Notes on a Cowardly Lion by John Lahr Read Free Book Online

hear of their antics. Lahr had a strong baritone voice; his balladry and his aloofness earned him the reputation of a “character.” He was never unaware of the group sentiment toward himself, and he allowed his friends to create a role for him. He liked to make them laugh, often revising popular songs for comic effect. The role brought an easy but satisfying security.
    Lahr still found himself drawn to the theaters for excitement and escape. “We’d have to walk two miles to the McKinley Square Theater and the Boulevard Theater. On the other side of the park was the Crotona Theater and there I saw Willie Howard’s brother, Sammy. The theater was over in the Jewish section, and it was a Jewish audience. He was with the Newsboy Trio, I think. They did an imitation. In those days, the dance craze was the ‘Texas Tommy,’ which was like the ‘Frug’ or the ‘Monkey’ today. They used to have troupes of ‘Texas Tommy’ dancers. The Newsboy Trio performed the dance as well as imitating the format of the amateur-night routine. At the finish, they’d have all the amateurs line up on the stage. If the prize was five or ten dollars, they’d put the money over the amateur’s head. The audience would judge who was the best. Every time it came over a new head, the audience would applaud. When they put the money over Sammy Howard’s head, he went down to the footlights and said, “Ich bin ein Yid.” Naturally, he won. I screamed, the incongruity of it. I’ve remembered it all these years.”
    The Bronx did not change Lahr’s life as Augusta and Jacob had hoped. He brought to his new home the same vacancy and irresolution. “I went alone a lot of the time. Always alone. Proctor’s 125th, Proctor’s 58th, Minor’s 153rd … I’d go all over the city if I could get my hands on a quarter. I loved the theater, not for me to get into, but the acts. I was entranced by them. It was just entertainment for me. Barber shops in those days used to get free passes to the shows for displaying posters announcing the acts. Every time I’d see a billboard in a window, I’d go in and buy the passes from them. They’d sell for a dime or a nickel. I walked all over. In those days, you’d walk great distances to save a nickel.”
    Other incidents assured Lahr his reputation for eccentricity. “The Fairmont A.C. was down on 138th Street. My pal was Joey Berado, who liked to box, and I was his second. All I knew was I had to fan him with a towel. All the kids who wanted to box used to go down there and they’d give them fifty dollars worth of tickets. You’d sell the tickets to the boys (two dollars a ticket and you got half). One day when we were down there Eddie Glick came in. He was sort of a dull-witted guy and a plumber’s helper. He said, ‘I get six dollars a week, and I’m loosening toilets and radiators. I’d like to make a few bucks. I’d like to fight.’ So we said, ‘Sure. Go down and get the tickets and we’ll train you.’ He got the tickets and started training. I said, ‘We got a new way of training. Eat cheesecake and beer and run aroundCrotona Park.’ He did. He could get cheesecake for a dime and beer we all drank. He’d run around Crotona Park. After four days, he came to us. ‘I’m sick,’ he says. ‘That’s what we want, it’s getting the bad blood out of you.’ We finally got him a fight against a little kid from Christ’s Church. He’s been doing this for a week but nobody’s been teaching him how to box or anything. He came in the ring, and I went over to the opponent and said, ‘This guy can’t take it in the stomach.’ The kid from Christ’s Church comes out, feints him, and punches Glick in the belly. He threw up all over the ring.”
    His friends found Lahr’s humorous incompetence often