Holton Arms School - Scribe Yearbook (Washington, DC)

Page 93 text:

But it is the songs of the period that have made the Gay Nineties so inimitable and unique. Sigmund Spaeth has collected the most popular in his book Read 'Em and Weep. When Sweet Rosie O'Grady, Daisy, Daisy, and On a Sunday Afternoon hit the country they were wildly received. To a nation in which the women wore bustles, carried muffs and parasols, and the men had sideburns, wore narrow trousers and derbies, the sweet, sentimental mushiness of some of the songs had great appeal. It was a time when music had a mournful melodramatic note of tragedy in it, with happy, sticky endings tacked on. Partings, villains, and reconciliations were favorite themes. And the songs usually told stories. In The Little Lost Child a policeman found a little Waif who later turned out to be his own lost child. When the frantic mother came in search of her, the estranged husband and wife had a touching reconciliation scene. Of course there were also some peppier songs, pieces with more punch and less sentimentality such as, Make a Noise Like a Hoop and Roll Away, and My Mother Was a Lady. As it was the beginning of the mechanization of America, automobiles and telephones inspired such songs as ln My Merry Oldsmobile and Ting-a-Ling Ling. Hordes of country yokels were being drawn to the cities which were springing up overnight-men for the factories, girls for telephone operators. Everywhere were sung cautions to the little, innocent, country maid arriving in the big city or den of iniquity, warning her of cabs, men with fascinating ways, and the evil of money. She's Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage sang the sad story of a girl who married for money, and She's Only a Poor Working Girl linked demi-tasses and the upper classes sinfully together. Songs laid great emphasis on girls. lust One Girl, Sweet Marie, and Elsie from Chelsea are just a few out of many. Words in many of the songs were pathetic in their triteness, their only excuse being that they rhymed. A typical verse of this type is one of the many stanzas in the popular Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-dere. I'll sing a little song, it won't take long, If I sing it Wrong, why ring the gong, Then I will say to you so long, And start at once for old I-long Kong. Then a tear to my eye 'twill surely bring And l'll call you a saucy thing. Then for the Patrol you all may ring And hear the Copper sweetly sing. When this was sung by, say, Lottie Gilson in a bouffante dress pulled up to display a leg, and wearing a huge straw hat with ostrich feathers it is more understandable how such a song could go over. But can we truthfully say that their words are much sillier than those in many of our songs today, such as, Flatfoot Floogie and Satchelmouth Swing ? What will future generations say of Tommy Dorsey, jitterbugs, and swing music? Will we be referred to as Those Trying Thirties ? Will we be revered, remem- bered, or laughed at? Catherine Clement, Form Vl 87

Page 92 text:

WHO REMEMBERS? MY mother, on my asking what she remembered about the Gay Nineties, replied, We wore pompadours and there was a song entitled There'll be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight. During ten years only those two things had made an impression on her. Once again I turned in search of someone to give me just a little more information about the Nineties. This time I struck a gold mine-my father. Yes, he thought he remembered something. Let's see, he was living in Alabama at the time-a little boy. It must have been then that the wandering vaudeville shows were in vogue. Particularly vivid in his mind was one night when Grand- father had let him, his older sister, and younger brother go with a white hired man to a vaudeville show. It was held in an old wooden barn, swarming with people dressed in their Sunday best. Father and Chester, wearing knee-length trousers, frilly shirts with bow-ties, and yellow straw hats clung to each of Whitey's hands. Lillie was considered old enough to walk just ahead of them alone. The show consisted of Punch and Iudy presented by Mr. Thunderbug, who stood on a raised platform in his best pair of tight, black trousers and turned his professional smile on the audience. When it was over and all were about to leave, Thunderbug held up his hand. Wait, Tonight I have a great surprise for you all. If you will kindly step up to the lines that are suspended above your heads, hook your finger through any one of the many rings there, and then hold your ear to that finger-tip, you will hear a most remarkable thing. It will be an experience of a lifetime. Instantly people pushed and crowded to reach a ring, until all were strung up in the required position. Thunderbug could hardly contain himself. I've fished all over the United States, he announced from the platform, but I've never caught so many suckers on one line as I have here tonight! Father was waxing reminiscent now. The women? he said in answer to my question, The women had wasp waists, huge hips, and legs like hams! Immense hats, lots of lace, and voluminous bathing suits that covered every inch were all the style. And chaperons for young ladies, on all occasions, were indispensable. Memories came thick and fast. The patch in the seat of your trousers was called the Democratic Badge by the defeated Republican Party. Cities and towns made laws forbidding Scorching in congested districts, meaning no bicycles can speed. The new safety bicycle was creating a gre-at stir, and the famous Century Club was formed which rewarded another bar to your badge at the end of every hundred miles on your bicycle. Oh, and that great temptation to youth, so severely forbidden, the Yellow Back Novels or the Dime Novels full of stories of Wild West villains, desperadoes, and railroad robbers. And those pathetic trains which puffed, whistled, and Wheezed, and had such laborious mechanical difficulties. The book, Slow Train Through Arkansas, that took off the railroads in those days, was full of typical jokes of the time- the lady with her gawky, sixteen-year-old boy, insisting he should be able to pay half fare. He must be over twelve, shouted the conductor. Well, replied the exasperated woman, he wasn't when the train started! The ha- rangue continued. Look, the conductor pointed out, he has long pants. Oh, she replied, Then I can go half fare! sa ,

Page 94 text:

TH IE