The Fabulous Lunts

Two members of the orchestra, stranded on the second story, waited for rowboats to take them to dry ground, about a block from the theatre.

It was clear to most observers that the remainder of the scheduled performances should be canceled and the company removed to New York.  But the Lunts, whose belief in their obligation to perform if humanly possible was absolute, insisted on going through with the performance, even if—as they were informed—few members of the audience would be able to reach the theatre.  Those patrons who were willing to make the effort deserved to see the play, the Lunts insisted.

On the afternoon of March 19, with the streets around the theatre now inundated by the flood, the handful of people who could manage to do so arrived at the theatre in rowboats.  The Lunts told the house manager to put everyone together in the best orchestra seats.  The theatre’s electricity failed, but an emergency generator was pressed into service for the first act.  Then the flood waters poured into the cellar and the generator was rendered temporarily unusable.  All lights went out during one of the musical numbers, but Lunt and the Blondes kept dancing.  Still determined to continue the performance, Lunt lit his cigarette lighter and the other actors used candles and flashlights to illuminate the stage until the generator could be made to work again.

Sherwood, who had returned to New York two days before, heard a report on the 20^th that typhoid had broken out in Pittsburgh.  He called the Lunts and urged them to leave the city.  The Pittsburgh police settled the matter by informing the Lunts that no additional performances of the play would be allowed.  Convinced at last, they agreed to take a special “refugee” train to New York.

As the company was boarding the train, a young girl spotted Fontanne on the platform and spoke to her.  She “said she’d come from Harrisburg by train just to see us [the night before] and thanked us for playing to so small an audience,” Fontanne said, concluding, “so it was worthwhile.”

The entire company—each member carrying his costumes, as Lunt ordered—was crammed into a single Pullman car.  As the train pulled out of Pittsburgh, Lunt looked out the window and saw that the adjacent track was covered with water.  He signaled to Alan Hewitt not to say anything to Fontanne, who was absorbed in a game of cribbage with Sydney Greenstreet.

Because of the flooding east of Pittsburgh, the train was rerouted north.  The journey to New York took nearly twenty-four hours.  Getting the set out of Pittsburgh was a thornier problem, one with which the stage manager, George Greenberg, had to deal.  Somehow, Greenberg managed to persuade the governor of Pennsylvania to permit a special train, loaded with Idiot’s Delight scenery, to leave Pittsburgh despite a statewide embargo on freight.  Uncertain whether the scenery would arrive in time, Lunt told the cast that the play would open in New York as scheduled even if the only background was a set of black drapes.