Review of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz

This opening night review of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz was published April 1, 1913, in the Los Angeles Evening Herald. The "Maud" that Mr. Price, the reviewer, refers to at one point was the animal star of the then-popular comic strip And Her Name was Maud by Frederick Burr Opper.

TIK TOK [sic] SHOULD RUN LONG TIME

New Musical Play Sparkles in Gorgeous Beauty

By Guy Price 

Dolly Castles and Charles Ruggles.

Oliver Morosco’s $40,000 “Tik Tok [sic] Man of Oz” was exposed to public scrutiny at the Majestic last night. And if the approval of a first night audience counts for anything, and theatrical history tells us it does, the local manager stands a good chance to make a big fortune with this first musical comedy venture.

The Majestic was packed long before the performance began, the demand for seats being greater than the supply, resulting in hundreds being turned away. The audience not only was large and enthusiastic, but probably was the most fashionable that ever has turned out to witness the premiere of a play here. It was a beautiful foreground for the biggest event to occupy the local stage in its period of remarkable advancement. And Los Angeles should be proud.

The play, as all undoubtedly know by now, is a musical fantasy by L. Frank Baum and Louis Gottschalk. Mr. Baum wrote the book and lyrics and Mr. Gottschalk the music. The story is a continuation of the author’s famous Oz books and, although resembling in many ways “The Wizard of Oz,” it is built on entirely different lines. All the scenes are laid in fairyland and the theme as worked out is a tale of wondrous charm and beauty.

But the piece needs a lot of fixing before it will be ready for Chicago or New York, or even San Francisco. In its present embryonic form it lacks the polish and glitter that come only after the process of weeding is gone through. The comedy lines need strengthening—very few of them got over effectively last night—and Mr. Baum can greatly improve upon his book by exterminating several sections that impede rather than accelerate the action of the play. The physical and mental strain to which the players have been subjected in the past week, with rehearsals morning, noon and night, can be blamed for the lack of ginger on the part of some of the principals. Their spirits seemed to lag and at times the spirits of those sitting out in front suffered likewise; anyway, that is the way I felt. The players were trained to so fine an edge that they became “stale,” but it is to be hoped—and there is no doubt it will be done—that another rehearsal or two will eliminate the soggy defects.

The word “perfect” describes the music to an absolute nicety and Mr. Gottschalk’s direction of the orchestra proves him an artist of no uncommon ability. Here and there one discovers a familiar chord, but for the most part it is new, sparkling and melodious. The song numbers, written by Mr. Baum and set to tinkling music by Mr. Gottschalk, are the kind that send you away happy and whistling.

With due respect for the work of both author and composer, the feature of the play that attracts most is the scenic and electric effects. These never have been approached in this city before. Each scene is a picture of exquisite beauty and the color schemes are so entrancing to be beyond all description. The costumes are brilliant and delicious to the eye.

The best acting, in my opinion, is done by the mule, named Hank, played by Fred Woodward. He is working at top speed all of the time, and on no occasion does he overdue [sic] the part. Mr. Woodward came to us heralded as a wonderful portrayer of animal characters, but I will go even farther and pronounce him the “best mule in captivity,” not excepting his near kin, Maud, of funny section fame.

Speaking of Hank, naturally brings to mind Miss Lenora Novasio, who appears as Betsy, the girl from Oklahoma, who with her mule playmate is shipwrecked and rescued from a raft. Miss Novasio is, in my opinion, the real bright spot of the play. She is full of life and she rescues the performance from an almost comatose state. She sings two or three rollicking songs and, though not blessed with a strong voice, does exceedingly well. The only fault that could be found with her entire performance is the plainness of her costumes. A few more frills, I believe, would add to her attractiveness.

Morton and Moore, impersonating Tik Tok [sic] and Shaggy Man respectively, are the pricipal [sic] comedians and, of course, they are good. The former is a clever dancer, fair singer and speaks his lines so that he can be heard by those in the rear of the theater. His agility is extraordinary and his make-up and facial expressions are as funny as they are grotesque. Moore has greater opportunity for comedy and he makes the most of it. Both are clever and should be better with a few more rehearsals.

Eugene Cowles handles the role of the Metal King in his usual perfect style and in several songs further proves his ability as a basso of power and wide range. Dolly Castles is demurely sweet as Polychrome. In her duet with Charles Ruggles she is especially pleasing. Mr. Ruggles, cast as Private Files, plays his small part well. Miss Josie Intropidi gives an ingenious character portrayal of Queen Anne, [sic] while Mlle. Vera Doria sings beautifully as Princess Ozma.

The most skillful dancing seen here in some time, with the possible exception of Genee, is executed by Burns and Fulton. The dance is entitled “The Whirlwind,” and it certainly is true to its name. Their performance is lightning fast and one to marvel at.

“The Tik Tok [sic] Man of Oz” after a little repairing should make Chicago and New York jump up and gaze on in amazement, but one thing is certain—if play, music and everything else fail to impress, that chorus of beauties, some thirty girls strong, well-figured and as sprightly as birds in the light of a new morning’s sun, will command attention. A bigger, better galaxy of maidens never lent charm to a stage production. And they are mostly California product, too.

Manager Morosco, Author Baum, Composer Gottschalk, Director Frank Stammers and Artist Robert Brunton were called before the curtain between the first and second acts. The author and manager made short speeches in which they thanked the audience for their appreciation and expressions of good will.

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved. 

Opening Night Review of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz

Exactly one hundred and thirteen years ago today, the Los Angeles, California, Daily Tribune published the following review of the premier performance of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz:

RARE BEAUTIES OF “TIK TOK MAN OF OZ” [sic] ARE REVEALED

Most Magnificent Extravaganza Ever Seen Here; Broadway, N. Y., Show, Predicted

By J. Rex James

Oliver Morosco made good his promise to give Los Angeles the most magnificent production of an extravaganza ever seen here when last night at the Majestic theater the beauties of the “Tik Tok Man of Oz” [sic] were revealed for the first time to public view.

The production was found to answer even to the word “mammoth.” In lavish use of costly costumery, gorgeous lights and brilliant products of the scene painter’s art, no production has ever been offered here that in any wise approaches it.

In “The Tik Tok Man of Oz” [sic] we have a Broadway production in the commonly accepted sense of the term, only we have reversed the Broadways and the meaning still holds good.

I do not see why New York should not advertise this piece next fall “as originally produced by Oliver Morosco in the Majestic theater, Broadway, Los Angeles,” to give tone to the press matter. But whether this is done or not, “The Tik Tok Man of Oz” [sic] ought to delight that other Broadway as much as it pleased the first night audience at the Majestic.

Fairy Story Told

Frank Baum took three incidents in his fairyland stories of Oz and wove them together to make “The Tik Tok Man” [sic]; Louis Gottschalk set the piece in ticking with music that radiates vivacity and puckers the lips into a whistle; Frank Stammers came out from New York and stage directed the production, transforming a nondescript army of young women and men into a chorus of beings artistic; and Robert Brunton, scenic artist at Morosco’s Burbank theater, looked the Baum book over and turned out a series of magnificent and lavishly-painted settings.

These big five have produced a spectacle of Hippodrome proportions. Forty thousand dollars is the sum represented in their product—a $40,000 gamble on the vagaries of the public taste.

“The Tik Tok Man” [sic] is purely an extravaganza with its scenes laid as in Baum’s earlier work, “The Wizard of Oz,” on the mythical island of Oz.

Adrift on Island

Betsy and her mule, Hank, are the only persons from the outside world on the island and they are thrown adrift there during a storm. True, the Shaggy Man comes apparently from nowhere, explaining his presence in the hothouse of the rose kingdom by saying that he fell a great distance from an apple tree, whereupon Shaggy and the rose girls sing a song about an apple being the cause of it all. But Shaggy is in search of a long lost brother, the Ugly Man, hence he must be a native of the place.

The adventures of Betsy and Hank and the Shaggy Man, who discover the Tik Tok [sic] Man at the bottom of a well and haul him out, and the Tik Tok [sic] Man, who is wound up, form the plot of the story. And though the story is entertainingly told, one is willingly diverted by the beauty and brilliancy of the scenes, the piquant charm of the music, the comeliness of the sprightly costumed chorus, the catchy song numbers and the impressive military marches.

Realistic Storm

A storm at sea serves as the prologue to introduce Betsy and Hank. This storm is realistic enough to cause seasickness, but the ship sinks hurriedly and Betsy and Hank row triumphantly across the stage to the shore of the Rose Kingdom of Oz, a land without a ruler. A lot of roses are budding here and the old gardener explains that as soon as the roses grow a little larger one is to be picked as the ruler of the kingdom, and that it must be a man. After the arrival of the Shaggy Man so unceremoniously from his apple tree, Betsy makes so bold as to pick a rose. The fair flower is the Princess Ozma, but the other roses refuse to accept her as princess and all are driven from the garden.

Rainbow Shown

This only carries one to the end of scene one. The next scene shows a cross-roads, a rainbow, with the arrival of Polychrome, who is deserted by her rainbow fairies and left on earth, the arrival of Betsy and her wanderers and the discovery of Tik Tok in the well. One is also introduced to the army of Bugaboo [sic], consisting of Private Files and sixteen officers, commanded by Queen Ann.

The wanderers now have a definite destination in view—the land of the Metal Monarch, for it is he who has imprisoned the Shaggy Man’s brother and it was he who threw Tik Tok [sic] in the well. A group of chorus girls costumed as field flowers show them the way. The Metal Monarch is conquered by the magnet of love carried by the Shaggy Man, the Ugly Man is released and, though difficulty is threatened, all ends well, with the return of Polychrome to the rainbow.

Seven scenes and two acts are required to tell the story.

Author Baum has without doubt permitted his love of the artistic scene to intrude on his sense of comedy, for, though there are many clever situations in the piece, it is lacking in bright, snappy humor. Considerable old material likewise has been used, such as the magnet of love, but this is so artistically handled as to be excusable. And though it is “The Tik Tok Man of Oz,” [sic] there is nothing explanatory of Oz, so far as I can remember.

The cast is splendid, though I think Morton as Tik Tok [sic] could be much more effective. Moore gets a good deal of comedy out of the Shaggy Man. Dolly Castles is a picture as Polychrome and sings sweetly, but the favorites of last night’s audience were Leonora [sic] Novasio as Betsy and Fred Woodward in the disguise of Hank, the mule.

Mlle. Doria sang the part of Princess Ozma acceptably and Charles Ruggles gave a real characterization to the part of Private Files. Josie Intropodi [sic] did another good piece of character work as Queen Ann. Eugene Cowles use [sic] his magnificent bass voice to advantage as the metal king. Burns and Fulton dance a whirlwind, so named on the program. Morton and Moore, with Miss Castles and Miss Novasion, [sic] introduce some clever burlesque stunts. The army of Bugaboo, [sic] well trained both as to voice and step, had more ginger than some of the principals. But all in all, it went off well for a first performance and it should be a big winner.

Manager Morosco, Author Baum, Composer Gottschalk and Frank Stammers were called on last night and made brief responses.

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Baum the Jokester

On April 4, 1913, the pseudonymous reporter "Zip," in a regular dramatic column for the Los Angeles (California) Times, related an amusing anecdote involving L. Frank Baum, which occurred shortly before Baum's new musical The Tik-Tok Man of Oz premiered in Los Angeles:

I heard a good one pulled in the Majestic lobby the other night. Somebody, I can’t tell who it was, asked Frank Baum what he was going to do if someone should stand up in the audience at the first performance and shout, “Baum, Baum, Baum.”

To which the author laughingly replied that he hoped such an event would not occur, for the reason that someone might think the kindly-inclined individual was shouting “Bum, Bum, Bum.”

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved. 

Tik-Tok Man review from Kansas City

On September 29, 1913, this review of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz appeared in the Kansas City (Missouri) Times:

A NEW “OZ” EXTRAVAGANZA

“THE TIK-TOK MAN” AT THE SHUBERT A BIG SPECTACLE

“The Tik-Tok Man of Oz” at the Shubert Theater this week is the result of an effort to repeat the success of “The Wizard of Oz.” The latter extravaganza was written by L. Frank Baum, librettist, and Paul Tietjens, composer. In the new play Mr. Baum has had the assistance of Louis F. Gottschalk. These writers risked the danger of close imitation, with the result of some rather tame variations in lieu of original devices. The similarity marks the whole costly production, to such an extent, indeed, that the question arises as to whether a plain sequel to the original work might not have been more acceptable. For it is almost an axiom in the “show business” that imitations in characters and plot must be better than the originals if they are to win.

But at that “The Tik-Tok Man” probably is a better entertainment than was “The Wizard of Oz” when that play was first presented in this city. It was following that presentation that the last act was replaced with an enirely [sic] new section, the cast of principals strengthened and the chorus augmented for the New York engagement.

The new spectacle is introduced with a storm at sea instead of a Kansas tornado, and out of wreckage comes a girl from Oklahoma instead of Kansas. And if you have seen the first “Oz” play you can pretty nearly guess the adventures of the various characters, including the stranded girl’s donkey, the clock man, the shaggy man, a princess or two, a queen and a fierce monarch of the metal kingdom. The successive scenes are on big spectacular lines and the principal ones are exceedingly beautiful.

The real delight in this extravaganza is Miss Charlotte Greenwood, who is a whole “awkward squad” in herself, with the amusing tricks and bantering familiarity that made her success in vaudeville and later in the Winter Garden production. And next in merriment is Fred Woodward, who acts the pet mule, about the most expressive “animal” extravaganza has yet produced. Frank F. Moore as the Shaggy Man and James C. Morton as the Tik-Tok chap (the Scarecrow and Tin Man of the first play) work hard and score sometimes; but they are not sure hits.

There are two really good singers in the company—John Dunsmure, a basso of fine accomplishments and interesting career, who acts the Metal King, and Miss Dolly Castles, the Rainbow Girl. Miss Lenora Novasio, as the girl from Oklahoma, is an interesting little waif. Miss Gipsy Dale is an attractive princess.

There is not much that is distinctive about the music, although there are several very pretty numbers. The best of Mr. Gottschalk’s work is in the instrumentation.

Austin Latchaw.

Copyright © 2026 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Joe Whitehead's Joke

Joe Whitehead in 1913

Joe Whitehead played the role of Tik-Tok in The Tik-Tok Man of Oz for a week in June 1913. For the 1907 Anniversary issue of the theatrical magazine Variety, Whitehead wrote a verse about the challenges of being an actor. The meter scans less than perfectly and the use of commas is liberal, to say the least, but the view of the acting business of the time is valuable, if you can parse the theatrical jargon.

The Tale of a Joke

by Joe Whitehead

Originally published in Variety (New York, NY), December 14, 1907

In the lobby of the Sherman House
In the town they call Chicago,
A critic and an agent stood,
Frank Wiesberg and Bob Fargo.
I butted in between the two,
I did the merry sneak,
They talked about Variety,
And the big page Anniversary week.
I saw that was no place for me,
I turned to duck away,
When a voice called, halt, Sir Joseph,
Have you anything to say?
I said I didn’t have a word,
I told the truth, for a wonder,
But Wiesberg said, tell me a joke,
To put in our Anniversary number.
Well, I started in to tell said joke,
I told most all I knew,
’Twas the ups and downs of show life,
And most of it was true.
I started with the Friday nights,
(That’s where most of us begin),
We get lemons there right off the reel,
And watches made of tin.
Or say we join a circus,
For “ten-a-week and cakes,”
We’ll even carry the center pole,
Or get busy driving stakes.
We get a job in the concert,
We sing and dance and play.
Gee, pal, we’re regular actors now,
And me for the “Big White Way.”
I wrote to a guy to book the act,
In vaudeville, what do you say?
I got an answer, here it is,
Can give you “three-a-day.”
I took it and was happy,
In a month saved ninety cents,
Gee, I ain’t as happy now,
As I was beneath the tents.
And speaking about your dressing rooms,
Really, say young feller,
Some big smoke got in my dressing room,
For me, poor hick, the cellar.
I registered at a hotel once,
The clerk said, Booth, skidoo,
Or you can hang out in the garret,
It’s good enough for you.
I took the room, it was a shine.
The meals they were the same,
The letters on the door spelled “dining room,”
But H–l, what’s in a name?
Now all this junk was strange to me,
With the tents all were alike,
If we didn’t like our cook tent there,
We could all get out and hike.
And speaking about expenses,
When down to the depot we’d go,
We had the same cry every week,
“How much is the excess, Bo?”
Then we used to send our photos,
In advance, nice and clean to a day,
When the week was up, we got them back,
One look, then threw ’em away.
Gee, this business is something awful,
To get what one don’t deserve,
I think I’ll do like someone else,
And collect things on my nerve.
Now our act was the hit of the bill
At the morgue and at Pike’s Peak,
And here I gets a letter,
Laying me off on Christmas week.
Well, I ain’t going to cry, old pal,
I’ve got my health, that’s all,
And I’d better get ready for that third one,
Before I get a call.
Yes, there’s trouble in every business,
Just to keep the old scout from our doors,
So don’t say I wrote this,
I can’t stand the applause.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Men Behind Tik-Tok

 

These photographs from the Los Angeles Daily Tribune of April 1, 1913, show the principal creators of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, the hit stage musical that opened production at the Majestic Theater in Los Angeles, California, the previous evening. Left to right, they are:

Oliver Morosco, producer

L. Frank Baum, author of the libretto and lyrics

Louis F. Gottschalk, composer

Frank M. Stammers, director

Robert A. Brunton, scenic designer

The $40,000 they appear in is the amount The Tik-Tok Man of Oz cost to produce.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Gottschalk Discovers Tik-Tok

Louis F. Gottschalk, circa 1913

When I wrote the book All Wound Up, my history of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz stage musical, I relied on composer Louis F. Gottschalk’s version of how he became connected with the show. In an article published June 8, 1913, in the Chicago Examiner, Gottschalk told the story of how he discovered the script:

I had gone out to Los Angeles in June of last year to take a rest and see my old friends in the home town. Mr. Baum (the author of the book) makes his home in Los Angeles every winter and at this time was in Syracuse. Some one gave me his book of Tik-Tok and I became enthusiastic over its possibilities as the background for a musical setting. So I wrote him at Syracuse. The letter followed him all over the country and finally reached him at Los Angeles two months after I had mailed it. In the meantime I had gone back to New York. Mr. Baum addressed a letter to me at the Lambs Club, but I had gone when it reached there. His letter chased me about a month and finally reached me in Los Angeles. Then we were both together and we began holding conferences. This was last October.

Early in November we made our arrangements with Mr. Morosco for a production of the play and I began my work on the score last December.

After All Wound Up was published, I found a different version of Gottschalk’s encounter with the script of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz. An article from the Los Angeles Sunday Tribune on March 23, 1913, a week before the production opened in Los Angeles, provides alternate details:

Gottschalk came out here from New York about three months ago to take a vacation. He drifted into Manager Morosco’s office one day and was handed a manuscript to read.

The book looked good to him; he saw big possibilities in it, and he told Mr. Morosco he would like to write the music for the piece.

The script was of Frank Baum’s The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, and before Gottschalk left the office a tentative contract had been signed and he carried the script away with him, prepared to begin work.

Already he had had an inspiration for the “Tik-Tok Man” song, which is one of the principal numbers, and he wrote that as easily as the spring poet dashes off his verses.

Then he set to work in earnest, and in six weeks he had written practically all the music for an extravaganza that contains nineteen song numbers, in addition to the prelude and the orchestral accompaniment of the story from first to last.

Both versions contain inaccuracies. For instance, the first version claims that Baum spent only winters in California. But Baum lived permanently in the Hollywood neighborhood of Los Angeles. Gottschalk says that Baum was at that time in Syracuse, New York. He was actually visiting Chicago, not Syracuse. The second version’s inaccuracies include the claim that Gottschalk arrived in Los Angeles three months previously, which would have been about December 1912. This compresses the timeline. Actually Gottschalk had permanently moved back to Los Angeles months earlier—by the end of summer 1912.

The second version brings Los Angeles theatrical producer Oliver Morosco into the history of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz much earlier than any other version I’ve found. It claims that Gottschalk encountered Baum’s script in Morosco’s office.

This claim is by no means unlikely. I made room for the possibility in All Wound Up. When I reported that Gottschalk might have read the script Baum submitted to producer Pop Fischer, I posited the alternative that Gottschalk encountered the script “in a pile of scripts submitted to another Los Angeles theatrical producer.” Morosco could easily have been that producer. I expect, knowing Baum’s ambitions for The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, he attempted to raise the interest of every legitimate producer he could find.

The second version claims Gottschalk signed a “tentative” contract with Morosco’s office on the day he encountered the script. Is this likely? Unless Morosco had the rights to assign Gottschalk to the script, this seems premature. Does the word “tentative” indicate that if Morosco and Baum didn’t sign a contract, then the agreement between Morosco and Gottschalk would be void? Possibly. Such a speculative arrangement seems odd for Gottschalk, one of Broadway’s most acclaimed musical directors. But Gottschalk hadn’t worked professionally in Los Angeles since 1897, so maybe he was willing to take this chance while beginning a new facet of his career.

The first version, specific in its timeline, sets the arrangement with Morosco in November 1912. That date agrees with the November 6 date of Baum and Morosco’s contract for The Tik-Tok Man of Oz.

However, Gottschalk wasn’t a party to that contract, which specifies that Morosco “will commission and employ Louis F. Gottschalk to compose and orchestrate an appropriate Musical score for the lyrics and incidental requirements of said play.” That means that Morosco and Gottschalk had a separate agreement. Is that the “tentative” agreement they reportedly arranged months before? Or did Morosco and Gottschalk sign their contract in November, too?

The two versions seem to disagree about when Gottschalk composed the show’s music. In the first version, Gottschalk explains that he began composing in December 1912. The second version implies that Gottschalk completed the music during the six weeks after he encountered the script.  Neither version seems entirely accurate. I doubt that Gottschalk composed nothing for the show until December 1912. Two months earlier, in October, Baum and Gottschalk together approached Morosco with a formal proposal for the production of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz. Gottschalk would have played some sort of music for Morosco, even if that music was in a preliminary form. But I also doubt that Gottschalk composed all the show’s music within six weeks of encountering the script and with only a “tentative” contract.

Does the second version compress the timeline concerning when Gottschalk composed the score? It says, “Then he set to work in earnest, and in six weeks he had written practically all the music.” Perhaps the unspecific word “then” means December 1912, rather than the apparent implication of months earlier. If so, on that point, the second version agrees with the first.

In the end, some discrepancies between the two versions can be reconciled, while others can’t. I’m glad that All Wound Up seems accurate as far as it goes,* but I’m frustrated to realize we’ll probably never know the exact story. Anyone got a functional time machine handy?

*Except for claiming the Baums visited Syracuse rather than Chicago, which I addressed here.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Temperamental L. Frank Baum

L. Frank Baum, playwright

As a playwright, L. Frank Baum seemed to have little patience with editorial interference. When a script doctor revised Baum’s script of the stage version of The Wizard of Oz in 1902, Baum objected strenuously. In 1905, when The Wogglebug was being staged, Baum refused to let anyone else touch his script.

So in 1913, when producer Oliver Morosco wanted to make changes to The Tik-Tok Man of Oz script early in the rehearsal period, he approached Baum carefully. Morosco spoke softly and flatteringly before suggesting the possibility of condensing Act Two.

To anyone aware of Baum’s past displays of temperament, his reply was a surprise: “Oh, you want to cut it,” said Baum. . . . “Well, then, go as far as you like.”

Oliver Morosco, producer

This may have been when the part of the Ugly Man was cut down, turning it into a minor role. Charles Ruggles, originally cast as the Ugly Man, was shifted to the role of Private Files.

Of course, following opening night, The Tik-Tok Man of Oz changed even more. Baum seems to have been content for several months to work with Morosco, tightening and sprucing up the script while the production ran in Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Chicago. Serious conflict seems to have arisen only toward the end of the 1913 summer season, when it grew evident that the show would not open the regular theatre season on Broadway and Baum relinquished creative control over the script.

For a complete history of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, see the book All Wound Up, available here.

 

Notes

J. Rex James, “Morosco’s Invasion of New York Announced; Edison’s Kinetophone Replaces Bernhardt,” Daily Tribune (Los Angeles, CA), 15 March 1913, 13, 16; “Objects to Changes,” Syracuse (NY) Daily Journal, 3 June 1902, 6; O. L. Colburn, “Telegraphic News; Chicago,” New York (NY) Dramatic Mirror, 22 July 1905, 12; “Heard Back of the Curtains,” Los Angeles (CA) Daily Tribune, 20 March 1913, 15; “Behind the Scenes by the Genial Grouch,” Los Angeles (CA) Express, 5 May 1913, 10; Memorandum of Agreement among Oliver Morosco, L. Frank Baum, and Louis Gottschalk, Los Angeles, CA, 9 September 1913.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Reviewed by The Baum Bugle

Reviewer Atticus Gannaway recently had nice things to say about All Wound Up in the Winter 2024 issue of The Baum Bugle, the journal of The International Wizard of Oz Club. Gannaway's discussion of various aspects of the book makes a review of some length--which makes sense, since the book's long, too--but the following choice bits summarize the reviewer's overall opinion:

All Wound Up is the indispensable Oz reference work we didn’t know we needed. . . . Shanower has now plumbed the depths of this musical’s history with the same remarkable thoroughness and tenacity he brings to all his projects. . . . The biggest surprise of All Wound Up was the perspective I gained on the significance of [The] Tik-Tok Man [of Oz], in terms of both Baum’s career and how it affected him personally. . . . Shanower is to be commended for both the yeoman’s work involved in such deep research and his careful analysis of his findings.

I appreciate Gannaway's considered opinion, since I respect the Oz and Baum research he's done. In the spirit of full disclosure, I point out that I've known Gannaway for years. He contributed to the Kickstarter campaign that raised money for the 2014 production of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz. Also, I thanked Gannaway in the acknowledgements of All Wound Up, since he contributed several images to the book and helped my research by providing me with access to some Tik-Tok Man of Oz theatrical programs in his collection.

He also roller skates much better than I do.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Meet the Clock Girl Chorus

 

Here's another delightful photograph I turned up after All Wound Up was published. Three members of the Clock Girl Chorus pose to have their photo taken. The publication date of the photo is April 7, 1913, while the show played in Los Angeles, California, at the end of its first week of production.

The Clock Girls supported James Morton as Tik-Tok while he sang the musical number "The Clockwork Man" in Act One of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz. Their costumes were supplied by Orange of New York.

Such a nice clear photo makes identifying these women easier than usual in chorus photos. That sure looks like Willie Mai Smoller on the left, the longest surviving member of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz cast. And I'm pretty certain Gene Ward is on the right. Ward later helped introduce the Woozy toy produced by the Oz Toy Manufacturing Company. Neither Smoller nor Ward were credited during the initial Los Angeles run as members of the Clock Girl Chorus, but here they are. I'm not sure of the central woman's identity, but I'll take a guess and say that's Gladys Munson, who was credited as a Clock Girl.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Work, Lads, Work

 

The Metal Monarch, Ruggedo, played by Eugene Cowles, on right (stage left), commands his Metal Imps in song. Flash, played by Ethel Pierce, stands center. The chorus of Metal Imps hammers at musical anvils all around the stage. The Metal Imp at left front (downstage right) looks like Fay Hartley to me.

This photograph of the Act II opening musical number, "Work, Lads, Work," of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz is unique in showing the original cast in a full stage setting from March 1913 in Los Angeles. I know of no other full stage photographs from this show before July 1913, when the White Studio took photos of the Chicago production. Other full stage photos must have been taken before opening night, but none survives to my knowledge.

Compared with later July 1913 photographs of this scene, (for instance, the upper right photo on page 148 of All Wound Up) the set of the Metal Monarch's underground throne room seems to be the same, though costuming and make-up show some differences.

I was delighted to find this photo recently in the Los Angeles Daily Tribune for April 1, 1913, the day after the show opened.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Vera Doria Poetry

In 1913, singer Vera Doria originated the role of Ozma in L. Frank Baum's stage musical The Tik-Tok Man of Oz. Later, she appeared in motion pictures, often in features starring Constance Talmadge. Doria spent many years in Shanghai, China, before returning to the United States in 1932. She published poetry, some of it in a religious vein.

I've published some of Doria's poems on this blog, here. You can learn more about Doria in All Wound Up, my book about The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, here.

The following poem by Doria, published in the magazine Southern Farmer in 1932 (and reprinted in the Lowndes Signal, Fort Deposit, Alabama, 20 October 1932, p. 5), starts out as if it's another religious one, but the ending may be a surprise. The publication credit lists Doria's married name, Vera Eyton Wavell, though by the time of publication, she was a widow.

FRIEND

Loyal and lovely,
Tenderly blind,
Splendidly selfless,
Willing and kind,
Wistfully eager,
Swift to comply,
Loving and guarding
And ready to die.

Oh, blessed companion,
Oh, friend for all time,
Oh, servitor gracious,
And soul pure and fine!
Supremely I trust you
And render your love,
My true-hearted comrade,
My beautiful dog.

I'd like the poem better if the last line actually rhymed.

Copyright © Eric Shanower 2025. All rights reserved.

New Review on Readers' Favorite

Randy B. Lichtman's five star review of All Wound Up: The Making of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz graces the Readers' Favorite website. Here it is:

Did you know that many years before the Marvel Universe, there was a Universe of Oz, started by author Frank Baum? Baum wrote many Oz books and turned them into films, stage plays, and musicals. In bringing his creations to the early screen and stage, he was the producer/director and sometimes actor who helped create some of the special effects for the works on stage. One of the musicals he wrote was The Tik-Tok Man of Oz which he co-created with American composer and music director, Louis F. Gottschalk in 1913. The musical was later revived by Eric Shanower for a convention of Oz enthusiasts in 2014, after which he wrote All Wound Up—The Making of the Tik-Tok Man of Oz: The Complete Story of the Spectacular Stage Musical.

The book is complete with history, photos, and behind-the-scenes information about the musical, but also provides a brief biography of Frank Baum and a very extensive biography of composer Louis F. Gottschalk. It is extremely well-researched and told in a very entertaining fashion, containing many fun stories including the challenges of the mechanics behind Hank the Mule (and the actor behind it). The book takes you into the era in which Baum lived, the challenges of bringing his piece to the stage, and includes the script of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz (based on two surviving scripts). The author has done a remarkable job of bringing together a thorough history of the original production and the challenges of producing a revival today. If you enjoy reading behind-the-scenes production books and/or are a Wizard of Oz enthusiast, All Wound Up—The Making of the Tik-Tok Man of Oz by Eric Shanower is an enjoyable read.

Sounds super, doesn't it? If you want your own copy of All Wound Up, click here for the link.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Hank Skips Out

Hank the Mule proved to be one of the biggest attractions of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz. Well-known Canadian animal impersonator Fred Woodward (real name: Frederick James Warrington, Jr.), clothed in the furs of the celebrated mule, loved to make children in the audience laugh with joy. But offstage, Fred’s relationships with his own children lacked such benevolence.

His first known child presents a sad example. After nearly five and a half years of marriage, Fred's first wife Emily divorced him on February 5, 1906. About time—Fred had deserted Emily for the New York stage nearly three years previously. A primary reason for Fred’s desertion, Emily said, was that “he got another girl in trouble and had to get away in a hurry, I guess.”

Who was that other girl? Emily Warrington claimed the girl lived on Third Street in Detroit, Michigan. I haven’t found any other clues to her identity. But in birth records from Wayne County, Michigan, I found a possible trace of the child she bore. Is this Fred’s first offspring?

Birth record in question. Click to enlarge.

On April 4, 1902, a child with the surname of Warrington was born in Detriot. The surname of the parents, both Canadian, is also Warrington, suggesting that the mother was Fred’s first wife Emily. But Emily was pregnant at the time of this birth, so I strongly doubt this child is hers.

The child’s gender and skin color are unrecorded. Also unrecorded is the possibility that it was “illegitimate.” Other births recorded on the same page bear the notation “Ill” (illegitimate), but not this birth. If this child’s mother hid her own real name, she likely would have withheld the child's illegitimate status.

Did the child survive? Nearly five months later, Fred's wife Emily gave birth to his second child, a daughter Ethel, but weeks after being born, Ethel died of starvation. Could Fred's first child have died quickly, too? Or did it grow up to have offspring of its own? Does Hank the Mule have unidentified descendants living today?

Read all about Fred Woodward's life, career, and his problematic relationships with his other children in All Wound Up: The Making of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz. Here's the link to buy a copy.

 

Notes

Hector Alliot, “For Children’s Joy; Gentle Art of Beast Portrayal,” Los Angeles (CA) Times, 8 April 1913, III 1. “Canada, Ontario, Marriages, 1869-1927,” FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:KZBC-F51 : Sun Mar 10 23:39:53 UTC 2024), Entry for Fred J Warrington and Fred Warrington, 23 Oct 1900. “Likes Tin Woodman,” Detroit (MI) Free Press, 6 February 1906, 10. "Wayne, Michigan, United States records," images, FamilySearch (https://www.familysearch.org/ark:/61903/3:1:S3HT-6QYS-GS?view=index : Jan 10, 2025), image 73 of 432; Michigan. Department of Vital Records; Film Number/Image Group Number: 004208780.

Copyright © 2025 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

You Big Fat Slob

Lenore Peters and Hazel Davis perform "Cricket Dance," 1915.

Last month I discussed Lenore Peters, chorus girl with The Tik-Tok Man of Oz in 1913-14. Lenore Peters was good friends with Hazel Davis, also a chorus girl in The Tik-Tok Man of Oz. They auditioned for the show together, joined the chorus together, and traveled North America with the show until Davis left The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, as Peters explains in her autobiography, Looking Back While Surging Forward:

“One of the girls in the show, Hazel Davis, left us in Chicago to spend some time in New York with her Aunt Lutie. While there, she took lessons from a highly recommended ballet teacher named Madame Zain. Everybody ‘took’ from Mme. Zain. When Hazel came home to San Francisco she regaled us with imitations of her teacher.

“The first day, she said, while trying hard to please at the barre, the teacher remarked aloud to the pianist, ‘She ain’t no backbender, Miss Steiner.’ When coaching Hazel in a dance accompanied by a beat and a song, she would say—you won’t believe this—‘One, two, bend your knees, you big fat slob.’ . . . And after performing in a series of difficult steps ending with an elaborate gesture, she’d say, ‘You ask for applause.’ Then with a different gesture, ‘You don’t get it.’ . . . Quite a character, no?”

Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

A Melody Played in a Penny Arcade

I recently re-watched the motion picture Paper Moon. Such an excellent movie. Director Peter Bogdanovich tells the story with admirable confidence and restraint. The acting of both Tatum O'Neal and Ryan O'Neal in the leading roles is superb.

What's Paper Moon got to do with The Tik-Tok Man of Oz?

Toward the end of the movie, when Tatum O'Neal's character, Addie, has at long last reached her aunt's house, clearly visible on the piano in the aunt's parlor is a copy of the sheet music of "Forgotten," a song which basso Eugene Cowles as Ruggedo the Metal Monarch interpolated into The Tik-Tok Man of Oz on opening night.

I've noticed the appearance of "Forgotten," by Flora Wulschner and Eugene Cowles, in Paper Moon before, and I associate it strongly with the end of the movie. Seeing the movie again prompted me to post about it.

The "Forgotten" sheet music visible in two Paper Moon camera shots is the standard cover seen here. Notice it first in the background when the camera enters Addie's aunt's house. And it's prominent enough during the moment Addie faces her final big decision, that the title and Eugene Cowles's name are perfectly legible.

A lot of period music can be heard in Paper Moon. But not "Forgotten." It's inappropriate, since it dates from about three decades before the time of the story. However, as an old piece of sheet music, it's appropriate for the setting of the aunt's home. And most importantly, as foreshadowing of a possible future for Addie's relationship with Ryan O'Neal's character Moze, it's spot on.

Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

More About Costumes for The Tik-Tok Man of Oz

In the book All Wound Up, I mentioned that the costumes for The Tik-Tok Man of Oz were supplied by Goldstein & Company of San Francisco. I didn’t discuss the creation of the costumes in detail, because I didn’t have much detail about them. But since the publication of the book, I’ve run across more information.

All the costumes for the initial Los Angeles production of the show were first designed in New York. Names of the designers are unknown, except for Edward Siedle, who designed and constructed the Hank the Mule costume. Possibly Siedle or others in his studio at the Metropolitan Opera designed other Tik-Tok Man of Oz costumes. Maybe his wife, Caroline Siedle, one of the preeminent Broadway costume designers, had a hand in the Tik-Tok Man designs, but if so, I’d expect her name would have been trumpeted in publicity. Since the actual designers of most of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz costumes aren't recorded, I suspect they weren't designers of particular note.

The designs were next sent to Los Angeles for approval by Oliver Morosco and L. Frank Baum. Approved designs went to San Francisco, where Goldstein & Company constructed the costumes based on the designs.

L. Frank Baum traveled from Los Angeles to San Francisco on February 7, 1913, to check the progress of the costumes at Goldstein & Company. Baum likely returned to Los Angeles before The Tik-Tok Man of Oz rehearsals began on February 17. Finished costumes were delivered by March 25, possibly well before that date.

In 1912, Goldstein & Company opened up a branch in Los Angeles to supply costumes to movie studios. I’d previously suspected that the Los Angeles branch also supplied costumes for The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. I wish I'd refrained from mentioning my suspicion in All Wound Up.

Notes

Hector Alliot, “Mendelssohn’s Scotch Motif,” Los Angeles (CA) Daily Times, 8 February 1913, II 7; “Not Down on the Program,” Los Angeles (CA) Examiner, 26 March 1913; Anthony Slide, editor, Robert Goldstein and the Spirit of ’76 (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 1993).

Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower, All rights reserved.

Hanging Munchkins All Around

L. Frank Baum

I complain both privately (pretty often) and publicly (on occasion) about published books and articles that present fallacious information about L. Frank Baum and his Oz projects. The myths presented as fact about Baum and Oz seem never to end.

What is it about Oz and its creator that for more than six decades has prompted people to publish information purported to be truth about Oz and Baum, but which is just plain wrong? Books and articles about Oz and Baum—both in print and online—appear with alarming regularity, spreading their shoddy gospel of half-truths, mistakes, confusions, misleading statements, and outright lies cloaked in the guise of reliability.

Inaccuracies about Baum can sometimes be traced to his first major biography, To Please a Child, by Russell P. MacFall and Frank Joslyn Baum. That book overflows with fanciful stories of the elder Baum’s life, stories that demonstrably did not occur in the manner the book claims—or didn’t occur at all. Oz fandom has known for decades that info spouted by To Please a Child requires independent confirmation. Researchers, scholars, and writers who’ve been part of Oz fandom—or at least in contact with it—should know better than to rely on To Please a Child. Too often, it seems, they don’t.

But it’s not just To Please a Child. Blind spots from plenty of other shoddy research and inept presentations infect Oz fandom. They seem to be ineradicable. They’re regurgitated endlessly. I know. I’ve been in contact with Oz fandom since I was a child, imbibing the fallacies, the half-truths, the false narratives since before I had tools to recognize them for what they were. I’ve needed to work hard to remove blind spots from my own views of Oz and Baum. I may have more work to do.

Then there are those who publish about Oz and Baum from outside Oz fandom. One well-meaning and widely-published author of books about Abraham Lincoln, Hillary Clinton, and the Beatles, as well as one about L. Frank Baum, conscientiously gathered at least three supporting citations for each purportedly factual statement in her manuscripts. Should be a solid technique, right? Unfortunately, no. Not for L. Frank Baum. Since at least the mid-1950s, so much error about Baum has been published that finding three sources to support an erroneous statement is easy. When one writes about Baum, pitfalls loom in every direction. This writer fell in, but she was far from alone. She had plenty of company down at the bottom of the pit.

The books and articles keep coming. Error upon error, the misinformation marches on and is added to regularly by people who should know better.  The type of errors I’m thinking of trouble me more than Littlefield’s “Parable on Populism” and (despite this post’s title) the Hanging Munchkin—laughable, easily punctured, and comparatively recent trifles to bamboozle the ignorant. I’m complaining about both large, senseless distortions and flatly incorrect details that present themselves as reliable and authoritative information about an author’s life and the creation and continuation of his works.

It’s maddening. (And before anyone brings it up, yes, I recognize the inevitable, only-just-beginning nightmare of generative AI regurgitating this crap forever.)

I complain. But I’m not without sympathy. I’m a writer, too. I know firsthand the difficulty in writing accurately, truthfully, and clearly. Writing something worthwhile is hard work. But we must strive to make what we publish worthwhile.

While I wrote All Wound Up, the troubling specter haunting far too much Oz and Baum research hovered close. I hoped that All Wound Up would not turn out to nourish that specter.

Any large non-fiction project on a historical subject presents challenges. Making sure every sentence is based on truth is a task of not inconsiderable magnitude. I didn’t want to perpetuate any fallacies—or create new ones—in All Wound Up. I wanted to eliminate inaccuracy—kill the lies at their roots—back up my statements with reliable sources. And if I couldn’t back a statement up, I qualified it.

But who can anticipate every possible problem when piecing together a puzzle of the past from which pieces are missing? I aimed for diligence. I tried to think critically.  I gathered a wide range of sources, primarily material of the times and places and people involved—letters, contracts, newspaper articles, photographs. During both the writing process and afterward, when I considered the manuscript finished and was designing the book, I discovered new sources with new information, and I adjusted what I’d already written. Several people with critical eyes—people both within Oz fandom and outside it—read the manuscript—or portions of it—and gave me feedback before publication. But I’m not infallible. No matter what, despite my striving to make All Wound Up worthwhile, it’s bound to have cracks.

Then there’s another nightmare—who knows what material unavailable to me while I wrote will come to light in the future and contradict All Wound Up?

The only way to avoid all mistakes is not to publish. But that’s no answer. That does no one any good.

So here’s my answer to any mistakes in All Wound Up: this weblog. Here I can correct those mistakes, clear up confusions, and address any downright stupidities (few, I hope) in the published book. The main reason the book includes the web address of this blog is so readers can easily access updates, corrections, and further information about The Tik-Tok Man of Oz.

So here’s a correction to All Wound Up.

In the summer of 1912, the composer Louis F. Gottschalk visited his hometown of Los Angeles, California. There he read L. Frank Baum’s stage script Ozma of Oz (which would be produced the next year as The Tik-Tok Man of Oz). Gottschalk liked the script and sent a letter to Baum. Gottschalk claimed that he sent his letter to Syracuse, New York, where Baum was visiting. And I repeated this information. Twice it appears in All Wound Up—on page 51 and again on page 325.

However, Baum wasn’t visiting Syracuse, the city where he’d grown up from childhood.

Baum had gone to Chicago, the city where he’d lived before moving to Los Angeles.

On July 15, 1912, L. Frank Baum and his wife, Maud, left Ozcot, their Hollywood home in Los Angeles for an extended visit to Chicago. Shortly before September 19, the Baums returned home. Local Hollywood newspaper articles make this clear.

Why did Gottschalk claim Baum visited Syracuse? Gottschalk told his story in June 1913, nearly a year after it happened, so perhaps Gottschalk didn’t remember the city correctly. Or maybe he sent his letter to Syracuse by mistake, though that seems less likely to me. Anyway, I relied on Gottschalk’s testimony and wrote that Baum was in Syracuse. I should have verified Gottschalk’s statement before All Wound Up was published.

So, I confess, I’ve published inaccuracies about Baum and Oz, just like all those other writers. But I’ve brought my mistake into the light for all to see and I’ve corrected it. This probably won’t be the last time. But while we’re waiting, any of you other writers want to take a turn?

Notes

“City Briefs,” Hollywood (CA) Citizen, 12 July 1912, 4; “City Briefs,” Hollywood Citizen, 19 July 1912, 4; “City Briefs,” Hollywood Citizen, 13 September 1912, 4; “Gottschalk to Write Opera Here,” Chicago (IL) Examiner, 8 June 1913, VII 6.

Copyright © 2024 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Evelyn Des Roches: Chorus Girl Nostalgia

Click to enlarge.

In October 1937, these nine women gathered in Chicago, Illinois, for a reunion of Ziegfeld Follies alumnae. Each had appeared in at least one edition of producer Florenz Ziegfeld's celebrated revue at one time or another.

What does this have to do with The Tik-Tok Man of Oz? Well, the woman in the center--fifth from either side--is Evelyn Helen Des Roches Harris, who was in the Follies during the 1915 and 1916 theatrical seasons. As Evelyn Des Roches, she earlier appeared in the chorus of the original 1913 production of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz. You can compare a photograph of her on page 140 of All Wound Up: The Making of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz.

The other women are, from left to right: Annabelle Whitford Buchan, Frances Stewart Nolton, Marie Vernon Lotz, Ethel Calahan, (Evelyn Des Roches), Leona Porter Roberts, Naomi Dale Coe, Ray Price, and Betty York Herriott.

Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.

Mrs. L. H. Coulter, Wardrobe Mistress

One of my aims for the book All Wound Up: The Making of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz was to flesh out the lives of the people connected with the original 1913-14 production. So I wrote capsule biographies for many of them, drawing my info from primary sources whenever I could. This proved relatively easy for the principal actors. Less easy to find information about were the members of the chorus. Backstage workers turned out to be even harder.

One figure I wished I'd learned more about was the wardrobe mistress of The Tik-Tok Man of Oz, Mrs. L. H. Coulter. My initial attempts at researching her produced virtually nothing. I couldn't even determine her full name. But since then, I've uncovered much of the tapestry of her life, while kicking myself for not finding it before publication. I knew while writing the book that this sort of thing would happen--new information would come to light after the book was out there for everyone to read. Fortunately, this weblog exists. I can present new findings here. So, this post presents the capsule biography of Mrs. Coulter that I wish the book contained.

Mrs. Lucia Hays "Mother" Coulter

Lucia "Lucy" Hays (1862-1936) was born the youngest child of a farming family in Stanford, Kentucky. In 1879, at sixteen years of age, she married dry goods clerk William D. Coulter in Delta County, Texas. The couple moved to Fannin County, Texas, where they had one son and three daughters. They divorced about 1890 and William died in 1903. As a single mother with four children, Coulter ran a boarding house in Denton, Texas. Aspiring to the stage, she sang in churches and at concerts in Dallas. Coulter joined Lottie Kendall’s Olympia Opera company and for eight years sang professionally, touring the country between Los Angeles and New Orleans, her children in tow. As Coulter waited backstage to go on in such roles as Katisha in The Mikado, the princess in The Chimes of Normandy, and Little Buttercup in H. M. S. Pinafore, she sewed children’s clothes. The company manager recognized her sewing talent and delegated her to making theatrical costumes. After leaving the Olympia company, she sewed costumes for Kolb and Dill’s San Francisco Opera company, traveling up and down the west coast of the USA for several years. She adopted the affectionate nickname “Mother” and was known professionally as “Mother” for the rest of her life. As her children married, Coulter settled in Los Angeles. Her job as wardrobe mistress for The Tik-Tok Man of Oz brought Coulter to the attention of Universal Studios. She joined the motion picture industry, where in 1918 as part of Universal’s wardrobe department, she helped to costume The Kaiser, the Beast of Berlin directed by Rupert Julian. She moved to Thomas Ince’s Triangle Studios and remained there for the next seventeen years. The studio developed into Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer where, beloved by movie stars and studio executives, she rose to head the women’s character wardrobe department. Coulter made resplendent gowns for the most popular movie actresses of the day, such as Greta Garbo, Joan Crawford, Marion Davies, and Norma Shearer. She made Lon Chaney’s gloves and scarves when he played an old woman in The Unholy Three. She outfitted Jackie Cooper for Treasure Island. She costumed movie versions of The Merry Widow twice, first with Mae Murray, later with Jeanette MacDonald. For the 1925 movie version of Ben Hur, she clothed 50,000 miniature figures. Other movies she costumed include The Big Parade, Operator 13, David Copperfield, and The Barretts of Wimpole Street. Reports credited her with more than 135,000 character costumes during her career. A heart attack struck her in late 1935. After seven months she returned to work at MGM, but minor heart attacks continued to trouble her. On October 20, 1936, news of movie producer Irving Thalberg’s death brought on another heart attack. Coulter never recovered and died several days later at her home of fifteen years in Venice, California.

 

Notes

“‘Tik-Tok’s’ Mother,” Inter Ocean (Chicago, IL), 27 July 1913; “Kaiser Exposed,” Windsor (MO) Review, 20 June 1918, 4; “There’s Romance in Job of Wardrobe Mistress, Too,” Daily News (New York, NY), 24 February 1929, 65; Dan Thomas, “Hollywood Day By Day,” Los Angeles (CA) Evening Post-Record, 22 September 1934, 8; Marion Nevin, “‘Mother’ Coulter Ill, Stars Ask After Her,” Evening Vanguard (Venice, CA), 3 December 1935, 1; Marion Nevin, “Popular Wardrobe Head Welcomed Back on Job,” Evening Vanguard (Venice, CA), 17 February 1936, 1; “Death Threatens Studio Veteran,” Los Angeles (CA) Times, 20 October 1936, II 2; Eleanor Barnes, “‘Mother,’” Illustrated Daily News (Los Angeles, CA), 21 October 1936, 18, 20; “Mrs. Coulter Dies Today of Heart Attack,” Evening Vanguard (Venice, CA), 24 October 1936, 1; “Mother Coulter of M.-G.-M. Dies After Heart Attack,” Los Angeles (CA) Times, 25 October 1936, II 2.

Copyright © 2023 Eric Shanower. All rights reserved.