Bartee Haile
With the repeal of Prohibition just around the corner, Texas Guinan bid farewell to New York City on Sep. 8, 1931 and took her “Too Hot for Paris” revue on the road.
Born Mary Louise Cecilia Guinan in 1884 on a ranch outside Waco, she was called Mamie by her immigrant parents. But rodeo fans dubbed the 14 year old “Texas.”
To channel their tomboy into more ladylike pursuits, the Guinans coaxed her into entering a national singing contest. The talented teenager won first prize – a two-year, all-expense-paid scholarship to a Chicago conservatory.
After graduation Texas returned to Waco and finished her normal schooling before going on tour with a theater company. When the paychecks bounced, she caught on with a Wild West show and soon married a vagabond artist, the first of four husbands. This union and those that followed were short, slipknot affairs.
By 1906 Texas was pounding the Broadway pavement in search of that one big show-business break. Starting out in the chorus line, she paid her vaudeville dues before becoming an established attraction in 1913.
Four years later, Texas appeared in her first motion picture, a silent western titled “The Wildcat.” Triangle Films, which already had two-gun hero William W. Hart under contract, recruited the authentic cowgirl for the leading role in a series of shoot-’em-ups. Before Triangle went belly-up in 1919, Texas starred in half a dozen sagebrush sagas.
In two hectic years, she made 21 movies for four different studios. But parts were scarce for the 37-year-old actress, whose age had begun to show in unflattering close-ups.
Texas’ solution was to form her own production company that she later claimed cranked out 300 features in less than 18 months. More prolific than profitable, the wannabe movie mogul bowed out in 1922 and headed for New York City.
Her next career move happened quite by chance. After watching the wisecracking woman hold court one evening in a hotel lounge, a bootlegger offered her a generous salary and a share of the net to run his small saloon. The money was just too good to pass up.
The Eighteenth Amendment had succeeded only in driving underground the sale and consumption of alcohol in America’s biggest metropolis. Manhattan was drowning in a sea of illegal booze with thousands of “speakeasies” catering to every strata of society.
“Hello, sucker!” was Texas’ trademark greeting at the El Fey Club, which her magnetic presence transformed into the hottest night spot in the city. Customers paid outrageously inflated prices for soda setups, a lavish floor show, the strictly supervised companionship of beautiful young women and the privilege of being insulted by the hostess who was never at a loss for words.
Several of Texas’ one-liners found their way into the Roaring Twenties vocabulary. “Give the little girl a great big hand” never failed elicit applause for a singer, who could not carry a tune or a dancer that tripped over her own feet. Her introduction of a dairy tycoon as “a big butter and egg man” evolved into a slang synonym for a big spender.
While Texas always got along with the local cops, who felt enforcement of the Volstead Act was the feds’ problem, an assistant attorney general in the Justice Department harassed her with repeated raids. Hearing that her crusading nemesis was to receive an honorary degree from Baylor University, Travis telegraphed: “I’m so happy Mrs. Willebrandt is visiting Waco where she will meet some of the finest people in the world, people who mind their own business and don’t go around poking their noses into other people’s affairs.”
Prohibition agents never posed more than a petty annoyance, but the Depression padlocked the doors. In May 1931, Texas announced she was taking “my girls – 30 really ravishing blondes – on a tour of Europe.”
Banned from Britain as a threat to public decency, the scandalous troupe sailed on to France in anticipation of a much warmer reception. Denied permission to enter a country where scantily clad females were considered national treasures, Texas snapped, “It all goes to show that 50 million Frenchmen can be wrong!”
The international incident provided the inspiration and publicity for a new road show called “Too Hot for Paris.” Texas told New York goodbye for the last time in September 1931 and wished the city “a good, long sleep.”
A puritanical backlash caused the cancellation of several performances on a swing through New England. Forced to refund the admissions of 10,000 disappointed ticketholders in Waltham, Massachusetts, Texas quipped, “Some people are so narrow-minded that their ears touch in the back.”
“Broadway Thru a Keyhole” with Texas playing a fictional version of herself, opened in a New York theater on Nov. 1, 1933, but the star attraction missed the premiere. She was fighting for her life in a Vancouver hospital.
Texas Guinan died four days later from a perforated bowel. Even her harshest critics had to admit the Waco cowgirl crammed a lot of living into 49 years.
“Texas Entertainers: Lone Stars in Profile” is full of talented Texans who deserve a curtain call. Order your autographed copy by mailing a check for $24.00 to Bartee Haile, P.O. Box 130011, Spring, TX 77393.
