Laramie’s Opera Houses—culture on the frontier

Apparently Swain & Little's public brawl didn't hurt their business.

On a chilly February evening in 1874, Laramie grocer A.G. Swain stepped before a large crowd and declared: “There is no public virtue left!” He was forced to shout over the ensuing uproar. “Silence! Your throats offend the quiet of the city!” This so angered Geo. Little, his business partner that Little ordered a sword-brandishing horde to attack Swain. But W.M.C. Wilson, proprietor of the Brunswick Billiard Hall, showed up just in time. With his superb swordsmanship, he defeated the horde and saved his dear friend Swain.

Was this just another confrontation in the rough-and-tumble young town? Were Swain and Little settling a grocery dispute in true frontier style? Not at all! This was the grand opening of the Laramie Opera House.

“Opera” brings respect
By the 1870s, opera houses were common in the West. So great was the desire for decent entertainment that any town near a railroad had one. But most were operatic in name only. “Theater” was more appropriate but “opera house” sounded more respectable—a sign of transition from frontier to civilized society.

On February 23, 1874, just six years after Laramie was established, a large ad appeared in the newspapers: “GRAND OPENING OF THE LARAMIE OPERA HOUSE! Entirely New Scenery and New Costumes!” However, the costumes were still en route from New York, so the date had not been set.

Just four days later, the doors opened to a large crowd eager to witness the “Sublime and Thrilling Drama of Damon and Pythias.” Like many hits of the time, it delivered an uplifting moral message—the power of true friendship. The tyrant Dionysis (played by Judge L.D. Pease) was so impressed by the love and trust between Damon (grocer Swain) and Pythias (billiard hall owner Wilson) that he spared the lives of both.

The audience was enthusiastic and appreciative, as was the case whenever local talent took to the stage. “The universal verdict is that [the performers] succeeded beyond everybody’s most sanguine expectations” according to the Daily Sentinel. The play was far better than expected, or even possible for a company of amateurs.

The location of the Laramie Opera House now seems to be lost. Nor do surviving newspapers reveal who owned it, or how it came to be. But once operational, it was regularly in the news. Laramie sat on a major east-west rail line, and had ready access to traveling entertainment—popular drama, lectures, novelty shows, comedy, concerts, travelogues and more.

Quality was not guaranteed, however. Sometimes the “orchestra” turned out to be a piano player, or the “troupe” a single actor. But that was the exception. “Usually the touring companies had a good voice or two among them, and the melodies alone were worth the price of admission. What good luck for a country child to hear those tuneful old operas sung by people who were doing their best,” recalled author Willa Cather, from her girlhood in Red Cloud, Nebraska.

Opera House in Red Cloud, Nebraska, c. 1903. Nebraska State Historical Society.

Lecturess and martyr
Among the highlights of 1874 was a lecture by Victoria C. Woodhull, well-known suffragette and proponent of ‘free love’ (a woman’s right to divorce). She was freshly out of jail, having been arrested for sending obscene literature through the mails, specifically a widely-read article about the affair between Henry Ward Beecher— popular pastor of a fashionable New York church—and the wife of his good friend Theodore Tilton.

Victoria C. Woodhull was nominated for president by the Equal Rights Party in 1872 (though women could vote only in Wyoming and Utah). Headline from Woodhull & Claflin Weekly, April 22, 1871; added photo by Matthew Brady, c. 1870.

When the charges were dropped six months later, Woodhull promptly hit the lecture circuit, drawing tremendous crowds. “Her subject will be a review of the Beecher-Tilton Scandal, entitled ‘The Naked Truth.’” The Daily Independent was adamant: “Mrs. Woodhull is highly spoken of as a lecturess of fine talents, and also as a martyr who has been sadly traduced by her prosecutors ... We advise our citizens to go and hear the lecture.”

Ireland comes to Laramie
In October, another nationally known act appeared at the Opera House—Healy’s Hibernian Gems. This well-known first-class troupe will present “a magnificent panorama of Ireland, on which is delineated nearly all the cities, towns and splendid ruins” announced the Daily Independent.

Hibernicons—Irish panoramas—were popular novelties of the time. These were early moving pictures, with sound! Healy’s 10,000-foot long canvas was attached to two spools; a hidden operator turned one, causing the other to unwind. As each of the 85 scenes appeared on the stage, the narrator served as tour guide while musicians, actors and comedians provided Irish-themed entertainment.

The Opera House also hosted dances, political and religious meetings, graduation exercises, trials, wrestling matches and more, with events regularly in the news. But after April 1875, they inexplicably disappeared, making the end of the Laramie Opera House as mysterious as its beginning.

High society gathers in a Thespian temple
In May of 1884, the famous German-American actor Daniel E. Bandmann and his troupe arrived in Laramie, shortly after returning from a five-year 700-performance world tour. Though best known as a Shakespearean, Bandmann was equally skilled in other genres. His leading role in the popular drama Narcisse was especially admired. No wonder high society was all aflutter—Bandmann would perform Narcisse in Laramie!

German-American Shakespearian actor Daniel E. Bandmann; date unknown (before 1905). Harvard Theater Collection.

On May 12, Herr Bandmann stepped on stage before “fashionable, cultivated and critical” citizens from Laramie, Cheyenne and Rawlins. The Laramie Boomerang proudly noted that the ladies were dressed “in the latest style and most elegant costumes, while the gentlemen, in many cases, appeared in full evening dress.” They were given delicately perfumed programs, skillfully designed by George Garrett, the Boomerang’s typographer.

The first act was “rather tame” but when Bandmann made his appearance in the second, as Narcisse Rameau, the mood changed entirely. His account of the terrible wrongs inflicted upon him, and “his subsequent bursts of histrionic pathos” brought warm and vigorous applause.

While he was just a young scholar, Narcisse Rameau’s wife had left him to become Madam Pompadour, mistress of Louis XV. But virtue triumphed in the end. Madam P died and fell into the arms of the husband she had abandoned. Narcisse lived happily ever after with his new wife—the young, clever and beautiful actress, Doris Quinault. “Doris” was played by Louise Beaudet, herself a young, clever and beautiful actress. She also was co-owner of the theater company, and, infamously, Bandmann’s mistress.

The occasion for Bandmann & Beaudet’s Narcisse was the grand opening of the Holliday Opera House, above Holliday’s store and offices on the east side of Second, between today’s Garfield and Custer. A successful merchant and builder, W.H. Holliday spent between $20,000 and $55,000 on the project (reports vary).

Only first-class opera house between Omaha & Salt Lake City
The Daily Sentinel declared the new opera house to be “the only building and stage between Omaha and Salt Lake City for the rendering of first class dramas and spectacular scenes.” It was designed and supervised in person by stage architect H.W. Barbour, formerly employed by the Union Square Theater and Grand Opera House in New York, as well as theaters in Colorado, and Central and South America.

Holliday Opera House c. 1885. The building burned to the ground in 1948, in the great Holliday Fire, which destroyed much of downtown Laramie. From 1885 Laramie City map; Laramie Plains Museum.

The Opera House occupied the entire second story of Holliday’s building, with a 36-foot high ceiling, 70 x 36-foot stage, and seating for 700-800. The stage included a drop curtain featuring the Bay of Naples at sunset, and a full set of 12 x 20-foot “flats” [scenes]: Kitchen, Parlor, Prison, Garden, Horizon, Dark Wood, Rocky Pass, Snow Scene and more (18 total). Painted by Sosman & Landis of Chicago, they were “as fine as may be seen anywhere in the world” (Laramie’s press was reliably complimentary).

In marked contrast, the lighting was old tech—kerosene lamps, notoriously hazardous with their open flames. Many large lamps were installed, but even so, the light was dim; nor could it be adjusted once lit. When performing in lamp light, actors resorted to heavy makeup and exaggerated movements to connect with the audience.

But just a year later, a Boomerang reporter watched in amazement as new lights came on in Holliday’s Opera House. “As one row after another of burners were lit overhead and about the walls, the footlights and finally the chandeliers—the hundreds of jets of pure steady flame set burning—the great improvement became manifest.”

Coal or “town” gas moved through a system of pipes controlled with wheels and levers, making the lights easily adjustable. “There was no hitch during the whole evening though several changes of light were made.” But the open flames made gas lights just as risky as kerosene lamps. Though electricity was much safer, Holliday considered gas “better adapted to such a place than electric illumination.” Perhaps electric lights were still too expensive.

Note sewer line running from Holliday's Opera House (pink arrow) to river. A second one starts near the Union Pacific's Round House. They were recent additions, mainly for storm runoff, a serious problem in this part of town. From 1885 Laramie City map; Laramie Plains Museum.

Opera comes to the Opera House
In January of 1886, the Boomerang had exciting news. The Milan Grand Italian Opera Company, with full chorus and orchestra, would present Donizetti’s popular tragedy “Lucia Di Lammermoor”—in the original Italian! “Reserved seats will be on sale Monday morning at 9 o’clock. Carriages may be ordered at 10:30 ... the Company’s Librettos, in English and Italian, will be for sale by the ushers.”

The review the next day underscored the aspirations of small towns with their opera houses: “It is to be hoped that the success of this company will enable us to have a regular season of Italian opera every year, and thus educate the masses to a general appreciation of this style of music.”

Another opera house fades from the limelight
In 1893, the lighting in Holliday’s building was upgraded to electricity. But by then, it had been years since an earnest actor stepped onto the brightly lit stage before an eager audience. Holliday had closed his opera house in 1887. “It was quite a blow,” lamented the Boomerang. Laramie needed an opera house, “both as an advertisement for the [town], and for the pleasure of the citizens.”

Fortunately, Maennerchor Hall also offered many fine performances, and another opera house did open, in the 1890s. But these are stories for another day. Laramie’s long rich ‘operatic’ history can’t be squeezed into a single article!


Postscript: This is my final article in a series for the Laramie Boomerang's "Laramie History" column. We volunteers have been contributing weekly to help the paper during hard economic times, and to provide an alternative to covid news. It has been a pleasure!

Editor Judy always complains about my head shot, so I sent her a this as a joke.
She used it, and readers liked it! Hmmm ...

Tree-Watching and Spinning Birds

Among its many lockdown articles, The New York Times featured one last week that I think might be of interest to fellow tree-followers: “7 Tips for Watching Birds During the Spring Lockdown” by David Sibley (in the Opinion section). In the subhead he adds: “Here are some principles you can apply to any form of nature study.” And later: “I’m writing about bird-watching here, but these same seven principles apply just as well to any form of nature study. Take some time to really look at a tree …”

That's what we do every month! And that’s what I did yesterday in LaBonte Park, home of the tree I’m following. Where I quote Sibley below, “tree” is substituted for “bird”.

So nice to see spots of green waving in the wind :)

Notice Trees  “With a little practice you’ll be amazed at what you can see.” We tree-followers are already pretty good at this. Each month we look carefully at the tree we're following, and provide an update at the virtual gathering. This month, there were big changes for my tree—emerging leaves and flower buds! I took many photos; fortunately a few were in focus.

All but one of my close-ups looked like this, due to "Wyoming spring breezes".

Look at the leaves and flowers  “In most cases, if you can get a good look at the leaves and flowers [or bill and face of a bird] it will be possible to identify the species.” I’m still working on this. It will be easier once the flowers and leaves open. And as Sibley says in his introduction “You don’t have to identify the species, although there is a wealth of information available if you know a tree’s name. The most important thing is just to notice trees, slow down and really watch them.” I agree.

Think about what the tree is doing  After a long winter, this tree is about to spread its pollen somehow (hope to learn more). Maybe it will get some from a neighbor for fertilization and eventually seeds. It also is starting to spread its leaves and photosynthesize—capture energy from sunlight and make sugars, for growth.

Be curious  “If you stop to watch, ask a question and pick out some details, you will remember those details, as well as other things that you didn’t even focus on.” This will lead to “lots of interesting discoveries.” I wondered what this tree will look like when covered in leaves—very different I'm pretty sure.

Next, I tried bird-watching. Though cool and windy, the lakeshore looked inviting. I forgot to bring my binoculars and bird book, but as it turned out, I didn't need them.

In addition to the familiar mallards and gulls, there were smaller birds on the water that looked like shorebirds, with thin bills and long necks. But if shorebirds, why were they swimming around out on the lake?

See the mallard butt? Click on these bird photos to see details.

Gulls, home from a hard day at the dump. Note smaller bird behind.

There are seven of the smaller birds in this photo, some with white stripes and brown patches. What are they?

I sat down to watch the smaller birds, and think about what they were doing, following Sibley's advice. Big surprise—they were spinning in place! I’m not exaggerating. Each one quickly whirled around, and then did it again, over and over. I thought and thought ... hmmm.

Above and below: spinning birds in shallow water.

After downloading my photos, I zoomed in and decided these were phalaropes. The bird book agreed—Wilson’s phalaropes, a bird of inland waters including shallow lakes, marshes and reservoirs. Perfect! And phalaropes will feed on the water. When they do, they “spin like tops” to stir up invertebrates in the shallow water. Ah hah!

Here's Wilson's Phalarope up close—a female in breeding plumage. I saw several of these on LaBonte Pond. The white stripe on the back of the neck and orange-ish brown patches on the sides were sometimes visible even without binos. Photo courtesy Dominic Sherony.

I used four of Sibley’s seven tips; more next time. If you want to read his article but hit a paywall, email me for a PDF  (see Contact tab above).

Feel free to join us any time. More info here.

The Great Tribulation of 1870 (it's not what you think)

Census-taker ca. 1870; original source unknown .

It's one of those lovely June days we have here in Laramie, Wyoming. You’re out in the garden pulling weeds when a man (has to be a man) appears, introducing himself as Assistant Marshal with the U.S. Census Office. You’re not surprised—word spreads quickly in this town.

He proceeds to ask a seemingly interminable series of questions, required by law, for every person in the household: name, age, sex, and color; occupation; property, bonds and other valuables; and more. Finally, is anyone illiterate? insane? a pauper?

But that was 1870. The U.S. census is no longer a Great Tribulation (from Latin ‘tribulum’—a threshing board with sharp points). The 2020 census now underway is short, easy, confidential, and, if done right, safe!

Enumerating the people

Article 1, Section 2, clause 3 of the U.S. Constitution (ratified in 1788) directed Congress to count the residents of the young country, to fairly apportion congressional representatives and direct taxes among the States. “The actual Enumeration shall be made within three Years after the first Meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent Term of ten Years …”

Shortly before the second session ended, the Census Act of 1790 was signed into law. The first “enumeration of the inhabitants of the United States” began that August, overseen by appointed U.S. Marshals. Assistant Marshals were hired to do the actual Enumeration.

Confidentiality apparently was not an issue in 1790. Census-takers posted their results in “two of the most public places … for the inspection of all concerned.” The “aggregate amount” was sent to the President. But when George Washington read that the population of the United States was only 3.9 million, he wasn’t happy. He was sure it was larger.

Washington wasn’t alone in his opinion. For the first century of its existence, the most common complaint fielded by the Census Office was undercounting. A growing population meant more federal representation and funding, and was a source of civic pride. Community members looked forward to the results of a census, and objected loudly when they found numbers too low.

Country grows, census evolves

For the second census, some 900 enumerators counted 5.3 million residents—a 35% increase in ten years. In addition to questions asked in 1790, they recorded number of white males and females by age: under 10, 10 to 15, 16 to 24, 25 to 44 and 45 to “the utmost boundaries of life.”

Questions about manufacturing and industry were added in 1810, but dropped twenty years later due to obvious inaccuracies. They reappeared with the Census Act of 1840, which directed the Census Office to determine "the pursuits, industry, education, and resources of the country.” That year, 28 clerks processed information collected by 2167 enumerators to produce a report 1465 pages. The nation’s residents totaled 17.1 million.

The country continued to grow rapidly in area, population and number of census-takers. In 1860, 4417 enumerators counted 31.4 million residents, asking about taxes, schools, crime, wages and property values, among other things.

Wyoming Territory ca. 1870, with just five counties; now there are 23. Walling, Gray, Lloyd & Co. 1872, Atlas of the United States (public domain)

Counting Albany County, Wyoming
In May of 1870, news of the upcoming census appeared in the Laramie Daily Sentinel. “Census-takers get two cents for every name taken, ten cents for every farm, fifteen cents for every productive establishment of industry, two cents for every deceased person, and two per cent of the whole amount for names enumerated for social statistics, and ten cents per mile for travel.” They would be paid only after they completely enumerated their area, and their forms were accepted.

The Sentinel also reported disturbing news. Even though women had the right to vote in Wyoming, they would not be not allowed to work as census-takers!

Editor James Hayford denounced the policy, with this excerpt from an Iowa newspaper: “By a recent decision of General Walker, Superintendent of the Census, the women can furnish this country with its children but are not to be permitted to count them … The old ruling that you mustn't count your chickens before they are hatched, will take on the new form that women must not count their children even after they are born.”

True confessions
Now back to the garden, on that lovely June day 150 years ago. After the census-taker introduces himself (actually, you already know him; he’s your neighbor, Walter Sinclair), he sets up his “secure portable inkstand, good ink, and pens,” and pulls out a form and blotter supplied by the Census Office.

Sinclair makes it clear that you are required by law to answer census questions, but follows the guidance of the Instructions to Assistant Marshals: “Make as little show as possible of authority. … approach every individual in a conciliatory manner; respect the prejudices of all; adapt inquiries to the comprehension of foreigners and persons of limited education; and strive in every way to relieve the performance of [your] duties from the appearance of obtrusiveness.”

He emphasizes that information will “be treated as strictly confidential” (unlike 1790). Indeed, the instructions state: “no graver offense could be committed by a census-taker than to divulge information.” Anyone suspected of such an offense will be investigated, and if found guilty, released with no pay.

There are twenty questions in all, to be asked for each member of the family. A family might be a solitary inhabitant, or the many residents of a boarding house or prison. For the purpose of the census, if people “live together under one roof, and are provided for at a common table, there is a family in the meaning of the law.”

Sinclair records name, age, sex, color, occupation, and much more, regularly drying his entries with the blotter. He uses his own judgment regarding age. “The Assistant is to obtain exact age wherever possible; otherwise, a best estimation will be made. … Where the age is a matter of considerable doubt, the Assistant Marshal may make a note to that effect.”

Census in a small American town; original source unknown.

The most sensitive information is addressed last. Which members of the family read? Write? Two questions are required because “Very many persons who will claim to be able to read, though they really do so in the most defective manner, will frankly admit that they cannot write.” Finally, are any members “deaf and dumb, blind, insane, or idiotic; a pauper or convict”?

Sinclair then reads back the information he recorded, correcting any errors. As you return to weeding, he moves to the next dwelling. He continues as long as weather and light allow. That evening, he transcribes (by hand) two copies of the day’s completed forms, each containing information for 40 residents. In all, Sinclair filled and submitted 52 forms.

On lines 4-6 of his third form, Sinclair entered information about his own family. He and wife Anna were both 32 years of age; son Walter Kirby was 7. All three were born in Ohio, suggesting they were relatively recent arrivals to the Territory. Sinclair gave his occupation as “Ranchman” but he was better known as Deputy Sheriff of Albany County. The Daily Sentinel characterized him as an “energetic thorough officer and a terror to evil doers.” Perhaps this encouraged residents to respond promptly and honestly.

Results? Sorry, you’ll have to wait.
For the 1870 census, 6530 enumerators were able to cover the country in five months, but it took 428 clerks two years to tabulate and analyze the information. Each form had to be manually transcribed onto a grid with columns and rows representing the various types of information collected. These were then analyzed “visually.”

The final report—3473 pages of mostly tables—was published in 1872. The U.S. population was just under 39 million, ten times that of 1790. Wyoming had 9118 residents, 2021 of which lived in Albany County. The population of Laramie was 828.

The immense amount of information gathered in 1880 required seven years to process. If this trend had continued, the previous census would still be underway when the next started! But an electromechanical tabulator invented by former census employee Herman Hollerith saved the day. For the 1890 census, processing was reduced to ‘just’ six years, though the population had grown by 25% and many more questions were asked.

Hollerith’s 1890 tabulating machine (Columbia University/IBM).

Hit Send and be counted
Thanks to today’s information technology, the U.S. Census Bureau conducts surveys on many topics every year, including education, income, occupation, housing and emergency preparedness. But it remains best known for the decennial census, the 24th of which is currently underway.

Your household should have received by mail an “invitation” from the Census Bureau, asking you to respond in one of three ways: online (new this year), by phone, or on paper. The list of questions is short, and not all that different from 1790—number of residents; sex, age, race, relationship of each; and whether residents are of Hispanic, Latino, or Spanish origin. Because the census counts every resident, as it has since it was created, you are NOT asked whether you are a U.S. citizen (more information at 2020census.gov).

Those who don’t self-respond will have a census-taker knocking at their door. That would be a shame. Online, phone and mail are more efficient, more accurate, much cheaper, and in coronavirus times, much safer. If you haven’t already, please self-respond and be counted!

[This is my most recent contribution to the "Living History Series" in the Laramie Boomerang. We volunteer writers are providing an article a week—a bit of entertainment during coronavirus times. Also, the paper's revenue from ads has dropped significantly, with staff furloughed and content reduced. If you would like to help the "Boom"  go to their website and click the Contribute button.]