Nat Goodwin's Book

"A Native Son" was my next venture. It was written by James Montgomery, author of "Ready Money," and it was as perfect a failure as "Ready Money" was a success! It was an awful thing. I wonder that I ever produced it.

At last I had had my fill of trying to discover the great American play – and headed for my California home to rest – and think!

That period didn't last long. It never has.

Presently George C. Tyler (who is Liebler & Company) got in touch with me, the outcome of it being that I signed a three-years' contract with him on the understanding that I should get as my first vehicle under his management an original play by Booth Tarkington.

In due course Tarkington completed "Cameo Kirby." In my thirty-nine years of experience on the stage I never played a character I liked so well as this delightful, urbane, Southern gentleman-gambler. I gave him a Southern dialect and the production all the touches of the real South of that early era I could invent. The audiences seemed to like my interpretation; but the press was divided. Sensing what would happen to me in New York I refused to go into that city and surrendered the rôle to Mr. Dustin Farnum.

With Farnum in the title rôle "Cameo Kirby" failed in New York exactly as I had it predicted. Farnum made a success with the play on the road, however. His youth, beauty and simple delivery were the opposites of my characterization – and he succeeded where I failed!

I was delighted to hear of Dustin's success. I am very fond of him and of his brother Bill and I consider them both excellent players.

Chapter LXVIII

WILLIE COLLIER

What a quaint, clever, original comedian is Willie Collier!

He is as companionable with those he likes as are flowers in a meadow. His meadow is very limited, however, as he likes but few. He believes, as I do, that the environment of friends should be narrow.

Willie insists upon being addressed as William by the majority. Only the few, among whom I am a privileged member, may call him Willie!

His wit scintillates like forked lightning and he possesses sarcasm equal to that of a Douglas Jerrold. Many authors can attribute "their" success to Willie's wit. His personality off the stage is rather stern for a comedian – in the opinion of the majority. But his acting has conquered three countries – America, Australia and England!

I could fill pages with his wit, but the one first to come to my mind must suffice.

For some reason Willie dislikes the Players Club. (Perhaps it is because one sees so few actors there!) It was during the first all-star gambol of the Lambs Club that Willie sprang a joke at the Players' expense – a joke that has since come to be a classic.

We travelled palatially on this Lambs tour, in fine, private cars, magnificently fitted, and with our every comfort catered to. As we were pulling out of Syracuse in our train de luxe, a dingy engine pulling a dirty caboose passed us on the other track. We were at dinner. Willie wiped his lips with his napkin and remarked quietly:

"Boys, there goes the Players Club back to New York."

I have known him for more than twenty years. His late partner, Charlie Reed, was as dear to me as Willie is. We three had many good times. Poor Charlie passed away years ago and Willie, left alone, has struggled bravely to earn his now well-merited success.

I have known him to produce three successive failures in as many weeks – and come forth smiling!

After the second failure I suggested that he come down to the footlights the night of his third première and salute his audience with, "Well, here I am again."

Willie Collier asked the volatile Hopper why he had failed to invite him to one of his weddings. Hopper promised him that he would – to his next!

A few of those who pose as my critics might do worse than to marry – once in a while. It would at least save expense!

The world is better with such men as Charlie Reed and Willie Collier as occupants. I hope that Willie will come dancing down the sun, casting his wit and humor to all the pessimistic censors of the drama for years to come.

Chapter LXIX

HENRY MILLER

A wholesome and natural actor is Henry Miller with all the technique of our art at his finger tips, he is a splendid stage manager. Had he the facilities at his command I am sure he would rank equally with David Belasco and the late Henry Irving – as a master producer.

What I like about Miller's acting is his exquisite touch and splendid repose. I have known him for more than twenty years and have followed his career steadily – from the days of the old Empire Stock Company (where he was surrounded by such artists as Billy Thompson, Viola Allen and William Faversham) down to his most recent vehicle, "The Rainbow." And always he has proved equal to his task.

I may be prejudiced in his favor because I am so fond of him personally. He has exquisite charm off the stage as well as on. I always anticipate joyfully meeting him and indulging in our little dressing-room chats.

Miller is an artist and a gentleman and an ornament to the American stage.

Chapter LXX

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

My memory was never my strong point. As I approach maturity (!) I find to my surprise that it is growing better rather than worse. But perhaps it couldn't grow worse!

Nevertheless the time I won the world's championship as the prize forgetter I really didn't deserve it. It happened early in the divorce proceedings I had instituted at Reno against Maxine Elliott.

Pardon an interjection; but I must express my surprise here that so many men and women I meet are all laboring under the delusion that I have always been on the receiving end of divorce actions! No less recently than June, 1913, I had the pleasure of reading in the New York "Evening World" a very clever article concerning my kinship with Bluebeard, and Solomon, and Henry the Eighth in the course of which the young woman who wrote the article declared I was "more divorced against than divorcing!" The truth is quite the reverse of this and it seems to me should be so easy of confirmation as to admit of no uncertainty in anyone's mind, however much my reputation makes it seem as if I should be the "divorced against" half of any match! Three divorces have marked my matrimonial experiences. I obtained two and by dint of hard work and much skirmishing (and for purely business reasons) managed to help my fourth wife obtain her freedom from me!

Before the thought of divorcing Maxine had entered my head, in fact while we were still living at Jackwood, I had become interested in the mining game and after the dénouement at Trouville I headed straight for Reno. Even then I think it was rather my purpose to get into the mining gamble head over heels than to make the divorce center of America my "legal residence" that led me to Nevada. I'll admit that my establishing my business headquarters at Reno proved a great convenience!

The proceedings were well under way and I was on the stand as a witness when the judge asked me the name of my wife before I married her. I told him it was Hall.

"That's not what she says," replied the judge severely.

And then it developed that when her answer to my complaint had been returned to the court she signed herself McDermott.

"But that is the name of her first husband," I explained. "Her maiden name is Hall."

"She swears her maiden name is McDermott," quoth the judge.

"Well, her brother's name is Hall," I insisted. "I always supposed it was her name too."

"Great Scott!" thundered the judge. "Don't you know your own wife's name?"

"No, not if it isn't Hall," I responded.

Then it developed that Maxine's maiden name was McDermott, sure enough. The McDermott she married was no relation. Her brother had assumed the name of Hall.

But after all – what's in a name?

Chapter LXXI

I TRY BEING A BUSINESS MAN

While spending a holiday at Glenwood Springs, Colorado, I met a man from Goldfield, Nevada. He was fresh from the mining camp then just blossoming into great public notice and he knew in detail all the stories of its vast mineral products. His name was Brewer, not that it matters, and he had all the swagger and bluster of a mining magnate. In no time at all he had convinced everyone in the hotel, including me, that he was one of the lucky ones who had struck it rich in that land of gold!

He literally threw money broadcast. Bell boys sprinted in a continuous marathon to and from the telegraph office with voluminous messages Brewer sent and received. The guests spent most of their time admiring and envying this Croesus. For my part I found my gambling blood becoming aroused at his wondrous recitals of the possibilities of this strange country. When he invited me to attend the Gans-Nelson prize fight at Goldfield I accepted with alacrity.

At Reno we found a private car awaiting us and we were conveyed the remaining two hundred miles to the scene of the fistic encounter in royal state. What an exciting two hundred miles they were! Brewer, who had proved a most hospitable gentleman, planned our having the car for our exclusive use, but before we had journeyed half the distance from Reno to Goldfield that car was crowded to suffocation! His impromptu guests included gamblers, fighters, thieves, soubrettes, merchants, miners, lawyers! It was a conclave as interesting as it was motley.