With Lionel Barrymore, No Less

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well, RT is a bit impressed, he has to say. as it turns out, his grandfather the actor performed in a play that included Lionel Barrymore. the performance took place in the 1930s, rather close to the end of his grandfather’s career (he was 40 at the time).

well, well, way to go, granddad!  RT

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Photo: American actor Lionel Barrymore (1878-1954). George Grantham Bain Collection (Library of Congress). WikiCmns; Public Domain.

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Coney Island and my Grandfather

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Information can appear from unexpected sources. My grandfather the actor registered for the draft (WWI) in 1917 while he was performing in Montreal. He gave a Coney Island address near Mermaid Avenue; the building has apparently been torn down. The chronology I’m compiling of his life is spilling over onto page 5, with new plays being added at a fairly regular clip.

Just what was Coney Island all about? It appears to have had several incarnations: as a distant resort for New Yorkers in the mid-19th century, then as a day trip once NYC transit arrived at the end of the century, then as the amusement park/area in the 1920s…and then into decline after the WWII…and now reviving again with a stadium for minor-league baseball (don’t quote me on all that, but i think it’s more or less correct).

Which was the Coney Island that my grandfather knew? Why did he choose to live there? Was he, in his mid-20s, in possession of sufficient cash to be able to send money home to his mother, as he claimed on his draft card (“supporting mother”)? To that last question, given his steady work and good reviews, RT is inclined to answer, yes.

And by the by, just exactly what did actors get paid in say, 1915?

Stay tuned for more…  RT

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Photo: Beach patronage on Coney Island, New York on Fourth of July 2006. Author: Jaime Haire. WikiCmns. CC 2.0 Generic. 

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Actor’s Equity and an Afternoon’s Research

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Loyal readers of this blog will remember that RT has a grandfather who was an actor; this afternoon RT has been doing more research on him, patiently going through news archive listings online. And not for nothing.

My grandfather, my mother’s father, who seems to have been principally a comic actor, also had a serious side. It turns out that he joined the famous 1919 Actor’s Equity strike that won recognition of AE and a five-year contract for its members. RT is delighted by the news (as was his mother when he told her). We are positively proud that he had a political consciousness and was willing to strike to win better working conditions. Bravo, Grandfather!!!

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Photo: Marie Dressler, Ethel Barrymore and others during the 1919 AE Strike. WikiCmns; Public Domain.

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too cute…

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As summer comes in, RT’s thoughts turn to Brazil, the land of his birth, and in particular, to Rio de Janerio, where he was born. This morning, RT’s mom asked him to scan the above photo, and, well, RT just can’t help sharing it.

In case your wondering, it’s me and my two brothers photographed, RT would hazard, somewhere in late ’61. RT, as it happens, is the dashing gentleman on the right, but he thinks his little brother steals the shot with his Mohawk hair-styling. Ah, those were the days…   RT

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RT’s Related Posts: 1) In Memoriam, Oscar Neimeyer, the Great Brazilian Architect.

The kind of thing that makes you do something – new growth

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family history and a new beginning… RT

(reposted from What You Sow)

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The kind of thing that makes you do something – new growth.

The Opera House in the Jungle

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On the subject of mystery and creations, here’s one that RT is dealing with on a personal level: he was born in Brazil and left when he was four years old. He has never been back…but, well, these things have a way of working themselves out.

Here’s one place that RT’s family never got to while in the country. The reason? My mother was pregnant with guess who. Sorry, Mom!!

And what is this magical place? The opera house that money from rubber plantations along the Amazon built: the Teatro Amazonas, completed in 1896 in the center of Manaus, the capital of Amazonas State in Brazil.

Amazonas is large, but extremely sparsely populated: 98 percent of the state is covered by the Amazon Rain Forest. Nonetheless, Manaus is a big city–population 1.8 million–and the opera house is an impressive edifice–it seats 700 and is constructed from bricks made in Europe, French glass, and Italian marble. It is the home of the Amazonas Philharmonic Orchestra and boasts a full schedule of performances and events.

What a remarkable achievement…   RT

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Photo: Teatro Amazonas; user: Pontanegra; WikiCmns; CC 2.5 Generic.

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the nitrate angel

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My grandfather haunts me. I never met him (he died almost 20 years before I was born), and yet because he was an actor, I have been able to find out a great deal about his career and life. There are so many questions I’d like to ask, but am not allowed to: what was your favorite experience while acting? Which of the several women who loved you did you love in return? Could you tell me about the night you met my grandmother?

There is time yet, and I will find out more about him. In the meantime, I wrote this hurried draft of the beginning of a biography I’d like to write: here is what I have so far.

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The Nitrate Angel

I could start with statistics, what the records show about 1891, the year my grandfather was born; they would show an America significantly younger and less anxious than our own, so different from the one we know as to confound and amaze us. But that’s not what Stewart’s life was about. They can’t tell us why he was important.

To begin with, he went much farther along the path to fame and success than most. He was a hustler, self-made, pure American. He was tough, so tough that, as a teenager, he was willing to go for a week on coffee and donuts alone, so tough that later he thought nothing of hopping a train from New York to Baltimore for a week’s work, then going back up to start a totally new engagement. He sang, he danced, he carried off pure drama with flair, he performed in drag. He made it in Scranton, the testing ground for Broadway, and then he performed on Broadway, and then he started over on the west coast. He never stopped–and died six months before his 50th birthday.

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© copyright, The Rag Tree, 2013.

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Drawing: Winged Man, in Idealistic Clothing, Playing a Lute. Albrecht Durer, 1497. Silverpoint on dark paper, with white highlights. WikiCmns. Public Domain.

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Family Reunion

Old Bay Line Terminal, Baltimore; src: WikiCmns

We’ve known for some time that my mother’s father was an actor who died in 1941 in California. Even that limited information came after years of research on mom’s part, going to the Library of Congress and writing off for birth and death certificates.

In the last year, however, much has been added to our knowledge of his life, mostly thanks to the wonders of the internet and such marvelous resources as online news archives. Last Tuesday, we downloaded  an interview with him published by the Baltimore Sun in 1913.

Wow! My mother, in her 80s, and myself, 50, were finally able to hear him talk in his own voice…at just shy of 23, he had already lived a full and adventurous life. I am especially grateful that mom was able to hear me read the interview; afterwards, she said she was beginning to have a sense of him as a person. That is great, since she is adopted and never met him. (More information on Mom’s search for her family is available on her blog, Mood Indigo.)

The energy was so incredible I had to write a poem. Here it is:

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Angels’ Silence

 

1.

so this is death—

a driving 70s beat on

the speakers and the names

sliding by—james taylor, paul

simon (for 7 bucks!), abba,

gandhi

 

the guy with greased blond

hair at the checkout

is wearing a pressed shirt

& a “Win With Wilkie”

button

 

II.

then there’s the matter of

your grandfather:

you met him a couple of

days ago or was

it 1913, at the interview with

The Sun’s theatre critic?

“You’re playing hooky!” he declares,

proceeding to elaborate on his theme:

“Be a sticking plaster; persevere

in your chosen occupation!”

 

and he should know, thin as a rail,

dressed in rags, a boy’s goosedown

on his cheeks—

“Betake yourself to a good school

of elocution and dramatic art—then go after

what you want until you get it.”

 

III.

but his attention has shifted, to your mother, a

girl with a barette in her silver-blonde hair; &

he is taller now, wearing a gentleman’s jacket &

white tie—I can’t make out what they’re

telling each other, but presently,

she turns to me and says

“Do you believe in God?”

 

well,

I could see that father and daughter liked each other

both raconteurs, deeply restless, their voices

beautiful & I realized that they weren’t singing

because I couldn’t; my skill coming from

some other spring, a place of bog and kelp and unknowing

a sip of life’s water. So, I would be making the return trip,

leaving them

to get acquainted.

 

copyright, 2010 The Rag Tree

poems & string

late night thoughts:

is every poem a memoir, a note to ourselves to finish the work begun? i’ve been working on mom’s memoirs (finished a draft of chap 1 in the afternoon), and this evening have finished a poem about my grandfather, the grandparent i know least about. at the edge of every map: “there be dragons here (or at least a poem)”….

poetry is a process of moving backward, of retracing the steps taken and mostly blown smooth. it is the thread of thought that guides us back out after we’ve settled our accounts. it is the well & the rag.

memoirs are a little more straightforward, at least on the surface. we don’t have to let the sound guide us so much, and we’re more worried about factability & the proof thereof…and what a person might *really* have been like, as opposed to *just* imagined. the whiskey gets watered down, and we become better judges.

yours in rants, ramblings & the occasional bone-struggle with an angel! RT

Memoirs & more

hello, universe!

It’s saturday morning in West Virginia, the wind is blowing, the clouds are racing across the sky: it’s perfect! blessings from a beautiful place to all of you!

So, I’m working on my mother’s memoirs. I found a 113-page manuscript of hers last fall & have now typed it into the computer. What a life! The details are amazing, but what’s more amazing is discovering some of my family’s history (my mother was adopted): her grandfather was a member of the city council of Pasadena in the 20’s (he was totally self-made); my grandfather was an actor both on Broadway and on the legit stage in California (also in the 20’s); my grandmother died when she was 24 of pneumonia (not all news is good). & the pictures from the photo albums mom inherited…what a story!

In other news, my writing proceeds apace: I am working on a couple of new lyric poems…one about my family, of course. more projects than you can shake a stick at!

wow, now all I have to do is write some more….blessings of a beautiful sky upon you!   RT