The Forgotten Vaudevillians

During the early part of the century, people would entertain themselves by going to watch vaudeville acts. These acts would tirelessly travel from town to town performing one-night stands in packed theaters and burlesque houses. The routines consisted of everything from comedy, singing, juggling, magic, and yes, even tap dancing with a graceful prancing grizzly bear that could crush soda water bottles on his head. Among some of the top-billed acts were Bergen & McCarthy, W.C. Fields, The Marx Brothers, just to name a few. As much of a draw as these popular entertainers were there were a few exceptions that didn’t quite measure up to the high-performance standard.

“Blowfish” Huey was a black trombone player from Tupelo, Mississippi.  At the age of five, he picked up his first trumpet. He then used it to hit his older brother over the head for calling him stinky pants.  After too many spats with his sibling, the horn was rendered useless. Recognizing the boy’s instrumental talent, his father bought him a trombone. He could only play three songs because of extremely short arms. However, when he played his cheeks expanded to astronomical proportions. It appeared that he stored two cantaloupes, one in each side of his mouth. Huey toured the country for twelve years until one night in a brothel while performing a Louis Armstrong number, his head exploded. It was the only standing ovation he ever received while on stage.

Fran and Stan were eastern European immigrants who arrived in America in 1923. The Polinski brother's specialty was tumbling. As a matter of fact, they were known as the Tumbling Twins, even though they looked nothing alike. The pair absolutely despised one another, claiming mother gave the other more attention. Booked as an opening act, they would climb on each other’s back and take turns throwing each other into the audience, even if there wasn’t one. Trouble began when Stan’s foot clipped Fran’s chin on a routine backflip. The two began brawling and rolling on and off the stage. It was a small scuffle that blossomed into a free-for-all that included the public in attendance. The twins miraculously escaped unscathed. Their career halted when, during a skirmish over who was funnier, Amos or Andy, the brothers tumbled out a six-story hotel window, still fighting on the way down. After that, the only rolling they did was in their grave.

Joey “Barefoot” Bunyon was the only shoe juggler in the country. At the beginning of his act, he would venture into the audience and gather shoes of all shapes and sizes from unsuspecting onlookers. Billed as “The Sole Man” he would toss loafers, sandals, galoshes, slippers and any other footwear he could get his hands high into the air. Sometimes he would even catch them on the way down. Usually five minutes into the sorry juggling display the crowd would boo, call him a heel then watch him get the boot off stage. For one midnight performance, he got hit in the face with a shoofly pie. Unable to see and disoriented, a wooden Dutch platform crashed down on his head rendering him unconscious and comatose for the next two weeks. Sadly, this was the only time he was ever given a round of applause. Tired of living on a shoestring budget, the shoe tosser quit and moved back to New York. He opened a foot apparel shop on Third and Broadway where he sold the footwear he had amassed over the years. Joey later fought in World War II as, believe it or not, a foot soldier, where he contracted, believe it or not, trench foot. He returned home as a hero and, believe it or not, was decorated with a bronze booty.

Some very good magicians played the vaudeville circuit, unfortunately, Harry Klein wasn’t one of them. Never good with words he billed himself as “Harry the Pretty Good Magic Guy.”  Just by getting on stage he could make a whole audience disappear. His best card trick consisted of pulling a card out of the deck, looking at it, then guessing it. Sometimes it would take three attempts while he muttered to himself, “Wait. I got it. Hold on. Let me try this again.” All too often, he would pull a rabbit out of a hat--one piece at a time. Early in his career he used to make a colorful handkerchief appear in thin air. The trick was later terminated after his assistant, before the show, used it to relieve a sinus infection and the fabric became too stiff to work with. After misplacing his hand saw one night, he attempted to hammer and chisel an audience member in half. Upon being discharged from the hospital, the bandaged crowd volunteer filed a lawsuit and, any money Harry had saved, vanished into thin air. Sadly, his union wand got confiscated, and he was no longer allowed to perform. Broke and dejected, the inept magician got arrested for shoplifting an apple. It fell out of his sleeve.  

Escape artists were always a big draw. People would pack into theater houses in hopes of seeing an artist kill himself. They loved when tragedy struck because, since it wasn’t a full-length show, their money would get refunded.  Lil’ Anthony Gamboni began honing his act at the age of six when he would wriggle and jiggle his way out of his mother’s clutches. Eventually, she would wait ‘til he fell asleep to spank him. His career began when, as an ice delivery boy, he accidentally fell into a cold box. After hours of kicking and screaming he was eventually able to emerge from the tiny compartment. Although it was never locked to begin with it did give him a passion to try his hand at the art of escaping. On stage, he would be handcuffed, shackled, and have his shoelaces tied together then lowered into a water tank. In all his years, he never escaped once. (Because his father didn’t believe in bathing, Anthony learned at an early age to hold his breath for days.) Only after his face turned the right shade of blue would they pull the waterlogged freak out of the tank. By then, the audience had become frustrated and left. With his fondness for water, Anthony later joined The Ziegfeld Follies as a synchronized swimmer. He got fired for padding his bathing suit. In his later years, he would be diagnosed with water on the brain and, supposedly, meet an untimely death. His passing away got prematurely reported, and the poor fellow was buried alive in a coffin. 

The toughest job was that of the comedian. If a comic couldn’t make an audience laugh, they would most likely be pelted with something from one, or all, of the four food groups. Shecky Leibowitz had the timing of a broken pocket watch.  He couldn’t even deliver a newspaper, let alone a joke. (Incidentally, that’s why he lost his paper route.) Because he lacked material and, more importantly, wasn’t funny, he would mostly emcee. Shecky did several “Knock, Knock” jokes but always forgot his next line after the audience rattled him by yelling, “Who’s there?” Most of the time, whenever his mind went blank, his pause breaks got the biggest laughs. One of his many weaknesses were dealing with hecklers. His favorite comeback was “I’m rubber, and you’re glue...” Often, he would screw that up by saying “I’m glue and you’re rubber...” He tried his hand at a few impersonations to spruce up the lame act. While hunched over, he’d limp around on stage and say in a deep Yiddish accent, “Ou vey, holy moly cannoli, I can’t live like a monkey in a basket.” Then he’d look out to the audience to see if anyone would call out the name of who he was impersonating. He’d hear responses like “You stink! Get off the stage. Where’s the hook?” Oblivious, Shecky would bellow, “That’s Uncle Irving!” and, that’s when food would start to fly. During one performance the hack comic thought insults would go over, asking a patron if that was a cabbage on his neck. Unfortunately, the man he verbally abused was an intoxicated Jack Dempsey - the heavyweight boxing champion. For the next two years, Shecky entertained doctors and nurses from a hospital bed.

Some acts worked with animals. George Burns started out using a seal in his vaudeville routine. Later, the slippery mammal went solo with his own radio show that aired opposite “The Shadow.”  A woman by the name of Gertrude Butterbutt came along in the late thirties. She did a song and dance routine with a chimp, named Hugo, dressed in a turquoise tutu and a tiny plaid dickey. Gertrude would sing “Sonny Boy” as Hugo would curl up in a ball and cover his head with his long monkey arms. On upbeat numbers like “Yes! We Have No Bananas’” and “Happy Days Are Here Again” the riled-up chimp would scurry back and forth on the stage with a banana in his mouth then climb the curtains, swing out over the awed audience, and hurl dung at their heads. Other times, he would sit down, pick fleas out of his fur, and nibble on them while making chimp faces at Gertrude who was trying to remember the lyrics to “Tea for Two.” After grueling years on the road, Hugo began to hit the bottle incessantly. Drunk, the sauced chimp would forget his dance steps and his screeching often got slurred. He would hang out in seedy monkey bars, miss shows or simply blackout on stage. He was seen several times, backstage, trying to peel a Johnnie Walker bottle. The end was not far off for the duo. One night, at the Orpheum Theatre in Waterloo, during the big finale where Gertrude would rock Hugo in her arms and sing “You Must’ve Been A Beautiful Baby,” the chimp interrupted her song with a series of lip-flapping belches in her face. It was the final straw. The act split up, and Gertrude went on to team up with a basset hound dog named “Valentino” who could howl up to twenty Bessie Smith tunes… the showstopper being “Empty Bed Blues.” Eventually, Hugo, the chimp would develop cirrhosis and undergo a transplant surgery where he received a baboon liver.

Rasheesh Bungdhi was one of the oddest acts around. He was a regurgitator who swallowed almost anything he could get his hands on. He started with small things like nuts and seeds then progressed to coins, dice and cue balls. Once he choked the object down, he’d open his humongous mouth to show the item was not under his tongue or tucked in his cheek. Then he makes a loud grunting noise as he punched his gut. Soon his belly would roll several times, and after a few gags, he’d vomit article back out. The other acts that toured with him always made sure they locked their personal items in a trunk. Rasheesh was outspoken and known for putting his foot in his mouth … literally. He was known for drinking a jug of water followed by a jug of kerosene. He’d expel the kerosene, lite it on fire then release the water in his gut to extinguish the fire. The trick was also performed bars in which he was nearly arrested for arson. When the cop asked him for his ID, Rasheesh said, “Hold on a second,” then began to grunt, punch his stomach, roll his tummy, gag a few times until his gooey wallet shot out. The cop let him go, figuring if he beat him who knows what might fly out of that mouth. The famous regurgitator would later die from choking on a fur ball after swallowing a Persian kitten named Dingleberry who eventually escaped through the dead man’s rectum.

Finally, there were a few ventriloquist acts that toured the country. The worst of the worst was an act by the name of Kit & Kaboodle. Kit was so cheap that his so-called homemade dummy was just his right hand with eyes and lips painted on it, which he called Kaboodle. For the most part, the field he chose was not very wise since Kit had been born with a speech impediment. His stuttering could drag a joke on for several long grueling minutes. Many times, Kaboodle grew tired waiting to deliver his punchline and would fall asleep. The limp hand would send Kit in a screaming tizzy, and soon both of his hands were fighting with each other. Kaboodle never trusted Kit, claiming he just talked out of the side of his mouth. At one point, Kaboodle threatened to leave the act. Kit calmed him down by treating him to a relaxing manicure. Attempting to keep the act fresh, it put lipstick on his big toe, bringing in his right foot into the show as a new character. Strangely, the hand and foot fell in love and would end up eloping leaving Kit to try his hand as a regurgitator.

The golden vaudeville years are long gone but not forgotten - although some of the previously mentioned entertainers would like to forget them. It was no easy feat traveling from town to town, staring down a leery audience and sharing the talent they believed they had. Contrary to popular belief, the bad acts didn’t starve. People seemed sympathetic and would generously chuck mushy vegetables, eggs and rancid meat at them, thus ensuring, at least, one meal a day. At least these performers got their protein and daily greens. But for five dollars a week these folks would stand up in front of armed hostile audiences and do what they loved to do -- entertain. And, even the talentless bottom billers put smiles on people’s faces. After that, they were run out of their town and told never come back.

** This was a chapter taken from the humorous book titled Bygone Buffoonery which can be found on Amazon Books.