Had it been up to Big Jim Currie, the fallen matinee idol would have
died face down in a puddle by the back door of Harvey's eating and
drinking establishment that night. But miraculously, Currie's unarmed
victim had survived three shots fired point-blank and was expected to
make a full recovery in time to testify to the events of March 19, 1879, near Marshall, Texas, that had left a fellow actor dead and an actress bereaved.

[img]http://www.themediadrome.com/Images/history/barrymore_maurice_1.gif[/img]
Maurice Barrymore

A troupe of prominent New York actors had left that city in January and
had braved the dust and alkali of a 1,200-mile train trip to present
Diplomacy, Victorien Sardou's drama of political intrigue and diplomatic
treachery, in a series of exclusive engagements across the Lone Star
State. Heading the cast in the role of a high-minded French
bureaucrat--and co-producing the play--was one of Broadway's most
sought-after leading men. The real-life drama that unfolded in March
near Marshall, an east Texas town near the Louisiana border, was unlike
any show Maurice Barrymore had ever been in before. It was a genuine
frontier show--a Western showdown.

Herbert Arthur Chamberlayne Hunter Blyth, born in India of a respectable
English family on September 21, 1849, had taken the name Maurice
Barrymore from a playbill soon after disgracing the Blyths by becoming
an actor in 1872. The public response to Barrymore had been one of
unanimous pleasure. Amid the usual array of dandified Victorian heroes,
he cut a figure of unforgettable grace, dash and masculinity. During
what was to have been a brief stint in the United States in 1875,
Barrymore became a hit in New York City. A year later, Broadway
impresario Augustin Daly offered the actor a permanent place in his
renowned stock company.

At Daly's, Maurice Barrymore found a home. There he met and married
Georgiana Drew, who was of a prominent theatrical lineage. By the summer
of 1877, each had prospered under their employer's meticulous grooming.
Georgiana was on her way to becoming one of the era's best-loved
comediennes, while Maurice had fluttered innumerable hearts as "the
handsome and treacherous lover" Raymond Lessing in the long-running
Pique.

Then, in September, Daly suddenly proclaimed himself on the verge of
bankruptcy. With Georgiana pregnant (Lionel would be born on April 12,
1878), Maurice began to look for alternate ways to make a living. A
recent inheritance enabled him to purchase the touring rights to
Diplomacy, which had enjoyed moderate success in America after debuting
to rave notices in London a few years before.

The fledgling actor-manager believed that the tour could be a financial
success. He took on a partner, Frederick Warde, and, calling themselves
the Warde-Barrymore Combination, they booked Diplomacy on an extensive
run. Warde would take one company on a series of engagements in the
Northeast and upper Midwest, while Barrymore would head to the Southwest
and perform in myriad Texas towns recently made accessible by the
railroads. In January 1879, the partners set off with their respective
companies.

By the middle of March, the Combination had good reason to be
optimistic. Audiences were appreciative, if not abundant, critics were
warm, and the production had held its own financially. In that relaxed
and congenial atmosphere, Maurice's brother-in-law, John Drew, got up
the courage to propose to the love of his life, actress Josephine Baker.
She readily accepted.

Another member of Barrymore's company, Ben Porter, fell in love through
the intervention of a portable coffeepot. The device, which Porter had
procured while a Union volunteer in the Civil War, made him the center
of off-duty attention. Late night chats over coffee with another cast
member, Ellen Cummins, grew amorous. One evening after a caffeine boost,
Porter nervously proposed. If the portly 39-year-old was somewhat
hesitant, it was only because he was already married. Since the war, he
had dutifully supported a wife from whom he had long been estranged,
while also caring for his mother, as well as his widowed sister and her
son.

The beleaguered Porter's luck now seemed about to change. As the train
headed out of Galveston, he announced to the troupe that Ellen Cummins
had consented to marry him as soon as he could obtain a divorce.

Not surprisingly, the Diplomacy performers were in high spirits when
they entered Marshall in the early evening of March 19. The little town,
known as the "Gateway to Texas" because of its proximity to both
Louisiana and Arkansas, prided itself on its reputation as a cultural
oasis, and deservedly so. It boasted several theaters, the most
distinguished being Mahone's Opera House, where the Combination would
play a single performance that night. As had been the case in the cast's
last few appearances, there wasn't an empty seat to be had in the
Mahone. The production was flawless, with Barrymore and John Drew
exceptional as the leads, Henry and Julien Beauclerc. No audience on the
entire tour had showed its enthusiasm for the play so thoroughly. Under
the circumstances, Barrymore had good reason to feel confident about the
future of his troupe.

After leaving the theater, the company repaired to the Depot Hotel just
outside of town to await a train, still some three hours away. Maurice
Barrymore, Ben Porter and Ellen Cummins strolled over to Nat Harvey's
Lunchroom for a cup of coffee. The establishment stood on the station
platform some 30 feet away from the Depot Hotel.

As they entered through the front door, they noticed a saloon that had
been set up behind a screen in the back of the large room, the front
being occupied by an eating bar. There were no other customers. At the
eating bar, Ben and Ellen ordered coffee and Maurice asked for a light
ale. Barrymore drank the beverage and then excused himself to see to the
luggage while the couple stayed on to have dinner.

While Nat Harvey took their order, a customer came in through a side
door and sat down in the saloon portion of the restaurant. He was tall
and heavy, with a large black mustache. He wore a white sombrero and a
dark frock coat. Unmistakably drunk, he called out to the owner for a
glass of ice water. Harvey strode over at once--Big Jim Currie, he knew,
was not a man to be kept waiting. Even when sober, Big Jim was known for
having a violent temper, and he had managed to stay out of jail only
through the influence of his brother, Andy Currie, the mayor of nearby
Shreveport, La. Big Jim had recently shot and killed three men under
mysterious circumstances while serving as a detective for the Texas &
Pacific Railroad. Over 6 feet tall and weighing 220 pounds, Currie's
size was intimidating enough. But the bulky fellow also wore a pair of
identical Smith & Wesson revolvers under his coat.

"I guess I better take a little budge with it," said the big man after
Harvey brought him the ice water.

"You better go slow, Jim," Harvey suggested. "You look like you've had
enough."

"No, I must have some," Currie insisted. "It's much too good a thing
around here."

Harvey complied. As Currie gulped down his liquor, he noticed Ellen
Cummins' reflection in a long mirror beside the bar. "There's a high
tossed whore if I ever saw one," he commented.

"Come on, Jim," said the proprietor. "You don't know if she's a lady or
not. She's behaved herself, and I'd rather you didn't make no such
remarks."

"That's all right, partner," Currie muttered, getting up to leave the
bar. Big Jim walked across the room, his gaze now fixed on Ben Porter,
who sat leaning back with his hands clasped behind his neck. "You threw
your hands up when I passed you," accused Currie, repeating the gesture.
"You can't give me any guff like that."

"My friend if you allude to me," Porter answered calmly, "I hadn't
thought of you; I was talking to this lady here."

"If you say that you're a damned liar."

"I'm in company with a lady and prefer you didn't make remarks of that
kind in her presence," said the actor, "but if you want a difficulty you
can see me anywhere you like outside the house."

"Hell of a lady she is!"

"Jim, Jim stop that!" yelled Harvey from across the room.

At that moment, Maurice Barrymore re-entered. "Go away," he said quietly
to the seething Currie. "There's a lady here."

"Maybe you want to take it up, you damned whoremonger," Currie spat.

Barrymore turned quickly to Porter. "Get Miss Cummins out of here," he
begged. Reluctantly, Porter and his fiancé left the room by the front
door.

"So you want to take it up?" repeated the bully.

"Well, I'm not particular, but I am unarmed."

"So am I," said Currie.

"Haven't you a pistol?"

"No."

"Will you swear you haven't?"

"Yes."

Barrymore removed his coat. He hadn't mentioned that as London's most
talented young pugilist, he had won England's Amateur Middleweight
Boxing Championship at the age of 22. Confidently, he assumed his
stance. Not to be outdone, Currie drew both Smith & Wessons from beneath
his coat and leveled them at his unarmed opponent. A moment later, he
opened fire.

The first bullet tore through Barrymore's left arm before embedding
itself in his chest. Hurtling backward, the victim looked frantically
for something to hurl at his assailant. The barstools were bolted down.
Another shot struck Barrymore's boot, causing the actor to make a run
for it the best he could. Currie gave chase. Crashing through a side
door, Barrymore fell heavily into the yard as a third bullet struck a
nearby wooden barrel. From the hole in the barrel, a stream of water
puddled beneath the now motionless actor.

Currie turned and strode back into the room, about the same time that
Ben Porter came running through the front door. "For God's sake," Porter
shouted, "Don't murder an unarmed man!"

"God damn you, I can kill the whole lot of you!" Currie yelled, pulling
the trigger. A ball tore through Porter's stomach, coming to rest just
at the point of exiting his back. Ben staggered a few feet toward the
door and collapsed near the threshold.

Hearing the shot, Ellen Cummins ran to the commotion. At the sight of
her fiancé sprawled in the doorway, she screamed. John Drew arrived
next. He was in search of his brother-in-law, Barrymore, but instead
found Big Jim, glowering with revolvers cocked. Drew froze momentarily
as their eyes met. The gunman thrust him aside before passing through
the front doors. Staggering about the station platform, Currie began to
rail incoherently, pausing now and then to take random shots into the
night.

According to one spectator, as Currie made his "trail-blazing jaunt,"
Marshallites began to gather at the scene. None attempted to disarm him
until the arrival of Arch Adams, a lawman known for his courage in the
presence of dangerous men. Carrying a double-barreled shotgun "at
half-mast" by his side, Adams calmly approached Currie. "Jim, I've come
to arrest you and take you to jail," the deputy said, his gaze steady on
the big man. The fight went out of Currie. "All right Arch, I'll go with
you," he said. A moment later he was disarmed and led off to jail.

With order restored, R.W. Thompson of the Texas & Pacific Railroad
sought help for the wounded men. He summoned Dr. Elon Johnson, who
transformed the passenger waiting room of the Depot Hotel into a
makeshift hospital. Ben Porter died, however, just a few minutes after
being brought into the room. As he was being undressed, the bullet that
had killed him fell out of his back.

Maurice Barrymore was seriously wounded but hanging on. Dr. Johnson
noted in his examination that the ball had fractured Barrymore's scapula
before coming to rest beside an artery in the actor's back. Unable to
stop the bleeding, the doctor called in two local surgeons, B.F. Eads
and John H. Pope, for consultation. Barrymore was taken to a first-floor
room at the hotel for surgery, while the troupe's survivors sat
crestfallen in the lobby awaiting the outcome. It was not until dawn
that the doctors emerged with the news that the bullet had been removed
and the operation a success. Upon regaining consciousness later that
afternoon, March 20, the patient gazed curiously at the tiny slug that
had nearly killed him.

"I'll give it to my son Lionel," Barrymore said, according to John
Drew's later recollection, "to cut his teeth on."

As Maurice Barrymore lay confined to his sickbed, east Texans and others
tried to make sense of the shootings. The initial newspaper accounts
often had conflicting information. The Denison Daily News reported that
Porter and Currie had been gambling shortly before leaving for Harvey's,
that the two men had argued, and that Big Jim had fired in self-defense.
According to the Little Rock Daily Gazette, Porter had been shot in the
right eye, the ball having gone "though his brain, killing him
instantly." Afterward, the newspaper went on, Currie had gone on a
shooting rampage and, finally, "to show his utter lack of feeling," had
"walked up to a dog lying on the floor and stamped its head."

Marshallites would not learn the truth about the shootings until three
days afterward, when Nat Harvey's testimony at the coroner's inquest of
March 21 appeared verbatim in Marshall's Tri-Weekly Herald. When the
story reached the nation, Texans were reviled in newspapers across the
country. The St. Louis Democrat called the state "a place where whiskey
and pistols are too plentiful and law and order too scarce." The New
York Times, read by many theatergoers, would report on the shootings
eight times during the spring of 1879.

Meanwhile, Shreveport Mayor Andy Currie arrived at Marshall to arrange
for his brother's defense. At his side were the Crain brothers, noted
criminal lawyers from Caddo Parrish. If Harvey's damning testimony at
the inquest wasn't bad enough, Big Jim made matters worse. From jail he
told a reporter that he "had no regret at what he had done...[only] that
he had not killed the entire party." His attorneys knew they would have
their work cut out for them.

On March 25, while Ben Porter's funeral was being held in New York City,
what was left of the Diplomacy cast held a benefit performance in
Marshall to raise money for Ben Porter's mother. Despondent
Marshallites--the main focus of condemnation ever since the
shootings--spared no expense in supporting the actors and making them
feel welcome. Afterward, Ellen Cummins made an "exquisite little speech
of appreciative thanks." Her career, though, was practically over.
Distraught over the murder of her fiancé, she would return home to
Louisville and seldom set foot in a theater again.

Maurice Barrymore proved far more resilient. Although his partnership
with Frederick Warde lay on the brink of financial ruin as a result of
the shootings, he remained in good spirits during his month-long
convalescence--due to both the arrival of his wife, Georgiana, on the
day of the inquest and the solicitude of his hosts. As soon as he could
be moved, four of the city's elite carried his stretcher the mile
distance from the Depot to the elegant Capitol Hotel at the center of
Marshall. General W.P. Lane walked alongside the entourage with an
umbrella, shielding Maurice from the afternoon sun. At the hotel, the
Barrymores were given the best rooms free of charge.

Contrite Texans also went out of their way to accommodate the tour's
remaining dates. Being two actors short, the company could not perform
Diplomacyany longer, but two farces were hastily thrown together.
Benefits were given all over the state, with citizens showing much
hospitality to the dispirited company. Although the money earned might
have saved the Warde-Barrymore Combination, Barrymore insisted that all
$5,000 of the proceeds go to Mrs. Porter.

On July 3, 1879, the murder trial of Jim Currie began--and was quickly
postponed after the defense complained that all the witnesses were not
present. At the recommendation of her doctor, Ellen Cummins had been
allowed to give her testimony by deposition. Nat Harvey, having sold his
lunchroom to an undisclosed buyer for an unusually large sum, had
mysteriously vanished. After rejoining his company's tour for its final
performance in Philadelphia, Maurice Barrymore returned alone to
Marshall for the trial, enthusiastic at the prospect of seeing justice
meted out to the killer of Ben Porter. But when Judge A.J. Booty caved
in to the defense's delaying tactic, Barrymore made no secret of his
disappointment. "This reminds me of our performances in England," he
told the court. "We commence with a tragedy and end with a farce."

The new trial date, June 10, 1880, would at least give the prosecution
time to track down Harvey, its star witness. The former saloon owner was
finally found near Fort Worth and brought back to Marshall under arrest.
At the appointed time, Barrymore again returned to Texas, to be joined
by Ellen Cummins a few days later. Finally, on Monday the 14th at 1:30
p.m., after a lengthy jury selection, the trial began. The three
eyewitnesses recalled with unimpeachable clarity the details of the
drunken assailant's rampage. Their testimony, it seemed clear, would
incriminate Jim Currie beyond a reasonable doubt.

When the defendant's turn came, his counsel, now swelled to eight
lawyers, attempted to show that Currie had somehow acted in
self-defense. But despite the testimony of 23 witnesses they called, the
evidence to support their claim remained weak and unconvincing.
"Lies!...incredible lies," Barrymore was heard to exclaim, evoking a
stern rebuke from Judge Booty.

Next, the defense argued that Currie was not guilty by reason of
insanity. Dr. T.G. Ford of Shreveport was brought in to testify that the
defendant was likely not in his right mind at the time of the shootings.
At this, the defense rested.

Closing arguments dragged on in the packed, sweltering courtroom for the
next two days. At 7 p.m. on June 18, 1880, the judge presented the case
to the jury. "With what can be characterized as indecent haste,"
reported the Herald, the 12 jurymen reached their verdict in just 10
minutes. "With unabashed pride," the foreman stood and announced their
decision: "We the jury find the defendant not guilty by reason of
insanity."

As the courtroom erupted, Andy Currie, with his brother alongside,
strode over to Maurice Barrymore. With an outstretched hand, the mayor
smiled and invited the incredulous actor to supper. Barrymore answered
back angrily. Big Jim Currie then lunged forward, only to find himself
held fast by his brother. Without further incident, the Curries quickly
departed.

"He wanted me to shake hands with his brother," said the sickened actor
to District Attorney W.W. Spivey as they turned to leave. "I told him
that blood was thicker than water...that despite the verdict of those
twelve intelligent jurymen, I still consider his brother a cowardly
murderer."

"But Big Jim was standing right there," Spivey said.

"Certainly, and he didn't open his mouth. He wouldn't have caught me
unawares a second time."

At the station platform, Maurice Barrymore ventured a few choice words
for the small gathering that had come to see him off. "A set of
blackguards, the whole lot of them," he railed, "from that evil-looking
judge downwards! They must have been squared by somebody. I guess there
wasn't a man in court who wouldn't sell his soul for a whiskey sour!"

Indeed, there was little doubt that the jury had been bought. Following
the trial, one of the prosecuting attorneys told a local newspaper that
"money had probably been used with the jury." Major John M. Cass
reported that one of the jurors paid for a shave with a $10 bill from "a
roll of greenbacks he took from a side pocket." Another was quoted as
saying that "he had not been on the jury for nothing."

Despite their success in the courtroom, the Curries had by now worn out
their welcome in Marshall. Andy returned to Shreveport, but not before
exiling his brother to New Mexico--where he was set up running a saloon
in partnership with a mining prospector. To no one's great surprise, Big
Jim shot and killed his partner a few years later. This time in court he
was found guilty and sentenced to serve 20 years in the penitentiary at
Santa Fe. But, in March 1891, the convicted murderer was released after
serving just two years--again due to the intervention of Andy Currie.

In the end, his brother's tireless efforts were unable to save Big Jim
from himself. Not too many years after his release, a Mexican bandit
pulled a revolver during a brawl and shot him in the chest at close
range. He was reported to have agonized on a barroom floor for several
minutes before he died.

Maurice Barrymore returned to New York at the close of the trial on the
night train from Marshall. He would never return to Texas. Awaiting him
was Broadway stardom--and a legacy unparalleled in the annals of theater
and film. His children, Lionel (1878­1954), Ethel (1879­1959) and John
(1882­1942), would grow up to remake the New York stage of the 1920s in
the Barrymore image and go on to screen immortality in the decades that
followed. In 1982, Maurice's great-granddaughter, Drew Barrymore, made
her movie debut at the age of 6 in E.T., which until recently was the
highest-grossing film of all time.
It was a legacy that but for the bad aim of a drunken gunfighter would
never have been.

[img]http://www.2-nude-2-naked-2-sexy.com/html/cameron-diaz-drew-barrymore/drew-barrymore-nude.jpg[/img]
Drew Barrymore, great-grand-daughter of Maurice

excellent post. thank you!

Now seriously, I'd like to contact Drew Barrymore and lure her into town to make a movie about her ancestor's story. I don't care about writing a script, or of they shoot on location, nor about getting any credit or money from it. I just want Marshall, TX to become a bit of a tourist attraction. Like, everybody has heard of Tombstone, Arizona and all those other rotten cowtowns that would have been forgotten by the world if not for the plethora of movies.
So far, I've got about a dozen addresses of agencies that used to work with her, and one e-mail address. Other than the bloody obvious, i.e. write a letter to all of them to find out which of these is her current one, how would I proceed? Contacting scriptwriters? Agents? Directors?
I think the story is awesome and would certainly be worth a movie.

To much to read...i'll rent the movie

Interesting.  Don't know how good of a movie.. But interesting.

This is a cop bashing thread and must be closed [:D]

Seriously, Drew is one wacky chick.  She feels guilt about eating plants because they have feelings.  Sure you want her in Texas?  She might be contagious.