16. Forrest of Philadelphia, Part Three

(© Podcast text copyright Peter Schmitz. All rights reserved.)

[OPENING THEME]

In July of 1855 Edwin Forrest was taking a walk in Philadelphia. He started out from the brownstone at 144 N. 10th St., the house he had bought for his mother and sisters in the 1820s. His mother had died in 1847, but his three sisters Henrietta, Eleanora, and Caroline still made it their home. They always kept a room prepared for him, and he usually stayed there whenever he returned to his native city. This morning, he purposefully made his way to Broad Street and started walking North.

As Forrest crossed Vine Street, he must have noted that that was no longer the city limits, as it had been all his life.  Philadelphia had consolidated with all its neighboring boroughs in 1854, and now the entirety of Philadelphia County was one municipality, with one city council, one police force, and one mayor. In fact Robert T. Conrad, the author of the play Jack Cade, had been elected to the office, and was now administering the huge metropolis. The population of the city, which had barely topped 100,000 at the beginning of the decade of the 1850s, would surpass half a million by 1860. Broad Street, which for 150 years had only been the notional center of the city’s north-south axis, was finally becoming lined with major buildings. In fact the groundbreaking ceremony for the grand new Academy of Music, at Locust and South Broad, had just occurred in June 1855. But it was up North Broad where Forrest strode that day in July, wearing his customary plain coat and loosely knotted tie. He passed quickly by the coal and lumber yards along to the railroad lines that crossed Broad Street above Center Square. Beyond Poplar Street, however, North Broad was showing  signs of becoming what it would be in decades to come: the favorite street of Philadelphia’s nouveau riche elite - the factory owners, brewmeisters, and surging mercantile class. The wide thoroughfare was abuzz with building projects: churches, banks, and huge houses. Forrest had made many real estate investments in the city over the years. Some of the lots he had purchased on speculation in what was now North Philadelphia were now clearly paying off.

Forrest stopped at the corner of Broad and Master Street, suddenly struck by what he saw. On an otherwise empty block, a large and elegant three story brownstone mansion was rising at the corner. He liked the look of it. He asked the workmen who it was being built for. Frederick Gaul, they told him, who owned one of the biggest breweries in the city. By that afternoon Forrest marched into Gaul’s office at the brewery and offered him $23,000 cash for the unfinished house. Gaul accepted, and the deal was done. Forrest had only one stipulation: the property deed for the mansion was to be registered in the name of his three sisters, not his. You see, he didn’t want his ex-wife’s lawyers to be able to make a claim on it.

[TRANSITION MUSIC]

The previous two decades of Forrest’s life had been eventful and tumultuous, to say the least. Flush with the earnings of his early years, he had traveled all over Europe from  the years 1834 to 1836. He had seen Paris, Rome, Moscow, Odessa, Istanbul and Athens. Returning to America to perform again for his adoring fans, he immediately announced he was crossing the Atlantic again to bring his new American style acting to England. There he had wooed and won the affections of the 18 year-old beauty Catherine Norton Sinclair, married her, and brought her back to America. Settling his wife in a lovely townhome in New York City, he plunged back into his career. With the proceeds he bought real estate. Taking Catherine along with him on a tour of the West, he showed her the hillside along the Ohio River where as a teenager had once sat forlorn and poverty-stricken, but found inspiration and a new determination to succeed. He bought the hillside, too. He bought another hillside along the Hudson River north of New York, and started planning a medieval dream palace where he imagined he could settle down and wrap himself and his wife in protective luxury. But they were never to live in that castle. Over the years their marriage faltered badly, never recovering from the dashed hopes of four pregnancies, when each time all four babies died shortly after their births. Not many relationships could survive such sadness, and the couple drifted apart. Forrest’s tour of Great Britain in 1845 had  also gone awry, and had cemented the deep hatred and rivalry with the English actor William Charles Macready. This rivalry came to a head in 1849 as Forrest pursued him from city to city on his Macready conducted his own tour of American theaters. It all ended with the Astor Place Riots of May 1849. But that was in New York. For an account I can do no better than to direct you to the excellent 2007 book The Shakespeare Riots by Nigel Cliff, or some other links to other podcasts which I’ll try to put in the show notes for this episode.

Forrest’s marriage ended shortly afterwards. He accused Catherine of infidelity, and she, with much more justification, accused him of even more infidelity and overwhelmingly cruel behavior. She filed for divorce in 1851, and the resulting trial became a huge public sensation and scandal. The divorce was granted, but according to the ruling Edwin Forrest had to pay Catherine a huge alimony, half his acquired fortune. He refused to pay, and appealed the decision over and over to higher and higher courts. He lost all the appeals. He sold the castle on the Hudson, he sold the townhouse in New York, and announced that he was even going to stop performing in plays.

This is why Forrest was buying a house in Philadelphia: he was both coming home again, and also laying up for legal siege. He wanted to get away from everything that reminded him of his former wife, whom he now despised. She herself began to go on the stage, though she had never acted before. She needed the money, because Forrest was never going to pay her a dime, he swore. Never, never, never, never, never. Like every character he had ever played on the stage, he would rather die than compromise his principles. He dispatched his lawyers again and again to dispute every judgment against him. Really there’s nothing less admirable about the life of Edwin Forrest than the way he behaved in the matter. He was vindictive, controlling, and ruthlessly vengeful to the very end.

[TRANSITION MUSIC]

Meanwhile his new home on Broad and Master streets became his refuge. He planted a garden and he stocked the library with thousands of books which he read voraciously. He even purchased a First Folio of Shakespeare, which he displayed proudly. He built an extension to the south of the house for his collection of pictures, and there was even a small theater too. He did start performing again in 1860, when he realized he was likely to need extra cash to pay the huge judgment against him. He found his audiences would still flock to see him. He performed at the huge Niblo’s Garden in New York, doing all his major roles three nights a week - returning home to Philadelphia every weekend. He performed in Boston, where his dearest friend, James Oakes, lived, and where Forrest would visit a young lady friend whom he referred to only as “Nahmeokee'', the name of the wife from Metamora. He did shows in Philadelphia, too, of course.  In 1861, as the oncoming Civil War loomed over the country, Forrest offered the city several weeks of performances from his long-standing and familiar repertory of roles: Hamlet, Damon & Pythias, Richelieu, Virginius, Metamora, Jack Cade, Othello, Macbeth, and Richard III. He returned to the Academy again late in 1864 in Shakespeare’s Coriolanus, with a production so elaborate that management advertised that it was seeking “ONE HUNDRED YOUNG MEN” as extras to fill out the Academy’s large stage. Though the city was already sending thousands of its young men into real battles, this recruiting call for an onstage army had no trouble filling the ranks, and the management easily filled the seats with an audience eager for ancient military spectacle. In fact the opening night was given special help by Nature herself, for as Forrest thundered away to an audience of over three thousand people, a true thunderstorm battered away at the building from the outside. Altogether, reported the Public Ledger, it was one of the most dramatically complete evenings the theater had ever seen.

Earlier that same year Forrest commissioned the Boston artist Thomas Ball to make a larger than life marble sculpture of him in the role of Coriolanus. Though it was a role he had not done often over the course of his career, with its anti-democratic rants against mob rule by the title character, now he felt it totally appealed to him. With his calipers, Ball made measurements of Forrest’s still massive calves and shoulders, though they did quibble a bit about the facial hair. Coriolanus lived in an era before Romans began shaving their faces! Forrest insisted, and Ball finally agreed, took his preliminary model with its whiskers and its toga and its sandals, and went off to Italy to select and shape the proper piece of stone for it.

Meanwhile, the tours went on. Everywhere Forrest performed in these final years, fathers brought their children and grandchildren to come see the man who had meant so much to them, in their youth. Though younger theater fans and the intelligentsia now much preferred the more intellectual and sophisticated Edwin Booth, who also was performing pretty regularly in Philadelphia those days, Edwin Forrest retained the hold on his old fans. It was a little like the final years of a 20th century rock and roll band, still packing the seats in the arenas of the 21st Century, everyone wanting to hear all the old hits.

But time would not stand still. One by one, his three sisters passed away in the house on Broad Street. He was alone with only two loyal servants, and the visits of friends like Oakes. In his sixties, Forrest’s health increasingly failed him. His huge body began to break down. Gout, sciatica, rheumatism hobbled him and nearly paralyzed one hand. When he performed Damon in Damon and Pythias, a youthful role, he could no longer make the final leap up onto the high platform to save his friend from execution. The stage hands set the platform lower and lower, until finally it was only a few inches higher than the stage floor. When he played Lear or Cardinal Richileu, he no longer needed to imitate the infirmities of old age. “I am Lear,” he stated to a friend one day. At last, Forrest was reduced to sitting on a chair, and reading to those few who would still assemble to see him from the plays of Shakespeare. Finally his audience was deserting him. On October 15th, 1872, he played the Academy of Music in Philadelphia for the last time, reading to a mostly empty sea of chairs.

On the morning of December 12th, 1872, his maid found him stricken in his bedroom on the second floor of his huge house on Broad Street. He was fully dressed, his exercise weights on the floor near him, an open copy of Hamlet on the bedside table. An angry red streak ran across the side of his head - undoubtedly the sign of a stroke. He could not speak. By the time the doctor arrived, he was dead.

[TRANSITION MUSIC]

There are many reminders of Edwin Forrest’s life and career in Philadelphia. Most notably the Shubert Organization built the huge Forrest Theatre on South Broad Street in 1906. It was demolished and replaced in the 1920s by the second Forrest Theatre on Walnut Street, which still stands and still hosts touring Broadway shows. Another Edwin Forrest Theatre was built in New York, though it is now called the Eugene O’Neill Theatre. But what else remains? Well, like the great tragedian he was, Edwin Forrest had prepared for what would happen after his death carefully. He knew how to make a final exit, after all. 

Having no wife, no living children, and no living relatives, he longed for some way to keep his name alive, at least. He arranged for an official biography to be written, which was eventually completed by the Unitarian minister William Alger, with a bit of help from his nephew Horatio Alger, a writer who thereafter became associated with rags-to-riches stories such as Forrest’s. 

Although Forrest also had contemplated many arrangements for his money, such as establishing a drama academy, what he eventually decided on was endowing what he termed a “Home for Decayed Actors”.

As early as December 1829, we can see that Forrest was involved in charitable efforts in Philadelphia to establish something called The Theatrical Fund. Remember how we found that this era of the late 1820s early 30s was a particularly rocky one for members of the theatrical profession? Actors were frequently not paid at all when managers were forced to cater to the demands of stars and landlords first. During this period we again see evidence of actors joining in ‘commonwealths’ and “actors republics”, trying to find some more equitable method of sharing box office proceeds with each other. As usual, unfortunately, these efforts generally failed, and many actors and stagehands too found themselves quite destitute, especially at the end of their careers.

Edwin Forrest had gladly donated his services to many benefit performances to help establish the basis of the Theatrical Fund, although eventually the endowment of the organization faltered and failed. Forrest must have seen many former company members of his over the years fall into poverty in their final years. He knew how close his own family had come to the same fate when his father died during his own childhood. He was certainly mortified when the retiring longtime comedian at the Chestnut Street Theatre, Joseph Jefferson, held a benefit performance to fund his retirement, and it was almost empty of paying audience, due to competition from a show of Forrest’s at the Walnut Street Theater that same night. Upon learning that he had been the cause of the distinguished actor’s financial embarrassment, Forrest offered to make up the deficit, but the proud Jefferson had icily refused, hurt deeply by what he felt was the rejection from the city where he had labored on the stage so long. Jefferson chose to retire quietly to the countryside outside Harrisburg Pennsylvania. When he died in 1832, there wasn't even enough money for a headstone on his grave, and it had to be raised by a public charitable subscription ten years later. 

This and other such stories made Forrest determined to do something. During his lifetime, he often donated or did benefits for New York charities, the General Theatrical Fund and the American Dramatic Fund Association, two institutions that were predecessors of what is now known as The Actors Fund. Though he had nothing but contempt for profligate or dissipated theatricals who had wasted their prime years, he had pity for the deserving actor of Philadelphia too, and he wrote in his will that he wanted to ‘smooth the pillow of the unfortunate in sickness or other disability, or the decay of their declining years.’ In September of 1865, he scoured the countryside around Philadelphia and finally chose “Springbrook”, a grand old house on an 111 acre farm, eight miles northeast of the city, which stood along the Bristol Pike. He had known it even in his youth, and was impressed by all the improvements it had received by subsequent owners: greenhouses, serpentine walks, even two indoor bathrooms, an impressive modern convenience. He bought it with a downpayment of $40,000 and spent the next seven years getting it ready for its eventual future, even adorning it with architectural elements he had purchased from the Chestnut Street Theatre when it was torn down in 1855.

When Forrest died, his plans were put into motion, an endowment and trust was set into motion. Though an unfortunate fire in his former mansion on Broad Street had destroyed some of his books, and even badly scorched his copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio, the building was sold to an educational institution the Philadelphia College of Art and Design for Women. With these proceeds and with the rest of his estate, a $300,000 endowment was set up. Twelve elderly actors were installed at Springbrook, with all their daily needs provided for. The only requirement was that they hold a ceremony of remembrance to Shakespeare every March 23rd on The Bard’s birthday and every Fourth of July they should gather for a patriotic oration and a reading of the Declaration of Independence. His entire library and many artworks decorated the walls. The marble statue of himself as Coriolanus stood in the front hall. And when the residents died, well, there was a plot set aside for them at West Laurel Hill Cemetery, where they would be buried in the plot designated for ‘The Guests of Edwin Forrest’ under a granite monument inscribed with the words “All the world’s a Stage, and all the Men and women Merely Players.  And as they made their exits, new applicants would be received into the home, as long as they could prove they had spent at least 12 years in the theatrical profession.

This arrangement for the Edwin Forrest Home lasted into the 1920s, when finally the spread of Philadelphia’s industrialization reached the broad Northeastern section of the county. By this point Springbrook was feeling a bit old-fashioned, and the two bathrooms seemed decided inadequate for 12 residents and the staff. The house was sold and demolished. The grounds were carved up into city blocks, and Philadelphia’s inexorable street grids wiped out almost every trace. The only remnant of the presence of the former estate are the grounds of the Edwin Forrest Elementary School. 

But the residents were not forgotten and after all the endowment remained and had even grown over the years, so in 1928 the residents were moved to a new building in West Philadelphia, at 4849 Parkside Avenue, next to the Bala Golf Club. An Elizabethan style building with modern kitchens and bathrooms, it had a stone plaque with the words “See the players well disposed” built into the masonry over the front door. The massive statue of Forrest was transferred to preside over the new entrance hall, along with most of the other artworks and books. In 1949 the bequest for the home received a huge and unexpected boost from the estate of Philadelphia theatrical producer John Frederick Zimmerman, one of the founders of the infamous Theatrical Syndicate of the late 19th Century. Thereafter 12 lucky residents settled in for a fairly comfortable time, all things considered. In 1960  the historian Richard Moody was able to wander freely through the home, interviewing residents and poking about its library. He easily plucked from the shelf many amazing artifacts, from the household account books of Forrest father, to theatrical swords and other props that the actor had used during his long career. And every year, Moody reported, the residents duly gathered for the required celebrations of Shakespeare and American Independence. It was a pretty good deal for all concerned, but by 1988 it too was getting outdated and it was judged that the wealth of the bequest could be spread more broadly than to care for just 12 people. The Edwin Forrest Home was finally combined with a Staten Island institution for retired actors, and today the Lillian Booth Actors Home in Englewood New Jersey, run by the Actor’s Fund boasts an Edwin Forrest Wing. 

The house on Broad Street has had an even more interesting history. It served as the home of The Philadelphia School of Design for Women for decades. Generations of female artists and sculptors learned their craft in his former dining room, and exhibited works in his picture gallery, and held graduation ceremonies in his former back garden. In 1960 the school moved out to become the Moore College of Art and Design on Logan Square. As North Philadelphia had increasingly become a primary neighborhood for the city’s African American community in the 20th Century, it was a welcome development when in 1968, Edwin Forrest's former house became a real home for theater people once again. It became the site of the Freedom Theatre, under the leadership of its two founders Robert Leslie and John E. Allen. Though this was certainly a development that Edwin Forrest had never anticipated, the Freedom Theater and its school became a leading arts and training institution for the African American Community of Philadelphia. 

The massive marble statue that Forrest had commissioned of himself as Coriolanus eventually was purchased by another longstanding Philadelphia institution, the Walnut Street Theatre, where so many of his triumphant performances had taken place over the years. It was installed there by the main staircase to the second floor, and its fierce visage has presided over many an audience and opening night party since then. The Edwin Forrest Society often holds a celebration on his birthday in the lobby, and on occasions afterwards the celebrants often make the trek down Walnut to the churchyard of St. Paul’s, to visit the stone that covers the Forrest family crypt where the actor, his mother and most of his siblings are interred. 

No further guests of Edwin Forrest have been laid to rest at West Laurel Hill for many years now, but you can visit the lovely site and see the granite monument, as the cemetery is open to the public. Most of the remnants of the Edwin Forrest collection of books, manuscripts, paintings and artifacts went to the Pennsylvania Historical Society, where they are being well curated and preserved, available for perusal by scholars.  And that structure of the last Edwin Forrest Home for Retired Actors is still there on Parkway Ave. It’s actually not far from where I live right now, and I visited it just the other day. It's being offered for sale or redevelopment, by the way, if you’re interested, and it looks kind of abandoned at the moment. An empty flagpole still stands in the front yard where for many years the residents gathered to listen to the Declaration of Independence. The stone inscription still marks the front door. “See the Players Well Bestowed”, it still proclaims. 

Which was good advice when Shakespeare first wrote it for Hamlet to say, and it's good advice now. See the players well bestowed. Though Edwin Forrest was a vastly complex character during his lifetime, and certainly we can find much to reproach him about, we can hardly ignore the fact that while he was alive and performing, he lit a fire in the hearts of thousands of audience members for many many years. That has to count for something. He helped to shape the American theater. Now that he’s gone, and mostly belongs to histories such as this one, well to paraphrase Hamlet again, let’s not just use him according to his desert. God’s bodkins, man, let’s use him much better! Use every man after his desert and who shall ’scape whipping? Use him after his own honor and dignity. The less he deserves, the more merit is in our bounty. Take him in.

I’m Peter Schmitz, and the sound and music are by Christopher Mark Colucci. For extra information about this episode, please visit our website. There is a blog post there with lots of images from the life of Edwin Forrest, more insights and explanations, and a bibliography of our sources for this episode. Thanks for coming along on another Adventure in Theater History, Philadelphia. 

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