-So, Lou Me -
So I finally got around to Dangerous Dan McGrew. It has been a long time coming! This Service Selection was spurred by some correspondence with Bob Holotnak who is helping to produce a silent movie on this Service ballad. This will be the third silent movie done from the poem, (Go to: Silent Movie). It got me thinking how really important this ditty was to Service and to the world.
Dan McGrew could very well be the most recited story poem in the English language in the twentieth century. Consider this . . . McGrew produced two silent movies with screenplays by James J. Tynan in 1915 and Marvin Dana in 1924. Animator Tex Avery's cartoon Dangerous Dan Mcfoo entertained young and old with his clever parody. McGrew parodies were recorded by Guy Lombardo's Royal Canadians, and a favorite of mine, Spike Jone's rendition of Ragtime Cowboy Joe. In a previous Service Selection we showed one of many written parodies which owed their roots to McGrew. Add to this the countless recitals all over the world and its not hard to see how Dangerous Dan along with Sam Mcgee were chiefly responsible for Service's wealth and fame. Oh yes, how McGrew did Grow from the humble beginnings of a church recital in Whitehorse.
It's interesting to hear Service himself recite the Ballad and change a few phrases such as using "Barb Wire Hootch" instead of "The green stuff in his glass". It is also interesting in reading later Service works and hearing a couple choice interviews to know that even though Robert knew that Dan had been very helpful in his career a certain amount resentment comes from having this piece overshadow his many other gems of verse.
Yes, Robert Service must have puzzled at the immense fame of McGrew and Mcgee, which he put back to back in his first book of verse. He was likely amazed of the staying power of their popularity. And perhaps a bit miffed that none of his poems since have ever achieved the fame of those two raucous ballads. According to Service's writing in his autobiography the poet nearly ended up with the same fate as Dan Mcgrew. Here is the story concerning it's writing from Service's first autobiography Ploughman of the Moon. The story takes place in Whitehorse Yukon.
"I reckon that about my only claim
to social consideration at this time was as an entertainer, and a pretty
punk one at that. I could sing a song and vamp on accompaniment, but mainly
I was a prize specimen of that ingenuous ass, the amateur reciter. The chief
items on my repertoire were: Casey at the Bat, Gunga Din and the Face on
the Barroom Floor. They were effective enough, but the moment came when
they were staled by repetition, and at that time I was asked to take part
in a church concert. What to do?"
I was pondering over the problem when I ran into Stroller White, the editor
of the White Horse Star. The Stroller was a remarkable man, a noted humorist
of the North.Occasionally I had sent him bits of verse which he had accepted
cordially. Now he addressed me: I hear you're going to do a piece at the
church concert. Why don't you write a poem for it? Give us something about
our own bit of earth. We sure would appreciate it. There's a rich pay streak
waiting for someone to work. Why don't you go in and stake it?"
I thanked him and said I would think it over. I went for a long walk, and
did think, considerably. The idea intrigued me, but I hadn't the foggiest
notion how I was going to proceed. All I Knew was that I wanted to write
a dramatic ballad suitable for recitation. I questioned very much if I would
be able, for I started from nothing. I doubt if ever another succesful ballad
has been produced out of such unbelievable blankness. I said to myself:
"First, you have to have a theme. What about revenge? . . . Then you
have to have a story to embody your theme. What about the old triangle,
the faithless wife, the betrayed husband? Sure fire stuff . . . Give it
a setting in a Yukon saloon and make the two guys shoot it out . . . No,
that would be to banal. Give a new twist to it. What about introducing music?
Tell the story by musical suggestion. That would be different, maybe interesting
. . . "
All of which shows my synthetic approach to the job. Yet as I returned from
my walk I had nothing doped out. It was a Saturday night, and from the various
bars I heard sounds of revelry. The line popped into my mind: "A bunch
of the boys were whooping it up," and it stuck there. Good enough for
a start.
Arrived home I did not want to disturb the sleeping house, but I was on
fire to get started,m so I crawled softly down to the dark office. I would
work in my teller's cage. But I had not reckoned with the ledger keeper
in the guard room. He woke from a dream in which he had been playing a single
handed against two tennis champions, and licking them. Suddenly he heard
a noise near the safe. Burglars! looking through the Trap-door he saw a
furtive shadow. He gripped his revolver**, and closing his eyes, he pointed it at the skulking
shade . . . Fortunately he was a poor shot of the Shooting of Dan McGrew
might never have been written. No doubt some people will say: "Unfortunately,"
and I sympathize with them. Anyhow, with the sensation of a bullet whizzing
past my head, and a detonation ringing in my ears, the ballad was achieved.
For it came so easily to me in my excited state that I was amazed at my
facility. It was as if some one was whispering in my ear. As I wrote stanza
after stanza, the story seemed to evolve of itself. It was a marvelous experience.
Where I had difficulty in finding a rhyme, I by-passed it, and sometimes
when I had my rhyme pat I left the filling out of the line for future consideration.
In any case, before I crawled to bed at five in the morning, my ballad was
in the bag.
So that's the story behind "McGrew." The speaker, though his matrimonial
experience presumably resembled his own.It suggests the power of music to
stir the subconscious and awaken dormant passions, but at the time I wrote
it I don't think any such idea was in my mind. All I thought of was to make
a dramatic monologue, which owing to the cuss-words, I could not recite
at the church concert after all.
I put Lady Lou away in a drawer and forgot about her. Having cost me so
little effort, I did not think the work could have any value. How my old
professor of literature would have snorted with disgust over it! Probably
handicaps a writer to be a scholar and a gentleman. I could crook my little
finger over a tea-cup, and prattle about Pater, but what would it avail
me? Better the college of crude reality and the culture of the common lot."
** Would this be a "Service" Revolver. (Thanks Peter)
above, circa. 1920's A movie poster from one of the silent movies made of The Shooting of Dan McGrew
