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Critical Moments

April 16, 1934
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Nightly and at occasional matinees a stocky Jewish boy can be seen on the stage of the Fulton Theatre where “New Faces,” the brightest and most amusing musical review of the season, is playing. This young man, whose ungarnished name is Leonard Sillman, is one of the prime movers in the festivities and is responsible for much of the material in the show. He once had a strange ambition!

Leonard Sillman is a very persistent young man who dreamed that he would be the greatest actor of cripples, epileptics and dope fiends in the theatre. But there is a wide gap between Sillman the actor of those charming types, and Sillman the conceiver and director and song and dance man of “New Faces,” which C. B. Dillingham and Elsie Janis produced.

BECAME A HOOFER

Ten years ago Leonard ran away from his home in Detroit. The next his family heard from him was after he arrived in New York. They heard he was taking Charleston lessons in a dingy Harlem studio. A few months later they found out that the Lenny they always wanted to be a lawyer was a Ned Wayburn student–bent upon becoming a hoofer.

That was the time when Mr. Wayburn was so wan because he could do nothing to discourage Mr. Sillman’s penchant to act cripples, epileptics and dope fiends. Every time the music stopped during a dancing lesson, Sillman went into his cripple act. Lesson after lesson was broken up. Mr. Wayburn decided there was nothing to do but let Leonard receive call-downs by a few of the theatre’s great. Perhaps he would be told what a bad actor he was? Then, hoped Mr. Wayburn, this nonsense would stop.

SAW THE GREAT

Mr. Sillman departed from the Wayburn studio one morning armed with letters from his teacher to Belasco, John Golden and Hassard Short.

By three that same afternoon Leonard was back. Not even out of breath, and with his sense of humor left far behind, he said, “I’ve seen them all.”

“Well?” suggested Mr. Wayburn.

“Well, nothing,” and Leonard set about rehearsing his hoofing.

A week later Mr. Wayburn found out what had happened.

Leonard had done his cripple act for Belasco, who was casting for “Laugh, Clown, Laugh.” The office atop his theatre was filled with thespians. They were as surprised as Belasco himself when Leonard attracted attention by putting on his act in the anteroom, causing so much excitement that he was moved into an inner office because he was thought sick. Belasco told him that he had such a definite flare and fire that he thought it had better be used in musicals.

John Golden was getting a shave in his very special office barber chair when Mr. Sillman arrived upon his scene. During the finishing touches of that shave Leonard did his very best dope fiend. The barber managed not to cut him but Mr. Golden’s nerves were not conducive to his engaging Mr. Sillman.

It was during a rehearsal of a Music Box Revue that Leonard burst in upon Hassard Short. Before the stage manager realized what was about to happen Leonard had thrown one of his most elaborate epileptics and had been enthusiastically expelled.

FINALLY ARRIVED

A few years later, Mr. Sillman inspired anew, went back to see Mr. Short. Short was in the midst of rehearsing another revue. Leonard was sure he would remember his epileptic. But Mr. Short did not remember, and was not impressed. He motioned to his stage manager. The stage manager ushered Sillman unceremoniously out. That stage manager was Edward Mendelsohn. He happened to be the very stage manager Mr. Sillman insisted upon having when “New Faces” went into rehearsal. And he rubs his hands together before each performance when Mr. Mendelsohn comes in to say that all is well.

When Leonard Sillman finally did get his first role on Broadway in “Merry-Go-Round,” he was known as the youngest juvenile on Broadway. And inasmuch as he was a member of the Friar’s Club, he was the youngest Friar. The Friars remember him as that strange youngster who kept reading Schopenhauer and Freud in the corner of the lounge.

Now Mr. Sillman’s friends know him as the youngest producer on Broadway (he’s twenty-six)–but he has forgotten all about Schopenhauer and Freud.

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