Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 December 1884 — WHY ACTORS ARE DISSIPATED. [ARTICLE]

WHY ACTORS ARE DISSIPATED.

An Explanation Which Means, in Short That It Is Because They Like to Drink. Now let the men I have selected do as McCullough has done for many years. The hard mental, physical work of the profession I have named is almost beyond the belief of outsiders. So let it be omitted. McCullough would have to be at the theater at not much later than 7 o’clock in most plays. H s servant (or “dresser,” as he is called) prepares the costumes and dresses him, an elaborate affair in many plays “Richelieu” for example. There are always Saturday matinees, aod frequently Wednesday ones. The tragedy parts are most laborious and fat guing —not like driving a horse, nailing a box or making a pair of shoes. There must be brains §nd action. An oldfarmer, celebrated for his superior products, was once asked what kind of manure he used to produce such fine crops. He answered in one word: So with the great actor, or lawyer, or journalist. Very well. Tom Jones; Jim Young, Ned Brooks and half a dozen others, important characters and great friends to McCullough, go to his dressing room between acts. He is glad to see them, for the dressing-room is dirty and the waits tedious. It is a relief in most cases to see his friends. What follows ? Why, a few bottles of champagne, or a bottle or two of brandy or whisky. The “dresser” fetches it from the near saloon. The performance is over. The great actor has been called before the curtain again and again, and the hearty greetings make him forget his tawdry tinsel and imitation ermine and jewels. He takes off the dress of kings, he washes the paint from his face, he puts on citizen’s raiment and goes out with “the boys,” or to “work the press” if his wife happens to be with him. A big supper follows, with lots of wine and cigars, and the small hours come and go nearly every day before the actor finds his bed. He is not feeling so very well in the morpingthankyou, but he pulls himself togeth, er, crowds down an unwilling throat a light breakfast, and goes round to the theater and rehearsal. Woe to the subordinate actor that forgets his lines or takes the stage in the wrong place, for the king in common attire is very bad-natured this day at noon. The rehearsal is over in an hour. Now, where are “the boys?” A champagne cocktail, a drive, a call, more wine or brandy, and by dinner “Richard is himself again.” Then to the theater again, and the thing repeated. I do not say all great actors do this, but many, nay, most of them, do. Salvini, greatest of all, is an exception. I knew him well, but I have never dared to go to his dressing-room. He neither drinks nor smokes except at dinner, and he eats heavily only once a day. Is it any wonder, then, that he is almost sixty years old, and looks as young as McCullough? Mr. Irving is a very light drinker; so is Mr. Barrett; but they like to meet the “old dogs,” not ‘'the boys, ” at supper after the play. By the “old dogs” I mean the aristocrats, the Presidents, the Cabinets, the Senators. Raymond never takes a drink at any time. Boucicault—yes, heartily; but Boucicault is nearly sixtyfive years old. Sothern and Ned Adams, both what are known as “glorious fellows,” died from too much living, but I can’t go over the list of brilliant intellects in any of the professions I referred to that have gone the same way Mr. McCullough is going. The lives of certain distinguished lawyers, doctors, newspaper men and other actors are spent like McCullough’s. It is fine for a time, my masters, but look out! Forrest, I believe, loved the pleasure of the table, but he was moderate and lived to be sixty-six. Too many believe, or appear to believe, that Our bodies are like shoes we wear and cast; Physic their cobbler is, and death at last. — Cor. Philadelphia Press.