of the Interstate circuit, was in the audience that night, and he came backstage after the show. “What seems to be the matter, fancy pants?” he said. When Hope complained about the audience, O’Donnell suggested, “Why don’t you slow down and give them a chance? This is Texas. Let them understand you. Why make it a contest to keep up with your material?”
Hope, the cocky Midwesterner, bristled at the advice. But it registered. “I did slow down for the next show (as much as my stubbornness would let me) and the audience warmed up a little,” he recalled. “I slowed down even more for the next show, and during the last show of the night, I was almost a hit. Before I moved on to Dallas, I was a solid click.” If the Stratford Theater was where Hope developed his new, more spontaneous style of stand-up comedy, his Fort Worth experience showed him the importance of tailoring his act to each specific audience and locale. For a comedian who would go on to become the greatest grassroots entertainer of his era, it was a crucial lightbulb moment.
Still, he was playing mostly small-time theaters. His goal, ever since the Hope and Byrne days, was to crack the big-time houses that were part of the Keith circuit—the chain of vaudeville theaters founded by B. F. Keith and Edward F. Albee, encompassing most of the biggest and most prestigious venues east of the Mississippi (and after a merger with the West Coast–based Orpheum chain in 1927, across the country as well). For a vaudeville performer, playing “Keith time” meant you had made it.
Hope’s breakthrough came in the fall of 1929, when he got a wirefrom a New York agent named Lee Stewart, who had heard about him from Bob O’Donnell. Stewart wanted to set up a showcase for Hope in New York—a tryout engagement where the Keith-circuit bookers could see his act. Bob grabbed Louise, hopped in his new yellow Packard, and sped to New York.
As Hope recalled the events, Stewart first offered to put him on a bill at the Jefferson Theatre on Fourteenth Street. But Hope balked at the downtown venue, which was known for its boisterous audiences, and held out for a classier uptown theater. A few days later Stewart called back with a theater more to Hope’s liking: Proctor’s 86th Street, on Eighty-Sixth and Broadway. Hope prepared for the engagement by testing out his material in a smaller tryout theater in Brooklyn. Stewart came to see one of Hope’s shows there and on the subway ride back to Manhattan seemed to have doubts. “Proctor’s Eighty-Sixth Street is a pretty big theater, you know,” said Stewart. “Look, Lee,” Bob replied. “I open there tomorrow, and if I don’t score, we won’t talk to each other again, okay?”
That’s Hope’s version. A slightly different account comes from Dolph Leffler, who worked in the Keith office and recalled the events in a letter to Hope years later. No mention of Hope’s rejecting the Jefferson Theatre. Indeed, the young performer appears all too eager to take whatever he can get.“I offered Lee Stewart $35 (all I had left of my budget) for your five-person act,” recalled Leffler. (Along with Troxell, Hope had added several other comic foils, or “stooges,” to his act.) “He almost fainted but decided to wire you the offer. We never expected you to accept, as $35 wouldn’t buy your transportation from Cleveland—but you wired back accepting.”
The Keith bookers arranged Hope’s tryout in Brooklyn, and Leffler was there, along with Stewart, for the first, sparsely attended matinee. Despite the small crowd, Leffler liked what he saw, and he gives a lively firsthand account of Hope’s zany vaudeville act at the time:
When you introduced your world famous International Orchestra which had just returned from playing before the Crown Heads of Europe—“and mind you, we are just getting rid of our sea legs beforegoing to the Palace”—then the curtain went up and that joker sat on a beer keg in overalls
Hope, the cocky Midwesterner, bristled at the advice. But it registered. “I did slow down for the next show (as much as my stubbornness would let me) and the audience warmed up a little,” he recalled. “I slowed down even more for the next show, and during the last show of the night, I was almost a hit. Before I moved on to Dallas, I was a solid click.” If the Stratford Theater was where Hope developed his new, more spontaneous style of stand-up comedy, his Fort Worth experience showed him the importance of tailoring his act to each specific audience and locale. For a comedian who would go on to become the greatest grassroots entertainer of his era, it was a crucial lightbulb moment.
Still, he was playing mostly small-time theaters. His goal, ever since the Hope and Byrne days, was to crack the big-time houses that were part of the Keith circuit—the chain of vaudeville theaters founded by B. F. Keith and Edward F. Albee, encompassing most of the biggest and most prestigious venues east of the Mississippi (and after a merger with the West Coast–based Orpheum chain in 1927, across the country as well). For a vaudeville performer, playing “Keith time” meant you had made it.
Hope’s breakthrough came in the fall of 1929, when he got a wirefrom a New York agent named Lee Stewart, who had heard about him from Bob O’Donnell. Stewart wanted to set up a showcase for Hope in New York—a tryout engagement where the Keith-circuit bookers could see his act. Bob grabbed Louise, hopped in his new yellow Packard, and sped to New York.
As Hope recalled the events, Stewart first offered to put him on a bill at the Jefferson Theatre on Fourteenth Street. But Hope balked at the downtown venue, which was known for its boisterous audiences, and held out for a classier uptown theater. A few days later Stewart called back with a theater more to Hope’s liking: Proctor’s 86th Street, on Eighty-Sixth and Broadway. Hope prepared for the engagement by testing out his material in a smaller tryout theater in Brooklyn. Stewart came to see one of Hope’s shows there and on the subway ride back to Manhattan seemed to have doubts. “Proctor’s Eighty-Sixth Street is a pretty big theater, you know,” said Stewart. “Look, Lee,” Bob replied. “I open there tomorrow, and if I don’t score, we won’t talk to each other again, okay?”
That’s Hope’s version. A slightly different account comes from Dolph Leffler, who worked in the Keith office and recalled the events in a letter to Hope years later. No mention of Hope’s rejecting the Jefferson Theatre. Indeed, the young performer appears all too eager to take whatever he can get.“I offered Lee Stewart $35 (all I had left of my budget) for your five-person act,” recalled Leffler. (Along with Troxell, Hope had added several other comic foils, or “stooges,” to his act.) “He almost fainted but decided to wire you the offer. We never expected you to accept, as $35 wouldn’t buy your transportation from Cleveland—but you wired back accepting.”
The Keith bookers arranged Hope’s tryout in Brooklyn, and Leffler was there, along with Stewart, for the first, sparsely attended matinee. Despite the small crowd, Leffler liked what he saw, and he gives a lively firsthand account of Hope’s zany vaudeville act at the time:
When you introduced your world famous International Orchestra which had just returned from playing before the Crown Heads of Europe—“and mind you, we are just getting rid of our sea legs beforegoing to the Palace”—then the curtain went up and that joker sat on a beer keg in overalls
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