Writing in 1850, George C. Foster gives a similar, if snobbier,
view:
"The Bowery is the representative
of that immense and important class of our population, inhabiting
the Sahara of the East, and living—somehow—from day
to day and week to week—upon the labor of their hands. The
butcher-boy, the mechanic with his boisterous family—the
b’hoy in red flannel shirt-sleeves and
cone-shaped trousers—the shop-woman, the sewing and press-room
girl, the straw-braider, the type-rubber, the map-colorer, the
paper-box and flower maker, the g’hal,
in short, in all her various aspects and phases--with a liberal
sprinkling of under-crust blacklegs and fancy
men--these make up the great staple of Bowery audiences.
The style of acting that prevails here may be conceived from this
catalogue of the audience—but it never can be described.
The loud and threatening noises from the pit, which heaves continually
in wild and sullen tumult, like a red-flannel sea agitated by
some lurid storm—the shuffling and stamping of innumerable
feet in the lobbies—the unrepressed exuberance of talking,
the laughing, children-nursing, baby-quieting, orange-sucking,
peanut-eating, lemonade-with-a-stick-in-it-drinking unconventionality
of the “dress circle”—the roaring crush and
clamor of the tobacco-chewing, great-coat-wearing second tier—the
yells and screams, the shuddering oaths and obscene songs, tumbling
down from the third tier—mingling with the convulsive howls
and spasmodic bellowing of the actors on the stage—such
are the elements from which … we might attempt to create
a picture of the Bowery theater."
(Foster, 155-56)
|