I was reminded by an old rounder the other day of a place whose very existence I had forgotten for these thirty years, and yet which, thirty-five years ago, when I first settled down in New York, was one of the “institutions” of the town, in its way.
I allude to the once famous “Sawdust House,” so-called from the principal feature of its floors, along with tobacco juice. It was also known among the boys as “Yankee Sullivan’s old place,” because once on a time, in its early days, that celebrated tough was supposed to have a pecuniary interest in the establishment.
It was located on Cherry street one block north of Catharine Market, and was a mixture of barroom of the roughest kind, with a variety shop of the ditto. It was a free and easy, or rather a “rough and easy,” as a paper once called it.
The boss portion, the swell division of this place of entertainment was upstairs in what corresponded to the gallery. Here the big heads, the prize-fighters and gamblers sat, and “took in” what they chose of the show, with their wine or spirits on the table in front of ‘em, and their legs extendin’ over the gallery railin’.
Rough as the place was it had quite a number of performers connected with it, some of whom afterwards made their mark. It was really a good school for a public performer. There was no “nonsense” about the audiences, and they would stand none. They put on no “frills,” cared nothin’ for criticism (they were their own critics), didn’t take any stock in “high art” except high kickin, but they knew when a thing, or a man, suited ‘em, and showed their appreciation of him and his efforts directly and unmistakably.
It meant somethin’ to be a popular favorite at the “Sawdust House.” But if the boys got down on a man, and wouldn’t have him, it was useless to appeal from their verdict. There was no one to appeal to. Yet there was always a reason for the likes or dislikes manifested, and the sooner the performers found out the reason and acted on it the better.
John Diamond, the greatest jig dancer of his day, a dancer in his line who has never been equaled since, a genius in his way, afterwards one of the prime attractions of “Barnum’s,” and the champion jig dancer of the world, danced his first public dance in the old “Sawdust House.” He had no previous trainin’, but from the start the talent in his legs was acknowledged. He was endorsed by the verdict of the “Sawdust gang” from his first jig, such a debut among such a set meant success.
Jack Diamond naturally enough took a likin’ to the place in which he had made his first hit, and always did his best at the “Sawdust House.” He also honored it by introducin’ first within its walls a novelty which soon became the rage in New York among the Anglo-maniacs–as they would call ‘em now–or the American men who went crazy in their attempts to copy everythin’ worn and did by Englishmen. He got hold of a genuine English coachman’s heavy top coat, and wore it one evenin’ at the “Sawdust House.” There were several English sportin’ men present that night, and they hailed the familiar spectacle with cheers. Several third and fourth-rate local “swells” were also present, and they went wild over the novelty, and before a month passed the English coachman’s heavy top overcoat was to be found advertised at the Broadway stores.
Another performer at the “Sawdust House,” who afterwards became widely known throughout the city, was Jack Winans, the comic singer. People who profess to sing comic songs never have any voices to sing ‘em with–so it would seem–but Jack Winans was an exception, and his “vocal organ” was really an organ–and not a jews’ harp.
He could act, too–as well as sing–and would accompany his songs with inimitable grimaces. His antics would be funnier than his words, and his looks would really be funnier than his capers. He could assume the most irresistibly comic expressions, and would send the “Sawdust gang” into convulsions. Winans afterwards figured in one of Frank Chanfrau’s “local sketches” as “Porgie Joe,” the bummer of Catharine Market. In this character he made a tremendous hit, and was town talk for a period. Had Winans taken as good care of himself as Frank Chanfrau did, he might have lived famous and died rich.
Still another of the “Sawdust House” performers was the eccentric Bob Zerolsem, great on recitations. His voice was against him. It was loud and sharp, “like a gale of wind,” as the boys described it; but his manner of recitin’ made amends. He was a really dramatic reciter, which, as everybody knows, is about as rare as a “natural actor.” He also possessed a decided knack for imitation. He could imitate the gait, dress, tones, etc., of almost everybody. He gave Frank Chanfrau the first hint as to those “imitations” of popular actors by which Chanfrau became so favorably known–and, by the by, those imitations were about the very best things which Chanfrau did. His imitation, for example, of Forrest, was something immense, and had to be seen to be fully appreciated, and once seen was never forgotten. But excellent as it was, it was no better than several imitations that were given in the old “Sawdust House” by poor and forgotten Bob Zerolsem.
G. L. Fox, afterwards the “king of pantomime clowns,” used to perform now and then at the “Sawdust House” as a sort of amateur, or rather volunteer. Fox was then enrolled in the company at the Chatham Street Theatre, but after the performance would often go round to the “Sawdust” and take a hand, not only in the festivities of the auditorium, but the exhibition on the stage.
There was in those times another “rough and easy,” a sort of rival to the “Sawdust House,” called “The Nag’s Head,” in Barclay street, near Broadway. Each of the two places had its special patrons, but a number used to attend one or the other, or both, indiscriminately. There really wasn’t any difference between ‘em, savin’ in location. A man named McDonald was regularly engaged at the “Nag’s Head,” but used to go and perform also at the “Sawdust House.” This gave offense to the Nag’s Head people, who discharged him; but finding that their business then fell off, took him back again and let him perform at the other house, too.
He was known as “The Warbler,” and had two songs which he constantly introduced into every performance. One was called “The Tee-total Society” and the other had a tellin’ chorus, “Give Your Order, Gents,” at the close of which chorus the waiter would expect its literal fulfillment.
Country McCloskey, the boxer and bruiser, also performed at the “Sawdust House,” givin’ sparring and set-to exhibitions, which met with great favor.
“The Pieman,” a well-known local character, a peddler in pies, used to sing at “the Sawdust” at night and dance hornpipes. He received no salary, but had permission to sing about his own pies and to sell his own pies in the place. This arrangement enabled him to make more indirectly than he would have been able to command as salary.
There used to be a regular chairman appointed every evenin’–the same chairman every night, though–who sat at a big table with a big mallet and a big fist, and a big diamond, to enforce order and carry out the programme of the evenin’.
There were fights now and then, in which the chairman took a part, but, on the whole, a certain decency was maintained.
And no robbery or murder was ever committed in the place, which is sayin’ a good deal for such a place at such a time.
Both the Nag’s Head and the Sawdust House have passed away, and I suppose this little chronicle of mine will be the last tribute of recollections ever paid ‘em.
[Editor’s notes: The above column does not make clear that Diamond and Winans were blackface minstrel performers, who gained fame portraying racist stereotypes. John Diamond was a great dancer, but most sources declare that the greatest jig dancer of the era was an African-American known as “Master Juba.” George L. Fox was one of the first great American clowns, performing on stage rather than in a circus ring. John “Country McCluskey” McCleester (-1853) was a leading heavyweight bare-knuckle boxer, friendly with Yankee Sullivan and John Morrissey, and aligned with Isaiah Rynders’ political club, the Empire Club.]
