About twenty years ago a hotel was erected, and still exists, on the corner of North Third avenue and the Southern Boulevard, which was then styled “The Wallack.” It was kept by George Browne, the old actor and chophouse man, occasionally mentioned in these reminiscences, who subsequently kept the Green Room on Fourth avenue opposite the stage door of the old Wallack’s, the present Star Theatre.
Durin’ the Wallack inn period–and in fact somewhat in advance of that time–Actorsville flourished. Actors were very clannish, and one having got a small-potato “farm” and cottage, all the rest followed the “truly rural” example.
“Actorsville” (as the professionals who lived, or live in it fondly call it still, though the matter-of- fact politicians who would map out the solar system itself into wards, regard it merely as a small part of North New York), was a very pretty place in summer. Its cottages were hidden by trees from the main road, and surrounded by clusterin’ vines. But in winter it was very bleak and uninvitin’, cold and dreary, and it must be conceded that even the actors concerned in it didn’t “brag” about Actorsville in January, though most of them lived in it all the same.
The settlement was started by one of the most popular and brilliant actors of his day, Edwin Eddy, the Fechter of his time, the best romantic actor of his period, and a very liberal, judicious and enterprisin’ manager. Eddy happened to have some money at the time, and upon the advice of Robert H. Elton (better known as “Old Comic” Elton, he bein’ the compiler and publisher of the first Comic Almanac), who was interested in the development of that section of the suburbs which Elton had designated “Wilton.” He bought a snug little property on what is now 138th street, on which he built a bijou of a cottage and gathered all his household goods around him.
One lovely Sunday afternoon in June, a party of New York actors and men-about-town started for Eddy’s place. The party consisted of William R. Goodale, then playin’ at the old Bowery theatre (after his brilliant hit at Barnum’s Museum as “The Drunkard”); J. B. Johnston, a great favorite at Burton’s old Chambers Street Theatre, who created the part of Uriah Heep in this country; George Jordan, the handsome George, the Beau Brummel of his profession, the Harry Montague of his era, who was regarded by many as the rival of Lester Wallack himself; and Thomas W. Pittman, then a risin’ young lawyer and a dramatic critic, the literary partner of Jonas B. Phillips, the principal New York dramatist of that period.
The party started in spirits, both animal and alcoholic, from the old Westchester House, corner of Bowery and Broome streets, which was, as its name implied, the hotel chiefly devoted to the entertainment of Westchester-ites and their followin’, and from which house the Worrell Sisters afterwards stepped to the management of the theatre which has just burned down, on Broadway. From this hotel the old Westchester stages made a trip a day to New Rochelle.
After two hours of lumberin’ and joltin’ along the stage and its occupants, after stoppin’ at Cato’s, Jones Wood, Red House, Five-Mile House and the Old House at the Bridge, reached at last Eddy’s house, where they found the actor expecting ‘em. He had christened his place Monte Cristo, though there was nothin’ at all gorgeous about it save its name. It was a square frame house, painted, as usual, white, with green blinds, had an ample piazza, with stables and outhouses back, the whole affair probably takin’ in a little less than two acres.
The principal feature was flowers, of which the actor was passionately fond. There were flowers everywhere. The house seemed to be nestlin’ in tuberoses, and honeysuckles and lilacs. It was indeed “pretty as a picture,” while Eddy’s wife moved among the fragrance, “herself the loveliest flower of ‘em all.”
Inside the cottage was full of books and pictures of actors and actresses–a theatrical portrait gallery, while the principal article of furniture was an enormous punch bowl, in which Eddy had made some of that claret punch for which he was famous.
After a little luncheon the party settled down to punch and pipes, then they sat down to dinner, and then to punch in pipes again, and thus the whole day passed, the party receivin’ accessions from other professional arrivals, till the whole place, piazzas and garden were full, like the guests ‘emselves.
It was thirty years ago, and yet to this day “Monte Cristo” and its host are vividly remembered by those of the party who still survive. Eddy was a prince of entertainers.
His popularity soon induced other actors to follow his lead and settle down to “farms” in “Actorsville.” Floyd, so long Wallack’s stage manager, had a place there at one time. Charlie Backus, the minstrel, invested a little in this line. Tom Hamblin, the actor manager, had a place here, also Robson, the comedian, I believe. Owens, the comedian, he of the barrel of apple sass, also bought a slip of land here, though he never settled on it. Conway and his wife lived there at the time Conway was playin’ at Marshall’s old Broadway Theatre. Crosby, at one time the great Brooklyn favorite, lived there and used to take the journey homewards at night, by way of Astoria, crossing at the 96th street ferry. He was, like Eddy, in love with roses. Sothern Lord Dundreary, had at one time a notion of havin’ a big place at Actorsville, and bought considerable property in its vicinity as was made public in the recent dispute over his will, but the notion came to nothin’, or was perhaps prevented from bein’ carried out by his untimely decease.
Archy Hughes, the minstrel, in the days of his prosperity, lived here. Charles Fisher, the veteran, at one time had aspirations to Actorsville, and Ed Marston, while playin’ nightly in New York, used to run a milk route here. He used to say that he would rather water his milk than play in some of the milk-and-water pieces in which it was his lot to be cast. Marston’s place was near the road, half cottage ornee, as it is called, and half farmhouse. He used to call his milk route “the milky way.” Next to Marston’s place was that of the France brothers, Sid and Ed, who housed here, in neat stables or kennels, their trick dogs, Dick and Bruno. Near these was a neat little cottage with a pretty garden in front, where Daly, so long connected with the Union Square Theatre, resided. Near this again and further on was the cottage of Levick, senior, the old actor, father of the present gushin’ Gus. This was nicely laid out in grounds, flower beds and orchards, while in the rear was a carpenter shop, where the retired tragedian used to amuse himself as a mechanic when not employing himself as a gardener.
Actorsville was at one time more of an actor’s colony than Long Branch or Coscob are now, but like all things it has had its day. Long Branch itself, like Actorsville, will probably be some day a mere “has been.”
[Editor’s Notes: Actorsville was located is what is now known as the Mott Haven section of the southwest Bronx, in the area around Alexander Avenue, Willis Ave, and 138th St. Robert H. Elton, who urged Eddy to buy his property, was a noted engraver and publisher, who specialized in humorous publications and children’s books.]
