Lest We Forget: Chicago's Awful Theater Horror

The numerous funeral trains which left Chicago contained in nearly every instance more than one coffin. Hearse after hearse and carriage after carriage arrived in the blinding snow and stopped at the depots, opening an epoch of funerals that continued daily until the last victim was laid to rest.

Thus opened the year 1904 in Chicago, the stricken and desolate.

CHAPTER XI.

A SABBATH OF WOE

A majority of the victims of the fire were laid to rest, however, during the Sabbath succeeding the awful calamity. The main thoroughfares of the benumbed city leading north and west toward the resting places of the dead were crowded with funeral processions, sometimes four and five hearses together showing as white as the snow on the ground, bearing as they did the bodies of children.

As one funeral procession after another passed through the streets the numbers of the sorrowing at the cemeteries increased. A few hundred feet from one freshly made grave there was another and a short distance away still another that told the mourners at one funeral that others were bereaved.

The work of burying the dead began early in the morning and lasted until late in the evening. Sometimes the homes of several of the dead were grouped in a few blocks and in one instance a glance down a single street would reveal the thickly crowded carriages for half a dozen funerals that had thrown an entire neighborhood into mourning. Where hearses could not be furnished they were improvised from other kinds of vehicles and mourners who could not get cabs rode in carriages. As the night closed down on hundreds of mourning homes, in every cemetery in the city the speaking mounds of fresh earth told of the end of families broken and altogether destroyed.

SEVEN TURNER VICTIMS

More than a thousand turners joined in the services for seven victims who were members of their societies. The Chicago Turnbezirk, the central body of the turners, had charge of the exercises. Representatives of the Aurora Turnverein, Schweitzer Turnverein, Forward Turnverein, Social Turnverein, and other turner organizations joined in the services.

The exercises were held at the Social Turner hall, Belmont avenue and Paulina street. The coffins of the victims were placed in front of the stage at the end of the hall. After the services the coffins were taken by uniformed turners through the hall to black wagons and the march to Graceland cemetery began. Three drum corps, with muffled drums, beat a funeral march.

Women turners, in their gymnasium suits, escorted the bodies of the women victims, and uniformed turners watched the coffins of the men.

Short services were held at the cemetery.

SAD SCENES AT WOLFF HOME

At the residence of Ludwig Wolff, 1329 Washington boulevard, the bodies of his daughter, Mrs. William M. Garn and her three children, Willie, 11, John, 7, and Harriet, 10 years old, lay. All day long until the time for the funeral services a stream of sympathizing friends poured in. A crowd of more than a thousand surrounded the house and the policemen stationed there were compelled to force a way for the caskets when they were borne to the hearses. The service was read by the Rev. William C. Dewitt of St. Andrew's church. Twelve boys acted as pallbearers for their former playfellows and followed the little white hearses to Graceland. The funeral was one of the largest ever seen on the west side of the city, more than one hundred carriages being in the funeral train.

PATHETIC SCENE AT CHURCH

Far different in all except the grief was the funeral from the little frame church at Congress street and Forty-second avenue. Inside lay the bodies of Mrs. Mary W. Holst and her three children, Allan, 13, Gertrude, 10, and Amy, 8 years. They were in the ill fated second balcony of the theater and met death trying to reach the fire escape. Of the family only the father and a 6 months old son survive. Mrs. Holst was the sister of former Chief of Police Badenoch. Interment was at Forest Home.

The building was still gay with its Christmas decorations and a large motto, "Peace on earth, good will to men," which the Holst children had assisted in making.

BURY CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN

Another quadruple funeral was that of the daughters and the grandchildren of Jacob and Elizabeth Beder of 697 Ogden avenue. The two women, Mrs. Edyth Vallely, 835 Sawyer avenue, and Mrs. Amy Josephine McKenna of 758 South Kedzie avenue, went to the theater accompanied by their two children, Bernice Vallely, aged 11, and Bernard McKenna, aged 3. The bodies were found after the fire by the husbands of the dead women at the morgues. The services were in charge of Rev. D. F. Fox of the California Avenue Congregational church. Interment was at Forest Home.

FIVE DEAD IN ONE HOUSE

Memorial services were held in the afternoon for Mrs. Eva Pond, wife of Fred S. Pond, their children, Raymond, 14, Helen, 7, and Miss Grace Tuttle, sister of Mrs. Pond, at the family residence, 1272 Lyman avenue. The services were conducted by the Rev. Mr. Bowles of All Saints' Episcopal church.

Miss Tuttle had been for eighteen years a teacher in the Chicago public schools. She attended the performance at the Iroquois with her sister and her sister's children, and none of them emerged alive. Mrs. Pond was the wife of Fred S. Pond, for thirty years cashier of the Deering Harvester Company, who is the only survivor of a once happy family circle. The four bodies were taken to Beloit, Wis., for burial.

ENTIRE FAMILY IS BURIED

None but friends attended the Beyer funeral service during the afternoon at Sheldon's undertaking rooms, for the entire family, mother, father, and child, were numbered among the Iroquois dead. Otto H. Beyer, his wife Minnie, and their 4 year old daughter Grace, were the victims. The bodies were taken to Elkader, Iowa, for burial. This was perhaps the saddest of all the sad services conducted during the day, as no relatives were present to mourn the dead.

MRS. FOX AND THREE CHILDREN

Mrs. Emilie Hoyt Fox, daughter of William M. Hoyt, the wholesale grocer; George Sidney Fox, her 15-year-old son; Hoyt Fox, 14 years old, and Emilie Fox, 9 years old, were all buried side by side in Graceland cemetery. The funeral services were held in Graceland chapel and were conducted by Rev. Henry G. Moore of Christ Episcopal church, Winnetka.

MRS. A. E. HULL AND CHILDREN

Simple and short were the funeral services at Boydston's chapel, Forty-second place and Cottage Grove avenue, over the remains of four members of the Hull family. Mrs. Hull, the mother, was the wife of Arthur E. Hull, 244 Oakwood boulevard, and attended the theater with her little daughter, Helen, and two nephews, adopted sons, Donald and Dwight. The services were directed by Rev. J. H. McDonald of the Oakland Methodist Episcopal church and consisted simply of a prayer and the reading of a poem found in the desk of Mrs. Hull, and which had evidently been clipped from some newspaper. At the conclusion of the services the caskets were carried to the Thirty-ninth street station of the Michigan Central railroad, over which they were taken to Troy, N. Y., for burial.

HERBERT AND AGNES LANGE

"We were four of the happiest mortals in all Chicago until that awful thing blasted our lives forever," sobbed Mrs. Louis Lange of 1632 Barry avenue at the close of the funeral of her only two children, Herbert Lange, 17 years old, and his sister Agnes, 14. The service was held at the Johannes Evangelical Lutheran church at Garfield avenue and Mohawk street.

SWEETHEARTS BURIED AT THE SAME TIME

While the last rites were being held for Albert Alfson in Chicago, the body of his sweetheart, Miss Margaret Love, was being buried in the cemetery at Woodstock. Two hundred persons, 125 from Woodstock, attended Alfson's funeral at 24 Keith street.

FIVE BURIED IN ONE GRAVE

The largest funeral at Oakwoods was that of Dr. M. B. Rimes, 6331 Wentworth avenue, his wife and three children, Lloyd, Martin, and Maurice. The five from one family were buried together in one large grave.

BOYS AS PALLBEARERS

At the home of Ludwig Wolff, 1329 Washington boulevard the body of his daughter, Mrs. William M. Garn, and her three children, Willie, John and Harriet, lay. All day long until the time for the funeral services, a stream of sympathizing friends poured in, bearing many floral tributes to the dead. The impressive service of the Episcopal church was read by the Rev. William C. Dewitt of St. Andrew's church, of which Mrs. Garn was a member. Twelve boys acted as pallbearers to their late playfellows, and followed the little white hearses to Graceland cemetery. The funeral was one of the largest ever seen on the West Side, more than one hundred carriages being in the train.

WINNETKA SADDENED

A funeral was held which saddened the hearts of all Winnetka. The little north shore suburb lost eight of its residents in the fire, and the funeral of four of the Fox family was held yesterday. The services were conducted by the Rev. Henry G. Moore of Christ Episcopal church, Winnetka.

MOTHER AND DAUGHTERS BURIED TOGETHER

Three hearses carried away the bodies of Mrs. Louise Ruby and her daughters, Mrs. Ida Weimers and Mrs. Mary Feiser. The services were held at the late home of Mrs. Ruby, 838 Wilson avenue. Father F. N. Perry of the Church of Our Lady of Lourdes celebrated mass for the two daughters, who were members of his parish. The Rev. John G. Kircher of Bethlehem Evangelical church read the service for the mother.

HOLD TRIPLE FUNERAL

Triple funeral services were held at the residence of Henry M. Shabad, 4041 Indiana avenue, for his two children, Myrtle, aged 14 years, and Theodore, aged 12 years, and little Rose Elkan, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. N. Elkan. The three children attended the matinee together and all were killed. Rabbi Jacobson of the Thirty-fifth street synagogue conducted the service and at the conclusion referred to the Iroquois fire as one of the "greatest calamities of the age." The interment took place at Waldheim.

WOMEN FAINT IN CHURCH

Attended by many grief stricken schoolmates and friends, the funeral of Robert and Archie Hippach, sons of Louis A. and Ida S. Hippach, was held at the Church of the Atonement, Kenmore and Ardmore avenues. They lived at 2928 Kenmore avenue. At the church several women fainted and had to be taken from the church.

LIFE-LONG FRIENDS MEET IN DEATH

Miss Viola Delee of 7822 Union avenue, and Miss Florence Corrigan of 218 Dearborn avenue, victims of the Iroquois theater fire, whose remains were buried, were life-long friends. They were schoolmates at St. Xavier's College, where both graduated two years ago. On the afternoon of the fire Miss Delee had arranged to meet her friend downtown and attend the matinee. It is thought they secured seats on the main floor about eight rows from the front. Their bodies were found lying some distance apart.

The body of Miss Delee showed marks that must have caused her excruciating pain. Her face was badly burned and disfigured. Miss Corrigan was burned almost beyond recognition. She was not identified until after the identity of Viola's body had been established through a card which she carried in the pocket of her dress.

The funerals of two friends who had perished together in the fire met in Forest Home cemetery when Mrs. Floy Irene Olson of 835 Walnut street and Bessie M. Stafford were buried in graves not thirty feet apart. The two women had been life-long friends and were co-workers in the Warren Avenue Congregational church. Rev. Frank G. Smith conducted the services over each of the bodies.

EDWARD AND MARGARET DEE

Rev. Father Quinn of St. James' Roman Catholic church, conducted the obsequies for Edward Mansfield and Margaret Louise Dee, the children of William Dee, at the residence, 3133 Wabash avenue. The funeral procession was the largest ever seen on the south side for children, seventy-five carriages following the white hearse that bore the two white caskets.

MISS E. D. MANN AND NIECE

Miss Emma D. Mann, supervisor of music in the Chicago public schools, and her niece, Olive Squires, 14 years old, were buried at Rosehill after impressive ceremonies at the Centenary Methodist Episcopal church. Miss Mann had been connected with the schools of the city for many years.

ELLA AND EDYTH FRECKLETON

The funeral services over the remains of Ella and Edyth Freckleton, daughters of William J. Freckleton, 5632 Peoria street, were conducted by Rev. R. Keene Ryan at Boulevard hall, Fifty-fifth and Halsted streets. More than 2,000 persons were in the hall and 500 others stood in the street for hours waiting for the funeral cortege to pass on its way to Oakwoods, where interment was made.

MISS FRANCES LEHMAN

Hundreds of pupils of the Nash school, Forty-ninth avenue and Ohio street, members of the Ridgeland fire department and a delegation of employes of the Cicero and Proviso Electric Street railway attended the funeral services over the remains of Miss Frances Lehman, at the residence of her parents, 525 North Austin avenue, in the morning. Rev. Clayton Youker, pastor of the Euclid Avenue Methodist Episcopal church, officiating. Many beautiful floral tributes were sent by the teachers and the pupils of the Nash school.

And so during this Sabbath of woe, tragedies of life and death such as these, but far too numerous to be all recorded, were being enacted in all parts of the stricken city. Although nature had bestowed upon the countless mourners a day bright and clear, their spirits were dark with sorrow and for years to come their memories will revert to that time as the saddest of their lives; and those whose dear ones were not among the dead, if their natures were blessed with any sympathy whatever, were oppressed, as never before, with the heavy burden which others must bear.

CHAPTER XII.

WHAT OF THE PLAYERS?

Never before in the history of amusements has so excellent an opportunity been afforded to look behind the scenes of the mimic world and study the real life of the actor. To one and all, whether religionist unalterably opposed to the theater and all its ramifications, or the devotee finding life's chiefest pleasures contributed by musician and mummer, the stage looms up a mystic realm, affording more interest and comment than almost any other department of earthly effort.

When Shakespeare wrote "See the players well bestowed" in his immortal masterpiece, "Hamlet," the term player meant something very different from what it does today. In this day and age it is not only the poetic, lofty-minded and learned tragedian who is rightfully accorded the title "actor," but through time-honored custom and common usage the specialty performer, slap-stick comedian and the interesting chorus girl are recognized as members of the "profession"; and be it noted, although a sad commentary on the stage, they far outnumber those of the old, legitimate school.

So it is that in dealing with the player folk, to whom the terrifying Iroquois experience was but an incident in a long career of vicissitudes unknown to those who make up the great commercial, industrial and agricultural world, it is necessary to consider the sleek, well-groomed executive staff, the better-paid and more widely-known stellar lights of the "Mr. Bluebeard" company, the less distinguished principals, both men and women, the struggling chorus boy, the saucy, piquant and greatly envied chorus girl and a small army of unheard-of yet equally important stage mechanics.

Upwards of 150 persons – a little world of their own – made up the company that found its merry-making tour brought to a sudden termination by a blast that came upon them like a visitation from the bottomless pit. What they endured, what conditions the fatal fire imposed upon them, will never be fully known or appreciated. Merry minstrels in name, but homeless, purposeless wanderers in fact, the dead sweep of the elements tore asunder their little universe and left them stranded and more purposeless still, practically penniless and among strangers, overburdened with their own woes.

With such an organization as "Mr. Bluebeard" there are to be found two or three fortunate mortals, whose powers to amuse and whose popularity with the amusement-loving public place their salaries at a figure anywhere between $150 and $300 a week. In this particular company "Eddie Foy," in private life Edward Fitzgerald, stood out preeminently as such a player. Then came more than a score of principals whose salaries will range from $60 to $150 a week, depending entirely upon ability and the extent to which fortune has favored them in casting the various parts, as the characters are known. Next in order are the less important people, who play "bits" (very unimportant parts), and who act as understudies for the principals, ready to replace them in an emergency. They are largely graduates from the chorus or comparative novices in the profession. Their compensation may be from $30 to $50 a week, according to beauty, grace and general usefulness.

All have their railroad fares paid and their baggage transported at the expense of the management. They are required to furnish their own wardrobe, however, in many instances an item of no small expense.

THE CHORUS GIRL

And then – the chorus girl! No living creature excites such general curiosity, interest, and perhaps admiration and envy, as this footlight queen. She is popularly supposed to devote her time exclusively to delightful promenades with susceptible "Johnnies" in the millionaire class, automobile rides, after-the-show wine suppers and all manner and form of unconventional and soul-stirring diversions that for her more sedate and useful sister, the ordinary American girl, would mean to be ostracized socially. Hers is generally regarded as a voluptuous life of music, mirth and color, an endless, extravagant pursuit of pleasure.

To the wide, wide world her triumphs and escapades are heralded by newspaper, press agent, and the callow youth of the land, who regard themselves as "real sports" and clamor for an opportunity to provide a supper for one of the chorus at the expense of going without cigarettes for the rest of the month.

Whoever hears of the little, disorderly bunk of a room the chorus girl's salary provides her with at some cheap hotel; of her struggles for existence during the months she is out of employment almost every season; of the glass of beer and nibble of free lunch that is often her only meal during the long weeks of endless rehearsal that precede the opening of the show, when absolutely without income she lives on her scant savings, what she can borrow, and hope and anticipation of what is in store when the tour begins! For three or four weeks she rehearses morning and afternoon while the production is being put in shape. No salaries are paid during that period, and it is a particularly soft-hearted manager who allows the girl carfare. Most of the day there are marches, dances and evolutions to be gone through with maddening monotony. She must remain on her feet, for chairs are few about stages, and courtesy scant so far as chorus people are concerned.

And at night, when she goes home worn with effort, there are songs to be learned, and then to be repeated over and over again in chorus the next day, to the accompaniment of a battered and expressionless piano shoved into the brightest spot on the gloomy half-dark stage, or, if there be no such thing, placed in the orchestra pit, where the musical director can enjoy the advantage of an electric light.

THE MUSICAL DIRECTOR

The musical director! What an autocrat he is! His rules are arbitrary and irrevocable. His criticism stings and burns. He is tired, overworked and under the strain of responsibility for the successful development of the aggregation of young men and women who confront him, and who appear to him weighted down with all the stupidity naturally intended for distribution among a vastly larger number of individuals. He swears, raves, coaxes as his moods change. He weeds out one here and engages a new member there. And with every change the difficulties increase. The tunes that seem so inspiring when heard from the comfort of a parquet seat grow dreary to those who are living with them hourly during this period. The "catchy" songs become so much hateful drivel and maddening nonsense, when done over and over again to the inspiring declaration of the half-crazed director that "the whole bunch ought to go back to the farm, back to the dishpan."

It is a tired, world-worn, weary creature that creeps away after such a rehearsal – a woman who would be hard to recognize as the sprightly, dashing blonde in blue tights, who tosses her head saucily in the third act and sets the hearts of the youth of the one-night-stands aflame a few weeks later.

THE JOY OF THE OPENING

At last the chaos and confusion end, the great mass of detail is blended into a production and the stage manager begins his term of storming and fussing. The dress rehearsal is called, the shimmering silken costumes are donned and all hands are agreeably surprised to find that there really is a plot to the piece and some rhyme and reason behind the efforts of the few preceding weeks' labor. The opening is at hand.

What joy it brings to all, both those of high and low degree. Brave costumes, light, color and a mellow orchestra, in place of the old tin-pan of a piano, work great changes in their spirits. And best of all – salaries begin. To the chorus girl it means from $18 to $25 a week, and if she be particularly clever perhaps a little more. That is hers, free from all charges for transportation, baggage delivery or the furnishing or maintenance of wardrobe. She must furnish her own "make-up" of paints, powder and cosmetics, to be sure, and of this she uses no small amount; but that is a minor expense.

The opening over, the critics of the press either praise or flay the production – something that means much in determining what its future will be. For a few weeks, possibly a month or two, it remains the attraction at the theater where it had its birth. Conditions become pleasanter, yet a vast amount of rehearsing continues in order to bring about improvement or make changes in the personnel of the company. Every time a girl drops out, voluntarily or otherwise, her successor must be put through the ropes in order to be able to replace her. That means all those in the same scenes must go through the dreary details again. In fact, from the time such a show opens until it closes rehearsals never really cease, the causes necessitating them being almost without number.

SPENDTHRIFT HABITS

During the "run" in the opening house the chorus girl has a chance to live at comparatively small expense. She may pay off her small debts, if she is troubled with a conscience. What is far more important, she can replenish her threadbare street wardrobe, for it is an unwritten managerial law that all stage people must dress well both on and off the stage. So when the "run" terminates and the road tour begins, nearly all the company are pretty short financially, although they may be even with the world if they are particularly fortunate. All actors are naturally "spenders." Their mode of life compels it. With few family ties, the majority without a home, their every expense is double that of the every-day sort of a man. Their meeting place and their lounging place, whether it be for business or social reasons, is necessarily the hotel or the bar. Under those conditions it would be difficult for the most conservative to cultivate frugality or economy. And actors have never been known to injure themselves in an effort to attain either unless under stress of temporary compulsion.

GAMBLING, PURE AND SIMPLE

Perhaps the show has made a "hit." Perhaps not. One can never tell in advance, for it is gambling, pure and simple, so the oldest managers openly assert. If it proves a failure all the capital, labor and trouble has been thrown away like a flash in the pan. The actors arrive some night to find the house dark, the box-office receipts, scenery and properties seized on an attachment, and their salaries and prospects gone. What happens then with weeks, possibly months, of idleness ahead of them, can be better imagined than described. Somehow, the people struggle through and survive and bob up to face the same experience again. It is hard enough on the principals with good salaries and friends purchased through profligate expenditure of their money when all was sunshine and prosperity, but it is a worse blow to the chorus. Yet they pass through seemingly unscathed. They are used to it and know how.