Rip Van Howard

Article appeared in The New Yorker, March 5, 1927

[The article below was changed slightly when it appeared in Trivial Fond Records—the Ever-Ready Battery Co. was changed to the Ever-White Toothpaste Company • Spelling and punctuation are Mr. Howard's]

I had, recently, the signal honor of acting over the radio with a famous actress in a scene from a famous play. My employers, on this auspicious occasion, were the Ever-Ready Battery Co., and they were very charming and generous employers. Our audience consisted, I am told, of from five to ten million souls in fourteen different cities. And only in the most subtle way did our announcer insinuate in his opening address that the "Ever-Ready Battery Co. were makers of radio batteries and equipment." I think I must have been quite a hit on the radio, as I have since had an offer from the Perana Toothpaste Company.

So it was all very satisfactory, except that, as a result of the celebration that followed my aerial début, I had a quite dreadful dream that night.

I dreamed that I awoke one morning and found I had slept solidly for ten years, as the result of a coma that had set in after the opening night of "The Cardboard Lover." My various children had grown up, my wife was getting bored, and my insurance company had refused to regard me as dead, so the family fortunes were low.

"Don't worry," I exclaimed, springing lightly out of bed, "so long as the theatre exists, there's a place for me in it." Secretly I feared that the theatre must have gone for good. I had always said ten years would see the end of it. I rang up a theatrical agent who used to be my friend. "The theatre is more prosperous than ever," he said when he had recovered from the shock of my voice. He continued:

"It is now solidly subsidized. I can offer you a nice part in the next Woolworth production, or an engagement at the Spearmint Theatre."

The scene merged. Broadway at night. The Great White Way greater and whiter than ever. The theatres flashing their wares to the night. The first to catch my eye:

LUCKY STRIKE, INC.

Presents

JOHN BARRYMORE

In

"THE CIGARETTE MAKER'S ROMANCE"

"IT'S TOASTED"

Next door I found this sign:

COCA-COLA

Presents

"DRINK IT!"

With MRS. WHIFFEN

and W. C. FIELDS

(Directed by David Belasco)

Covering my eyes I hurried to where the Guild Theatre used to be. It was still there. Its sign read:

WRIGLEY WREPERTORY CO.

In

"T H E  MIDNIGHT  C H E W - C H E W"

I staggered away, turning my steps to the Empire Theatre, honored home of the drama. Above it, the lights flashed:

AMERICAN FLORISTS ASSOCIATION

Presents

"SAY IT WITH VIOLETS"

I broke down and cried bitterly. Turning my streaming eyes to the dark heavens I read in letters of fire:

WHEN BETTER PLAYS ARE PRODUCED BUICK WILL PRODUCE THEM

I turned my back, forever, on the drama. I had once looked down upon the motion picture but I realized now that it was an infinitely freer, more independent and more durable art than that of the commercially tainted theatre. With this thought dominant in my mind I approached the Paramount Theatre (now called the "Bijou"), nestling snugly amongst the surrounding towers and skyscrapers of Broadway. As I waited in line to buy a ticket, I glanced around me to see what was playing. I saw displayed the following announcement:

FAMOUS PLAYERS-LIGGETT

Presents

EMIL JANNINGS

In C. STANISLAVSKY'S GREAT

ROMANCE OF THE SAHARA

"I'D WALK A MILE FOR————"

I saw no more. Everything is blacked out. The scene merged. I found myself going slowly up the steps of a great art gallery, tired out with my endless searching. At the entrance I met Bruce Barton. He seemed a little surprised at seeing me at all.

"Come in," he said enthusiastically. "This man is a great artist and sculptor. A simple Russian moujik. Refuses to sell any of his work. He really does it for love."

With a sigh of relief and a wan smile I went inside. One seemed to leave the world behind. I went reverently up to the first canvas. It was a sort of kitchen scene, as far as I could make out, in a modernist style. Rows of shining pots and pans stared cubistically out of the picture. A large, colored bottle floated somewhere in the foreground. On it was marked, unequivocally, "57 VARIETIES."

It was a terrible shock, but I didn't give up at once. My eye caught a lovely nude in marble. I went up to her. She seemed incapable of deception. She was thrillingly expressive. "Here," I thought, "is a work of art with no ulterior motive." Then I noticed her outstretched hand held a little oblong tablet. Looking closer I discovered five letters on the tablet. They spelled "IVORY."

Still the nightmare continued. I was in an expensive limousine, dashing through brightly lighted streets. At each cross-street the chauffeur sounded the horn. It reverberated in two syllables, "PACK-ARD." I seemed to be getting used to it. We flew past the Greenwich Village Theatre. Faintly hopeful I craned my neck to see what was on. The lights twinkled, "ALL GOD'S CHILDREN CRY FOR IT." We passed the Metropolitan Opera House—Martinelli in "PLUTO,"...Forty-second Street now. A radio blaring out, "Gershwin's latest—'IF ONLY SOMEONE HAD TOLD HER.'"

Next stop, Carnegie Hall. I didn't notice at the time it was now called "SOCONY HALL." It was an important concert—the playing of a new symphony. There were about twenty people in the audience, a record crowd, I was told. The orchestra, two hundred strong, were completely hidden by microphones. It was the world-famous Standard Oil Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Stokowski, playing Deems Taylor's great symbolic opus, "ERL."

The scene merged again. I was back in bed once more, demanding a book to read. "I wish to be taken out of myself," I explained. My wife handed me five large volumes.

"Dreiser's latest," she said reverently, "a stupendous affair—absolutely mordant!"

The novel was called "TEETH." I settled down to read it. It commenced: "It is not generally known that FOUR OUT OF EVERY FIVE————"

It was all just one of those realistic dreams.

Trivial Fond Records, pgs. 81-84

"Rip Van Howard" The New Yorker, March 5, 1927


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