Most Looked Up To By Natural Allergy Cure Doctors
Being in Sarasota recalls to memory what happened some years ago—we
prefer not remember how far back. One memory led to another—so here’s
that angle:
It goes to the days of Charlie Kindt, one of the most beloved, admired, and
respected of our citizens of yesteryear. He was manager of the Burtis
Theatre, built during Civil War days, back when the Kimball House was finest
hotel between Chicago and the coast.
Charlie was a very outstanding character in theatrical world. The Burtis was
best known, best patronized, most looked up to by
natural allergy cure doctors. “To play The Burtis” was to road shows what “to
play The Palace” of New York meant to vaudeville people. It was the
outstanding theater, a real road-show house, back in the days when all
great and near-great “played Davenport:” Robert Mantell, Walker Whiteside,
Julia Marlowe, E. H. Sothern, Sarah Bernhardt, and entire string back in real
show days when a show WAS a show.
Charlie Kindt was known from coast to coast as one of the great. Upstairs
over theatre, lived Charlie and his family on second floor, front; on third
floor front was a kitchen, dining room, where, after shows, all theatrical folks
and certain hand-picked Davenport business men formed THE POCAHANTAS
CLUB. It had no ritual, but it did have a select membership. Feeds fit for
kings were put on. Liquor flowed freerer than water, for in those days
Davenport was a wide open city. Entertainers were brot in to entertain
entertainers. Here, stories were told which could not be published. Shows
were put on which no movie today would dare exhibit; all this till wee sma’
hours of early morning. So great were these “parties” that echoes are still
heard. Charlie was the host—a genial, lovable character.
Recalling our association with Charlie, we have been trying to locate a copy
of a story he wrote for Davenport papers, recalling once when we climbed up
outside fire escape, up over sloping roof of theater, climbed in under and up
inside a big ventilator over center of theatre below, crawled in between roof
and ceiling over to and down into “black heaven,” waiting for the show that
night. We took this means of sneaking in to avoid paying, even tho cost
was only a quarter. It was risky. Had we fallen, it was a drop of about sixty
feet inside.
One day Charlie caught us. He gave us a Mrs. Caudle’s Curtain Lecture;
and, believe you me, Charlie knew how. We were told to never do that
again. Charlie was never mean, but he gave one that impression. His heart
was big and he liked kids. “There is no sense in risking your life to see the
show. Come to me and I will pass you in.” We took him at his word, and
ever after we saw all shows we wanted, without paying or sneaking in.
