Fair Comment (October/November 1982 | Volume: 33, Issue: 6)

Fair Comment

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Authors: Michael Gartner

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October/November 1982 | Volume 33, Issue 6

The year 1896 found Oscar Hammerstein in trouble. He was in debt, and the acts he had brought to Broadway weren’t doing well. He was desperate. “I’ve tried the best,” he is reported to have said. “Now I’ll try the worst.” So he sent for the Cherry Sisters. Effie, Addie, Jessie, Lizzie, and Ella Cherry clearly were the worst act of the day. They couldn’t dance, and they couldn’t sing. In fact, they couldn’t do anything at all. Except draw crowds.

 

The five sisters and their brother had been born on a farm near Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and lost both their parents while they were still very young. They apparently took care of each other until the girls were old enough for show business. Then, in the early 1890s, they put an act together and hit the road. Their brother, Isa, took off at the same time: “He hopped aboard a load of hogs headed for Chicago and has never been heard from since,” Carl Whyte told a newspaper reporter in 1945. Whyte was in a position to know. He was in love with Effie—the only sister who ever found romance. She was older than Carl—“but I can tell you I was completely hypnotized by her charms,” he said. “And her kisses took me completely out of this world.” Whyte played piano for the sisters as they toured the Midwest.

Their act was terrible, and everybody said so; but it exerted a sort of ghastly fascination over its audiences. By the time Hammerstein sent for the Cherry Sisters, they were on their way to becoming famous.

The great impresario found the women every bit as bad as he had been led to believe, and so did the critics. “Never before did New Yorkers see anything in the least like the Cherry Sisters from Cedar Rapids, Iowa,” wrote the New York Times when the act opened in the New Olympia Theater on November 16, 1896. “It is sincerely to be hoped that nothing like them will ever be seen again. ”

“Did you ever hear the musical ‘kerchunk’ of the half-flooded milk pail as the brindle cow kicked it over with her offhind foot?” asked the critic of the New York Herald . “Well, that is Lizzie’s voice. Did you ever hear the frightened squeak of the rooster when your sister-in-law’s first born jumped on him hard with his little copper-toed boots? If you didn’t, you won’t appreciate Jessie’s song about ‘Fair Columbia.’ ”

Nevertheless, the audiences loved them. Night after night young men crowded the New Olympia Theater at Broadway and Forty-fourth Street. Often they brought vegetables; sidewalk vendors were said to do a brisk business every evening selling onions and rutabagas and melons. “There was scarcely a young blade in the late nineties,” the Des Moines Register recalled in 1929, “but boasted he had heaved a cabbage or