenter, who is the custodian of all scenery and scenic effects, drops, solid drops, cut drops, leg drops, gauze drops, borders, exteriors, interiors, ceilings—all flat stuff and set stuff. (I am using the usual stage nomenclature for these, assuming that you will know the meanings of most of them, can guess at others, and won't care especially if one or two are not in your vocabulary. Stage jargon has crept pretty well into the understanding of the general public, till now most theatrical terms are matters of common knowledge.) The scenery is set for each scene on the exact floor marking indicated by the producer. Stage-hands, known as "Grips" in stage parlance, set the scenes.

There is usually a second stage carpenter, or second-hand assigned to work at the side of the stage opposite the stage carpenter, and a boss flyman, whose station is up above in the fly-gallery. He gives the "flymen" the cues to lower and raise the scenery as required, upon receiving signals by "buzzer" or "light-flashes" from the stage.

The property man, known as "Props," has charge of the furniture, rugs, pianos, telephones, everything of this nature, as well as of all hand-props, such as bric-a-brac, books, flowers, fruit, food for stage banquets, table silver and china, everything in fact that the play requires—even to a prop baby or any animals required. It is his duty to see that all props are in place for each act, ready to the hand of each player as the action calls for them.

There is also an Assistant Property Man, who has charge of the clearers, the men who set the "props" and clear off the trappings after each act, preparatory to setting the scene for the act following. At the close of the last act of the play the stage is again cleared, both of props and scenery, to permit unobstructed passageway. This is a state requirement, enacted as a fire-prevention measure.

The Chief Electrician operates the switchboard and is the custodian of all lights on the stage; that is, of all portable lamps, of all that actually light. A lamp that is merely a prop or a decoration and not used to yield light is under the control of props and no electrician will touch it. The Assistant Electrician has the responsibility of all lamps in the theatre other than those on the stage.

Nobody ever touches a light in the theatre. A call goes out for the electrician if anything goes wrong with a light anywhere. Nobody ever shifts or moves any part of the scenery except the stage carpenter or the crew under him. None but props ever places a piece of furniture on the stage. If you want a chair moved half an inch you must call the property man to do it, otherwise the several unions involved will immediately and without any question stage a drama of their own that is not down on the bills; one that may really turn out to be next door to a tragedy, since the penalty for failing to observe union requirements would undoubtedly be to stop the performance, walk off the stage and fine the stage-hand who was guilty of over-stepping the bounds $100.00 and ban him from the union.

Every musical production has its wardrobe mistress, and sometimes, if large enough, her assistant, both good seamstresses. The dressing room assigned to them is called the wardrobe. All costumes are in the care and charge of the wardrobe mistress. She alters and keeps them in repair, and sends out to be pressed or cleaned when occasion demands. The wardrobe women also have a union.

The Company Manager represents the owner of the show and controls the "front of the house." He has nothing whatever to do with matters back of the curtain line, which are strictly within the province of the producer or stage manager. He has enough cares and important duties of his own without going back stage to find more to add to them. Moreover, any effort on his part to dictate to the producing end would cause an immediate rupture. He knows that, and attends strictly to his own affairs. Probably in no other craft, trade or profession is the line so carefully drawn between the business end and the producing end as in the show business. It is the Company Manager who is the custodian of the funds, handles all the finances and acts as paymaster. He maintains a close supervision over the sale of tickets sold at each performance and with the aid of the resident house manager and house treasurer "counts up" the tickets directly after the sale has stopped for each performance, usually after the curtain goes up on the second act. He makes up the payroll at the end of every week and pays the company on Saturdays during either the matinee or evening performance, as is required by the standard theatrical contracts.

The Company Manager is the watch dog of the show from "front." The box office receipts tell him a story that he must heed, and he is quick to catch its warning. There comes a time when even the most successful play must be withdrawn from the stage or continue at a financial loss. He is a wise company manager who can correctly determine the exact point to call a halt and terminate a run for the best interests of the owner and all others concerned. And it is because he can do this that he holds the important position that he does. He is almost invariably an experienced showman. Furthermore, his multiple duties require him to be a diplomat if he would maintain his standing for preeminence.

When the company travels, he arranges the transportation, provides rail or other transportation, supervises and controls everything connected with the entire trip. He is held financially responsible, and signs many contracts. The Company Manager handles everything connected with money and transportation and is an important cog in the wheels of things theatrical.

There is a press representative connected with the show who finds plenty to do in attending to all newspaper advertising and advance writeups, publicity, photographs, billboard posters, photograph lobby frames and other display matter, as well as all other printing, including the newspaper ads and the distribution of printed matter. The fixing of the prices for tickets, which is most important, is usually his duty, provided he is a shrewd showman. The Press Representative, or Director of Publicity, or "Agent" as he is known professionally, is generally found about two weeks in advance of the company arranging every detail to anticipate a successful opening or presentation in each city, or "stand," as it is called.

So much for the personnel of the show's management and working crew.

Now we will say our company has just arrived in town and taken over the theatre in which it is to appear for an engagement.

It finds at the theatre a resident house manager, a resident house treasurer, in charge of the local box office, and his assistant treasurer, who acts at times as relief for his chief, opens the box office in the morning, and sells the gallery tickets at show time. There is a house music director, a permanent chief usher and the other ushers, front ticket takers, an advertising agent, bill poster, a day and night stage door tender, who are usually watchmen, who are custodians of the building, besides the janitor and cleaners.



There is no conflicting of authority by reason of the arrival of our show upon the scene. It is understood by all hands that the show staff takes precedence of the house staff, and all work together for the general good, to put over a perfect and complete performance and get the public's patronage and approval.

One thing you will do well to remember if you ever become a member of any theatrical business or mechanical staff:

If you have occasion to purchase anything for the show or theatre at any time, be sure to get the company's stage manager's OK, or order or voucher of some kind in advance. It is an invariable rule of the craft that any purchase of over five cents made without this formal sanction will not be paid by the management, but will be considered as a donation—however involuntary—on your part.

There is one very important man behind the curtain at every performance on every stage, whose rule is arbitrary and absolute, and who is not on the company payroll. This is the house fireman, a city officer, with the power of the city and state behind him. The fire regulations are posted in plain sight on every stage. "No smoking" is one peremptory order that admits of no violation. Woe unto the actor or actress, principal or chorus girl, who tries to sneak a smoke in a dressing room, if found out! The fireman is using his nose as well as his eyes, and the familiar odor of a surreptitious cigarette will lead him straight to the culprit. Mr. Fireman is authorized by law to enter any dressing room under such circumstances, and no matter what the state of your toilet, he will exercise his authority, enter your room—and remove you forthwith. Fine or imprisonment, or both, are the legal penalties for violation of the no smoking law, and for using a flame or canned fuel, in most theatres. Principals have before now been taken off the stage in the midst of a performance and landed in jail, necessitating the dismissal of the audience. It is a mighty important man who can do a thing like that, and consequently the fireman commands the profoundest respect of every member of every company, from the chief all the way down the line.

No man is ever employed back of the curtain line in any first class theatre who is not known to be of good character. Those who are old in the theatrical business know this fact. If you harbor any other idea of these men, get it right out of your mind. Every theatre manager today demands that his employees be qualified in respect to character as well as in ability.

Now that I have taken you back of the curtain line and out into the front office and shown you just how the wheels go 'round that make the show go, you have become aware that there is something more in the theatre business than a mere group of good actors and singers and dancers doing their best to please you up on the stage. The more the machinery of the stage is kept out of sight, the better the management and the greater the satisfaction, both to the folks behind the curtain and the audience out front. Your attention should not be distracted from the play, the opera, the spectacle, by the intrusion of any noise or the appearance of anything or anyone not concerned with the actual presentation. The drop curtain or the tableau curtain should move silently and without revealing the human agents that manipulate them.

Scenes and sets should be made in silence and out of view of the spectators. No person should ever be in evidence on the stage, not even momentarily, save only the actors, whose presence you expect and welcome. Otherwise the illusion is interrupted, perhaps destroyed—and ours is an art where illusion holds a major place in imparting pleasure. Such an extraneous element would also break the continuity. It is not tolerated in the best houses.

So you see there is a definite reason why the "men behind the guns" in the battery of the stage are out of sight and so, often, out of mind. The hard work of the producer and his faithful subordinates is shown only in the superior attainments of his troupe and the ensemble as presented to your vision. They, themselves, the men who finance, prepare, rehearse and drill the show into shape, are seldom in evidence—never on the stage.



PROFESSIONAL COACHING AND PRODUCING FOR AMATEUR ENTERTAINMENTS



I am often called upon to "put on" an amateur show, and the call is not confined to New York alone, but extends to many far distant cities. These are usually community or social affairs, charity organizations, college shows, or entertainments by the employees of some large establishment. Once I have put a show across for these lovers of theatrical activities, the habit of continuing the plan of giving a show seems to have become established, for with many cities and clubs and associations the call continues year after year, an annual or periodical production under my direction being demanded. This indicates that I have been successful in directing the non-professional in a theatrical way, and I am sure it is so, for I have handled the whole situation and the "company" just as I would if they were going on the professional stage, taken personal charge of everything, coached principals and subordinates, put the show across, and been on hand to see the results.

Spread here before you is the story of just how I organize, coach, develop and handle an amateur company in a musical comedy or revue performance to occupy a full evening's time on a theatre stage; from the first "call" of an untrained troupe of inexperienced actors to the final curtain of the actual, completed performance.



First of all, I make a call for anyone and everyone who would like to take part in the entertainment. This call is usually made in a hall, sometimes in the ballroom of a hotel, but usually in a large hall where there is a good floor and a piano. I always have a pianist in attendance.

I take the people who are going to take part in the ensemble first and arrange them according to their height, always having the shortest person to my left. Sometimes a great many people will try out for a thing of this kind. I have had as many as three and four hundred at many of the calls, and possibly more than that. I have always arranged them, as I say, from my left according to their height.

Then I get them to stand in a huge semi-circle before me, as large a semi-circle as the hall will permit, and if I have too many for that one semi-circle, I put the others behind them into other semi-circles. I begin by placing my first semi-circle shoulder to shoulder. I watch their shoulder heights and their head-lines all the way along the semi-circle. The semi-circle will begin at my left, cover the whole side of the hall—whichever is the longest side—and the end of the semi-circle will be at my extreme right. I have my table and chair in the center, but near the wall opposite this semi-circle. The pianist I usually have on my left-hand side, if it is convenient. He must have his piano turned in such a position that by looking slightly over his shoulder he can see me as well as the group.

I number the entire group, beginning with number one and running consecutively from my left as far as they will go. Then they are required to sit down in the same order. Each person must have a seat and they occupy the same seat at each call, after the elimination process. Before I do anything else I have their names taken, with addresses and telephone numbers; the first and last names directly opposite the number that I have given them. Then they stand up and I arrange them in straight lines across. Sometimes I will have eight in a line across, and I may have six lines of eight to begin with; sometimes eight lines of ten, and perhaps as many as twelve in a line, all depending on the shape and size of the hall.

After they have been arranged in perfectly straight lines one directly behind the other, the next thing I do is to teach them the eight different directions, which are so important. Let me recall them to you: (1) left oblique, (2) left, (3) left oblique back, (4) back, (5) right oblique back, (6) right, (7) right oblique, and (8) front. They are taken through these directions until I am sure they understand them thoroughly. Then I divide the foot into four different parts, just as I do in my courses: the toe (the end of the shoe), the ball (the half-sole), the heel, and the flat. I always make them stand with their knees together, their heels together, the left toe pointed to left oblique, the right toe pointed to right oblique, hands down at their sides, the weight equally distributed between the two feet, heads up, and looking straight front on a line with their eyes. I insist upon their standing this way. Every time they come to their places on the floor during rehearsal, I remind them of it.

Now, I begin to show them simple movements in order to get them to shift their weight easily and to give them confidence. First the hopping step. When they do this I can immediately tell just how far they can go in my dancing—by giving them what I call the hopping test. They hop on the ball of the left foot eight times and they repeat that eight more times, on the ball of the right foot to a 4/4 tempo. Then they hop on the ball of the left foot for eight counts, and alternately for eight on the right foot, through a number of refrains or popular choruses. I caution them to be careful about bending the knee when they land the weight of the body on the floor, because many of them have never danced before in their lives. They know nothing about it, but by bending their knee they make a cushion for their weight, and they must land on the ball of the foot, not on the heels.

After I try them out doing that, I put them in a circular formation, where everybody can see me, for I stand in the middle of the ring. I turn them toward the left hand, and I start them around in a circle on the hopping steps; left hop, right hop, left, 2, 3, 4; right hop, left hop, right 2, 3, 4; alternately through, in time with the music of a popular 4/4 tune. This test has never failed with me. I can immediately find the clumsy, awkward ones and select the apt ones. This, of course, I do in my mind, making mental notes of their numbers. After I get them back in a straight line at the end of the hall I call out the numbers of those who have qualified, but I do not hurry to do this because many times they are nervous at a first tryout. So I encourage them as much as I dare to. One has to be tactful at such times. But right away you can find your awkward people and also those who have a natural grace. I can pick them out immediately.

They move around in a circle. Many times I will stop them and divide them into smaller groups, all the time noting the ones that get it and the ones that don't. I will get to know number 1. I will watch her or him, and I will say to myself, 1, 3, 5, 8, 9, 14, 16 and 18 have it; the rest haven't. Then I ask them to sit down. I can find out just about the way they are going to do my work from this little tryout. I never individualize my criticism.

The main idea is to find out the ones who are interested. There are always some people who come to these calls who are out for a lark, and they must be eliminated at the first call. After the hopping test I am able to pretty well decide just which ones are going to get the ensemble work—and very often you will find some splendid natural dancer in a group like this.

Then I have another little test that I use in a 2-4 movement. Two hops on the left, two hops on the right, two on the left and two on the right. Get them to do that to a 2-4 tempo.

After I determine in my own mind those who are most apt, I ask the members present if they have ever done anything in the way of any individual stunt, either a dance or a song, or if they ever played a part in amateur theatricals. Usually a few will stand up, and I bring them around my table one at a time to get an idea of what they have done. I get them to write down their names and addresses and exactly what they have done or what they think they can do, gradually getting the whole thing on paper. In this way I am getting all of the available talent organized.

In the meantime I am watching the members of the ensemble. I am trying them out in some of the simple routines. I gradually work them into it before they realize it. I get them all enthused about it, and through long experience I am able to tell which group is going to be what I call my dancing girls or boys. They will be the smallest ones, five foot one, five foot two, three and four. Then I pick out those who are a little slow in picking up the steps, and they will be the "mediums," the sort of "in between" ones. Then I pick out the very best type of show girl, usually the taller girls, who can't move as fast as the smaller girls, but who have grace and good figures, and who are good looking. Until I have the three final groups, of course, I make all the members of the ensemble dance. The show-girl will be more dignified perhaps, with a stately bearing. Naturally I pick out the girls who have natural aptitude to do my work properly and make them the real dancers. I have eight, twelve or sixteen of these in a set, never any more. Then the others who don't dance quite so well will be the mediums, and then the show-girls who can stand in the back of the stage, or at the corners, and dress the stage or do "parade numbers," or walking numbers. After I get these sets worked out I give them their next call and take the principals in hand.

Then I have copies of the manuscript, and usually carry along three sets of the parts. If it is a play, I have the play completely read. If it is a revue, I have all of the skits and numbers with me.

I have the principals come in and sit down in a semi-circle before me while I seat myself behind the table on which I keep my papers and the brief case in which I carry the "scripts," parts, etc., and we have a meeting similar to the meeting that was held with the ensemble. The pianist is there, and they bring along their songs. Whoever is going to be the stage manager of the company is also there. He is usually one of my coaches that I carry with me. The local casting director and usually the president or chairman, also sit at the table at the left side of me, with my own assistant (the "coach") at my right.

Now, those who want to read parts for me are put at one side into one group; that is, those who wish to try to handle important parts in the dialogue. Then I place another group together which expects to do solo dancing—at the other side. They are called principal dancers. Then I make a separate group of those who expect to sing, or to do any sort of a musical specialty, or any kind of a "stunt" that might be included in the show. I have had the greatest variety of specialties in a show. I have had them do magic, burlesque magic, play ukuleles, and all sorts of stunts which I have placed effectively in a show. We had a man in the Princeton show who did a little trick with a cigarette that was a scream. I saw him standing around, and I asked him if he could do a specialty. "I don't think so," he said. He was smoking a cigarette at the time, and he said "This is the only thing I can do." He took the cigarette from his mouth, broke it in two, lit both ends of it, and he was smoking with both ends of the cigarette sticking out of his mouth. Then he put another cigarette in his mouth and did the same, and finally he lit the third cigarette without using his fingers but from the other butts in his mouth. Well, I had him do this stunt in the second act, in a proper spot, and it stopped the show every performance. Some of those connected with the show told me before the show that they didn't think what he was doing was going to get over, but I told them in as nice a way as I could to mind their own business, as I always do, and I put this "bit" in. I put a 50-ampere spotlight (very strong) on his face, and he did just this little trick beautifully. Well, there was more talk about that than anything else in the whole show. It had commercial value and it helped the box office. People went especially to see him do it. We had stunts there that had been planned for a year, and they didn't get as much favorable comment as this one little trick did. Of course, it was properly fitted in, cued in, as we call it, just as everything else has to be in the right spot.



I only point this out to you to tell you that sometimes in arranging your recitals or shows—whatever you may call them—you will find a lot of talent which you would otherwise overlook unless you go about it the thorough way that I do. I do the same with a professional organization, because after all I am a builder of entertainments and I must know entertainment values in order to make a success of my business. I must be able to recognize and fully realize talent when it is present. You must have a lot of patience to do this work. Some people are able to do lots of things that will prove entertaining. After all, what you are concocting is an entertainment. You should always aim to present something different, something original or novel that will surprise and amuse your audience, not the hackneyed old stunts that everyone has seen time and again.

After I get them divided into groups and get their names down, I go through the tests for principals. I will always hear the songs first; but before you hear them sing they have to put down on paper what they have ever done before, how much training they have had, and so on. Then they go over to the piano and sing. But I usually try to be tactful and let amateur singers tryout for me with no one listening, to spare them embarrassment. From the piano they come up to the table and sit down before me. As they are sitting before me, I note their appearance. I engage them in conversation. I note their teeth, mannerisms and personalities, incidentally classifying them in my mind and casting them in my mind's eye. If they are in any way possible and I feel that they should be given a chance, I make a note of it and the songs I want them to try.

Then I grade them, number 1, number 2, 3, 4 and so on. All of those who are trying for the leading parts are graded as they should be, but always on paper so that I will not forget or overlook anyone.

After I am through with them I go through the solo dancers the same way and mark them and what they can do. I get them down on paper. As I see them dance I find out which is the best dancer, with the idea of placing her or him in the show to good advantage. That's the important thing in planning your show. They all have to be placed in a certain sequence in the show. If the best numbers are all in the first act, you kill the act or acts that follow. The success of any show is in the way it is laid out. It is the placement of the personalities, and what they are given to do—when they do it—that makes or mars the entertainment. One with a great deal of personality can go into your show, and if not cast properly he or she will kill the rest of the show. Casting must be done with good judgment and common sense.

After I have my list of singers and dancers worked out, then I pick the people who are capable of playing the parts. Some of them may have had previous experience, but never perhaps professional coaching. Now the reason why these amateur shows are usually so rotten is on account of the incompetent coaches who put them on. It is always the fault of the stager if the show doesn't go over. Some of them are terrible. They don't know anything about the show business. They don't know how to lay out a show. They don't know how to put on the dancing. They don't know a comedy scene when they see one. They do not understand how to rehearse dialogue or how to set the inflections of the voices which make the lines get over as they should. These coaches are usually people without any actual staging experience, consequently they are not competent to rehearse anybody. Amateur organizations all over the country are beginning to realize the necessity for professional stage direction in order to register success, both artistically and financially. It is not nearly so costly to employ my organization as it is to have some other which is only giving a very poor imitation of us, which means a thoroughly competent staff of real producing directors, who are up to the minute with their dance routines and everything else required. If you will take the trouble to investigate you will no doubt discover that the coach you have employed has been to my school for a very short time, just in order to get our latest dances and ideas in staging. Why get this service at second hand? It will cost no more to get it from me direct.

Before you let them read a part for you, you should first hand them a copy of their part and tell them to go to one side and sit down and read it through thoroughly. Some of them don't know anything about a part. A copy of a part is typewritten, and the dialogue that they are to speak begins at the margin. The cue that they speak on begins about an inch away and there is a dotted line in front of the cue, but always what they are to say starts at the margin when parts are properly typewritten. Parts are made up of what we call speeches. It may be four lines or four words or two words or even one word. "Yes" is a speech. What they should know is what their speeches are. What they have to say is called a "speech," and in parenthesis must always be the "stage business" or what they are to do. Stage directions should always be in parenthesis. They are sometimes typed in red ink on the first copies of the parts.

When they study the dialogue, they should try to fathom the speech; that is, they should form a mind's eye picture of what the line conveys to the audience. That is how I teach them to study. They read a sentence. A sentence is supposed to express a complete thought. They must get the proper inflection by reading it out loud. No method of expression is brought into play yet. By that I mean no pantomimic by-play or facial expression. They are only reading at first. In most of the amateur shows, the players never do anything else but read the parts. They read, crossing back and forth whenever the coach thinks they ought to cross, and it doesn't mean a thing. I watched that very thing in an amateur show not so long ago, and it was inane. Nobody should move from one place on the stage to another without a reason for moving. There is a reason for every inflection of the voice. A person with common sense will read a part intelligently, but only a person with a dramatic spark inside of the body will be able to act a part naturally. If the dramatic spark is not there, no human being will put it there. If it is there, a real director will discover it and awaken it and make much of it.

After this first reading rehearsal, where the parts should be cast, more than one person can be tried out for the different parts. I make a call for the dialogue rehearsal where I walk them through the action, holding the parts in their hands as they walk through the physical action of the play. You will find that each one has his or her own idea as to how it should be done. I have them speak their lines distinctly and slowly at first. While this is going on I do not allow any visitors. Not one word is spoken except by the person who is reading the lines, or myself. I make notes as to who reads the parts best. Many times you will find that the local folks will have ideas about who is to play this part or that part. I pay no attention to them at all. I always use my own judgment about such things; in fact, about everything concerning the production. I don't allow anybody else to dominate the show or arrange anything for me. But you must know your business before you can assume such an attitude.

After the dialogue rehearsal is over, all the participants are carefully marked, noting the ones who are most natural and apt at the dialogue; those who have resonant voices that will dominate the auditorium as well as those who have positive personalities. You know there are a great many negative people on the stage; they never get anything over. I always have tried to pick personalities that will go over. I can take a crowd of professionals or amateurs and place them before me in a semi-circle, seated; get them to read a play for me and immediately pick those who will score a success. This, of course, is the result of years of experience, yet if you try this you will have some with strong personalities dominating your little semi-circles. They will usually dominate your show. There is always one personality that dominates everybody. It might be a comedian, it might be a singer, it might be a dancer, but there is always some personality that sticks out, and after all, such a personality must be reckoned with and properly cast, otherwise it may even dominate the play. It usually does. If properly cast it may carry the play to success.

A rehearsal usually lasts about three hours. Accomplish something every minute of the time. Get on with the business of rehearsal—no discussions or arguments. When rehearsal is over make your next call for these people, at a definite time and do not change it. After dividing all of your people into groups as I have said, make separate calls for principals and the ensemble. For instance, take your dialogue and principals' songs Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, from 7:30 until 10:30, or thereabouts; and the chorus or ensemble sets Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday at about the same time. I think you will find that you can accomplish a great deal on Sundays. I usually call the principals and members of the chorus the first Sunday at 2 o'clock, and keep them until six, unless there are religious scruples against rehearsing on Sunday, which is really not considered sacrilegious. (I was brought up in the Episcopal Church and sang in the choir as a boy.) Then I run right through the play as fast as I can, to teach them the sequence of it. Then I usually call the principal singers back Sunday evening and give them a good rehearsal on the "business" of the numbers.

At the first rehearsal for the chorus I have the musical coach teach them the music and lyrics by ear, one phrase at a time. Provide a complete copy of the lyrics for every member of the chorus; we usually collect them at the end of each rehearsal. Do not allow any talking, laughing or playing at any of your rehearsals; make everybody concerned take everything seriously from the very beginning. They will welcome it, since it saves time for everybody. Put them under the strictest discipline; get rid of those who do not want to take you seriously; do not be annoyed by them, as they jeopardize your chances of success.

Sometimes I carry my own musical coach, and I have found out that when I don't carry my own pianist I always have trouble with my work. I have never found anybody who can play the piano for my rehearsals to suit me unless they have played professional rehearsals before. They must have a certain touch to inspire me, so a good pianist means a lot. Insist upon one who reads easily and who can play by ear as well. If you have a rotten piano player the numbers will usually turn out to be terrible. There must be something in the way the number is played to make the members of the chorus want to dance.

After we get the numbers taught—that is, the songs—then I start to teach the ensembles to dance the different routines. I pick out what I would say would be the "hit" number of the show, the best popular tune, something that appeals to me, that has a production idea in the lyric. It is usually in 4-4 tempo, what I call the song-hit tempo. I pick out this one song and we try a simple soft-shoe movement to the chorus of it. Our routines fit any 32-bar chorus. I work with the song for a while, then give them a 5-minute rest. Then I may pick out a waltz number and try a few steps to that 3/4 tempo. But first of all they are in a ring in a circle around me, and they first are required to walk in time to each tune in the show.



I show them how to walk in time to the music. You begin with your left foot and walk 8 steps in strict time with the music, then you take four steps in half-time, counting one-and on each side, taking a step on the flat of your left foot for the count of 1, then bringing the ball of the right foot up behind the left heel and touching the floor with the ball of that foot for the count of "and"; the same with the right foot, and so on. The complete movement being in strict time and "4-and" for half-time.

There may be eight, twelve, sixteen or sometimes twenty-four numbers, and the people are made to walk around in circular formation in time with the music, until they walk gracefully without any awkward mannerisms. Now, there will always be somebody who will start with the wrong foot. Someone will always be out of time. Some of them are born without a sense of rhythm. They don't belong in the show and they must be eliminated if you are going to make a success of the ensemble work; only people who do modern dancing well should attempt the dancing.

We go along and teach our regular routines, whatever I lay out for the show, but working on every number at the same time, doing maybe four steps for one number, four for another, and so on, until I have laid out the whole show in my mind. I never lay a show out in advance. I do my best work on the spur of the moment. I have tried the other way, but whatever is cut and dried is never any good. I must be inspired at rehearsals.

When those who are going to be the principals have learned the songs, I talk to them and try them out on a few little test steps to see what they can do. Some of them are usually able to do some little dance movements. Then I make them stand behind the ensemble and do the work I have taught them, not in front of the chorus where they would be embarrassed if they missed a step, but behind the lines where they can be picking up the work. Then I eventually get them out in front, and they usually do about the same dance as the ensemble, because if they don't the ensemble shows them up. And you don't get your precision effect. You must always get in an effective finish to every number, either a final picture or an exit. If you want the chorus to get a hand, bring them on for the encore, and let the chorus exit big on the encore, but first get your effective finish. Then you have them all back for the encore, then exit the chorus if you like, and let the soloist stay on and let her or him do a solo dance if it is going to be strong enough. There are different ways to finish a number and you have to use your own judgment.

Be patient when you handle the principals and chorus, but persistent. Shape up the dialogue right away, and take the entire show through as soon as you can—the first Sunday as I suggested, if possible. Make them run through the show no matter how it looks. They must stand up for the ensembles and go through what they have learned, no matter how rough it is, and the principals must do whatever they are supposed to do to the best of their abilities. Don't take "no" or "I'm not prepared" or anything like that for an answer. Accept no excuses; go through with it. The more you go through the sequence the better they will be at the performance.

Along about that time I am thinking about the pictorial effects. I will have worked out a costume plot for the principals and chorus by this time. By a costume plot I mean an assignment of dresses, costumes, for both the chorus and principals. I make out two separate plots, one for the members of the chorus and one for the principals, in sequence from the opening number of the show down to the end of the show. If I have thirty-six or forty-eight members in the chorus, I put their names in and the costumes that they wear for each number, in the order that they are worn. These plots are then typewritten according to the sequence of the show. This is most important. They show every change in costume that every one of the ensemble makes during the performance. The same thing with the principals. Always figure the time you have allowed each person to change costume, otherwise you will strike a snag which may ruin the performance.

The show is taking a definite form by this time. I then start to give them formations or groupings on the scene. When the curtain goes up sometimes they are discovered on the scene. Some scenes I arrange for the purpose of obtaining a good, effective picture, according to the architecture and atmosphere of the scene, or I may give them some very effective entrance movement coming down a staircase, through an arch or gateway, or over a fence. This is influenced by the set. I sometimes arrange surprise entrances, or little surprise exits which are inspired by the lyrics or music. Sometimes I may use a personality in the ensemble and give her an entrance or exit last. I resort to any sort of producer's magic, as I call it, to get an effect or to provoke applause, always keeping the costumes and the color schemes in mind. Of course, I have my own "bag of tricks" with which I can insure the success of any musical play that has any sort of entertainment appeal, and you, no doubt, will have yours in time, with experience.

During the dialogue rehearsals, I make the principals speak the dialogue in time, the same as the dances are done in time. They are not allowed to use their own conception of how the lines should be spoken unless I think their conception is better than mine. Every syllable they utter will have to dominate the entire auditorium. That is something that the coach must understand. When the house is full, the audience makes a difference in the acoustics. Your people in the show don't know anything about that, and so you must govern the volume of the dialogue and set every inflection, attitude of the body, and gesture definitely. But never let them use gestures that are obvious.

We will next assume that up to this time we have been working in a hall. Now to perfect the dialogue it is sometimes necessary to go over one speech fifty times or a hundred times, to get a certain inflection and to set the accompanying "stage business." Stage business—all of it—creates some dramatic value for the performance. That has to be worked out, if you want to get effective pieces of "business," much depending upon the brain power and the experience of the coach, whether he is able to devise effective business or not. Sometimes you will find it indicated in the script. For a man to make a success at this business he must have inventive ability. He must thoroughly understand dialogue, how to time it and set it. They must pick up their cues, and at the proper moment, and not make "stage waits" between lines. Sometimes the line is one that calls for a laugh. Sometimes there is a line preceding it, preparing the audience for what is to follow. We call that a feed line. Where the period comes there should be a slight pause. We time that. The actor counts to himself, "1, 2" before proceeding with the next line, that gives a laugh a chance to get under way. If you don't give a line like that a chance, it doesn't get over and the point is lost. It doesn't get the laugh that you expect, and it would if the coaching is done properly. Rehearsing dialogue is very tricky work. You must be very strict when you rehearse it. If anybody on the stage should move, if a chair is moved or if a door is opened at the wrong time while the dialogue is going on, it would detract from the line and kill the play. No one can move while a line is spoken unless it is some kind of a line that doesn't call for a point. But if it is a comedy point that you want to put over, or any other kind of an effective point, the characters must be still and the line must be delivered, and after the period, after the end of the line, you can break the picture and move.

Many a play is killed because people don't understand how to rehearse dialogue, don't understand how to get scenes over; amateur coaches teaching wrong business. I saw wrong business ruin a whole show once in Baltimore. The chorus was walking up and down stage trying to get a lyric over, with no sense of direction. They didn't know where they were going or why. The coach just told them to walk up and down. The soloist's back was toward the audience at times; she was facing right; she was facing left; in every conceivable direction except the right one to get a song over. Of course the number failed. The soloist should have been in the center of the stage so the lyric could have been heard and followed by everyone in the audience. Get the verse and the first chorus over so that the audience gets the idea of the song. It creates atmosphere for the number. If you walk sideways and your face is sideways, the audience doesn't get the lyric. When I rehearse a show the faces are at least three-quarters to the audience, when a person sings or speaks. Nobody must ever have their back to the audience when a line is spoken. If they sing a song or speak a line, everything must be done for the benefit of the audience. That must be kept in mind from the time you first begin to rehearse the company. Whether it is a professional or an amateur company makes no difference. They are trained in the same way.

Now, let us say we have finally perfected the play. They know the lyrics, they know the numbers, they know the "business" that occurs during the dialogue, and they know the "business" of the ensembles. By this time the play has actually taken form, and it is time to rehearse it with the scenery. When the scenery is added, both the ensemble and the principals who do the numbers all report in their practice clothes. Insist upon that. This insures their getting right down to business without "stalling," as nearly all people on the professional or amateur stage are disposed to do.

Go through the sets, get effective groupings so that you get the most natural and effective pictures and it all conforms to the architecture of the sets.

After you have finished rehearsing with the scenery, commence to give them the hand-props. Sometimes I use important hand-props in dialogue before I take on the scenery. That has to be carefully worked out and considered. Otherwise I work the scene rehearsals in with hand-props. You will find that most every one who has to handle a prop will fumble it, will be terribly awkward with it. If they have to pick a chair up and set it some place else, they will drag it across the floor and make a noise with it. They can't pick it up and set it down without any noise. This must be rehearsed. If they have to handle some hand-prop, they will drop it at the wrong time. Most people are very clumsy in the presence of an audience. Rehearse them with hats. Gentlemen have very often come on the stage in amateur performances and worn their hats in drawing rooms in the presence of ladies. I have seen them take them off and place them in the most ridiculous places, even in professional shows. Figure all of this out and rehearse it carefully. I have had awful times just trying to teach them to sit down and stand up properly.



After the scenery and props come the costumes. We never have any trouble unless somebody is trying to rehearse everything at the same time. Not even in an amateur show do I do that. I won't allow it. The sequence of final rehearsals is in this order; the scenery, the props, the costumes, the lights, the orchestra.

You often have trouble with your costumes unless you get them from a good concern. There are two or three first-class establishments in New York where you can rent most anything. I have given the names of some in a preceding chapter. There is one big firm in New York that has recently bought over a million dollars' worth of costumes from the Charles Frohman Estate, including some wonderful period costumes.

I always seem to be able to get about what I have wanted for amateur productions from certain big New York establishments in this line of business; those who make costumes for the Famous Players, Griffith, and the very best moving picture and theatrical companies. They have made many things for Marion Davies and her Cosmopolitan pictures. I had a telegram from a girl in Minneapolis the other day. She had to have a certain costume, because her engagement depended upon it. She was to work three weeks at $150 a week, and she couldn't do it without the proper costumes. I had one of my men pick out the costumes for her. They cost her $45 for the entire three weeks. They were sent to her by parcel post C.O.D. by one of these firms.

We have an art department in our studios where we make our own designs for settings and costumes. When amateurs or professionals write to me or wire me, I am usually able to put them in touch with the right people and help to get just what they need. Any of these can be gotten at reasonable prices. The prices range from $5, $6, $7.50, $10, $12 and $15 a week for each costume, depending, of course, upon the quality of costume. I used a marvelous costume once worn by Ethel Barrymore in one production, and I think I paid $15 for the rent of it. A costume like that would cost $1500 to have it made.

After I am through with the costumes, I begin to do the lighting. I will use certain lights that will affect the sets, the scenery. Other lights will be used for the characters. I use the side lights, overhead lights, border lights, and front lights. The spot-lights are used to pick up the characters; sometimes I use X-ray border lights down stage overhead to pick up the costumes. These lights are not focused on the scenery at all. The other lights are worked to tone the scenery to the desired effect, either to obscure it or to bring it out vividly.

Be very careful of the kind of light you use on the costumes. If you have trouble with the scenery or the costumes, you can usually disguise them and make them look entirely different by some sort of trick lighting effect. I remember one time staging a production at the Winter Garden. The management set a limit of $23 for each costume; that's all they would allow. I had about sixty-four girls in that ballet, and it was staged by Theodore Kosloff, who is now in Los Angeles. He was formerly at the Empire Theatre in London, when I lived in London. He couldn't speak a word of English at that time. He had to sail for Europe before he finished staging this ballet, and he turned the ballet over to me, with a friendly request that I personally finish it for him, which I gladly did. He had explained what he wanted in costumes, and the management finally ordered some costumes made at the above price. I just wish you could have seen what came in. When you are used to spending $150, $175, and as much as $1,500 on chorus costumes alone you can imagine what we got for $23. When the girls put them on I was obliged to put colored lights on them, red, blue, dark amber, and I did finally manage to get a very beautiful effect, which you can do if you find that your costumes are not up to the mark. Experiment with your colors until you get the desired effect.

After we get through with our costumes and lights, we are ready to add the orchestra. That is the last thing of all. I bring the orchestra in for a reading rehearsal, with the composer and musical director, and we correct whatever orchestra parts there may be wrong and smooth out the music. We always have a special orchestra rehearsal without scenery, without costumes, without the principals, without the lights, without any stage hands being around, and we perfect the musical end of the show with the orchestra and company prior to the dress rehearsal.

Then we have the final full dress rehearsal, orchestra, stage hands, costumes, lights, props, scenery, facial makeups, everything complete. We make them up for the dress rehearsal thinking that they will remember how to make up for the opening performance, but we always find that they can't do it, and about half past four or five in the afternoon of the opening performance we begin to make them up again. Then we are all ready for the opening performance, and we drive them through this at a terrific pace, not allowing anyone or anything to slow the performance up, which would be fatal.

* * * * *

When you sit in front and see a show going along prettily and smoothly, you little think of the amount of brain work, foot work and executive power and force that has been necessary behind the curtain to make the performance what it is!

Does it pay?

Here is a recent newspaper clipping:

"The Kansas City Junior League Follies, recently produced for a week's run at the Shubert Theatre, Kansas City, under the personal direction of Mr. Ned Wayburn, resulted in a net profit to them of $13,844.00."



PRIVATE INSTRUCTION



Usually our beginner pupils at the studios enter themselves in a class, of either one or another of the types of stage dancing that are so popular, and proceed regularly along the lines of class instruction.

Then, in nearly every class, there will be those who "eat up" the work, who advance rapidly and get ahead of the others, because of special capability or unusual capacity along the line they are studying.

Others go along at a natural pace, developing at the average rate, and in the end come out as well schooled as their speedier companions. For them the regular routine of class instruction is sufficient and effective. Their progress is safe and sane.

Still others lag. This condition is present in every walk of life, in every school, profession, trade. Some always get behind, fail to grasp the meaning of their teacher's talk, are deficient in initiative ability and so may not interpret his steps in their own actions. I do not like to think or say that any of our pupils are lazy or indifferent; ours is no place for either laziness or indifference. But whatever the reason, the fact persists, a certain small proportion of nearly every class in our studios fails to advance as rapidly as their sister mates are doing.

If this element will recognize its own shortcomings and is sufficiently ambitious to desire to succeed, the remedy lies in the direction of private instruction.

So, too, in the case of the fast learners, those who are really getting ahead of the majority of their mates; they will profit measurably by taking our private instruction.

We have special studios and special instructors for just this purpose. Professionals come to us without solicitation, for new steps, new tricks, or new touches to old dances, and a few private lessons here sends them out with new stuff to please their public. The student who has come to an impasse, who finds she is not progressing in class as she wishes to, and the student who is very facile at her work and her learning, and knows herself capable of going ahead more rapidly than class routine permits—these are the two who will do well to consider the taking of private lessons. The average pupil may well be content with her class work if she is going along in good fashion, and for her, private instruction is not so essential. She may wish it later on as conditions change, but at present the ensemble instruction, with its unison work and the gentle competitions of fellow-students doing the same stunts, may be all that she requires.

Ask your instructor if he thinks you will best remain in class, or take private lessons, or do both. And ask me. Both the teacher and I will be perfectly frank with you and advise you for your own best interest.

At the desk in the main office you will learn what hours are available for private lessons, and you will be assigned an hour, an instructor and a private studio, if you and I decide that you will benefit by this course.



EXPERIENCE



If I hadn't had many years of stage experience myself, I'd not be competent to instruct any one on the subject. I am not only a teacher of dancing, I am also a dancer, and can do all the steps as well as tell you how to do them. My experience as a stage dancer began in a store basement in Chicago, where I tried to imitate the best dancers I had seen at a Variety show. I put on wooden shoes and whistled my own clogs and jigs for hours at a time, till I brought myself by main strength, and no personal instruction, to a point where I could exhibit my home-made steps to a professional dancer. That is a hard way to get experience. You are more fortunate than you may realize in having everything that you have to do to become a dancer all worked out systematically for you, and told you and shown you by a simple method which anyone can learn, with perfect music and everything else that modern science can devise to aid you.

In the old days the beginner in dancing went direct to the stage door and stated his or her desire to become a dancer. The applicant was sometimes accorded a tryout. If he or she appeared awkward or was slow to catch the tempo, or not physically developed to please the eye, that was the end of it. There was no time to waste in helping to overcome minor defects, no personal interest shown whatever. He or she was dismissed summarily without any advice of a helpful nature.

If the candidate exhibited qualities that recommended her or him to the producer, he or she was given a stage training in chorus work following a tryout. The training was obtained in rehearsals, conducted for weeks, without compensation. The instructor might become impatient at any evidence of slowness of comprehension or execution; he might resent tardiness, absence, or slight infringement of stringent rules, and in such cases dismissal was the usual penalty.

The young lady or gentleman aspiring to become a stage dancer in that day and age paid a considerable price for the experience, as you may readily imagine.

Contrast then with now. You are acquiring this needed preliminary experience to fit you for a stage career in our courses under conditions that recommend them to ladies and gentlemen. There are no subordinates in our courses. All are equal. There is discipline, of course. You will find discipline on the stage when you advance that far. But discipline won't hurt you, not our kind. We ask for silence, attention, practice, and the conduct that ladies and gentlemen naturally observe. If you are a lady of social prominence, studying for the grace and beauty and health that our lessons impart, and not intending to favor the stage with your presence, you are accorded the same treatment that all others receive. This is a pure democracy if ever there was one.

By the old way of obtaining training and stage experience a young lady was kept for years in a subordinate place, and if she at last worked her way up out of the chorus into solo dancing, it was by "main strength," a vivid personality, aggressiveness and untiring effort.

Our first and primary instruction in the courses takes the place of the years of disappointing hard work that formerly prevailed. You are not held down. Your personality is encouraged and developed. You have to do your part, of course; we are not going to make stars of you if you don't help us do it. But the experience you must have is ready and waiting, and is based on a knowledge of things theatrical, gleaned and gathered through a series of years of personal experience exclusively in that field.

So much for the easier preliminary experience.

Now you have passed the portals of our studio, fitted and trained, a solo dancer, worthy of entertaining a public who waits to pay for the pleasure of seeing you do your turn. On the way through the courses you have had some small samples of what an audience is like. There have been the visitors' days when your work was on exhibition, and a Frolic before your fellow students in our own Demi-Tasse Theatre, or perhaps some neighborhood or church entertainments near your home. Those have all been good experience for you.

Now, as you enter upon a professional career, you must be content with a moderate start. I know how far you have advanced and what you may reasonably expect to do in your first, your starting engagement. Come to me before you commit yourself to any manager's care, if you possibly can arrange to do so.

In a small vaudeville act you may be able to command $40 to $50 a week as a beginner doing a specialty. You may have a year of doing three or four shows a day on "small-time," as it is called, which is splendid experience for you. Then you may advance to bigger time, playing two shows a day with bigger pay, and then, having improved yourself and your act as you go along, you are in line for the still higher grade theatres, where your work will get the eye of some production manager who will offer you a really worthwhile engagement in a production, as a Broadway show is called.

You cannot become a star in three or four months. It is only the foolish ones who dream of such a possibility. It takes time and experience to get on at a big time house like the Palace Theatre in New York City, which is recognized as Broadway's best showroom for the vaudeville artist. Look at the history of the stars you know. Evelyn Law worked four years before she reached her present Broadway fame. Ann Pennington has been working fifteen years, Fred and Adele Astaire nearly fourteen years—and I can name all the stars on Broadway and tell you exactly how long it took them to reach the pinnacle of their present success. So expect for yourself a moderate position on the start until experience has developed you and the public learned to like you, and then your advancement should be rapid and easy.

Do you know that as the result of my years of experience I originated all the solo and ensemble dances taught in my courses? Because of the same experience I conceive and create all of the novelties, settings, costumes, ideas and theatrical effects that are used in all the productions, professional and amateur, that I stage. There is no other school that can duplicate our service, since there is no other producing director of any standing in the theatrical world connected with such an organization as mine.

You are invited to benefit by my experience in every way. It is a part of your education here that you are not asked to pay for. I tender it freely to all who become members of my family of pupils. Not only are you dancing routines of my own constructing, and listening or reading at times to my class room talks on subjects bearing oh stage-craft and showmanship, but also you are earnestly invited to consult with me about your personal ambitions and desires.



I have literally helped thousands of good girls and boys to make millions of dollars for themselves, in the aggregate, and have brought a lot of happy hours to many million people who have willingly paid their good money to see my pupils in their perfect work on the stage. Profit by my experience; let me help you with my knowledge. This will make your experience easier for you, and the more quickly fit you for the lofty position that a perfectly worthy ambition prompts you to seek.



INSPIRATION



When you present yourself as a pupil it is to be inferred that you are already inspired with a desire to become a dancer of the first quality. That is good and as it should be. Without inspiration no one has ever accomplished anything worth while in any line of endeavor. Stage dancing is never a matter of luck or breeding; it is the direct result of hard work under competent instruction, with your being inspired to bring forth the very best that is in you.

All of us here at the Ned Wayburn Studios are inspired with a desire to create a career for you, if you desire one. Whether we succeed in our endeavor or not depends upon you. We will do our part faithfully, earnestly and joyfully, and furnish you such an opportunity as no other generation of aspirants for stage honors and success ever possessed. Our courses themselves, as well as our scientific method of developing you, are really inspiring to the new student with the primary inspiration of desiring a successful, honorable and profitable career.

As you approach the studio building from Broadway you note that its appearance is attractive. It is new, clean, impressive; and on the large second and third floor main windows, and on the Broadway and 60th Street corner windows, you note the signs, the lettering that stands out, to tell you that you have arrived at the haven of your dreams and hopes.

You step off Broadway and enter the corridor of the studio building through the main entrance on 60th Street, where elevators await you, to convey you the single flight up to the second floor, and you step directly into our main business office. Here is found further inspiration, for stage dancing is here treated as a business and in a business-like way, and our business office indicates that fact to the newcomer at the very first glance.

The prospective pupil approaches the long counter. She is greeted by Mrs. Wayburn, who acts as hostess, or chaperon, or it may be by some other principal or employee, whose business it is to welcome and greet the new arrivals who come to us daily. Your introduction of yourself is followed naturally by your questions as to this or that which you wish to know about our terms and methods, to confirm your own understanding of the matter. These are answered fully and courteously. Our greeters welcome your inquiries. Ask us just what you want to know, and their response will be politely given. Anyone behind the counter thoroughly understands dancing.

Are you from out of the city, and do you wish to be directed to a suitable hotel, boarding house, studio apartment or private residence for your domicile while here? We have a list of desirable and investigated places to suit all purses and all needs, and are glad to pass the information on to our students.

Your questions being answered to your satisfaction, you decide to enroll. The booking secretary invites you behind the counter, where an enrollment card and contract is made out and signed. This contract stipulates the number of lessons you are to receive and the kind of stage dancing you are to take. You take the work just as I have personally laid it out in the courses. The matter of tuition is arranged, and you, as one of us, are invited to accompany a guide to the various classrooms, studios, offices and other departments of the two large floors—and absorb inspiration for your future work from what you observe in the way of modern facilities and actual instruction being given to live classes.

There is nothing more inspiring to the new pupil than to see our various dancing classes in action. In fact, a view of our classes in progress of work is inspiring to anyone, professional or non-professional. The girls do their class work with a vim and snap that betokens their interest and their intention to make good. They are a smiling happy lot of young ladies that it does one good to look at. Especially is this true of the advanced classes; the beginners' classes are busy learning the A, B, C's of dancing, and these rudiments are absorbing. But to watch the beginners today, and then see the same pupils a few weeks later as they advance in ease of movement and in a completer understanding of their work, is most inspiring of all—inspiring to you who see them and to the progressing pupils themselves. If it were possible or practical to let the public in to look at our classes at work, our present large quarters would soon prove inadequate to give foot room to the great number of inspired ladies who would wish to enroll here and join in the gayeties. There is contagion in watching our best students at their "play."

Our new pupil is escorted also into my private office, there to be welcomed by me personally. A large and richly furnished room is this, its walls decorated with photographs of stage stars of universal fame who have been developed by me, and incidentally helped up the ladder of fame. Here is inspiration on every hand.

In her progress through the two floors of the studios our newcomer is absorbing inspiration continually. To enumerate some of the features that make an impression on her receptive mind as she proceeds from room to room:

There is the Call Board in the main office. Now in the theatre the Call Board is an established institution, placed handily to the stage door and inspected daily by all members of the company for such information as the management wishes to impart. Our Call Board serves a similar purpose, and we encourage its daily perusal by all the students. We post thereon press notices that our graduates send us of their own success as reported in the newspapers; also notices of my own producing activities in many cities; the date of the next makeup classes; information of every nature that concerns the studio or its clientele.

There is the Grand Ball Room, the most complete room for its purpose that was ever constructed; its floors clear-maple, its walls full-length mammoth mirrors; its windows large, its ventilation perfect and easily regulated; its double rows of practice bars; its clocks regulated and wound electrically by the Western Union Telegraph Co. every hour, striking to announce the opening and closing of the class instruction.

In this Grand Ball Room, the large Ballet studio, the various classroom and private instruction and rehearsal studios, the gymnasium, and especially in the Demi-Tasse Theatre, which is a corporate part of our studios,—in all these there is accumulated a fund of inspiration that suffices to start the new student with a hopeful and expectant spirit of future accomplishment that is a prime essential to her success.

On the day in which instruction is to start, the pupil returns to the studio and is assigned to a dressing room. Here she finds expert maid service, the maids being on continuous duty during all instruction periods. She is accommodated with a locker, if one is required, with her individual key. She is introduced to the row of modern shower baths, and finds accompanying them every form of up-to-date sanitary appliances and fixtures. She is now "at home," a full-fledged member of the "happy family," and her education in her chosen art is about to commence.

She takes her seat in her first classroom. She finds herself surrounded by a number of other young ladies who, like her, have come here imbued with the laudable ambition to advance their interests in health, beauty, accomplishment of grace, and to fit themselves for an independent and lucrative career, not one of whom is any more advanced than she is. Her inspiration is furthered by this contact with those who are to become her fellow classmates. She takes note of the heavy felt floor-pads beneath her feet, the practice bars along the wall, etc., and is thus assured that every care is being taken here for her security from harm as well as for her comfort and advancement.

Her instructor, she finds, is a professional dancer of wide stage experience, who knows every one of the actual steps he is teaching, for he executes them before her, aiding her eyes by a living example, while he at the same time informs her understanding by telling her what each step and motion is and why it is done. His every word and action is inspirational. She feels now that she is on the highroad to success.

Presently, I enter the room and proceed to organize the class for service, following which I address them on matters concerned with their courses, seeking to instill into each prospective star an ambition to reach out for perfection. And from this hour the inspiration is enhanced with each new day's progress.

As I often say, in one of my class talks, "Inspiration plus perspiration equals one good dancer."



ATMOSPHERE

Atmosphere is something that one feels but cannot see. Atmosphere on the stage is created by means of stage settings, costumes, electrical lighting effects, music, orchestration, and certain stage decorations as properties, all combined into one complete whole.



Every attitude of the body that one assumes in front of an audience on the stage creates a certain dramatic atmosphere. Every gesture, every expression of the face, every move of the body aids to create atmosphere. Characteristic attitudes of the body, characteristic walks, characteristic dancing also creates atmosphere. In order that a solo and an ensemble dance may get over with an audience it must have atmosphere. This atmosphere must be figured out in a scientific way. It requires unusual creative faculties to produce anything original or atmospheric in the way of a solo or ensemble dance for the stage today. No novice without experience can properly create perfect atmosphere, for it requires a thorough knowledge of stage-craft and showmanship, as well as of stage dancing and the technique of the stage, to create an atmosphere in which a solo or ensemble dance, or a song number will live. Without atmosphere the dance becomes all perspiration and no sense. There must be a definite idea behind a dance or underneath it. Everything must be done to embellish the theme or general idea. No idea must be overproduced; just enough must be done in the way of creating atmosphere for a dance to allow it to get over properly. In other words, it must be fully realized and produced properly, in a skillful, artistic way.

The first step in creating atmosphere is the selection of proper music, which will give real inspiration. Without inspiration nothing worthwhile is ever accomplished in the way of stage dancing. Machine-like dancers never get over. One must learn to inject one's own personality into each dance, in order to radiate an atmosphere that will bring success. This important subject of atmosphere is taken up in all our courses, and practically and thoroughly demonstrated and taught. Great care must be exercised that a dance is not overproduced, because if the scenery, costumes, in other words, the background, is allowed to dominate the dance itself, the dance will fail. The pupil must always dominate the costume and the entire stage setting or surroundings in order to get the dance over. Lavish production and accessories of any kind sometimes will interfere with the success of the pupil, or dancer. In other words, a too lavish production will detract from the dance itself and from the one who is performing the dance. So it really takes a person of artistic perception, who has become practical through actual experience, to set a dance properly and surround it as it should be surrounded. Many a novice will have good ideas, perhaps, for atmosphere, but through lack of experience will not be able to get those ideas over on the stage. It takes, therefore, practical stage direction to realize all the possibilities of stage atmosphere in a practical way.

The subject of atmosphere as it relates to the future success of our students, is given proper attention in our courses. I personally present it before the classes in talks from time to time, and demonstrate its meaning and purpose practically, by use of settings, lights and properties on the stage of my own Demi-Tasse theatre, connected with the studios.

The recognition of atmosphere and its need in connection with stage performances is a mental process, an idealization that not every material mind is capable of grasping readily. Probably no pupil would think of enrolling in a course that had atmosphere for its sole subject; yet it is an important matter to all students of the stage, and my plan of introducing it incidentally in my classroom talks, and at the same time showing them by a practical stage demonstration just what it means to them personally, has put it before our pupils in such an interesting and material way that they cannot fail to absorb some knowledge of its benefits.

Every producing stage director must possess an innate or an acquired sense of what we designate as atmosphere, in order to put on a production in a perfect, pleasing and profitable way. My many unqualified stage successes demonstrate my possession of this essential element, which I try to unite with originality and artistic perception, as well as a sure conception of what a fickle public will welcome and approve by its patronage. Hence, my talks on atmosphere are of more than usual value.



DANCING CHILDREN

When you are teaching a child something that suggests play, and that at the same time is beneficial to health and beauty, and is also the real foundation for a future career, you are accomplishing much in an easy and pleasing way.



The activities in our Saturday classes for little tots do all of this. They are called dancing classes, and they become that, but the gradation from romping play into systematic dancing instruction is accomplished practically without consciousness on their part, and thus they learn the rudiments of stage routine almost without knowing it.



I don't know of any bunch of children anywhere that have a happier time than do our littlest pupils in their dainty lessons in the studios. They love every bit of the "work." In the first place, it is adapted to their years, and their instructors are both competent and kindly; and while it is quite a problem to handle a roomful of little folks bent on mischief, and direct their playing along systematized lines, we do it, and before they know it the little feet are stepping in unison to bright music, and gradually there is awakened a pride in perfect performance, and the little playmates become little dancers, each trying his best to equal or excel his or her fellows.

I go on record as saying that the age of eight years is the most favorable for the beginning of a dancing career, for then the young pupil has a mind sufficiently developed to easily comprehend instruction, and a body readily responsive to training. Yet we take children from four to seven years of age for specialized training which prepares them properly in the fundamentals and technique that is so necessary. Occasionally some five-year-old dancing marvel is discovered. Young years are learning years the world over, and right training in foundation work for the future great dancer, as taught in our studios, is so attractive in itself and so suggestive of real "fun" to the little learner, that both child and parents give it their hearty approval.

Dancing teachers in other cities send promising children to New York to study for professional careers; mothers bring the little dancers to New York, anxious to put them on the stage at once. But that is not possible, as a state law prohibits any child under sixteen from appearing before a paid audience to sing or dance, while permitting them to go on for dialogue parts only, if they are past ten years. Producers demand birth certificates and live up to the law. There is in New York City a Gerry Society, which controls the situation and is sharply on the alert.

Here in New York City there is a professional school for stage children, which many attend.

The great majority of the children who come to our studios for dancing instruction are from families who do not want the children to take up stage careers, but wish them to be properly and thoroughly trained in every type of dancing, which incidentally brings out all the natural grace in the body, develops health, poise, charm of manner, personality and symmetrical bodies. Parents naturally desire to see their little ones graceful, accomplished, pleasing in deportment, and able to exhibit a few clever steps in home or amateur entertainments—a parent's proper pride. Others, especially professional stage people, active or retired, enter their young folks in my courses with a view to their ultimately becoming professional stage dancers. They know the emoluments. They know that one daughter on the dancing stage is worth ten in the parlor—financially. They know, too, that old adage "as the twig is bent," and the rest of it, so they start their twigs straight and in fertile soil with faith that in this way their child's future is well and happily provided for. A knowledge of stage dancing is a life insurance policy that pays big dividends during one's lifetime. The dancer is her own—and perhaps her parents'—beneficiary.

We have tots here in the studio at our Saturday classes as young as four. Usually, however, they are five, six, or over. In their primary work we give them all sorts of jolly exercises—walking, running, galloping, and for the tiniest we have "skipping special," "baby work," body building and dancing games.

Our Junior class for children (ages four, five, six and seven) devotes half an hour to very mild physical training and limbering and stretching work on the heavy felt pads, and then there is half an hour of dancing games. The hour thus passes all too quickly with our interested little pupils. As they show proficiency in this work we give them the actual dancing steps which are arranged in effective routines. All of the technique is necessary and beautiful and they love to go through it before the big wall mirrors and see themselves in graceful poses.