The belly dance (called the Hoochie Coochie at the time), was introduced to the United States at the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, the likes of which had never been seen in this country, nor was it unanimously embraced during its debut here.
One area on the Midway Plaisance was called “Streets of Cairo”, a reproduction of a street in the famous Egyptian city. Middle Eastern belly dancers were sent to perform for spectators in an Egyptian-styled theater built on that street. Unlike belly dancers of today, the belly dancers of the 1893 World’s Fair were fully clothed, though their clothing was loose fitting. Their skirts hung below their hips, their natural figure exposed, which was shocking to many American women at a time when corsets were a respectable form of fashion.
One such review in a publication by a female attendee of the fair reads as follows regarding one dancer in particular named Fatima:
“Fatima, the girl in blue, doesn’t prance up and down the stage, or go into mad gyrations, or try to kick a hole in the ceiling. She keeps time in timid little steps, and occasionally sidles about the stage in slow, gliding circles. It seems to be her pet ambition to disjoint herself at the hips. Her anatomy below the waist and the knees performs a series of violent tremors, spasms and contortions. A heavy footed and heavy featured girl, who takes a few, short, labored steps, snaps her fingers and accomplishes a muscular contortion not unlike that of the Newfoundland when, after a swim, he shakes his shaggy coat, is, to our eyes, an absurd and ugly spectacle.”
Not only were numerous women offended by the belly dancers, but they also didn’t care for their husbands watching exotic women dance in what was considered a suggestive manner. Men paid so much attention to the belly dancers that a joke surfaced regarding the World’s Fair being the cause of many future divorces.
The women pictured below were three of the better belly dancers at the fair. The woman in the middle is Fatima, whose real name was Fahreda Mazar Spyropoulos. She also went by the name “Little Egypt”, though she was Syrian. In fact, all of the belly dancers were referred to as Little Egypt. It’s a name which became synonymous with the dance and therefore what each dancer was called. The name was adopted by numerous belly dancers touring the country following the fair, whether they themselves had performed at the fair or not. Little Egypt became a household name in the 1890s.
The last two color images below are from a souvenir booklet sold at Streets of Cairo.
Have you ever gone to a play and the performers were so bad that you vowed never to see it again? What if the performers were so bad that the play actually became fun to watch? And what if those performers were labeled as the worst ever? Would you go to see the play strictly out of curiosity? Such was the case with the Cherry Sisters.
Addie, Effie, Ella, Lizzie and Jessie Cherry debuted on an Iowa vaudeville stage in the early 1890s. The sisters loved performing, but none of them possessed any acting or musical ability, in which all of their performances contained. Each performance was patriotic and religion-based, and ultimately ended with a morality lesson.
At first, the Cherry Sisters, following early performances, received polite applause by the audience. However, as their name grew, they found themselves met with audience members laughing, heckling, catcalling and booing them. Fruits, vegetables and meats were thrown at them throughout the duration of their performances. On one occasion, a spectator took a fire extinguisher and sprayed it directly into one of the sister’s faces, causing police to stop the show in order to avoid any of the other sisters being harmed. Eventually the sisters began performing behind a wire mesh curtain to avoid being struck by projectiles thrown from the audience.
It worked. The Cherry Sisters, becoming known nationally for their terrible performances, drew in crowds of curious spectators wanting to see for themselves just how bad they were. Their performance ran for six weeks and single-handedly saved the theater from bankruptcy. As a result, their popularity grew even more. The New York Times referred to them as the “Four Freaks from Iowa”.
The sisters continued touring throughout the 1890s, always being met with negative audience reaction and newspaper reviews containing humor and sarcasm aimed at them.
The review was later reprinted in other newspapers around the state.
Negative reviews of the sisters were nothing new, dating back to the early 1890s. Such reviews included:
“The cruelty underlying the appeal of this act makes it closer to gladiatorial spectacle in conception than to vaudeville. The Cherry Sisters were so awful it was like a car wreck. The difference between them and Fred Allen, who’d billed himself as ‘The World’s Worst Juggler’, was a complete lack of self awareness. There were five Cherry Sisters: Effie, Addie, Ella, Jessie and Lizzie. Singers without charm or wit, they stood there, sang off key, and were under the mistaken impression that they were actually quite good.”
and
“Such unlimited gall as was exhibited last night at Greene’s Opera House is past the understanding of ordinary mortals. They are no doubt respectable girls and probably educated in some few things, but their knowledge of the stage is worse than none at all…if some indefinable act of modesty could not have warned them that they were acting the parts of monkeys, it does seem like the overshoes thrown at them would have conveyed the idea in a more substantial manner…But nothing could drive them away and no combination of yells, whistles, barks and howls could subdue them. They couldn’t sing, speak or act. They simply were awful. When one of them would appear on the stage, the commercial travelers around the orchestra rail would start to sing, the orchestra would play and the entire audience constituted the chorus. At one minute the scene was like the incurable ward in an insane asylum, the next like a Methodist camp meeting. Cigars, cigarettes, rubbers, everything was thrown at them, yet they stood there, awkwardly bowing their acknowledgments and singing on.”
and
“It was the most insipid, stale, weary, tiresome, contemptible two hours work we have ever seen on the stage.”
and
“It was a little after 10 o’clock when three lank figures and one short and thick walked awkwardly to the center of the stage. They were all dressed in shapeless red gowns, made by themselves most surely, and the fat sister carried a bass drum. They stood quietly for a moment, apparently seeing nothing and wondering what the jeering laughter they heard could mean…None of them had shown a sign of nervousness, nor a trace of ability for their chosen work. It is sincerely hoped that nothing like them will ever be seen again.”
The sisters took action against both the Odebolt Chronicle and the Des Moines Leader. They sued the papers for $15,000, claiming the 1898 attacks of their physical appearance in the review was “false and malicious” libel. The newspapers claimed it was free speech. The judge felt the attacks of their physical appearance was in direct correlation to their performance and decided in order to make a decision on the case, he would need to see the sisters’ performance for himself. In 1899, the Cherry Sisters performed a few selections from their act in the courtroom. The judge’s review of it was no different than anyone else’s. He found their performance so bad that he sided with the newspapers and dismissed the case. The sisters appealed to the Iowa Supreme Court, but the court upheld the verdict stating, “The editor of a newspaper has the right, if not the duty, of publishing, for the information of the public, fair and reasonable comments, however severe in terms, upon anything which is made by its owner a subject of public exhibition, as upon any other matter of public interest; of privileged communications, for which no action will lie without proof of actual malice. Surely, if one makes himself ridiculous in his public performances, he may be ridiculed by those whose duty or right it is to inform the public regarding the character of the performance.”
The case, “Cherry vs. Des Moines Leader”, awarded the press the “right to fair comment and critical analysis”, guaranteeing freedom of the press to express statements on matters of public interest. The case is still referred to in current libel court cases.
The Cherry Sisters continued performing until 1903, when they retired after Jessie died from typhoid at age 31 while they were on tour in Arkansas.
The sisters did occasionally attempt to make comebacks to the stage in the 1910s, 1920s and as late as 1935, when only Addie and Effie were still alive and in their 70s and 80s. However, they had had their moment. The sisters never again received steady work as they had prior to their retirement in 1903.
In theater, one must overly express their emotions and gestures. There is no camera to capture the slightest change of expression. Expressions and gestures must be bold for everyone in attendance to see.
How actors and actresses should express themselves on the stage are represented by these examples from an 1882 guide to theatrical gestures.
PT Barnum promoted the first modern American beauty pageant in 1854, inviting women on stage to be judged on their beauty in front of live crowds. The pageant was quickly closed down after public protest, as people thought the contest immoral and beneath high society values.
In 1829, Sam Patch became the first celebrated daredevil in American history. Known as “The Jersey Jumper”, “The Daring Yankee”, and “The Yankee Leaper”, he was well-known for his many successful jumps into water from the top of waterfalls, bridges, factories, and ship masts throughout New Jersey and New York. His stunts were reported on by newspapers across the country. With each jump, he would always hit the water with his signature feet first entrance. Thousands of spectators would attend his stunts, in some instances drawing as many as 10,000.
Sam Patch began jumping as a child. He worked as a child laborer spinning cotton in a mill in Pawtucket, Rhode Island. On his breaks, he would entertain the other children by jumping from the mill roof into a dam. In his 20s, Patch started his own mill with a partner but it was unsuccessful. His partner ran off with what earnings they made, leaving Patch penniless. Patch then turned to what he did best, performing stunts jumping into water. With each jump, spectators would toss him coins, a token of appreciation for him entertaining them. This was the only source of his income. As he gained popularity as a daredevil around 1827, he expected people attending his jumps to provide larger donations. This would eventually lead to his demise.
Patch enjoyed putting on a show for those who came to see him, and this usually included suspense. Upon entering into and disappearing beneath the water, Patch would often hold his breath for a few minutes, causing the crowd to think the worst had happened due to an accident. He would then resurface to the massive relief and applause of the spectators, in which coins would again be tossed to him as he came on shore.
Early in 1829, in an act which would have animal rights activists today outraged, Patch purchased a pet bear which he would take to his jumps, particularly those made from waterfalls. According to a spectator who attended one of his waterfall jumps, “He took the bear by the collar and pushed it over the falls into the turbulent water below.” This was a part of Patch’s stunt, to have a bear jump, or rather be pushed, from the same spot he himself was jumping from, but also a way for him to be sure the jump was safe to perform. He would push the bear over the falls, and if the bear emerged safely, which it always did, Patch then knew the jump was safe and attempted it himself. This occurred a number of times. At times, if Patch knew a jump was safe due to a previous stunt performed at that location, he would jump in first, and then hold a separate event in which the bear would be pushed over the falls later that day.
In the Fall of 1829, Patch gained national fame by jumping off a ladder extending 125 feet over the Niagara River near the base of Niagara Falls. Afterward, his slogan of “Some things can be done as well as others” became a popular expression across the nation.
On November 6, 1829, Sam Patch was to jump off High Falls in Rochester, New York, a drop of 99 feet into the Genesee River. He pushed his bear over the falls, which surfaced unharmed in the river below. Sam then made the same jump successfully. Spectators went wild, but to Patch’s disappointment they did not offer much in terms of donations, which Patch relied on. Because of this, Patch decided to jump from the same falls, at a greater height, the following week on Friday, November 13, in hopes of the crowd being more generous the second time around. As popular superstition would have it, that Friday the 13th would turn out to be quite an unlucky day for Sam Patch.
On that fateful day, 8,000 spectators attended to watch the highly publicized stunt. A platform was placed over High Falls to increase the drop from 99 feet to 125 feet. Patch’s bear was to be pushed off the platform later that day, though that event would not occur. All eyes were on Patch as he stood at the edge of the platform, about to make his leap into the Genesee River. While standing on the platform, it was unclear whether Patch had jumped or lost his balance and fell. Many believed he fell, as he did not enter the water vertically feet first as normal, but rather entered horizontally, creating a loud impact heard by all in attendance.
The crowd waited in silence, expecting Patch to resurface after a few minutes underwater as he was known to do. A few minutes turned into more than ten minutes without any sign of the daredevil. When he did not surface, spectators assumed it was a part of the act. As more and more time passed and there was still no sign of Patch, the crowd left, hearing rumors that he had swam into a hidden cave where he was able to breathe, leaving everyone in suspense as to what actually happened. The country would find out what became of Sam Patch a few months later, when his frozen body was found encased in ice in the Genesee River on March 17, 1830. He was buried in Charlotte Cemetery in Rochester, NY.
A wooden board (now gone) was placed over his grave, which read, “Sam Patch – Such is Fame”.
He was 22 years old.
Local ministers and newspapers were quick to blame the public for urging Patch to jump, thereby placing the guilt of his death on them.
This image of a child smoking occasionally pops up online as a meme of some sort, but who is he? He is stage actor Edward Garratt, a 16-year-old with dwarfism (standing three feet tall) whose only professional stage appearance came in the 1906 comedy titled “The Little Stranger”. The play ran for a short time in London and also came to Broadway for nearly one month, opening on Broadway August 27 and closing in September (exact date in September unknown).
In “The Little Stranger”, Mrs. Dick Allenby, a young woman married to a wealthy man, becomes crazed after getting mixed up with spiritualism. A friend sends an illusionist to her home to cure her of her madness. The illusionist has a dwarf assistant, Edward Garratt’s character.
Edward looks very much like Mrs. Allenby’s own child. Due to some mishap, Mrs. Allenby is told that her husband has drowned in the Thames River. Seeing an opportunity to get his foot into a life of luxury, Edward has Mrs. Allenby’s child taken away and puts himself in her child’s place, convincing the crazed woman that her husband’s spirit has now entered his body, or what she believes to be her own child’s body. Edward is now able to live in the home, gleefully ordering around the servants and creating general havoc throughout the house, along with taking part in adult activities, including smoking her husband’s cigarettes. However, he must always dress as her child so as not to be found out.
In the end, Mrs. Allenby is cured, her husband is discovered to be alive and comes home, Edward is found out and removed from the home, and the real child is brought back. All ends well.
Production notes painted Edward Garratt as an actual child, stating, “Garratt has a sensitive and affectionate nature, he is fond of games of any kind, and is a thorough boy in all his tasks. The Criterion Company have made a great little pet of him, and although he likes to be made a fuss of by those around him, he is very shy of his public — except in the theater.”
It is unknown what became of Edward Garratt. All that is known is despite positive reviews of his performance in “The Little Stranger”, he never again worked professionally as an actor.
Below are publicity photos of Edward Garratt in “The Little Stranger”.
