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HEARST'S SUNDAY AMERICAN. ATLANTA, GA„ SUNDAY, MAY IS, 11)13.
Through
She Box
Office
Window
Yes, An Umpire’s Job Is Easy.
By
Bud Fisher
I Copyright,
-tar (Ympany <Jr«at Britain Mights Reserved
Mut and Jeff Appear Every Day in The Atlanta Georgia*
T HE box office man la tlie
door mat of the theater.
If the show la bud, the
man who buys the ticket blames
him.
the show good?” they ask
before they buy tickets. If
he says “yes” they frankly call
him a liar; If he says “no,'' then
he Is picked for a fool.
He is never considered honest
by the man who buys the ticket.
If he wears a new tie, then he
stole it. If he gives the wrong
change, he Is a thief.
He must be a bureau of In
formation. He must know the
schedules of every train, and the
route of every street car line.
He never sees a show. He must smile at his worst enemy,
must be very gracious to tHe woman who says he Is no gentleman be
cause he does not give her a good seat when every seat, good and bad.
Is sold.
All this from the philosophy of Willard Patterson, who smiles
from the ticket window at the Forsyth Theater six days in the week,
come friend, come foe.
"And be must listen, from men and women supposed to be In
full possession of their mental faculties, to things that mak# the line
of people who come to him the biggest show on earth," says Pattf son.
Of the faults and failings of humanity seen through the box office
window, he has a lot to say. Here are some of his stories:
• • •
By WILLAUD PATTERSON
T HE box office man is likely to become rather egotistical with all
his experiences. So many things aye funny that Ids whole atti
tude is warped. Now and then he wakes up with a shock. I did the
other night.
A man came In to buy a ticket. If there was ever a typical West
erner from the wild and woolly border, he was it. He wore u l)lg
Mack hat, soft shirt, long black coat, and boots. His mustache was
long and ferociously black.
Then the funny part of his make-up struck me, and I thought I
would jdsh him. That’s the box office egotism, I guess.
"You’ll have to leave your gun outside,” 1 said. “It’s against the
rules of the house to allow anybody to carry a guu inside.”
He looked at me gravely.
"Is that so?” lie asked. "Well, all right, stranger, If them’s the
rules."
And I'll lie hanged is he didn't pull a guu as long as a cannon
What to Do in an Emergency
A. E. Hayward
CVyyrlgtit, 1918, by Uv» *Ur Company. Qr«t Britain flight* Keacrrcd
In Case of Fire.
[ N case of Are always remain cool. Water will pot
out Are if both the Are and water are used In the
right proportions. So will salt. Sotne of our beat
families keep salt In the houae. There are certain
rulea regarding the etiquette of Aree which It le not
well to overlook.
For instance, If one smells smoke during the night
It is customary to arise suddenly. It Is not good form
to etrlke a match, and for this reason the experienced
home Areman never keeps a match handy. Instead,
one should collide good naturedly with some hard
object In the middle of the room, such as a chair or
—well, any handy little thing, and, wishing It a
pleasant evening, kick out, bending one's big toe a
little under
You may then pass on to the window, choosing ths
one under which little Jimmy has left his blocks.
This you open and sniff several times. Some become
so proAclent In the details of this trip from bed to
window that they are able without the slightest care
and with perfect sang-froid to repeat It In all lte
beauty on the return trip.
The same good form applies If the tour of suspicion
leads one Into the hall and down to the kitchen,
though some sticklers for the beat of manners ar
range a small rug artistically over the top step on
the stairs. But always complete poise should be
strived for
On arriving at the foot of the stairs, smile and say
On Arriving at
and Say
the Foot of the Staira, Smile
Something Optimistic.
something optimistic, such as, “My, what a beautiful
star-lit night!” Friend wife Is probably awake by
this time and may annoy you slightly with in
terrogations as to why you come home in that con
dition.
But, if one smalls smoke, one must naturally And
out If there Is a cause in the immehiate vicinity, so
you complete the tour of Investigation according to
Hoyle. If, however, one finds that the house Is on
fire, then one remembers that one turned off the
water for fear the pipes would freeze, and, of course,
must call in outside help. After which one proceeds
to rescue what personal belongings are of most
value.
Here Is where the fine art of the home Areman
comes in. It Is the height of naivete to mistake the
cellar door for the back stairway, and to hunt for
your clothes In the pantry closet. Also, the most
valued things on such quick notice .will probably be
found to consist of wlfey’s false teeth, which you
mistake for your watch; a blanket, pair of shoes (one
male and one female) and the fern on the sitting-
room table. All of whic^ goes to prove that when
brought right up against the proposition of existencs
man needs but little here below.
After these little Incidentals are attended to, and
the articles are lined up along the curb for the
edification of the neighbors, it is fashionable for one
to remember one's wife, and, with a cry calculated to
attract attention to your bravery, dash upstairs and
endeavor to dislodge the little lady from under the
bed. which haven she has sought through a confusion
of "What to do when burglars enter” with "What to
do in case of fire,” both of which articles ^>pear on
the same page of the “Handy Helper for Home Hap
piness” in the sideboard dratver.
By'this time the firemen have arrived and the
neighborhood has takeD on the aspect of a spiritual
istic seance, white-robed figures protruding from win
dows and doorways here and there, garnished with
curl paper. Some kind neighbor has turned in three
alarms. The Fire Department then proceeds to put
out a tiny smouldering fire in a waste-paper basket
with a hose about a foot in diameter. After this the
house is thoroughly washed from top to bottom, the
piano-player well cleansed and the cat drowned in
,the cellar.
Refreshments should then be served Nothing is
more grateful to the fire laddies on a bitter cold
night, when they have been dragged from their
bunks on a fool errand, than cold lemonade. Friend
wife will think of this. By the time all the guests
have departed, amid laughter and well wishes all
around, it will be time to bring in the bottle of milk '
One then sinka into the nearest chair. If you have
been careful you will experience the satisfaction
which attends the successful culmination of any
social function, a sensation which nothing on earth
can disturb, unless it be the sudden realization that
one has one’s pants on east instead of west, and in
the exhilaration of the evening's fun one has mis- ;
taken some intimate feminine article for one’s
shirt.
Mirandy on Temperamental Dress-
By
■ Dorothy Dix
from his hip pocket, and, never smiling, slide it under the window to
me.
* * *
Our troubles come with the women. The things they say and dot
The other night at 8:30, with the orchestra playing (lie overture, and
the line in front of the window a mile long and everything a8"busy as a
suffragette meeting, the telephone rnnjS.
"Will you please run up to the Atlanta Club.” said a woman's
voice, "and see if my husband is there. 1 know he Is; but I never
call up clubs myself. It’s just five stories up. 1 ’lease hurry.”
* * V
Many of them, glancing at the day of Hie month stamped on the
ticket, take that for their seat number. Then there Is trouble. On
May , r ». for instance, a woman Ixuight a ticket. The big fi was st a taped
on the end. The seat was in (lie nineteenth row. Hut when they tried
to take her to tier place, she liegati to kick. She just wouldn’t under
stand.
“Can’t you read?” she asked the usher haughtily. "There’s the
number, five, as plain as the nose on your face.
Then she came out lo me.
"I don’t think you all are nice a bit,’’ she said. "1 want my murrey
back. If you please.”
And she sailed out majestically.
* • *
They ask me everything. In the midst of the rush the other even
ing the telephone rang.
"Where is Buffalo Bill’s show now. please?” the woman’s voice
asked.
1 assured her that ! didn’t have the slightest idea
"Well, what sort of a show man are you. anyhow?" she exclaimed.
“Don’t you knew all aland such tilings?”
* * *
The box office man has even to help boost Cupid’s little game.
The other night a man I didn’t know from the side of the house came
in with a girl. He talked to me very confidentially.
“Don’t tell Miss that I’m with this lady." he begged, "she
won’t like it a bit. We’re engaged, you know.”
I assured him that 1 would not. As a matter of fact. 1 didn’t
know Miss . But that’s nothing. We’re supposed to know every
body.
But in about two minutes in sailed a girl with a tall fellow. She
came up to me, and whispered.
"I’m Miss . you know.” she said, calling the same name that
the man with the other call had mentioned. Of course, 1 didn't know:
but I had to tell her I did. That’s part of It all.
"Well.” she went on, “If ever you set 1 Mr. dou't tell him 1
came here to night. He mlghn’t like it. We're engaged, you know.”
* * *
Yes. we must know everybody. Only yesterday a woman came
by the window.
"I want a seat next to Mrs. Black.” she said.
t had not the slightest Idea of the location of Mrs Black, i told
tar So.
’Why. don’t you rememberf” she said in surprise. "She just
bought a ticket, ten minutes ago. She was dressed in a shepherd plaid
suit, with a round blue hat.”
And to think that there had been sixty persons to buy tickets
within the last ten minutes 1
• • •
Sometimes they have the saving sense of humor.
“Is this seat behind a post?” a woman asked me the other day.
That is the unfailing question. I am used to it.
"No. madam,” 1 said, seriously. “But if you like. I will give you
one behind a |>ost."
"Well.” she replied, quickly, "if the show is as had as last week's.
1 don’t care if you put it behind a brick wall."
* • »
"My tickets are lost." said a woman who came here yesterday . “1
booeht them Saturday for this afternoon's show, but I’ve mislaid them
somewhere. IMease give me duplicates."
smoke! I tried to toll her tlwl there were no duplicate
Published by Permission of Good Housekeeping
Magazine.
Cpyrlght by Good Housekeeping Magazine.
AW,” said Ma’y Jane to me de odder night,
“fse a-gwine to get me one of dese heah
temperamental dresses whut you reads
'bout so much In de papers.”
"De Ian’ s&kes!” sclaims I, ”1 sholy Is glad to see
dat you is done come to yo’ senses at las’, an’ is
gwine to put on some clothes dat Is warm an’ com
fortable! Why, ef I was to leave off my red flannel
longerie lak you does, an’ go forth in de world wld-
out a petticoat to my name. I’d ketch my death of
col’.”
"Why, maw.” save May Jane, wid dat patient
pityin’ air what a superior chile imes to 11s parients,
an’ whut makes you Itch to take a slipper to ’em,
“why, maw, temperamental gowns ain’t got nothin'
to do wid de temperature. Dey is dest as thin, ef
not a little thinner, dan de odder kin'.”
"Well, whut kin’ of a frock is a temperamental
frock dan?” inquires I.
A temperamental gown,” says Ma'.v Jane, "is one
In which you spreseifles yo'self. Hit's de interpreta
tion of yo’ Innards, so to speak.”
"Well,” spons I, ”ef mos’ of de dresses an' de hats
dat 1 sees women wearln' nowadays spregslftes whut
dey is, de world sholy Is full of folkses whut Is
ravin' lunatics, wid complications of epilepsy an' de
jimjams. But I lays hit on de dressmaker an' de
milliner. Goodness know s, when 1 pins a thing on
my head dat looks lak a coal scuttle wid one chicken
tedder stickin' out from under de brim, an' wriggles
my two hundred an’ fifty pounds of Agger into a
skirt dat ain’t no wider dan one of yo' paw's
breeches tegs, 1 don't want nobody to think dat hit’s
a spressif.vin' me.”
"Oh, maw,” says Ma y Jane, a handin' me anodder
slab of pit.vln' patience, "you don't seem to grasp
de wharforeness of dis proposition bout de temper
amental dress. De way dat de lady whut Invented
hit prognosticates, hit’s lak dis- dat vo’ don't dest
go an' buy any kin’ of a frock dat is styly, an’ dat
Copyright. IBIS, by the Star Company
you’ee got de credit to git, but dat you has frocks
dat matches yo’ moods instid of yo’ complexion. For
Instance, when yo’ la feelln’ mighty spry an’ kit
tenish, den you put on a frock dat is made of white
muslin an’ trimmed wid blue ribbons an’ roBe buds,
an’ dat is called 'De Joy of Youth.’
"Den, some day when you is feelln’ down In de
mouth, an’ has got de-entsery in de
back, an’ seems lak you ts walkin'
In de vale of tribulation, you dikes
yo’self out In a long sweepin’ black
dress wid jet buglers on hit, an'
dat Is called, ’Tears, Idle Tears.'
"Den, when yo' Is real gay an
devilish, yo’ dresses yo’eelf up in
a red dress dat goes by de name
of Life Triumphant.’ An’ den
dere's anodder sweet thing dat is
ail pale blues an’ grays dat is
called, ’De Awakening of Love’—"
“An 1 whut does de frock look lak
dat dey calls ’Corned Beef an’ Cab
bage,' or de ’Po’k Chops Done To-
a-turn?’ ” axes I.
"De folkses dat wears dem tem
peramental clothes don't do nothin'
so common as to eat, let alone
wrastle wid pots an' pans an' de
cook stove," spons Ma’y Jane wid
disgust. "De mos’ dem swelly la
dies does Is to partake of a slight
collusion in betwixt times when
dey Is a-changin’ delr frocks. Oh,
whut a gran’ life dey must lead, wid
nuthin' to do but Just to dress an’
undress!”
"De cat’s foot!" sclaims I. "De only consolation
of poverty is dat yo’ ain't got but one frock, an'
when yo’ gits dat on vo’ ain’t got to change hit.”
"But ain't dat Idea of spressifyin’ yo’ emotions in
yo’ dress a gran', new thought?” axes Ma’y Jane.
Grsat Britain Rlxhta Rzasrrcd.
“Shoo, daughter," spons I, "dat ain’t no new Idea.
Dat’s as ole as de fust woman.
"Dest watch de women walkin' down the street.
Dem whut Is got bran’ new suits on dat hangs
straight in de back, an’ fits ’em, walks brisk an'
straight-lak along, lak dey knew whar dey was
gwine, an' ment business when dey got dere. But
de sisters dat has got on ole, drab-
ble-tall frocks dat hikes up in front,
an’ down in de back, goes Banterin'
along, weavin’ back an’ fo’th
across de pavement lak dey ain't
got no backbone, nor sense, nor
nothin’; lak dey don’t know whar
dey is headed for nor whut dey is
gwine to look for after dey got dere.
“An' we women can’t help hit.
We’se dest whut our clothes make
us becaze our clothes put de con-
jer on us dat we can't git away
from. Why, one of dese heah pink
silk an’ lace neglected gowns would
make a Invalid out ol de mos’ able
bodied woman in town.
“Yassum, dat’s so, an' I know one
woman, whut done been in de bed
wid *de chronics for ten yeahs, dat
was cured after de doctor done
give her up, by a blue broadcloth
walkin’ suit dat her husband give
her one Christmas. He thought it.
would look real gran' as a shroud,
but ef you believe me, she got
up, a-groanin wid weakness to try
it on, an’ hit looked so fine dat she
kept hit on, an’ of ecus’ she
had to walk when she wore hit beeaxe you dest can’t
set 'roun in a frock dat'll bag at de knees ef you do.
An' de fust news de neighbors knowed, dat woman
was a-perambulatin’ ’roun’ ev’ywhera Instid of bein’
buried.
"Yes, chile, dere ain’t nothin’ new ’bout dem emo
tional clothes for women. All of our clothes is
emotional. Whut makes yo' roll yo’ eyes up when
you got on dat cart wheel hat of yo’s, an’ ax Sim
Johnson fool questions dat you don’t ax him any
odder time? Hit's de effect of de hat on yo’ min’.
An' whut makes you put on a white dreBB when
some man dat you’se a-tryin’ to catch comes ’roun’?
"Becaze in a white dress a woman dest natchally
acts lak she was a angel wid de pin fedders sprout
in’ on her, an’ she looks so mild an’ gentle dat de
man thinks dat heah’s one female critter dat he
can manage, an’ dat won't never talk back to him,
nor have no opinion of her own whatever, an' he up
an’ axes her to marry him.
"Yes, honey, we women is whut clothes makes
us. In de mawnin’s, when me an’ Sis Hannah Jane
has got on our wukln’ clothes, an’ our sleeves rolled
up to de shoulder, an' we meets out In de bank yard
when we’se hangln' out our clothes, we leans across
de fence, an’ scandalizes our neighbors. But in de
afternoon when I’se dressed up an’ Sis Hannah Jane
has got on her good frock an’ she draps in to set a
while, we discourse 'bout de higher life, an’ de
Browning society, an' uses our bes’ langwtdge dest
lak we does out best chlny.
"Furdermo', I knows dat right heah at home when
I has on a mother-hubbard wrapper dat don’t hoi’
me In nowhar^I says things when I gets riled dat
wouldn’t never cross my min' to say ef I was diked
up in a lovely mornin’ gown wid lace ruffles. An’
fo’ dat reason,” says I, wid a meanin’ glance at Ike,
“ef I was a man I would never begrudge buyin’ my
wife good clothes, becaze she'd have to live up to
'em, an’ hit would be a mighty restrainer on her acts
an' temper.”
"Ole lady,” says Ike, a-fumblln’ In his pocket for
his money pu’s an’ a-handln’ me out some change,
“ef 70’ knows any place whar dey sell frocks dac
makes a woman dumb, go an buy yo’ one. Buy two
of 'em!"
coupons, and asked her where the seats were located.
"1 don't know.” she said. “Don't you? What are you here for,
anyway 1 want those same seats and nothing else buLthem."
And, of course, she went away mad.
* * *
They make all sorts of requests. A mao the other day wanted a
cool seat.
”1 just must have a cool seat." he said.
I reached to the ticket board.
"Will 7, row lie all right?” 1 asked him.
He neter caught on. He said that was too far back, and never
even smiled.
* . • «
The free pass grafter is an old friend. They come in with, all sorts
of pletjs. The favorite story is that they are old actors.
A fellow came up the other day, flashily dressed, and with a bold
front.
"I’m a contortionist, friend," he said. "1 want to set- the show.”
"Bell." 1 told hint, if you throw a good handspring out there in
the lobby, i'll let you in.”
Blessed if he didn’t do it.
And the next day I went in a barber shop. There, behind the
chair, waiting for customers, was my friend the “contortionist" of a .
long stage experience, as he had told me the night before.
* * *
He has to listen to the sorrowful stories of the man with a physical
infirmity.
"1 want a nineteen-inch seat, friend." said a man the other night.
He looked as if he needed'a seat larger than that. If his weight w as
under three hundred pounds, then 1 miss my guess.
1 told him that the seats were all the same size, and none of them
the siz" he wanted.
"Weil, what do you know about that?" he said, angrily. “Gimme
my money back. I'm going to a regular theater.”
* V *
•
He was ar bat! the stiff-legged man who came hi the other night
and asked for a seat so that his left log could stick out in the aisle. It
was uuite a job lo hud it for lum at that time. And there is always a
one-legged man who must he seated with a view to his missing leg.
And nobody wants to get behind a post.
"I want a seat in front of a post.” I am informed forty times a day.
"There are no posts in this theater,” I itiform them every one.
And then, if it is a woman buying the ticket, I am greeted by a
stare of surprise.
"How in the world do you keep the roof up. then?” 1 am asked.
"Are you sure it’s safe Inside?”
Borne day I am going to think up an answer to that question—an
answer that will settle it for good and all.
* * *
And that’s the way it goes. Nobody loves the ticket window man.
They all say he is a crook and a liar, and yet. somehow, you will see
thatv'hen one dies it is necessary to give a benefit for his funeral ex
penses.
And, In the seven years I have been in the vaudeville house busi
ness 1 have never seen a bill through from beginning to end. And I’ve
ne'er seen a show of any kind in the Forsyth Theater. And with me
working in it all the time!