We’re in the midst of navigating unforeseen troubled waters, the consequence of a perplexing pandemic. As former American editor and publisher Elbert Hubbard once put it, we’ve been “carried… by currents that are on no chart.”
When the unforeseen invades our still waters, our “best-laid plans” and the “normal rhythms” of life must be cast aside under the pressure of crushing reality.
“The truth is that people never realize their lives are about to change in unforeseen ways; that’s just the nature of unforeseen ways,” writes Will Schwalbe, author of Books for Living.
Consider Charles Frohman whose lower middle-class family, in 1870, moved from Sandusky, Ohio, on the shores of Lake Erie to New York City where the Hudson River meets the Atlantic Ocean. Charles, a shy yet witty and enterprising youth, was a gangly fourteen years of age at the time. He sold newspapers by day for the New York Tribune and Broadway theater tickets at night, soaking in everything he could learn about the theatrical business. In no time, it became apparent, Frohman’s heart and soul belonged in the theater.
Some thirty years later–by 1900–Frohman had become the leading theatrical impresario of plays in New York and London. In 1904 he produced Peter Pan, written by playwright and good friend James
Barrie. Peter Pan would become his biggest theater success. By 1915,
Charles had produced more than seven hundred shows, in the USA,
Britain, and France and employed an average of seven hundred actors a year. At the height of his influence, Frohman controlled five theaters in
London, six in New York
City, and over two hundred throughout the rest of the United States. He reigned supreme in the theatrical world for over a generation.
Considered a natural born sentimentalist, Frohman’s enthusiasm for all things theatrical was considered by some to be “almost hypnotic.” His life was spent reading scripts, arranging sets and costumes, directing and generally looking after the welfare of his actors. In fact he treated them like his children. In twenty-five years, only one actress, Mrs. Patrick Campbell disagreed with him so much that they could not work together. When she rejected Charles’ criticisms of her acting, saying that she was an artiste, Charles answered, “Madam, your secret is safe with me.”
In November of 1911, after a fall on his porch in his house in White Plains, he began to suffer from arthritis in his right knee and was in so much pain that he needed a cane to get around; which he facetiously referred to as his “wife.”
When 1915 rolled around, theater was severely curtailed in England due to World War I. Many theaters were either closed or having difficulties during the early period of the war. Frohman was uncertain what to do about the London stage. He had been urged to come to England as soon as he could by his friend James Barrie, who hoped that Charles might be able to apply his magic touch.
At one point, a disheartened Frohman confided with close friend and playwright, Paul Potter, “You and I have seen our period out.” Frohman predicted that the theater of the future would be filled with “popular drama, bloody, murderous, ousting drawing-room comedy, crook plays, shop-girl plays, slangy American farces, and nude women invading the auditorium as in Paris.” Fortunately, he remarked prophetically, “You and I won’t live to see it.”
On a Friday afternoon, May 7, 1915, the German submarine U-20 torpedoed and sank the British cruise liner Lusitania traveling from New York to Liverpool, England. In a scant eighteen minutes, the luxury liner with nearly two thousand passengers sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Ireland. Frohman, traveling to rally the European play markets, stood together with former concert singer George Vernon, English officer Captain Alick Scott and American-born British actress of French descent Rita Jolivet as the water rose onto the boat deck and forcibly parted the group as the ship sank. Rita was the only member of their group to survive.
Ironically, one of Frohman’s most successful productions, which held the record for the most lucrative play ever produced by Frohman’s theatrical company–prior to Peter Pan–opened January 13, 1903 and closed April 1903; one-hundred-and-eleven performances. The play was titled, “The Unforeseen.”
Existence is short, tomorrow is never promised, and life has deep meaning when you spend it with the ones you love. Time should never be wasted.
Former Cook County Commissioner Garry Gamble is writing this ongoing column about the various ways government works, as well as other topics. At times the column is editorial in nature.
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