Tag Archives: property man

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How Times Have Changed, 1905

The following is the third excerpt of an article which first appeared in 1905 in the St. Louis Republic. You can read the first part here and the second part here:

One can readily imagine the lack of imperial presence and the regal authority of Mansfield’s Richard minus the ermine robes and the crown and scepter. As greatly would the audience miss the “props” which go to make up King Dodo. The Virginian without his revolver in the climax of the closing act, which brings down Trampas and sends the spectators home satisfied with the turn of events, would better have left town before sunset. The property man is all that saves him and restores him to his winsome New England school ma’am.

A visit behind the curtain to James L. McCarrick, the property man who is responsible for all the matters of seeming minor importance in “The Virginian,” brings out the importance of this official when the final and desired result is accomplished of giving to a dramatic production the genuine and realistic settings and accessories which are demanded now by the theatre-going public.

In days of old, when McCarrick was new at the business, say twenty-five years ago, any old thing would do for a stage dinner. Cold tea in a black bottle answered the requirements of beer, champagne or soothing sirup. A loaf of bread stood for the usual essentials of a square meal. The audience was satisfied and the actors had to be. One big costumer’s shop in the city was the rendezvous for the manager about to exploit a new play. There he could pick out a wardrobe for each individual member of his cast without leaving the house. War bonnets and tomahawks for the Indian braves, velvet and glittering ornaments for the court ladies and uniforms for the soldiers which were suitable for any army of any nation. Out of the same box came equipment which would permit anything but the most presuming theatrical venture to be staged and with the utmost satisfaction as far as the public was concerned.

To-day it is an entirely different proposition, as is evidenced by the “stunt” which Mr. McCarrick was called upon to perform ere he had secured sufficient properties to permit the first production of such a simple-appearing play as “The Virginian.”

Now there is a definite and certain disappointment if there is lacking the least detail of costume or stage settings evident to the discriminating audiences which at every performance of a play are prepared to criticise the least fault. Everything must be perfect and managers have bent to the popular demand in this line, and money without stint is expended to satisfy this very demand, costumes, scenery and smaller paraphernalia now ordinarily costing much more than do the actors receive in salaries.

Originally published in The St. Louis Republic, January 1, 1905.

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Property Man is “It”, 1905

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The following is the second excerpt of an article which first appeared in 1905 in the St. Louis Republic. You can read the first part here:

When the leading woman swooned at the sight of the tragic and thrilling vision she would have had a bitter bump on the hard floor had not the property man thoughtfully supplied an upholstered divan at the exact spot, and thereby broke the fall and saved the dramatic situation.

After all is said and done the property man is “it.”

The ordinary theatrical programme carries on the first page of the bill of the play the cast of characters in which the principals see their names in the largest letters, which do not interfere with the typographical make-up of the folder. After the synopsis and the lesser details, in these days so necessary to the proper enjoyment of the drama, musical comedy and other what nots of the theatrical world, one comes across a list of officials which is seldom perused were it not interspersed with stereotyped humor. This list embraces the persons who have made possible the evening’s pleasure to the spectator.

The stage manager and the assistant stage manager come first, since it is their executive management which directs the efforts of everyone else. Frequently are found the stage carpenter, who is responsible for the scenery and stage settings, and the electrician, who handles the light effects and transforms noontide to twilight and black to dawn without batting an eye.

The mistress of wardrobes, who checks up the gauzy gowns of a half hundred coryphées, or who bosses the packing of the Gainsborough hats of a handsome bunch of show girls, at times sees her name among those of the executive staff. The head usher is never missing, and there have been instances where the head bill poster has been enumerated. The piano that was used and the maker of the gowns worn by the principal women of the cast is sure to be found.

But when one cares to know who has made the show what it is, the name is usually missing from the rolls, and back through the stage entrance he must go and around corners of scenery and through crowds of supes until he reaches the den of the property man. Then, indeed, has he come to the beating heart of the production.

Is first to get an idea of the new play
Is first to get an idea of the new play

When the modern comic opera, drama or extravaganza is being prepared for its initial performance, the first man to get a copy of the lines and an idea of the theme of the play is the property man. After the playwright has finished the book and the librettist has turned out the tuneful melodies, all of which comes after the financial backer has set his official seal of approval upon everything that has been done, the property man is taken into the consideration, and while the manager is jaggling over contracts with his stars and secondary representatives are looking up available timber for the lesser parts, the property man is skirmishing the city and country over seeking for those little essentials without which the scenery might as well not be painted and the performers, as in the old Shakespearean days, would as well perform in ordinary street costume.

Originally published in The St. Louis Republic, January 1, 1905.

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The Indispensable Property Man, 1905

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The following first appeared in 1905 in the St. Louis Republic:

Theatrical managers depend much for the successful production of their play upon the Property Man: With the first-class companies this individual, whose name is not on the programme, is considered the most indispensable personage in the make-up—some of the things he has to do.

The Property Man's corner
The Property Man’s corner

In the present-day theatrical production there is a man behind the gun, and he is the party with the cash. The man in charge of the powder magazine and the man who sends the ammunition to the firing line is the property man.

All things considered, he is the most indispensable personage included in the make-up of the modern theatrical company, especially the first-class productions. While not in the least a dictator or the one above all others of whom the principals even, to say nothing of the lesser lights, stand in awe, he is of more supreme importance to the management than is many another who gets his picture in the dramatic columns of the daily prints, or who is posted upon the bill boards weeks in advance of the arrival of the show.

In most of the productions which appear at the better theaters nowadays, the leading man or the leading woman has an understudy who, in case of a sudden emergency, may throw on a costume, and without a moment’s extra preparation, go ahead with a part which may mean the making or breaking of the show for that performance. Not so the property man. Rain or shine, fair weather or foul, one-night stands or seasons of two or three weeks, there is no excuse for his absence from his post of duty, and usually no one who can step into his shoes at an instant’s notice.

When the question of putting on a show is resolved into its essential details, the solution gives to the man who handles and who is responsible for all the little things about the production, the largest proportion possibly of responsibility as is assigned to any man or woman connected with the company.

Naturally it is the star who catches the eye and ear of the audience. When the hero does and dares it is he whom the spectators are with heart and soul, and the curtain goes down upon the last set while auditors join in exclamations of rapture over the work of their idol. They fail to take into consideration that when from his trusty revolver sped the fatal bullet which winged the bold, bad villain, none other was responsible for the blank cartridge and the wreaths of white smoke which curled above than the humble property man.

Originally published in The St. Louis Republic, January 1, 1905.

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Mysteries of the Prop Room part 2, 1902

The following tour of a property room at the Metropolitan Theater in Saint Paul, MN, first appeared in The Saint Paul Globe in 1902. This is the second selection from that article, with the first appearing here.

“There are two more property rooms above this one. Perhaps you would like to see them,” he suggested hospitably.

The second property room was reached by means of a narrow and very straight-up-and-down ladder. If the first looked like an old curiosity shop, the second seemed, in the dim light that came from a solitary incandescent light, a veritable chamber of horrors. From a nail driven in one side of the wall there hung an iron cauldron that suggested the three weird sisters in “Macbeth.” A cotton velvet cloak with a big collar of stringy white fur took on, in that dull light, the shape of one of the witches herself. A skull and cross-bones grinned cheerfully from a niche above a black table. Several masques peered down from a shelf and a big collection of drinks, daggers and swords did not detract in the least from the high tragedy effect of this second property room.

“There is still another property room directly above this one.

“Perhaps,” suggested the Property Man, “you would like to see that also?”

The visitor surveyed the iron ladder that was even narrower and very much straighter-up-and-down than the one she had just mounted and shook her head.

“It’s just full of things like this,” he said. “Tables and chairs and battle axes and churns and band boxes and things!”

The visitor decided she had acquired the taste for property rooms and dropped in at the Grand.

Originally published in The Saint Paul Globe, February 23, 1902, page 22.

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Mysteries of the Property Room, 1902

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The following first appeared in The Saint Paul Globe in 1902. Pay particular attention at the end where he talks about the different “kinds” of props; they’re somewhat different from how we deal with props today:

Sweeney, the property man of the Metropolitan theater—”Old Props,” of course, he is called—entered his dusty little sanctum sanctorum the other afternoon and placed on a wobbly pine table a long, flabby article. The visitor poked it gingerly.

“It’s the seal that they use in ‘The Chaperone,'” explained the Property Man reassuringly. “And this,” he continued obligingly, “is the mummy. You remember the mummy?” The visitor nodded dubiously. This object that resembled nothing so much as a coffin covered tightly with a bit of Oriental cotton did not look a bit like the object she had viewed from the other side of the footlights during one of the performances of “The Chaperone.”

“Things generally do look different when you see them in here,” said the Property Man apologetically. And the visitor, as she surveyed the stuffy little room, agreed. For instance, it was disillusioning to find that the golden goblets from out of which she had seen the noble Romans drink in “Quo Vadis” were simply painted wooden cups. And there was the grandfather’s clock!

As a part of the furnishing of an old farm house kitchen this grandfather’s clock had seemed the very realest bit of realism. Its honest old face, shining in its humble surroundings, had always seemed to say, “Yes, it is all false, this stage atmosphere of paint and tinsel, but I, at least, am real.” As a matter of fact it is not a bit real. On the contrary, indeed! For a long box, properly cut and painted, with a painted dial at one end, is all that that deceitful clock is. The visitor turned from it in disgust.

“There are two kinds of ‘props,'” explained the Property Man, absentmindedly polishing one of the painted wooden goblets with a bit of cotton tapestry which hung from a nail. “There are personal ‘props’ and stage ‘props.’ Now, suppose a man plays the part of a waiter in a play. If he carries a towel over his arm, then it is a stage ‘prop.’ If he wears it tied around his waist, it is a personal ‘prop,’ and he himself looks after it. But we look after the stage ‘props.’ They are all placed here.”

“Here” was the stuffy little room which is just to the right of the big Metropolitan stage.

“Do you see that large trunk over there? It contains the mandolins used by the girls in the first act of the play. Each mandolin is numbered and each girl knows where to find her own instrument.”

Originally published in The Saint Paul Globe, February 23, 1902, pg 22.