25. The Charlotte Cushman Club

© Podcast text copyright Peter Schmitz. All rights reserved.

Welcome again to Adventures in Theater History, as we continue to explore the long and very particular role of the city of Philadelphia in the annals of American theater. 

This is an episode that spans both the 19th and 20th Centuries - in fact , as we shall see, it brings us right up to the present historical moment. Now, Charlotte Cushman, the actress, was most definitely a 19th Century figure, living from 1816 to 1876. The Philadelphia charitable and social organization that was named after her, however, one that was to play an interesting role in Philadelphia history, was chiefly a 20th Century phenomenon, and we’ll come back to that in a minute.

First, who was Charlotte Cushman? I haven’t devoted a lot of time to her on the podcast so far, although we have mentioned her name many times. Like another prominent actor of the era, William Charles Macready, she keeps walking through our narrative at key moments, even though the vast majority of her career was not spent in Philadelphia. Still she did have a powerful effect on the theater of the city while she was here.

Charlotte Cushman was born and raised in Boston, from a large family of old New England Pilgrim stock. She was always a handful to her parents. “I was born a tomboy,” she recalled later. “My earliest recollections are of dolls’ heads ruthlessly cracked open to see what they were thinking about . . I had no faculty for making dolls’ clothes. But their furniture I could make skillfully. I could do anything with tools. Climbing trees was an absolute passion . . I was very destructive to toys and clothes, tyrannical to brothers and sisters but very social and a great favorite with other children.” When her father’s business failed and he died when she was only 13, her family was left destitute. Kind relatives, including a seafaring uncle, made sure she had a continuing education and an exposure to culture, and took her to local theaters to see plays. Her first play in fact was seeing William Macready (there he is again!) as Coriolanus. It had an effect, she said “About this time I became noted in school as a reader . . I remember on one occasion reading a scene from Howard Payne’s tragedy of Brutus in which Brutus speaks, and the immediate result was my elevation to the head of the class, to the evident disgust of my competitors, who grumbled out: “No wonder she can read, she goes to the theater!” Her voice suddenly freed, she found she had a talent for mimicry and declamation, as well as a rich singing voice with an extremely wide range both quite high and very deep. After getting a few singing lessons, Charlotte was soon determined to provide her mother and siblings some financial support by becoming an opera singer. 

At the age of 18 she was hired to sing first in the theaters of Boston, and then secured a booking far away in New Orleans. But her scanty formal training caused her to oversing and damage her voice, and she found that her upper register had completely disappeared. No matter, counseled the theater’s manager James M. Caldwell, perhaps you can still be an actress. And  Caldwell - whom you may remember had a role in the development of Edwin Forrest at a similar age - handed her the part of Lady Macbeth and urged her to learn it. Her debut was successful and impressive, and soon she was expanding her repertoire and gaining a growing following of fans and admirers in the theater world. She found herself back in New York City, performing at the Bowery Theatre and then later at the even more impressive Park Theatre, where she was engaged from 1837 to 1840. New York critics were also very impressed with the quality of her acting, and especially with the physicality she gave her characters. A large woman for her day, with strong legs, she actively strode about the stage in all her roles, instead of just standing and declaiming as many actors did. Indeed she admitted, her own impulsive physical restlessness prevented her from keeping still, anyway . . .  she wanted to be doing things, constantly, in every way. 

Her early stardom was notable in another fashion, because Cushman’s face was not conventionally pretty in any way, though she did have striking wide green eyes. Her broad forehead and square jaw seemed mannish to many people. But you know, to the 19th Century mind that was not the worst thing in the world - on the stage, anyway. Being a mannish woman was fine, what they really distrusted effeminate men. And there were no rumors of Charlotte having any improper attachment with men, at any time! Such an asset for her public image in an era when being an actress was frankly equated with being close to being a prostitute. That she had such deep emotional friendships with other women hardly seemed worthy of comment, in an era when female homosexuality was barely understood in the wider culture.

All this time, Charlotte was attempting to help her family back in Boston but in 1839 she learned her 14 year-old sister Susan, who was also attempting to help things out financially, had gotten herself into one of those awful 19th Century marriages where the man was much, much older than her - in his 60s, in fact. To make things even worse, once Susan became pregnant her husband abandoned her. Charlotte rushed into the situation and determined that the only way to save her 14 year-old sister was that Susan should also become an actress - in fact she should join her in a stage career. Charlotte persuaded theater managers to take them as a team, and indeed the two sisters would perform together in various roles, both in New York and in Philadelphia. 

In 1840 she and Susan were hired by producer William E. Burton (a former actor and journalist who had just left a partnership with the writer Edgar Allan Poe) to be in the new company of his National Theater on Chestnut Street. This Philadelphia engagement proved to be a most interesting opportunity for Charlotte to expand her range. For that season she not only portrayed the role of ‘Belvidera’ in the old theatrical standby Venice Preserved, but the crippled boy named Smike in a new (unauthorized) theatrical adaptation of Charles Dickens' recent novel Nicholas Nickleby. Indeed, playing featured male roles became part of her stock in trade from this point on. For her Philadelphia benefit performance in the spring of 1841 she played selected scenes as the bandit Gil Blas, as well as the romantic male lead named “Montaldo” in a play called The Genoese. Susan Cushman played Montaldo’s female love interest, Laura. 

Charlotte’s employer Mr. Burton, unfortunately, lost financial control of the National Theater and the company was later disbanded, but she and Susan soon found an even better engagement - right around the corner on the next city block. 

In September of 1842, Charlotte Cushman, then twenty-six years old, was hired to become the 'stage manager' of the Walnut Street Theatre. The lease of the theater building was under the nominal control of Mary Elizabeth Maywood - although it was assumed that real power was held by Mary Elizabeth Maywood’s father, the former lessee E.A. Marshall. Still, in a period of national economic downturn, many American theaters were desperate to attract the stable attendance of female audiences, and it was thought that having women in charge of matters would be a drawing point. Cushman was, in fact, the first of a series of female stage managers (which then was a term closer to what we would call an 'artistic director' today) who ran the Walnut over the next twenty years. 

Cushman was now an up-and-coming star, and was expected to play leading roles throughout the season as well as manage the company. This was truly a big break for her and a real step up the ladder of theatrical power.  Cushman hired a stock company of actors to support her throughout the season, and in newspaper ads advertising the beginning of the season, Marshall made sure that every woman in Philadelphia was aware of how tastefully the theater was being redecorated, suitable for respectable entertainment.

The plays Charlotte Cushman scheduled as Manager of the Walnut included several weeks of her as Lady Macbeth in the Scottish Play, opposite Philadelphia’s own Edwin Forrest, who was impressed with the abilities of the young Charlotte. The two made quite an impressive duo, Forrest’s massive physique being matched by her own strong body. She could even match his own powerful voice with her own. 

During the season she also played the difficult role of Nancy Sykes in Oliver Twist (adapted from the Dickens novel), and also as Meg Merrilies the Gypsy witch in Guy Mannering (adapted from the book by Sir Walter Scott). It was quite unusual for a young actress to allow herself to be seen as old and ugly onstage, but the forcefulness of her characterization made it one of her most popular roles. Though she did provoke some ridicule in her unforgettably intense portrayal of Lady Macbeth and in other Shakespearean roles such as Queen Gertrude in Hamlet and Emilia in Othello. 

In the collection of the Library Company of Philadelphia I found a satiric Valentine made in the city at the time. Cushman is shown with a bloody dagger, striding across the stage, her forehead bulging and her eye riveted upon a book entitled “Tragedy.” Now, around her image on the card, in the margins incongruous cupids and hearts decorate it. “Who are you, rampaging stranger who upon our senses burst? Lady Macbeth courting danger Mid the ‘murrderrrs acurrrst./ Cleopatra? Charlotte Cushman? Or old Hamlet’s awful queen? Or some wild outlandish bushman half-way girl and boy between?” It’s an odd artifact, and I’m not sure entirely who the intended audience was.  . . .But there is that pointed note about her gender identity, is there not? I don’t think we can say people were entirely unaware of it at the time.

But speaking of romance, however, we should note at this point that Cushman could be quite aggressive and impulsive in her personal relationships offstage. Our old friend Fanny Kemble Butler was living quite close to the Walnut Street Theatre during this period, and she and Cushman happened to meet in the autumn of 1842. 

Now, Fanny was at the absolute low point of her marriage, her awful husband Pierce was openly having affairs with other women, and he had moved the entire family, including her two daughters, to a low boarding house in the city off of Washington Square, where he strictly limited Fanny access to her own children. 

To console herself, Fanny often was riding about the city in her famous male riding attire and Cushman, seeing her misery - and her outfit - thought she knew the answer to the problem. She flooded Fanny’s room with flowers almost daily, and sent her poem after poem. 

Said one historian: “Charlotte enjoyed being the savior, and here was a chance to right a great wrong against a woman she adored and render herself indispensable. She offered to help Fanny amass proof of Pierce Butler's infidelities so that Fanny could divorce him and retain custody of her children.” But none of Charlotte's zealous attempts to help were successful. She acted more like a suitor than a colleague, or an interested friend, or an admiring fan. Charlotte continued to inundate Fanny with flowers, and Fanny was rather puzzled and overwhelmed rather than consoled by Charlotte's intensity. Eventually, Fanny had to tell Charlotte to step back, and let her take care of things herself, [MUSIC OUT] and the actress was deeply insulted, and in fact would harbor ill feelings about Fanny Kemble thereafter.

But then, she had a theater to run, even though the company was often alarmed at her lack of financial discipline, which didn’t seem to be at all her forte. Artistically she was still doing very interesting work, in March of 1843, Cushman gave Philadelphia her famous performance as Romeo opposite her sister Susan as Juliet. Now, you might have seen a print of Cushman as Romeo and Susan as Juliet, it's often featured in any article or book about her - one of the first things that comes up in any online search. It’s based upon a portrait of Charlotte Cushman and Susan made by the Philadelphia painter (another old friend of ours) Thomas Sully. It was destined to be engraved and reprinted many times. But we should recall that she was not the only woman at the time taking on male roles - we have noted that Louisa Lane Drew frequently did so during this period, and in London actress Ellen Tree had been well known for doing Romeo to Fanny Kemble’s Juliet. That the two Cushmans were sisters playing lovers did not cause any comment. In that era, openly artificial relationships on stage were preferred, in fact. We remember too how Fanny Kemble played romantic scenes with her own father Charles, and no one thought anything of it. Indeed it was very reassuring to early Victorian audiences that there was no possibility of real sexual activity going on offstage between actors doing love scenes onstage. It made things more respectable.

But what audience members in Philadelphia certainly did NOT know is that Charlotte Cushman was in fact having many affairs offstage. Just not affairs with men. Charlotte was always very aggressive in these matters - as she had done with Fanny Kemble, her typical approach was to aggressively test the waters, as it were, with any woman that attracted her. Her magnetic personality was quite enticing, apparently, and the tactic often worked. Someone who was definitely attracted to her and responded to her advances was a young woman she met while her portrait was being painted: Thomas Sully’s daughter Rosalie. 

A better known item in the collection of the Library Company of Philadelphia than the valentine we discussed earlier is the Sully portrait prominently displayed there under the title: "Charlotte Cushman of the Walnut Street Theatre." It’s a very flattering picture, possibly showing her in a costume for a play, with a red head scarf and green dress - matching her green eyes which stare out at us with startling force. Still, Sully's usual warm and flattering approach to his subjects did much to soften and feminize Cushman's appearance in this painting. But the story that almost every guide at the library will tell you is that Cushman would subsequently have a torrid affair with Rosalie Sully, who we also know also painted Cushman, in an intimate miniature. However, sadly, Rosalie and Charlotte’s relationship, though intense, was quick and did not last. Soon Charlotte was off on another affair, this time with the Philadelphia writer Anne Hampton Brewster. Brewster, for her part, would also break up with Cushman, but somehow she was the one who retained custody of that portrait. She would donate it to the Library Company after her death in 1892. 

Grief over the breakup may have caused Rosalie Sully's early death soon afterwards. But by that point Charlotte Cushman was already out of town. Her performances at the Walnut Street Theatre were all very highly regarded and attracted good crowds throughout the season. Nevertheless, Cushman did not prove to be as good a financial manager as she was an actress or an artistic manager, and her contract was not renewed for the next season - or perhaps she really did not want to stay, and had her sights set on a bigger market. Cushman had already gone on to England, to appear onstage again with Forrest - two Americans on a London stage doing Shakespeare!

While his performance as Macbeth was roundly panned by English critics, her Lady Macbeth received such praise that she became one of the biggest stars on British and American stages for the next thirty years. Forrest never forgave the London critics, and he never forgave Cushman either. They never performed together again. But by then she wouldn’t need him. Her career was taking off. Now, we’re not going to detail everything that happened in Cushman’s life, because that’s not the point of this episode. For our purposes, let’s just note that she would play in many Philadelphia theaters on her national tours, including the Walnut and the Academy of Music. As we’ve noted before, in another gender-bending performance she even played Cardinal Wolsey in Shakespeare’s Henry VIII with Louisa Lane Drew. 

Cushman became a friend of President Lincoln’s, who much admired her in the 1860s, and during the Civil War Cushman performed benefit concerts for the Sanitary Commission Fair in Philadelphia and other major cities, bringing in thousands of dollars to help wounded soldiers. But much of her life in the 1860s was spent in Europe - in Rome, Italy, where she was the center of an expatriate community of American female artists including the sculptor Emma Stebbins, who would immortalize Cushman in the image of the figure of the angel for the Bethesda Fountain now seen in New York’s Central Park. Of course, Cushman was not faithful to Stebbins, either, we now know, often pursuing women much much younger than herself.

In her final years, Cushman could not perform as often - because was quite ill. Battling breast cancer, she made a series of “Farewell Tours” of America, mostly as a ‘reader’ of plays rather than as an actress - as we know that Fanny Kemble was also doing in this period. In November 1874, Cushman bid farewell to all her fans in Philadelphia at the Academy of Music, reading Meg Merrilies and Lady Macbeth for the last time. The applause from the Philadelphia crowd was loud and sustained, and the floral tributes showered down onto the Academy stage. For the final time, Cushman stepped to the footlights, and her thoughts naturally turned to her sojourn in the city 30 years before. “In the earlier part of my professional career Philadelphia was . . . my happy home. Here I experienced privately the greatest kindness and hospitality, publicly the utmost goodness and consideration  . . . until, at no distant day, we meet again . . good night, and all good be with you.”

But Cushman never returned to the city of Philadelphia again except occasionally to seek medical treatment from the city’s eminent doctors. She died in Boston in 1876 at the age of 59. Her public reputation as the leading American tragedienne of her day was absolutely rock solid. Details about her turbulent and exciting private life remained, for the most part, little known or were mostly disregarded. That she was an American star that she had made a big hit on international stages was always to her credit, and the fact that she had never married, had never depended upon men, but instead had led an independent and glamorous artistic life made her a heroine, in fact, to many American women of the era. 

Now let’s skip ahead to November of the year 1907. Philadelphia is booming, and like many major American cities it is full of theaters. Dozens of big houses, up and down Broad Street, as well as along Chestnut and Market are filled with new shows almost every night during the season from September to May. Even the good old Walnut Street Theatre and many new vaudeville houses in West and North Philadelphia are packed with audiences every night. The newspapers are filled with theatrical doings and theatrical gossip. Almost all of the touring shows in the country, either coming out of New York or hoping soon to arrive there, come through Philadelphia. 

The casts of these shows, in those pre-union days, could be filled with dozens of young women who were not generally receiving large salaries, especially if they were in the chorus. On the road these actresses might find themselves suddenly cut from a show, or might want to  jump from one show to another. But all these ladies would need housing in whatever American city they ended up in, and usually they had to find their own temporary accommodation in private boarding houses or in hotels.

Also out on the road in those days were legions of traveling salesmen, or ‘drummers’ as they were known then - think of The Music Man, with its railcars full of sharp-eyed sales reps, their valises packed with samples and their eyes on the next opportunity. Indeed, as is detailed in that otherwise wholesome musical about America at the turn of the last century, these drummers were known for being rather aggressive sexually, on the lookout for a quick romance with a Sadder But Wiser Girl for Them. Now if they met up with some young actresses in the same hotel that they were staying at, and paid calls on them, the ladies might welcome this attention, or they might not. Perhaps they just needed to be left alone so they could get some sleep and relaxation before their next show. 

One day, the story goes, a woman named Lydia Ellicott Morris, the wife of an eminent Philadelphia architect, was riding on a trolley car. And she overheard two young actresses behind her fretting over the problem that traveling actresses were often forced to live in hotels and boarding houses along with those awful traveling salesmen! Lydia promptly got off the trolley, found some socially prominent and wealthy friends, and started raising funds.

And that proved not to be a difficult task. Everyone back then went to the theater, perhaps 80 percent of the American public attended one theater or another at some point during the year. It was no longer regarded as a possible source of vice and iniquity, it represented civilized life to most people. Philadelphia, like most American cities, also had a large number of very wealthy and public spirited women like Lydia Ellicott Morris, who did not have careers like their husbands, but who had lots of energy, lots of determination, and [who] headed up multiple charitable committees and organizations – as was expected of ladies in their social position. And as ever, Philadelphia had a large number of churches and religious organizations, also with their own public service missions. In an era, in fact, when there was much Reforming Spirit in the land, and when many people belonged to multiple clubs and fraternal organizations, it seemed natural enough to form a club to deal with this particular issue of providing safe and inexpensive housing for female show folk. They decided to call it the “Charlotte Cushman Club.” 

In November of 1907, a small house was purchased on South 10th Street. By 1909 the Charlotte Cushman Club was already holding receptions, and inviting guests from New York City, such as the Revered Dr. Francis J. Clayton Moran, of the Actors Church Alliance. “The old enmity between the church and the stage which has existed for years is dying out,” a Philadelphia newspaper quoted Dr. Moran as saying, in an article that boasted that the Quaker City was already ahead of The Big Apple in having such an organization. For a nominal fee, any actress who requested it could have a room to stay in, at the clubhouse, while her show was in town, in a respectable and well-chaperoned establishment. It was a great idea.

Why call it after Charlotte Cushman, though? Charlotte Cushman had been dead for over thirty years. Now, in some latter-day articles, I’ve seen it speculated that Cushman had herself always been keenly aware of the plight of single actresses on the road, and she had left money for the purpose of helping them out in her will. But really, I can find no evidence at all that that was the case. So, what was the reason for calling it the “Charlotte Cushman Club”? 

Well, It was quite usual for amateur theatrical groups in America to spring up in that time, using the name of famous actors of yesteryear, calling themselves “The Edwin Forrest Club” or “The Edwin Booth Club.” But there were few or no clubs named after famous actresses. So it was a bit of a thrill for Morris and the other founders of the club to employ the name of the most well-known actress of their grandmothers’ generation, one whose reputation for being independent and unmarried was still part of her legacy. Now, the fact that Cushman was a lesbian, and just as aggressive in her many courtships during her travels as any Harold Hill running after Marian the Librarian, had not apparently made it into the general historical consciousness in the early 20th Century. Certainly all the clergymen and church ladies would have balked at that, had they known - but apparently, they did not. Well, they certainly weren’t going to call themselves “The Sarah Bernhardt Club,” after the most famous actress of that day. Bernhardt was known for her open affairs with many men – certainly not the image they were going for! So, “The Charlotte Cushman Club” was just the ticket. [MUSIC OUT] A respectable name for a charity supporting young single women. And as we saw in the case of Mrs. John Drew, nobody looked too closely into famous actors’ private lives . . .  not yet. That would be the province of the biographers of future generations.

The Charlotte Cushman Club’s little clubhouse on 10th and Pine Streets, it was agreed by all, was filled with splendid arrangements. There was a parlor, a dining room and there were even sewing and laundry facilities for actresses who needed to take care of their show costumes or their own clothes. Each bedroom in the house was given names as well. The actor John Drew Jr made a donation and named the room after his wife, the actress Josephine Baker. Reverend Fisher of St John’s Church donated a room in tribute to actress Mary Anderson, and Wanamaker's and Strawbridge’s department stores donated furniture throughout the house.

The club flourished. After a few years, the demand for housing increased, and the club relocated to 12th and Locust Streets. In 1920, it moved again, to 1010 Spruce Street. Each time the club moved, the number of guests the house could accommodate was raised, so more resources were needed to furnish it and support its mission. Fundraising receptions, play readings, dances and luncheons followed. Any famous visiting local theatrical star would generally be invited to attend these functions, and of course all the members delighted in rubbing elbows with the real theater folk. 

In 1927, Philadelphia’s theatrical activity reached its all-time peak. Hundreds of shows shuttled in and out of town, and the facilities at the Cushman Club were always in demand - in fact many actresses were often regretfully turned away. In 1929, the clubhouse had room for 50 girls at a time, and a waiting list held the names of 100 more.

But when the Great Depression struck in the early 1930s, the endowment of the club took a big hit when the stock market tumbled. Benefactors cut back their donations . . and at the same time the big Broadway touring shows coming through Philadelphia mostly stopped coming .  . . and when they did come, didn’t stay for long. Vaudeville was dying off and even legitimate producers stopped needing so many huge choruses filled with dancers and showgirls. Rooms sat empty. Eventually, the Spruce Street house was given away to the Jefferson Medical College Hospital, to become a dormitory for nurses. The club offices moved to a suite at the Bellevue-Stratford Hotel on Broad Street, and a small number of rooms were kept in reserve there for those who still needed them. 

But the original purpose of the club was shifting with the times. Housing was no longer its chief mission. During the 1940s the club became the Philadelphia chapter of the American Theatre Wing, a group of public spirited women who became part of the Allied Relief Fund and helped to run the Stage Door Cafe for American servicemen in the basement of the Academy of Music. In 1957, the Philadelphia club decided to start awarding The Cushman Award for Lifetime Achievement in the Theatre as a tribute to a “distinguished contributor to the vitality of the theater.” These recipients didn’t even need to be women. Shirley Booth was the first recipient, but she was followed by stage luminaries of both genders: Richard Burton, Carol Channing, Jose Ferrer, Henry Fonda, Catherine Cornell, Angela Lansbury, Julie Harris, Helen Hayes, Katharine Hepburn, Mary Martin, Ginger Rogers . . all of them got the award when they were in town doing a show, and of course there were parties and receptions held in their honor, which always made the society column of the Philadelphia papers. And everybody had their photograph taken next to the Star of the Day.

In 1963 the Club moved to a cozy two story building at 239 S. Camac Street, formerly the Poor Richard Club. That little stretch of Camac, by the way, had once been known as a den of bawdy houses in the late 19th Century, but by the mid-20th Century a trio of respectable clubs dedicated to the arts stood there. The Plastics Club and the Sketch Club flanked the Cushman Club on either side. Receptions and luncheons continued to be held there, and it became the home of a huge trove of theatrical artifacts donated by members as honorees. Fanny Brice’s piano sat downstairs, and numerous theatrical paintings and sculptures decorated the walls. There was a bust of Charlotte Cushman, naturally, and library shelves held dozens of scrapbooks containing voluminous collections of theatrical programs and handbills.

Who had collected all that memorabilia? Well, primarily the longtime Cushman Club member Eleanor Westcott. Eleanor Westcott had become a member of the club in the 1930s. She came by her passion for Philadelphia history by inheritance, so to speak. Her grandfather was Thompson Westcott, who had co-authored a history of Philadelphia back in the 1880s, and before that had been the principal member of the team who had put together Charles Durang’s History of the Philadelphia Stage into the voluminous scrapbooks that are now in the collection of the University of Pennsylvania Library, and are so invaluable to theater historians - such as Yours Truly.

During World War II, his granddaughter Eleanor was one of the principal members of the Cushman Club who In the 1950s Eleanor was instrumental in moving the club into its cozy digs on Camac Street, and she presided over the tea table at the club, welcoming thousands of touring actors and other theater folk to Philadelphia with grace and generosity. And it was there she really began her life’s work: making the club house into a store room of theatrical history in the city. According to the writer John Francis Marion: “Eleanor was, in her own quiet way, the scholar-adventurer. She begged, cajoled, and wheedled letters, programs, paintings, prompt books and theatrical memorabilia. . . Most of all, we must not forget that she was a proud, passionate and true citizen of Philadelphia.”

A very lovely tribute. But an organization can’t live in - or on - the past. In 1984, the actor and director John Houseman, then aged 81 himself, was given the Lifetime Achievement Award by the Cushman Club, and looking at the names of former recipients, remarked that he had “worked with at least half of them.” Now that got a laugh, no doubt. But it was true that most of the cohort of women surrounding him at the reception weren’t that much younger than him.

But from 1995 on, a new generation of the club’s leadership started shifting its focus away from supporting out-of-town actors to supporting local Philadelphia theater companies. It began to sponsor the Charlotte Cushman Award for Outstanding Leading Actress in a Play, and this award has been annually presented at Philadelphia's Barrymore Awards ever since. 

In 1999 the decision was made to sell the clubhouse and become a grant-making Foundation, rather than a physical meeting place. Other assets, including the precious library, were also sold and all these proceeds went to building a carefully managed endowment. Some artifacts were donated to local libraries - and many theatrical posters and historic theater programs were obtained by Bernard Havard for the Walnut Street Theatre, where they are now on display as part of that institution's state-designated mission as a museum for the city’s theater history. 

The Cushman Foundation no longer houses anyone coming from out of town, but has dedicated itself to supporting Philadelphia theater artists who are already here. In particular I must say I appreciate the fact that they have made dedicated grants to support actors' salaries. Most admirably, during the recent pandemic, the Cushman Foundation directed much needed funds to many non-profit Philadelphia theater companies, allowing them to survive into the future. And that is surely something that Charlotte Cushman, and all the many members of the Cushman club over its history, would have approved of. I certainly do.

That’s our story for today. Special thanks to Cirel Magen, who has generously shared her personal archival material from the Charlotte Cushman Club with me. I’m Peter Schmitz, and our opening and closing theme music is by Christopher Mark Colucci. 

I should note that the original episode recording was released in January of 2022, but since that time the sound file somehow became corrupted, so repairs had to be made, and additional voice recording and new music was added by me in July of 2026. We hope you enjoyed the repaired - and enhanced - listening experience. the show, and for coming along on another Adventure in Theater History: Philadelphia.

© Podcast text copyright Peter Schmitz. All rights reserved.