Charles R. Taggart, the Man from Vermont

              early 1900's
CHARLES R. TAGGART, The Man from Vermont ENTERTAINER

PUBLICITY SHEET

To the Committee
The Bureau has hatched up a conspiracy to astonish and delight and improve the good people of your city with this lecture course.  I'll try my best if you will do yours to make this number a success.  Is it a go?  Good!  Shake hands!

You and your people will find out all about the character of my work from my circulars.

I have a special Cold Stage Program with piano and violin selections which require no rapid fingering; impersonations and monologues which require great bodily action and no sitting down.  For dimly lighted rooms, I use more music and fewer impersonations.  If I have a bad piano, I skip the real music and prolong my list of novelties, as these will go anyway.  So if it is impossible to adjust your conditions to my work, I simply adjust my work to your conditions.

However, if the hall is sufficiently warm for the people to be comfortable, and the stage sufficiently lighted so they can see every changing expression on my beautiful countenance, and if the piano is on the stage, and in good tune, and if the front row of children is dispersed thro' the audience with their parents, it will be a delight and a joy to me, and your people will get the best possible results.

Please use such of the following items in your local paper as will best serve the purpose in interesting your people in my work.

C. R. TAGGART.



Taggart—What He Is and What He Does
He is a long, spare, clever good-natured Down East Yankee.  He has a knack of doing many things and of doing them well.  He has created his character sketches and monologues to fit his musical and dramatic ability.  Altho' he has studied both music and elocution at the best American institutions, yet he boldly disregards the formalities and breaks the rules of both in a most delightful way.

Yes, he really lives in Vermont, and in former years has taken the part of a farmer, a storekeeper and a deestrick school master, and he knows all about the oddity and quaintness, as well as the sterling worth of The Old Town Folks of New England, and so has had abundant opportunity to study the life models from which he has created the characters which appear in his entertainments.



Vermont Song Tune, A Fine Old English Gentlemen

I'll sing you an old ballad
About a grand old state
Whose size upon the map is small,
Tho' really she is great.
As first born of the nation
In seventeen ninety-one.
A new star shone upon our flag
And her history was begun.
We love our own, our native land,
The Old Green Mountain State.
When in her early history
She needed men to fight,
They were not wanting, but arose
And bared their arms of might.
They bade defiance to the foe
Who sought to bind us down,
And said, Vermont yields never
To the mandates of the Crown.
The bold Green Mountain Boys were they,
The sons of old Vermont.
Young Ethan Allen when a boy
Did never fear the dark;
At Bennington, the Hessians feared
The name of General Stark.
These men and others like them,
In those rugged days of old,
Won their country's praise and honor
By their deeds of valor bold.
They're every one Green Mountain Boys,
The sons of old Vermont.
The Hero of Manila Bay
Knew what he was about;
At the noble deed of Dewey there,
The world sent up a shout.
The Oregon and Captain Clark
Received the honor due,
From people and from president,
And all the nations, too.
They're every one Green Mountain Boys
The sons of old Vermont.
Our state is rich in all the wealth
That nature has to give,
The boys and girls of old Vermont
Know what it is to live.
Our pumpkin pies are genuine,
Our honey is made by bees,
Our maple sugar is made from sap
That comes from maple trees.
We love the hills and valleys
In the old Green Mountain State.
Just one more word about our state,
I wish to say to you:
We're just one star upon the flag
In all the field of blue.
In Uncle Sam's Inheritance
Of states, both great and small,
The same flag floats above us
That floats above them all —
The stars and stripes forever
For the old Green Mountain State.

C. R. T.



A Listener's Verdict
You folks who didn't hear that tall chap from Vermont last night don't know what you missed.

He walked on to the platform as solemn as a deacon and laid his fiddle box down on a light stand.  I thought he acted a leetle mite skairt.  He talked just a minute or two, sort of a howdy do, then he sat down to the pianer and—Ge Whilikins!—Didn't he lite into them pianer keys?  'Twas a rattlin' good tune, and his fingers went like lightning up and down and cross ways, lickity split!  slam bang!  'Twas a good un.  Then he spoke some pieces and sung some songs, and told stories, playin' on the pianer at the same time.  But the curisest thing in the whole show was the little fellar in the pianer.  I don't see how he could ever stay in there, but there he was, an' he talked an' sung an' laughed an' danced, an' I got so blamed excited I hollered right out before I thot what I was doin' and said Trot 'im out!  Let's see 'im!  But he didn't.  A man settin' next to me leaned over and whispered He does it in his throat.  Get out!  I says, I know better'n that. I can't understand it yit.

But say—let me tell ye—that chap could handle a fiddle.  It didn't make no difference how he held it—bottom side up, back end to, on top of his head, behind his back—O, it was a great show!  He got over bein' skairt all right.  I bust the buttonholes out of a bran new paper collar and come pretty near swallerin' my teeth laffin' so hard, but between the tall chap and the little fellar in the pianner and the fiddle, things was lively there on the platform for an hour and a half, now I tell ye.



A True History of Charles R. Taggart's First Appearance as a Public Entertainer
October the eighth in the year 1895 was a notable day in the history of a certain individual.  This individual was a young man, tall and spare in form, with moderate intellectual ability, and a resident of a little village in Vermont.  He was extremely unsettled in his business prospects, having farmed a little, tinkered clocks and watches a little, taught deestrict school a little, clerked in a store a little, and, having studied music somewhat, taught singing school a little, and also taught piano a little; but as he began to look at life seriously he considered it highly desirable to do something a good deal, and the question was what?  One thing remained to be tried.

This young man had learned to speak a few pieces and was conceited enough to imagine that he did them fairly well.  He also had picked up a knowledge of several musical instruments and thought that he played them well, too.  He had also acquired, after some difficulty, the knack of ventriloquism to a certain degree, and one day, while hoeing in the garden, a great idea came to him, which was nothing less than that of working all his different acquirements into a program and giving a show for money.  The idea was such a startling one and, withal, such a pleasing one, but yet such a unique one, that he dropped his hoe.  His family and friends were quite sure that the idea would quietly pass away, but it did not, and the program was arranged.  It consisted of thirteen numbers, introducing the cornet, violin and banjo, together with songs, recitations and ventriloquism.  The idea was turned over and over in the young man's mind.  The possibility of the audience getting up and going home before the show was half thro', of the people laughing in the wrong places, or laughing at the entertainer instead of the selections: all these and many more possibilities were considered.  But the bright side also received consideration—of the program going gloriously through, with hand-clappings and laughter and tears all in their proper places.  And the pleasant side won to the extent of the program being carefully arranged and committed to memory.

And now the young man on this particular day, October the eighth, 1895, was driving to a neighboring village where the experiment was to be tried.  The town had been notified of the occasion by handbills, which stated, with appropriate embellishments, the proposition as per program, and the village hall secured (price, one dollar;) and the young man was on his way dressed in his Sunday clothes, with his cornet, banjo and fiddle under the seat; while the expectant village waited with baited breath for the treat that was in store for them.  Possibly his heart thumped a little harder than usual under his Sunday suit as he hitched the old mare under the meetin'house sheds and made his way to the village hall.  Possibly not.  However, he climbed the stairs, lit the lamps, placed a small stand near the door, drew from his pockets a handful of change, looked at his watch and waited.  Fifteen cents, children ten, was the price of admission.  People came, and the money poured in.  The young man made change with gladness of heart.

When the little hall was fairly well filled, he asked a friend to receive what little cash might come in after the exercises began, and, taking his fiddle, banjo and cornet cases, marched up through the audience to the stage amid vigorous hand-clappings.  This was inspiring to begin with.  The opening number was a cornet solo, and, altho' quivering with excitement,

Figure
 he blew forth the opening blasts with a grand flourish.  He forgot nothing, and as he warmed to his work, and felt the magnetic thrill of sympathy with his audience, he was intensely happy; and his face was flushed with a glow of excitement and joy as the people came to congratulate him at the close.

You can imagine the state of exultation in which the youth drove home with his pockets heavy with change.  He even wondered if any bad men were at the show who might waylay him and demand his wealth.  He could hardly wait to put up the team, so anxious was he to see the financial result of the evening, and when he emptied his heavy pockets on the sitting-room table, by the light of the lantern, he counted nine dollars and fifty cents, which, after hall, bills and tickets were counted out, left the grand total of seven fifty.  He reasoned thusly: If this can be done once, it can be done again, and it was, and has been done under varying conditions ever since.



Wet but Happy
It was a dark, rainy, muddy, disagreeable evening that The Man from Vermont entertained the Chautauqua audience at Columbus Junction, Iowa.  The mud came well up over his patent leathers as he ran and jumped and waded from the hack to the tent.  The few people who had braved the storm to see whether there would be any show or not stood shivering about in little forlorn groups, with their umbrellas spread to keep the little streams that drizzled thro' the tent from running down their backs.

The seats were wet, the platform was wet—everything was wet.  The piano was covered with a big canvas, and the lights were dim and sputtering.  The manager hesitated to call the people out, but, as Taggart's courage was good, the big bell was rung, the piano was placed where as few drippings as possible would strike it, the chair and table were wiped off, and The Man from Vermont picked out a place to stand between the tiny cataracts, and after a few more people had come in, the exercises began.  While the piano was not in use it was carefully closed and the canvas tucked around.  The violin case was treated in like careful manner.  This was all interesting to the people and took up time.  Those good Iowa people were not to be disheartened by a mere rain storm, and they applauded vigorously, and Taggart says he never enjoyed an evening more in his life.



Hiawatha's Return from the Chautauquas

Should you ask me for a letter
Telling of my journey westward,
Telling of my strange adventures,
On the road and in the country,
In the villages and wigwams,
On the broad and fertile prairies,
In the land of the Chautauquas:
I should answer, I should tell you
I am happy.  O my brothers,
And my heart is light within me,
Like the eider-down my heart is.
For I'm speeding swiftly homeward
To my wigwam in the mountains,
To my people and my kindred
In the highlands of New England,
In the kingdom of the North-wind
In the regions of the morning.
Yet well spent has been the season,
Even tho' the sun above me
Glared upon me from the heavens;
All the season glared upon me,
With his hot and burning visage,
Beating down upon the wigwams,
Beating on the mighty wigwams
Where the people were assembled
In the land of the Chautauquas.
Many days I've been among them,
On the road and in the country,
Passing in and out among them,
Cheering them with song and story,
Causing them to shout with laughter,
So that many spake on this wise,
You have cheered us, O my brother,
And we're glad to have you with us;
Come again another season,
Come again and cheer our people.
Cheer our sons and cheer our daughters,
Cheer our young men and our old men,
With your songs and with your stories,
With your violin of hemlock.
Very pleasant are these greetings
From these people of the prairies
In the land of the Chautauquas.
No adventures have befallen
To detain me on my journey,
Nor to hinder me from keeping
All my various appointments,
And collecting all the wampum
For the mighty wampum keepers
In the kingdom of the bureaus.
In the land of cunning people,
In the kingdom of Chicago.

—C. R. T.



They Made a Night of It
It was an auto ride of thirty miles one Saturday night from Farmington, Iowa, to Ft. Madison.  We left at 9:30 p. m. in a seven-passenger car.  Two traveling men and a boy, besides the driver's wife, went along for the ride.  We made a fine start and sped along the highway at many knots per hour.  The trolley and railroad crossings mixed us up considerably on the back seat, but it broke the reserve and introduced us to each other in quite a familiar way.

After four or five miles of this, the headlights suddenly went out.  Fifteen minutes we stopped for repairs.  A few miles further something up in front began to smoke terrifically.  The driver said we must have water, so two of the passengers started with one of the headlights to find it.  We waited.  Presently a pump-handle was heard groaning in the distance, accompanied by the barking of a dog.  Three trips to the pump were necessary.  A half-hour more lost, plus ten minutes for winding up the cow-catcher.

The next episode was rain.  We had to stop and put up the top.  But the rain laid the dust and the top kept us from bouncing quite so high at the thank 'ee marms.  Now came the real stop; the gasoline gave out!  We sat there four hours in the rain.  Between conversations, stories and naps, I composed four new introductions for my show, and four conclusions.  I reckoned up how much the bureau would make after paying for the auto, and balanced my assets and liabilities for the summer.  Then a farmhouse was discovered with the aid of one of the headlights, the farmer was awakened and a can of kerosene procured.  It wouldn't work.  Engine got too cold, the driver said.  We 'phoned from a farmhouse to Ft. Madison to have gasoline sent out.  The liveryman got asleep and went two miles off the road, reached us at last, and we finished the trip, arriving at Ft. Madison at 4 a. m.

The whole affair was a test of character.  Altho I didn't see any of the faces in the light, except the driver, and will probably not meet them again, I admired every member of our party.  For nobody swore.

Epictetus tells as not to spend a moment of worry over things we cannot control, and this incident will help me to keep this precept.



No Pistol Required
While Mr. Taggart was being driven thro' a large pine forest in Alabama, he was somewhat impressed by the scarcity of human habitations and the extreme loneliness of the way, and asked his Negro driver:

Ever have any wild animals around here?

Right smart o' wolves, he replied.

Got any weapons with you? asked The Man from Vermont.

No, sah, not today, sah; but ah always has a pistol when ah's alone.

Why haven't you got it today?

O, ah knew you'ze goin' to be 'long today, boss.



Taggart, the Bold, Bad Burglar
At the ticket window, Union station, Keckuk, Iowa.  Taggart—How can I get my suit case and violin from the lunch room, where they are checked?

Ticket agent, shrugging shoulders—Don't know, closed.

Taggart—Yes, but I must have them; my train leaves in five minutes.

Agent, with another shrug—Closed.

Taggart rushes across the room, feels the paneled movable partition around the lunch counter, finds it not fastened, removes it, places one foot on a stool, the other among the pies and doughnuts, and hops over, seizes his property and jumps back.  He pays the fee to the baggage master and boards his train.



Mr. Taggart Tells of His Experiences in the Pittsburg Flood
All the papers had accounts of the Pittsburg flood of March, 1907.  As I was filling dates for Brockway at the time, I had the privilege(?)  of seeing it and of being in it—not in the water, but in a boat, and it was quite a sight to see streets looking like the pictures of Venice, only the people didn't do much standing up to paddle the canoes 'way out on the end of the boat.  If they had, they would certainly have tipped over into the water, for most of them were drunk.

I went out of the city Wednesday, leaving my trunk at the Annex Hotel on Penn. Ave., (fortunately on the fourth floor) and when I came back Thursday forenoon, the Annex as I saw it far down the street was up to its knees in water.  All day Friday the waters prevailed, tho' abating a little, and I made a voyage to the hotel to see if my trunk was alive and well.  I rode the first part of the journey pig back.  Paid a half drunken man a quarter to carry me on his back a few feet to the boat.  I was mortally afraid he would stub his toe and send us both sprawling.  He took me to one boat and the rowing man was too drunk to know what he was about, so I made him take me to another.  Our little skiff was loaded so we sank almost to the water.  The boatman paddled us to the swing doors of the hotel and pushed thro' them and rowed right into the office.  I said, Where can we get out?

The boatman said, O, you'll have to get out on the desk and climb over on the stairs.

But we managed to work the boat up to the marble stairs and landed on them and I ran up to my trunk and found it just where I had left it in the hall.  I inquired about the price of getting it away and found it would cost five dollars at least, so I concluded to let it stay another day, which I did, and the next day I managed to get it away and to the R. R. station.  But what a sight it was to see that beautiful hotel, that was all life and bustle, only a day before, now dark, damp and lonely, men leaning against pillars, elevators not running, wax candles burning feebly here and there, fires out, cold and cheerless.  I embarked again and we shoved off and out into the street once more.

Yours truly,
C. R. TAGGART.



Overheard on the Way Home from the Entertainment
Well, I liked him better than I tho't I should.  How did you like him, James?

O, pretty good.  Say, his ventriloquial stunt was pretty clever, wasn't it?

His what?

His ventriloquism.

O, that assistant of his in the piano?  Don't you know what that was?  I studied that out right away.  He had a phonograph fixed in there some way, and that's where the voice came from.  He couldn't fool me.



Charles R. Taggart's Entertainment from a Music Teacher's Standpoint
When I went to Mr. Taggart's entertainment, I expected to hear a variety performance, and popular, and probably indifferently executed music, but I was disappointed, for his piano work showed an excellent sense of propriety in the choice of selections, and altho' he attempted no great compositions on the violin, his playing was full of musical feeling, his technique was so perfect, and his selections so good I was charmed.  The wonderful effects produced by his imitations held us all spellbound.



Story of Mr. Taggart's Lyceum Career
Mr. A. Abbott Lovett of Boston was Mr. Taggart's first Bureau Manager, and the first date booked under his management was at the Butler Insane Hospital, Providence, R. I.  The entertainer entered into the spirit of the occasion, became one with his audience and made a hit.  This gave the manager courage to try him carefully on a sane audience.  This was a success also.

Mr. Alonzo Foster of the Star Lyceum Burean, of New York City, was the next man to adopt the Man from Vermont into his family of platform artists.  He has remained with him for nine successive years, averaging to fill about ten weeks each year.  The work for Mr. Foster has been mostly in New York City and suburbs.

Mr. Frank A. Morgan of Chicago gave Mr. Taggart an extended tour of the middle west during the winter of 1904–05, and following this came three successive tours south for the New Dixie, of Columbus, Miss.

Mr. Brockway of Pittsburg and Coit and Alber of Cleveland have also used Mr. Taggart in Pennsylvania and Ohio.

The Redpath - Slayton Bureau of Chicago has handled all Mr. Taggart's Chautauqua time up to present writing—and in spite of all this, the Man from Vermont is still young.




Figure


FREEDOM VERMONT AND UNITY



Specimen Program
Pineville People

1.
Pineville Debating Society.  Question—Resolved that whatever is is right.
2.
Story of a County Fair.
3.
Sandy Laird's interview with a book-agent.
4.
Musical Novelties at the Piano.
5.
Pineville Lecture Course Number.  Herr Frankenstein, Descriptive Pianist.  Introduced by Sile Haskins, the Village Storekeeper.
6.
Uncle Zed Jackson, the Fiddling Shoemaker.
7.
Ventriloquial Talks and Violin Mimicry, Bird Songs, etc.