with its expanded repertoire, decided the time had come to embark on a cross-country tour in order to enlarge its growing “sphere of influence.” According to Tom, in a 1921 interview with Maclean’s magazine, the company headlined with great success in most major cities from San Francisco to New York. Along the way they entertained the inhabitants of small-town America, and some communities were so small they could not even lay claim to being a “one-horse” town. But the rough and tumble mining and logging towns offered the company its greatest challenges.
Somewhere along the route the troupe underwent a name change. “The Big Four” had passed into oblivion, and in its place emerged the “Emma Wells Concert Company” The Emma Wells Concert Company was exactly what its name implied, a company that offered the intelligent public a varied and refined entertainment, combining the best of the old favourites with new innovations and melodrama.
R.W. was forever destined to play the straight man, while Tom, a natural comedian, served as comedy lead. Their jokes culled from the pages of old almanacs and similar publications were simple but effective:
R.W: “Can’t understand that hen of mine. Everytime I see her she’s sitting on an axe.”
Tom : “She’s broody, you fool. She’s only trying to hatchet!”
and
Tom: “So you’re a college man, are you?”
R.W.: “Yes indeed. I have studied Latin, Greek, geometry and algebra.”
Tom: “All right, if you’re so smart, let’s hear you say it’s a fine day in algebra.”16
But prior to assuming their on-stage roles, R.W. and Tom had other tasks to perform – equally important; they were obliged to divide between them the duties of doorman and ticket-taker. Emma Wells was also remarkable in her own right. She would soon gain nation-wide fame for her four-voiced vocalisms, which entailed singing in rapid succession, soprano, alto, tenor and bass. As well, she was an accomplished pianist and dancer.
The American logging and mining towns of the 1880s and 1890s would prove to be a financial boon to those adventurous stock companies. Not only did they endure verbal abuse, but more often than not risked personal injury at the hands of whiskey-soaked roughnecks who prided themselves on their ability to disrupt an evening’s performance at the “drop of a hat.” It was a rare occasion indeed, when R.W. and Tom were not called upon to forcibly eject at least one boisterous member of the audience for his unsolicited “stage participation.” In essence, this nightly ritual amounted to “theatrical warfare.” Theirs was a never-ending crusade to ensure peace and quiet, and their subsequent success in maintaining law and order earned them enormous respect.
Their highly efficient method of ejection was technically known as “going over the footlights.” The skill acquired by these two Lanark County farmboys made it a simple process, requiring only a few minutes of a man’s time. Whenever it became apparent that a spectator was a chronic interrupter, one or both of the brothers, accompanied by as many members of the company as was deemed necessary to handle the situation, would leap into the house and whisk the miscreant into the street. With matters well in hand the performance would continue, confident that no further interruptions would be forthcoming that night. Many evening’s while R.W. and Tom were busy with their extra curricular activities, the remaining cast members would continue the production, awaiting the return of the “battling duo.” Upon completion of their task, the two would leap back on stage and resume where they had left off, as if nothing had happened.
Some years later, Tom would say that the Pennsylvania mining towns, Mississippi settlements and the raw Montana communities offered the biggest challenge.17 Whenever the company played these hostile territories, R.W. and Tom literally fought their way through each performance. Yet, this necessary, but regrettable, activity quickly endeared them to the more sedate patrons, who endowed upon them the nickname, “the strongman and the wildcat.” These Lanark County natives were credited at the time, so the literature suggests, with changing the whole complexion of show business in these areas. The rowdy element accounted for a very small percentage of the total population, but its consistent trouble-making had kept respectable citizens away from the theatres. The peace-loving segment of society had no intention of paying for an evening’s entertainment only to become embroiled in a near riot.
“The strongman and the wildcat” squelched these disturbances without mercy, and their reputations were well known all over the continent to both showmen and ruffian alike. During these “blood and thunder” days, they forged their pugilistic reputations in stone and sinew, as more than one aching and bruised heckler would attest after he found himself tossed out on his ear, accompanied by a roar of approval from the remaining patrons.
Although most incidents lasted only a matter of minutes, if that, there was one occasion, when this was not the case. The setting was in one of those crude and inhospitable Pennsylvania mining towns that had been incorporated on the 1893-94 circuit. The hall in which the Emma Wells Concert Company was to give a performance was situated on the second floor of what can best be described as a rudimentary town hall. Just moments before the opening curtain, a handful of vociferous miners clamoured up the stairs where they were met by R.W. and Tom, engaged in their secondary occupation of selling and collecting tickets. The miners, revelling in their alcoholic euphoria, made it quite clear they were not about to pay admission to a hall which they claimed to have rented for the evening. It soon became apparent that no amount of pacification on the part of the Marks brothers was going to prevent the confrontation that both parties knew was imminent.
Threats and intimidation were no strangers to these showmen who simply delivered an ultimatum – pay the going rate of admission or leave the premises; the latter option would be accomplished by force if necessary. Preferring to drive home their point with actions rather than words, these “hewers of stone” opted to stand and fight. So, with their usual aplomb, R.W. and Tom went to work and, in doing so, gave an admirable account of themselves by routing the would-be gatecrashers and inflicting upon them grievous injuries. Sore and bloodied, the miners, eager to pacify their bruised and battered egos found solace in the contents of a nearby slag heap. After arming themselves with a quantity of rocks, they returned to the hall determined to seek revenge on the thespians.
During the final act of “The Two Orphans,” the house suddenly erupted in chaos as a barrage of stones and vindictives invaded the solemnity of the “inner sanctum.” Broken glass flew in every direction as frightened spectators dove for cover. The barrage continued throughout the night, pausing only long enough to allow the patrons to go home; but under no circumstances were any cast members allowed to leave. The siege finally came to an end at daybreak when the beleaguered miners cooled their enthusiasm for revenge. One by one they discarded their ammunition and dispersed without any apparent satisfaction, having caused the company nothing more than a slight inconvenience and the loss of a few hours sleep.
Thomas and Margaret (Farrell) Marks, parents of the seven Marks brothers, as shown in an 1895 family photo. Perth Museum Collection.
CHAPTER 2 ESTABLISHING ROOTS IN LANARK COUNTY
In order to more fully appreciate the phenomenal success attained by the Marks Brothers, it is necessary to describe in some detail their humble beginnings, commencing with a brief history of their ancestry and rural upbringing in Lanark County.
Prior to the first invasion of the Lanark
