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IN THE NEW YORK THEATRICAL WHIRLPOOL

W hen Charles Frohman went to the Madison Square Theater in 1881 the three Frohman brothers were literally installed for the first time under the same managerial roof. From this hour on the affairs of Charles were bound up in large theatrical conduct.

Since the Madison Square Theater thus becomes the background of his real activities, the shell out of which he emerged as a full-fledged manager, the institution, and its significance in dramatic history, are well worth recording here.

The little Madison Square Theater, located back of the old Fifth Avenue Hotel, on Twenty-fourth Street near Broadway, was established at a time when a new force was hovering over the New York stage. This playhouse, destined to figure so prominently in the fortunes of all the Frohmans, and especially Charles, grew out of the somewhat radical convictions of Steele Mackaye, one of the most brilliant and erratic characters of his time. He was actor, lecturer, and playwright, and he taught the art of acting on lines laid down by Delsarte. Dr. George Mallory, editor of The Churchman, became interested in his views and regarded Mackaye as a man with a distinct mission. He induced his brother, Marshall Mallory, to build the Madison Square Theater.

Steele Mackaye was the first director, and, with the active co-operation of the Mallorys, launched its career. Dr. Mallory believed that the drama needed reform; that the way to reform it was to play reformed drama. So the place was dedicated to healthy plays. "A wholesome place for wholesome amusement" became the slogan. Contracts for plays were made only with American authors. Here were produced the earlier triumphs of Steele Mackaye, Bronson Howard, William Gillette, H. H. Boyessen, and Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. In this house, in "May Blossom," De Wolf Hopper first appeared in a stock company, afterward going into musical comedy. Among the actors seen on its boards during the Frohman régime were Agnes Booth, Viola Allen, Effie Ellsler, Georgia Cayvan, Mrs. Whiffen, Marie Burroughs, Annie Russell, George Clarke, Jeffreys Lewis, C. W. Couldock, Thomas Whiffen, Dominick Murray, and Eben Plympton. Rose Coghlan was also a member of the company, but had no opportunity of playing.

The house had certain unique and attractive qualities. It had been charmingly decorated by Louis C. Tiffany, and one of its principal features was a double stage, which enabled the scenery for one act to be set while another was being played before the audience. Thus long waits were avoided.

The name of Frohman was associated with this theater from the very start, because its first manager was Daniel Frohman. It opened in February, 1880, with Steele Mackaye's play "Hazel Kirke," which was an instantaneous success. The little theater, with its novel stage, intimate atmosphere, admirable company, and a policy that was definite and original, became one of the most popular in America. "Hazel Kirke" ran four hundred and eighty-six nights in New York City without interruption, which was a record run up to that time. In the original cast were Effie Ellsler, Eben Plympton, Mr. and Mrs. Whiffen, and Charles W. Couldock.

The Madison Square Theater was also an important factor in New York dramatic life and began to rival the prestige of the Wallack, Palmer, and Daly institutions. Its fame, due to the record-breaking "Hazel Kirke" success, became nation-wide.

Now began an activity under its auspices that established a whole new era in the conduct of the theater. It was the dawn of a "big business" development that sent the Madison Square successes throughout the country, and Charles Frohman was one of its sponsors.

Gustave Frohman had been engaged as director of the traveling companies. He engaged Charles as an associate. The work of the Frohmans was carefully mapped out. It was Daniel's business to select the casts, organize and rehearse the companies in New York; Gustave took general charge of the road equipment; while Charles arranged and booked the road tours.

It was after the phenomenal first season's run of "Hazel Kirke" that Charles Frohman hung up his hat in the little "back office" of the Madison Square Theater to begin the work that was to project his name and his talents prominently for the first time. New York sizzled through the hottest summer it had ever known; Garfield lay dying, and the whole country was in a state of unrest. Charles sweltered in his little cubbyhole, but he was enthusiastic and optimistic about his new job.

Gustave and Charles had complete charge of all the traveling companies that developed out of the series of "runs" at the theater. They inaugurated a whole new and brilliant theatrical activity in towns and cities removed from theatrical centers, regarding which the other big managers in New York were ignorant.

With the organization of these Madison Square companies the "Number Two Company" idea was born. It was a distinct innovation. A play like "Hazel Kirke," for example, was played by as many as five companies at one time, each company being adjusted financially to the type of town to which it was sent. "Hazel Kirke" appeared simultaneously in New York City at three different theaters, each with a separate and distinct type of audience.

Under the direction of Gustave and Charles, the outside business of the Madison Square Theater spread so rapidly that in a short time fourteen road companies carried the name of the establishment to all parts of the United States. Despite their youth, the three Frohmans had had a very extensive experience over the whole country.

In those days the booking of road attractions was not made through syndicates. Applications for time had to be made individually to every manager direct, even in the case of the most obscure one-night stand. The big New York managers only concerned themselves with the larger cities in which their companies made annual appearances. The smaller towns had to trust to chance to get attractions outside the standard "road shows."

Charles realized this lack of booking facilities, and dedicated his talents and experience to remedying it. His seasons on the road with John Dillon and the Haverly Minstrels had equipped him admirably. He not only displayed remarkable judgment in routing companies, but he was now able to express his genius for publicity. He always believed in the value of big printing.

"Give them pictures," he said.

He urged a liberal policy in this respect, and the Madison Square Theater backed his judgment to the extent of more than one hundred thousand dollars a year for picture posters and elaborate printing of all kinds. The gospel of Madison Square Theater art and its enterprises was thus spread broadcast, not with ordinary cheap-picture advertising, but with artistic lithographs. In fact, here began the whole process of expensive and elaborate bill-posting, and Charles Frohman was really the father of it.

Under his direction the first "flashlights" ever taken of a theatrical company for advertising purposes were made at the Madison Square Theater.

Charles was now director of nearly a score of agents who traveled about with the various companies. He vitalized them with his enthusiasm. In order to expedite their work, Charles and his brothers rented and furnished a large house on Twenty-fourth Street near the theater. It was in reality a sort of club, for a dining-room was maintained, and there were a number of bedrooms. When the agents came to town they lodged here. Charles, Gustave, and Daniel also had rooms in this house. A dressmaking department was established on the premises where many of the costumes for the road companies were made.

During these days Charles gave frequent evidence of his tact and persuasiveness. Often when matters of policy had to be fixed and discussed, the managers of out-of-town theaters would be called to New York. It was Charles's business to take them in hand and straighten out their troubles. They would leave, feeling that they had got the best "time" for their theaters and that they had made a friend in the optimistic little man who was then giving evidence of that uncanny instinct for road management that stood him in such good stead later on.

With his usual energy Charles was interested in every phase of the Madison Square Theater. Frequently, accompanied by Wesley Sisson, who succeeded Daniel Frohman during the latter's occasional absences from the theater, he would slip into the balcony and watch rehearsals. He sat with one leg curled under him, following the scenes with keenest interest. More than once his sharp, swift criticism helped to smooth away a rough spot.

He impressed his personality and capacity upon all who came in contact with him. It was said of him then, as it was said later on, that he could sit in his little office and make out a forty weeks' tour for a company without recourse to a map. In fact, he carried the whole theatrical map of the country under his hat.

In the strenuous life of those Madison Square days came some of Charles Frohman's closest and longest friendships.

The first was with Marc Klaw. It grew out of play piracy, the inevitable result of the theater's successes. Throughout the country local managers began to steal the Madison Square plays and put them on with "fly-by-night" companies. Since they were unable to get manuscripts of the play, the pirates sent stenographers to the theater to copy the parts. These stenographers had to sit in the dark and write surreptitiously. In many instances, in order to keep the lines of their notes straight, they stretched strings across their note-books.

Gustave Frohman happened to be in Louisville with the Number One "Hazel Kirke" Company. He was looking about for a lawyer who could investigate and prosecute the piracy of the Madison Square plays. He made inquiry of John T. Macauley, manager of Macauley's Theater, who said:

"There's a young lawyer here named Marc Klaw who is itching to get into the theatrical business. Why don't you give him a chance?"

Frohman immediately engaged Klaw to do some legal work for the Madison Square Theater, and he successfully combated the play pirates in the South. The copyright laws then were inadequate, however, and Klaw was ordered to New York, where, after a short preliminary training, he was sent out as manager of the Number Two "Hazel Kirke" Company of which Charles Frohman was advance-agent. In this way the meeting between the two men, each destined to wield far-flung theatrical authority, came about.

Charles resented going out with a "Number Two" Company, so to placate his pride and to give distinction to the enterprise, Daniel put Georgia Cayvan, leading lady of the Madison Square Theater, at the head of the cast.

There was good business method in putting out Miss Cayvan on this tour, because she was a New-Englander, born at Bath, Maine, and Bath was included in this tour. When Charles reached Bath ahead of the show he rode on the front seat of the stage to the hotel. He told the driver that he was coming with a big New York show, and said:

"I've got a big sensation for Bath."

"What's that?" said the driver.

"We have Miss Cayvan as the leading lady," answered Frohman.

"Miss Who?" asked the driver.

"Miss Cayvan—Miss Georgia Cayvan, leading woman of the Madison Square Theater," answered Frohman, with a great flourish.

"Oh," replied the driver, "you mean our little Georgie. We heard tell that she was acting on the stage, and now I guess some folks will be right smart glad to see her."

Charles was so much interested in Miss Cayvan's appearance in her home town that he came back and joined the company on its arrival and was present at the station when Marc Klaw brought the company in.

Quite a delegation of home people were on hand to meet Miss Cayvan, and she immediately assumed the haughty airs of a prima donna.

Charles was much amused, and decided to "take her down" in an amiable way. So he stepped up to her with great solemnity, removed his hat, and said, after the manner of his old minstrel days:

"Miss Cayvan, we parade at eleven."

Miss Cayvan saw the humor of the situation, took the hint, and got down off her high horse. In the company with Miss Cayvan at that time were Maude Stuart, Charles Wheatleigh, Frank Burbeck, W. H. Crompton, and Mrs. E. L. Davenport, the mother of Fanny Davenport.

While Charles was impressing his personality and talents at the Madison Square Theater and really finding himself for the first time, Gustave Frohman met Jack Haverly on the street one day. The old magnate said, with emphasis:

"Gus, I've got to have Charles back."

"You can't have him," said Gustave.

"But I must," said Haverly.

"Well, if you pay him one hundred and forty-six dollars a week (one hundred and twenty-five dollars salary and twenty-one dollars for hotel bills) you can have him for a limited time."

"All right," said Haverly.

Charles went back to the Mastodons, where he received a royal welcome. But his heart had become attuned to the real theater—to the hum of its shifting life, to the swift tumult of its tears and laughter. The excitement of the drama, and all the speculation that it involved (and he was a born speculator), were in his blood. He heeded the call and went back to the Madison Square Theater.

But the minstrel field was to claim him again and for the last time. Gustave conceived a plan to send the Callender Minstrels on a spectacular tour across the continent. The nucleus of the old organization, headed by the famous Billy Kersands, was playing in England under the name of Haverly's European Minstrels, Haverly having acquired the company some years before. Charles was sent over to get the pick of the Europeans for the new aggregation. Accompanied by Howard Spear, he sailed on June 7, 1882, on the Wyoming.

He encountered some difficulty in getting the leading members, so with characteristic enterprise he bought the whole company from Haverly and brought it back to the United States, where it was put on the road as Callender's Consolidated Spectacular Colored Minstrels. On all the bills appeared the inscription "Gustave and Charles Frohman, Proprietors." As a matter of fact, Charles had very little to do with the company, although he made a number of its contracts. His financial interest was trivial. Gustave used his name because Charles had been prominently associated with the Mastodons and he had achieved some eminence as a minstrel promoter.

Having launched the Callender aggregation, he went on to Chicago, where Gustave was putting on David Belasco's play "American Born," with the author himself as producer. Charles joined his brother in promoting the enterprise.

Now began the real friendship between Charles Frohman and David Belasco. The chance contact in San Francisco a few years before was now succeeded by a genuine introduction. The men took to each other instinctively and with a profound understanding. They shared the same room and had most of their meals together. Then, as throughout his whole life, Charles consumed large portions of pie (principally apple, lemon meringue, and pumpkin) and drank large quantities of lemonade or sarsaparilla. One day while they were having lunch together Frohman said to Belasco:

"You and I must do things together. I mean to have my own theater in Broadway and you will write the plays for it."

"Very well," replied the ever-ready Belasco. "I will make a contract with you now."

"There will never be need of a contract between us," replied Frohman, who expressed then the conviction that guided him all the rest of his life when he engaged the greatest stars in the world and spent millions on productions without a scrap of paper to show for the negotiation.

Charles worked manfully for "American Born." It was in reality his first intimate connection with a big production. At the outset his ingenuity saved the enterprise from threatened destruction. Harry Petit, a local manager, announced a rival melodrama called "Taken From Life" at McVicker's Theater, and had set his opening date one night before the inaugural of "American Born."

Charles scratched his head and said, "We must beat them to it."

He announced the "American Born" opening for a certain night and then opened three nights earlier, which beat the opposition by one night.

Belasco's play was spectacular in character and included, among other things, a realistic fire scene. When the time came for rehearsal the manager of the theater said that it could not be done, because the fire laws would be violated.

"I'll fix that," said Charles.

He went down to the City Hall, had a personal interview with the mayor, and not only got permission for the scene, but a detail of real firemen to act in it.

While in Chicago, Belasco accepted Daniel Frohman's offer to come to New York as stage-manager of the Madison Square Theater. Charles and Belasco came east together, and the intimacy of this trip tightened the bond between them. The train that carried them was speeding each to a great career.

With Belasco installed as stage-manager there began a daily contact between the two. Belasco went to Frohman with all his troubles. In Frohman's bedroom he wrote part of "May Blossom," in which he scored his first original success at the Madison Square. Charles was enormously interested in this play, and after it was finished carried a copy about in his pocket, reading it or having it read wherever he thought it could find a friendly ear.

So great was Belasco's gratitude that he gave Charles a half-interest in it, which was probably the first ownership that Charles Frohman ever had in a play.

During those days at the Madison Square, when both Frohman and Belasco were seeing the vision of coming things, they often went at night to O'Neil's Oyster House on Sixth Avenue near Twenty-second Street. The day's work over, they had a bite of supper, in Frohman's case mostly pie and sarsaparilla, and talked about the things they were going to do.

Charles Frohman's ambition for a New York theater obsessed him. One night as they were walking up Broadway they passed the Fifth Avenue Hotel. A big man in his shirt-sleeves sat tilted back in his chair in front of the hotel. The two young men were just across the street from him. Frohman stopped Belasco, pointed to the man, and said:

"David, there is John Stetson, manager of the Fifth Avenue Theater. Well, some day I am going to be as big a man as he is and have my own theater on Broadway."

Those were crowded days. Charles not only picked and "routed" the companies, but he kept a watchful eye on them. This meant frequent traveling. For months he lived in a suit-case. At noon he would say to his stenographer, "We leave for Chicago this afternoon," and he was off in a few hours. At that time "Hazel Kirke," "The Professor," "Esmeralda," "Young Mrs. Winthrop," and "May Blossom" were all being played by road companies in various parts of the United States, and it was a tremendous task to keep a watchful eye on them. It was his habit to go to a town where a company was playing and not appear at the theater until the curtain had risen. The company had no warning of his coming, and he could make a good appraisal of their average work.

On one of the many trips that he made about this time he gave evidence of his constant humor.

He went out to Columbus, Ohio, to see a "Hazel Kirke" company. He arrived at the theater just before matinée, and as he started across the stage he was met by a newly appointed stage-manager who was full of authority.

"Where are you going?" asked the man.

"To Mr. Hagan's dressing-room."

"I'll take the message," said the stage-director.

"No, I want to see him personally."

"But you can't. I am in charge behind the curtain."

Frohman left without a word, went out to the box-office and wrote a letter, discharging the stage-director. Then he sat through the performance. Directly the curtain fell the man came to him in a great state of mind.

"Why did you discharge me, Mr. Frohman?"

Frohman smiled and said: "Well, it was the only way that I could get back to see my actors. If you will promise to be good I will re-engage you." And he did.

It was on a trip of this same kind that Charles had one of his many narrow escapes from death. During the spring of 1883 he went out to Ohio with Daniel to visit some of the road companies. Daniel left him at Cleveland to go over and see a performance of "The Professor" at Newcastle, while Charles went on to join Gustave at Cincinnati.

Charles was accompanied by Frank Guthrie, who was a sort of confidential secretary to all the Frohmans at the theater. Shortly before the train reached Galion, Charles, who sat at the aisle, asked his companion to change places. Ten minutes later the train was wrecked. Guthrie, who sat on the aisle seat, was hurled through the window and instantly killed, while Charles escaped unhurt.

Daniel heard of the wreck, rushed to the scene on a relief train, expecting to find his brother dead, for there had been a report that he was killed. Instead he found Charles bemoaning the death of his secretary.

A month afterward Charles and Marc Klaw were riding in the elevator at the Monongahela House in Pittsburg when the cable broke and the car dropped four stories. It had just been equipped with an air cushion, and the men escaped without a scratch.

Along toward the middle of 1883 there were signs of a break at the Madison Square Theater. Steele Mackaye had quarreled with the Mallorys and had left, taking Gustave with him to launch the new Lyceum Theater on Fourth Avenue and Twenty-third Street. Daniel was becoming ambitious to strike out for himself, while Charles was chafing under the necessity of being a subordinate. He yearned to be his own master. "I must have a New York production," he said. The wish in his case meant the deed, for he now set about to produce his first play.

Naturally, he turned to Belasco for advice and co-operation. Both were still identified with the Madison Square Theater, which made their negotiations easy.

In San Francisco Charles had seen a vivid melodrama called "The Stranglers of Paris," which Belasco had written from Adolphe Belot's story and produced with some success. Osmond Tearle, then leading man for Lester Wallack and New York's leading matinée idol, had played in the West the part of Jagon, who was physically one of the ugliest characters in the play.

"'The Stranglers of Paris' is the play for me," said Frohman to Belasco.

"All right," said David; "you shall have it."

The original dramatization was a melodrama without a spark of humor. In rewriting it for New York, Belasco injected considerable comedy here and there.

Frohman, whose vision and ideas were always big, said:

"We've got to get a great cast. I will not be satisfied with anybody but Tearle."

To secure Tearle, Frohman went to see Lester Wallack for the first time. Wallack was then the enthroned theatrical king and one of the most inaccessible of men. Frohman finally contrived to see him and made the proposition for the release of Tearle. Ordinarily Wallack would have treated such an offer with scorn. Frohman's convincing manner, however, led him to explain, for he said:

"Mr. Tearle is the handsomest man in New York, and if I loaned him to you to play the ugliest man ever put on the stage he would lose his drawing power for me. I am sorry I can't accommodate you, Mr. Frohman. Come and see me again."

Out of that meeting came a friendship with Lester Wallack that developed large activities for Charles, as will be seen later on.

Unable to get Tearle, Belasco and Frohman secured Henry Lee, a brilliant and dashing leading actor who had succeeded Eben Plympton in the cast of "Hazel Kirke." The leading woman was Agnes Booth, a well-known stage figure. She was the sister-in-law of Edwin Booth, and an actress of splendid quality.

Unfortunately for him, the leading theaters were all occupied. There were only a few playhouses in New York then, a mere handful compared with the enormous number to-day. But a little thing like that did not disturb Charles Frohman.

Up at the northwest corner of Thirty-fifth Street and Broadway was an old barnlike structure that had been successively aquarium, menagerie, and skating-rink. It had a roof and four walls and at one end there was a rude stage.

One night at midnight Charles, accompanied by Belasco, went up to look at the sorry spectacle. As a theater it was about the most unpromising structure in New York.

"This is all I can get, David," said Charles, "and it must do."

"But, Charley, it is not a theater," said Belasco.

"Never mind," said Frohman. "I will have it made into one."

The old building was under the control of Hyde & Behman, who were planning to convert it into a vaudeville house. Frohman went to see them and persuaded them to turn it into a legitimate theater. Just about this time the Booth Theater at Twenty-third Street and Sixth Avenue was about to be torn down. Under Charles's prompting Hyde & Behman bought the inside of that historic structure, proscenium arch, stage, boxes, and all, and transported them to the Thirty-fifth Street barn. What had been a bare hall became the New Park Theater, destined to go down in history as the playhouse that witnessed many important productions, as well as the first that Charles Frohman made on any stage. Years afterward this theater was renamed the Herald Square.

Charles Frohman now had a play, a theater, and a cast. With characteristic lavishness he said to Belasco:

"We must have the finest scenic production ever made in New York."

He had no capital, but he had no trouble in getting credit. Every one seemed willing to help him. He got out handsome printing and advertised extensively. He spared nothing in scenic effects, which were elaborate. He devoted every spare moment to attending rehearsals.

Among the supernumeraries was a fat boy with a comical face. At one of the rehearsals he sat in a boat and reached out for something. In doing this he fell overboard. He fell so comically that Belasco made his fall a part of the regular business. His ability got him a few lines, which were taken from another actor. This fat-faced, comical boy was John Bunny, who became the best-known moving-picture star in the United States, and who to the end of his days never forgot that he appeared in Charles Frohman's first production. He often spoke of it with pride.

The autumn of 1883 was a strenuous one, for Charles had staked a good deal on "The Stranglers of Paris." Yet when the curtain rose on the evening of November 10, 1883, he was the same smiling, eager, but imperturbable boy who years before had uttered the wish that some day he would put on a play himself in the great city. He now saw that dream come true. He was just twenty-three.

"The Stranglers of Paris" made quite a sensation. The scenic effects were highly praised, and especially the ship scene, which showed convicts in their cages, their revolt, the sinking of the vessel, Jagon's struggle in the water, his escape from death, and his dramatic appeal to Heaven. Lee scored a great success and dated his popularity from this appearance.

Many of the lines in the piece were widely quoted, one of them in particular. It was in substance, "Money has power to open prison gates, and no questions asked."

It was the time of sensational graft revelations, and theater-goers thought that it fitted the New York situation.

VIOLA ALLEN

"The Stranglers of Paris" ran at the New Park Theater until December 9, when it was taken on the road. It continued on tour for a considerable period, playing most of the principal cities of the East, but the production was so expensive that it made no money. In fact, Charles lost on the enterprise, but it did not in the least dash his spirits. He was supremely content because at last he had produced a play.

"The Stranglers of Paris" filled the budding manager with a renewed zeal to be a producer. He was still enthusiastic about the melodrama, so he secured a vivid piece by R. G. Morris, a New York newspaper man, called "The Pulse of New York," which he produced at the Star Theater, Thirteenth Street and Broadway, which had been originally Wallack's Theater.

In the cast was a handsome, painstaking young woman named Viola Allen, whom Charles had singled out because of her admirable work in a play that he had seen, and who was headed for a big place in the annals of the American theater. The youthful manager encouraged her and did much to aid her progress.

Others in the cast were Caroline Hill, A. S. Lipman, Edward S. Coleman, L. F. Massen, Frank Lane, Henry Tarbon, W. L. Denison, George Clarke, H. D. Clifton, Ada Deaves, Max Freeman, Edward Pancoast, Frank Green, Gerald Eyre, Nick Long, Frederick Barry, Oscar Todd, John March, Charles Frew, Richard Fox, James Maxwell, J. C. Arnold, Stanley Macy, Lida Lacy, George Mathews, and William Rose.

"The Pulse of New York" was produced May 10, 1884, but ran only three weeks. Once more Charles faced a loss, but he met this as he met the misfortunes of later years, with smiling equanimity.

Now came a characteristic act. He was still in the employ of the Madison Square Theater and had a guarantee of one hundred dollars a week. Although he had devoted considerable time to his two previous productions, he was an invaluable asset to the establishment. He now felt that the time had come for him to choose between remaining at the Madison Square under a guarantee and striking out for himself on the precarious sea of independent theatrical management. He chose the latter, and launched a third enterprise.

In his wanderings about New York theaters Charles saw a serious-eyed young actress named Minnie Maddern. He said to Daniel:

"I have great confidence in that young woman. Will you help me put her out in a piece?"

"All right," replied his brother.

The net result was Miss Maddern in "Caprice."

In view of subsequent stage history this company was somewhat historic. Miss Maddern's salary was seventy-five dollars a week. Her leading man, who had been a general-utility actor at the Lyceum, and who also received seventy-five dollars a week, was Henry Miller. A handsome young lad named Cyril Scott played a very small part and got fifteen dollars a week. The total week's salary of the company amounted to only six hundred and ninety dollars.

"Caprice" opened at Indianapolis November 6, 1884, and subsequently played Chicago, St. Louis, Evansville, Dayton, and Baltimore, with a week at the Grand Opera House in New York, where its season closed. It made no money, but it did a great deal toward advancing the career of Miss Maddern, who afterward became known to millions of theater-goers as Mrs. Fiske.

Charles had now made three productions on his own hook and began to impress his courage and his personality on the theatrical world. He had definitely committed himself to a career of independent management, and from this time on he went it alone.