result in an understanding they were to enter his employ as peacekeepers for the duration of the show.
In theory, this somewhat novel approach should have worked, and to some degree it did. But there were other unforeseen ramifications that would soon make themselves apparent. With solemn conscientiousness these defenders of law and order carried out their appointed task. Ugly and burly, they would patrol the aisles during the performance, swaggering from left to right under the influence of R.W.’s whiskey. Woe betide the man or woman who laughed at the wrong cue or laughed too loud. Within seconds of the outburst, one of the ruffians would appear, tap the miscreant on the shoulder and mumble something about “filling them full of lead.” R.W., the consummate businessman and manager that he was, had succeeded in applying a “band-aid solution” to the problem, but some years later he would reflect upon the wisdom of his actions by saying:
“The gunmen kind’a, spoiled the quiet scenes.”11
R.W.’s imposing stature, for he stood just over six feet and was impressively broad-shouldered, demanded a modicum of respect, and this was generally accorded him in most villages and towns throughout the Dominion and the northern United States. But such was not always the case in the American midwest, where the motto, “God created man, but Samuel Colt made them equal,” was the catchword of the day. Caldwell, Kansas, in the early 1880s could aptly be described as one such typical western town of the period. This was a town where whiskey and bullets went hand in hand and a six-gun did the talking for most men.
A story is told that no sane individual would dare wear a plug topper while strolling about town for fear of the obvious consequences. But R.W. then, and until the time of his death, always wore a silk top hat – a trademark that distinguishes the Marks Brothers from all other troupes in their public appearances. When warned of the impending danger awaiting him should he fail to remove his chapeau, R.W., in typical fashion, threw all caution to the wind and marched down the main street to the Silver Dollar Hotel. Once inside he took note of his surroundings and sat down. But as soon as his feet touched the floor, he detected a solemn footfall behind him. In an instant, a pistol was lodged within inches of his “topper.” Just as quickly the crack of two bullets echoed around the room before they found their way into the opposite wall. Understandably, R.W. was somewhat shaken by this incident, but with poise and dignity befitting royalty, he turned, faced the gunman and said, “Pardner, please take better aim next time.”
With smoking gun in hand, the cowboy glowered above him, stunned by R.W.’s cool and calculated manner. The wrangler in his half-drunken stupor had mistaken the actor for a preacher. When he realized his error, he blurted, “Will ya trade hats?” R.W., caught off-guard by this unusual request, hesitated for a moment. Fortunately he caught the attention of a gesticulating bartender who had taken cover behind a partition when the shooting started, urging him to accept the proposal. Without further ado, R.W. declared, “Done!” In the true spirit of the West the deal was consummated with round after round of drinks. As luck would have it, this incident proved most opportune for R.W as the wrangler was one of the largest ranchers in the area. To show his admiration for the itinerant showman, he ordered a number of his ranch hands to form a guard of honour and escort the Canadian about town. He also declared that each of his employees must purchase at least one ticket for the evening’s performance.12
As early as 1881, R.W. began formulating a long range plan for the company. During his trek through the American West he had encountered a number of troupes who were performing a similar style of entertainment, but in a more polished manner. These companies had included in their repertoire the usual variety players, but augmented the playbill with one and two act melodramas which were well-received by the theatre-going public. R.W. realized that if the company failed to keep pace with the ever-increasing standards demanded by audiences, the troupe would inevitably fall victim to what many considered the showman’s death rattle – mediocrity.
He had no intention of descending into that chasm, an abyss from which few entertainers ever emerged. Instead, he initiated a plan of action that would ensure the company’s continued success. By now, he had recruited his brother Tom to replace King Kennedy (who had left the troupe for parts unknown) and combined their talents with two Kansas soubrettes, Emma Wells and her sister Jennie, who took the stage name of Jennie Ray. For many years, it was generally accepted that a chance meeting in Caldwell led to this union; but in 1932, R.W. refuted this belief:
“In Pittsburgh, in 1882, two ladies were added to the company.”13
The lovely Emma Wells, vocalist and leading lady, joined R.W. and Tom Marks in 1882, along with her sister Jennie Ray, to form the touring company then known as “the Big Four.” The photograph was taken by the W. Bogart Studio of Newmarket, Ontario, date unknown. Perth Museum Collection.
Jennie Ray, pianist and sister of Emma Wells, was the fourth member of the early troupe that would become the Emma Wells Concert Company. She remained with the troupe until about 1890. Perth Museum Collection.
The newly formed troupe specializing in variety was known as “The Big Four.”
In the ensuing years it came as no surprise that their business relationship should blossom into one of a more personal nature. R.W. and Emma Wells remained paramours for sixteen years, while Tom and Jennie Ray ended their rumoured liaison about 1885, prior to his marrying Ella Maude Brokenshire, of Wingham, Ontario. As the company’s reputation grew, R.W. was cognizant that “appearances” had to be maintained, so in keeping with Victorian attitudes of the day, he let it be known that the ladies from Kansas were in fact – his cousins. This ploy was intended to appease the more sensitive and moralistic segment of society who would look upon such an “un-Godly” liaison with utter disdain and condemnation.
Under normal circumstances, this deception would have been unnecessary had the company remained content to play strictly variety. Scattered throughout the West were thousands of communities whose inhabitants were not overly concerned as to the purity and righteousness of their entertainers or their entertainment. But R.W. had the foresight to realize there was a relatively untapped audience waiting in the wings — an audience comprised mainly of women and children who seldom, if ever, had the opportunity to attend a performance given by a travelling company for fear of having their Puritan sensibilities damaged beyond repair. Ultimately, it was this faction of the population that R.W. wanted to reach; their numbers were in the hundreds of thousands if not millions, and common sense dictated even at five cents “a head,” there was a fortune to be made by catering to this, the silent majority, who wanted only to see wholesome, family entertainment. As R.W. noted in a 1921 interview:
“There are two kinds of people we try to draw, the young man and his girl who want to see every show end with a marriage, and the middle-aged, unromantic team of house-keepers who look on marriage as a chestnut and want to see some of the tragedy and clash of fiction. Then, of course, everybody, young and old, or middle-aged, loves a comedy. The comedian’s jest is the great universal tonic. Above everything else the world wants to laugh, and the man who can sell tickets to a laugh is on his way to fortune.”14
In the same interview R.W. outlined some basic show business philosophy:
“The best time to go into a town with a show is immediately after the declaration of a strike. The average workman meets his chum; ‘Bill,’ says he, ‘we’re going to win this strike. ‘Right you are,’ says Bill, ‘and in two weeks they’ll be crawling at our feet.’ ‘let’s go to the show tonight.’ About ten days after a strike begins the first jubilation wears off and, as a show manager, I prefer to be some
