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Feb 22, 2004
A Small Town Boy Who Made Good On Broadway
The Biography of Tin Pan Alley Songwriter William Jerome. (Biography)

Part 2 of 4 parts

A SMALL-TOWN BOY WHO MADE GOOD ON BROADWAY

When just a twelve-year old student of the Cornwall School, William J. Flannery applied to law school. What inkling or inspiration caused him to do this remains uncertain, but the passage of time would certainly prove that law was not quite his destiny. Where asked on the application forms to state which if any degrees he had received, he whimsically wrote, "Dickey's Opera House, Second Street, Newburgh," the place where he had developed his love of music and the stage as a boy.
By 1878, the precocious teen was employed as a local news agent and had his own listing in the Orange County New York Directory, but time would prove journalism was not quite his destiny either. William got his first break in the entertainment business around 1882, when he ran away from home to join McAvoy's Hibericon as a dancer and propertyman for 10 dollars a week. Later he went to work for Barlow Wilson as a dance man and end man performing in the infamous minstrel shows of that era. These of course were the variety shows which included "coon songs" and dance numbers interspersed with jokes and comedic skits where performers would belittle African-Americans continuously through their acts by putting on blackface and creating disparaging caricatures of unbelievable ignorance and gullibility. At the time it was all considered harmless fun, but in those days no one was really asking African-Americans for their opinions on such things, much less for their approval. For the many Irish like William who were taken in by the shows, they may have been one source of reassurance that their own disparaged lot wasn't exactly at the absolute bottom of the social ladder. (1)
But as much as William loved to perform on stage, he also loved to write songs, and could develop comical material from the simplest sources of inspiration, such as can be found in this early song:

He's on the police force now,
Yesterday he arrested a cow;
But the judge gave him the laugh,
He said the cow had licked the calf,
And he's on the police force now.

William traveled the minstrel circuit extensively, taking on work wherever he could find it, making show business contacts wherever he could, often playing in seedy music halls where the audience members were often as busy getting drunk as they were being entertained. At one point William befriended an Irish family named Cohan who performed together as an itinerant act. He would soon come to realize like most everyone else around them that the family's young son George was proving to be something of a show business prodigy.
By 1890, William was performing in The Fast Mail Company in Brooklyn after first traveling with the show from coast to coast. He was also at that time trying to find publishers for the comical songs he was writing on the side, including I Got It, his first published song. There, William was not far geographically from the stardom he wished
to attain across the river in Manhattan, but making it across that river for him was more than just a physical task. In reality, making the transition from the itinerant stage to Broadway may have been more on the metaphysical scale of his parents' journey from Ireland over the wide ocean. Making it in show business as far as he had was special, but he wasn't exactly making it at the top yet, and the top was where the ambitious young man longed to be. But as hard as William tried to advance in his talents still further, something seemed to be holding him back from his big breakthrough. Upon assessment, he decided this impediment was his ethnicity.
Unlike the corner music hall, where William Flannery could be accepted as an Irish entertainer, the rules were different working the big shows on Broadway, where the competition for a job was as fierce as anywhere in the world. Changes in immigration patterns saw New York theater companies filling out their bills with Jewish talent from
abroad. These were highly-trained and fully-evolved entertainers carrying with them in their work a sophisticated urban quality which seemed ready-made for the pace of the evolving city (where unfortunately the sentiments implied in No Irish Need Apply still
lingered). William began to keenly feel his rural, Irish roots as a liability to his continued rise in the business. Few were singing songs anymore about the peaceful life on the farm, or the trip to the county fair, and if they were, they weren't doing it in New York.
It was at this point that William changed his name, hoping whatever loss which might come to his identity would come as a gain to his life's dream. William Jerome Flannery, the certain Irishman, became "Billy Jerome", a man of possible Jewish origin or a possible member of that prominent New York family of Jeromes (1). The ambiguity of Jerome's new stage name served him well, just like the indistinct name of his good friend, Eddie Foy, the erstwhile Edwin Fitzgerald, or even like his ambiguously-named Irish friends, the Cohans. (2) It was better in show business, after all, to have people guessing about you than to have you pigeon-holed or type-cast, much the same as it remains today.
While also in Brooklyn, Jerome met a young performer named Maude Nugent who had made her own break on the stage when just a girl of eleven. Like Jerome, she was adept at all aspects of the Vaudevillian stage, possessing the skills to sing, act, and dance, often all at the same time. And like Jerome too she was adept at songwriting, destined to become world famous for her hit, Sweet Rosie O'Grady. (3) She was often billed as "Dainty Maude Nugent, Brightest Singer of Bright Songs." The two soon became engaged. They would later marry around 1897 and raise three daughters---Florence, (4) Maude and Billie--- leading what one writer called "an ideally happy life."
In a world dominated by men, where most all stage entertainers were male by convention if not by popular choice, Nugent was a pioneer for her time who would have to overcome many more obstacles to success than any male counterpart. Undaunted by a publishers' lack of confidence in her Sweet Rosie, for instance, she took it upon herself to introduce the song herself, first at Appel's Garden on Eighth Avenue near 25th Street, then at Johnny Reilly's The Abbey on Eighth Avenue and 38th Street, and then at Tony Pastor's Fourteenth Street Theater, where she set the record for appearances during one
ten-week engagement. She would only begin to be recognized for her historical importance, however, two years before the end of her life when she again reached a new milestone in her career, this one in the age of television with an appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show. There, despite her age of 83 years, she created a sensation by singing her most famous song and doing a soft shoe dance, later denying to her host that she had ever retired from show business. The performance was a powerful testament on her part to the magnitude of her creative spirit and stood to rebut the old critics who had long discounted her by putting forth the unsubstantiated claim that her song lyrics for Sweet Rosie were actually written by her husband, an accusation that both she and Jerome always denied. Jerome only admitted to looking over the work after its conception.
It was any easy assumption to be made that the song was written by Jerome owing that the story is told from the perspective of a man sharing his feelings for the woman he wishes to marry. In judging the possible inspiration or motive behind the song, more sense seems to be made in ascribing the song to Jerome rather than to Nugent. Considering its characters and subject, it's interesting to consider that Jerome was engaged to be married to Nugent at the time of its introduction:

Just down around the corner of the street where I reside,
There lives the cutest little girl that I have ever spied;
Her name is Rosie O'Grady and, I don't mind telling you,
That she's the sweetest Rose the garden ever grew.

Sweet Rosie O'Grady,
My dear little Rose,
She's my steady lady,
Most ev'ryone knows,
And when we are married,
How happy we'll be;
I love sweet Rosie O'Grady,
And Rosie O' Grady loves me.

I never shall for-get the day she promised to be mine,
As we sat telling lovetales, in the golden summer time,
'Twas on her finger that I placed a small engagement ring,
While in the trees, the little birds this song they seemed to sing!

Jerome wrote a number of songs like Sweet Rosie featuring prominently the subject of engagement as related to one Irish maiden or another, but these types of songs were something of a genre onto themselves in those days. The following is Jerome's My
Irish Molly-O: (5)

Molly dear now did you hear, the news that's goin' round?
Down in a corner of my heart, a love is what you've found.
And every time I look into your Irish eyes so blue,
They seem to whisper 'Darling boy, my love is all for you.'

Molly, my Irish Molly, my sweet acushla dear,
I'm fairly off my trolley, my Irish Molly, when you are near,
Springtime, you know is ring time. Come dear and don't be slow,
Change your name, go out with game, Begora wouldn't I do the same
my Irish Molly-O!

Nugent took a break from her career at age 28 to begin raising her family. During that time her trademark blonde wig of more than ample proportions would be sorely missed on the Vaudeville stage. But by age 35 she launched a successful comeback and would continue to participate in revival shows celebrating the Gay Nineties throughout her later life.
It was still early on in these Gay Nineties that Jerome was credited with several clever songs which enjoyed some notoriety around the country, including He Never Came Back, published by the Oliver Ditson Company of Boston. This was a comic Ballad in the spirit of the Irish limerick, though improperly formed as such. Note the presence of the seemingly ubiquitous subject of marital engagement, here treated with a refreshingly comic twist:

An old maid who was forty-five, she madly fell in love
And with a young man just nineteen, who called her Turtle Dove
The wedding day at last arrived, the birds did gaily sing, (6)
He touched her for a hundred to go out and buy the ring
He never came back, her sailor boy Jack,
but left her up on the top floor,
The sassy young thing, he may bring her the ring
when they meet on the beautiful shore.

Unquestionably, Jerome's songs from this period told entertaining stories, and perhaps they were as imaginative as any other period in his career, but musically they were still too rudimentary to be taken seriously by the big shows on Broadway or the major publishing houses in New York.
Unlike his later years, when Jerome's work appears to reflect the interests of an established artist seeking to maintain his mainstream appeal, Jerome appears more willing in this youthful period while struggling to make a name for himself to take chances on heated political subjects. An example of this can be found in He's Talking Thro' His Hat of 1891, where he lampoons Benjamin Harrison, (7) the much maligned president of the day credited by many for the economic conditions which led to the Panic of 1893. Note Jerome's allusion to Harrison's grandfather, William Henry Harrison, the 9th U.S. president:

Wee Benny Harrison is said to have a hope
That when his present term expires he can get back in again
But Benny's name is "Den-nis" and his "boomlet" will be flat
'Tis plain to see he's talking thro' his grandpa's poor old hat.

Jerome goes on in the song to tediously spell out his Democratic leanings in tariff legislation being debated at that time. Such weighty editorials are not found anywhere but in this period, as Jerome may have come to realize in his maturity that his talents were not necessarily bound by political partisanship:

A man declares the Tariff Bill's a blessing to the land,
He tries to make the working man his meaning understand
He stands upon the platform , he's got his speech down pat,
Some Democrat shouts out, "Me boy, you're talking your hat."He swears John Wanamaker is as honest as the light,

The trouble is the Keystone Bank, he still declares is right,
But until Wanamaker gives us proof of this peculiar fact,
We'll still maintain "his highness" is talking through his hat.

Tariffs were increasing becoming the subjects of everyday conversation due to the changing economic and political climate which had given rise to a popular sentiment of protectionism. According to author David Ewen in his book American Popular Songs, when English popular composer, Harry Dacre made a trip to America during those days he was charged a considerable duty for the bicycle he brought with him. He made a complaint of this to his friend William Jerome who remarked, "It's lucky you didn't bring a bicycle built for two, otherwise you'd have to pay double duty." Dacre so liked Jerome's phrasing of "bicycle built for two" that he worked it in as a feature to his song,
Daisy Bell which became a smash hit in America by 1892 and brought the term permanently into everyday vernacular.
The earliest known recording of Jerome's work came in that same year, when his song, Take Your Time, Gentleman was recorded on wax cylinders by singer Press Eldridge for use on Edison's relatively unsuccessful forerunner of the phonograph. This technology was not in wide use by the public and the recording likely did little to generate income for Jerome or to boost his recognition, although a certain level of prestige was likely attached to the technology even as it was obvious that it had yet to live up to its potential. Popular music was still largely an entity of the stage to be enjoyed in public and was long off from becoming the source of entertainment that we appreciate today; something more commonly enjoyed on a personal level in the privacy of one's home or car.
Eventually Jerome began collaborating actively with established musicians to create original scores around his ideas, now seeing this as the best way to boost the acceptability of his work. Once started this way, he would never publish a song written entirely on his own again; he would accept his creative niche as a lyricist without looking back. By 1894, he enjoyed wide-scale success with My Pearl is a Bowery Girl, and The Little Bunch of Whiskers on his Chin both written in collaboration with musician Andrew Mack (8).
It was also at this time that Jerome formed his own company, "The Herald Square Comedians." It was with this group that he began working parodies of famous acts into his own work on the stage. These light-hearted mockeries became the most popular
part of his performances at the time and through them he soon began to be respected in increasingly wider circles around New York for the spontaneous quality of his wit. Jerome advanced to the next level of his career when he became the first parody singer to head the
bill at Tony Pastor's Theater.
Pastor was an entertainment innovator who believed in the possibility of "common music" filling his theater with ordinary, respectable people. He instituted a family policy for his establishment with the intent of providing a safe, comfortable environment to attract patrons from beyond the pool of single, young men so common
to most music halls of earlier days, where atmospheres as a result often got wild and boozy. Like the recent revival of Times Square in much the same manner, Pastor's idea to cater to family values proved a smash success for him.
Like all good ideas, Pastor's concept was soon imitated by others, in so doing providing the opportunity for many aging vaudevillians to move ever closer toward mainstream audiences. One of these imitators was E.F. Albee who set up his Union Square Theater to provide continuous "clean" entertainment throughout the day and evening, where no tourist or passer-by would have to wait very long to
catch a show whenever they fancied to see one. It was Albee who managed to lure Jerome away from Pastor to perform for him, and it was with Albee that Jerome was first billed as a star.
Jerome was becoming noticed as much now for his easy-going, likable character as for his ability to pluck words from out of the air to meld cleverly into song. He was now being published in New York and his songs were being added to the lists of various shows around town. Suddenly important people wanted to get to know him and to be his friend. He was gaining the political connections he needed for his continued survival in that tough world.
Before long, Broadway was seeking Jerome out rather than the other way around. He had to squeeze work into his schedule, often working simultaneously on various musical projects. It helped that he was efficient at his craft; his imaginative talents were complimented well with sound judgment for what would be found appealing to the masses and with an ability to act decisively on ideas. Because of this he could put together a show tune as fast as any librettist of the day. And in a business filled with so many bloated egos, he was a joy to work with; he was as pleasant a man as his father and would remain that way regardless of how much success he enjoyed, always taking care
not to alienate anyone he met along the way. (9) For all these reasons, Jerome's musical credits began to proliferate unbelievably. By the close of the nineteenth century, he had undeniably been making it at the top on Broadway for several years running, just as he had dreamed, and yet it still could be said that his star hadn't finished rising.

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(1) Of Winston Churchill genealogical fame which was in the midst of spawning a hard-nosed district attorney of Jerome's same name. This William Jerome also felt compelled to make use of his middle name---Travers---perhaps to differentiate himself from that old songwriter.

(2) The Cohans had adapted the spelling of their name from the more telling Irish appellation, Keohane. Another family account has William changing his name because of the presence of another William Flannery in show business. Both accounts have him being confused as a Jewish performer after becoming Jerome.

(3) Sweet Rosie O'Grady much later stood (somehow) as the basis of the 1943 motion picture of the same name starring Betty Grable.

(4) Though raised by Jerome, Florence was actually his wife's child from a previous relationship with a handsome Irish song and dance man named Ed Keenan, who had a terrible problem with alcohol and died penniless. When Florence later entered into her own stage career performing with the Ziegfeld Follies, Keenan was known to show up after the performances begging his daughter for money. Florence would marry and move from New York to Michigan. Soon after the birth of her fifth child she brought about her end by jumping off a Detroit high rise.

(5) This song was recorded as recently as 1978 in Ireland by The DeDannon All Stars.

(6) Note the singing birds of this line and compare to the image found on the last line in Sweet Rosie O'Grady.

(7) Harrison was also resented for winning the electoral college in the election of 1888 even though he received fewer popular votes than the incumbent Grover Cleveland, who would succeed Harrison in 1893 to become both the 22nd and the 24th president.

(8) Jerome would also collaborate on songs with musicians Maurice Levi, Charles F. Jerome, D. Fitzgibbon and Belle Stewart during this period.

(9) Jerome would later boldly claim: "I never made a friend who disappointed me".

Contributed by:
James Flannery
©1999, 2000 James Flannery