My Autobiography by Charles Chaplin (most read book in the world TXT) 📕

autumn twilight along the abandoned ocean front – Nat at the end of his career, I at the beginning of mine.

When I finished cutting Carmen, I hurriedly packed a small grip, and went directly from my dressing-room to the six o’clock train for New York, sending Sydney a telegram stating when I would leave and arrive.

It was a slow train which took five days to get there. I sat alone in an open compartment – in those days I was unrecognized without my comedy make-up. We were going the southern route through Amarillo, Texas, arriving there at seven in the evening. I had decided to shave, but other passengers were in the washroom before me, so I had to wait. Consequently I was still in my underwear when we neared Amarillo. As we ploughed into the station, we were suddenly enveloped in babbling excitement. Peeking out of the wash-room window, I saw the station packed with a large milling crowd. Bunting and flags were wrapped and hung from pillar to post, and on the platform were several long tables set with refreshments. A celebration to welcome the arrival or departure of some local potentate, I thought. So I began to lather my face. But the excitement grew, then quite audibly I heard voices saying: ‘Where is he?’ Then a stampede entered the car, people running up and down the aisle shouting: ‘Where is he? Where’s Charlie Chaplin?’

‘Yes?’ I replied.

‘On behalf of the Mayor of Amarillo, Texas, and all your fans, we invite you to have a drink and a light refreshment with us.’

I was seized with sudden panic. ‘I can’t, like this!’ I said through shaving soap.

‘Oh, don’t bother about anything, Charlie. Just put on a dressing-gown and meet the folks.’

Hurriedly I washed my face, and, half-shaved, put on a shirt and tie and came out of the train buttoning my coat.

I was greeted with cheers. The mayor tried to speak: ‘Mr Chaplin, on behalf of your fans of Amarillo – ’ but his voice was drowned by the continual cheering. He started again: ‘Mr Chaplin, on behalf of your fans of Amarillo – ’ Then the crowd pressed forward, pushing the mayor into me and squashing us against the train, so that for a moment the welcoming speech was forgotten in quest of personal safety.

‘Get back!’ shouted the police, plunging through the crowd to make a way for us.

The Mayor lost his enthusiasm for the whole enterprise and spoke with slight asperity to the police and myself. ‘All right, Charlie, let’s get it over with, then you can get back on the train.’

After a general scramble to the tables, things quietened down and the mayor at last was able to make his address. He tapped the table with a spoon. ‘Mr Chaplin, your friends of Amarillo, Texas, want to show their appreciation for all the happiness you have given them by asking you to join us in a sandwich and a Coca-Cola.’

After delivering his encomium, he asked if I would say a few words, urging me to get up on the table, where I mumbled something to the effect that I was happy to be in Amarillo and was so surprised by this wonderful, thrilling welcome that I would remember it for the rest of my life, etc. Then I sat down and tried to talk with the Mayor.

I asked him how he knew of my coming. ‘Through the telegraph operators,’ he said, explaining that the telegram I sent to Sydney had been relayed to Amarillo, then to Kansas City, Chicago and New York, and that the operators had given the news to the Press.

When I returned to the train I sat meekly in my seat, my mind for the moment a blank. Then the whole car became a turbulence of people passing up and down the aisle, staring and giggling. What had taken place in Amarillo I could not mentally digest or properly enjoy. I was too excited, I just sat tense, elated and depressed all at the same time.

Several telegrams were handed to me before the train departed. Said one: ‘Welcome, Charlie, we’re waiting for you in Kansas City.’ Another: ‘There will be a limousine at your disposal when you arrive in Chicago to take you from one station to the other.’ A third: ‘Will you stay over for the night and be the guest of the Blackstone Hotel?’ As we neared Kansas City, people stood along the side of the railroad track, shouting and waving their hats.

The large railroad station in Kansas City was packed solidly with people. The police were having difficulty controlling further crowds accumulating outside. A ladder was placed against the train to enable me to mount it and show myself on the roof. I round myself repeating the same banal words as in Amarillo. More telegrams awaited me: would I visit schools and institutions? I stuffed them in my suitcase, to be answered in New York. From Kansas City to Chicago people were again standing at railroad junctions and in fields, waving as the train swept by. I wanted to enjoy it all without reservation, but I kept thinking the world had gone crazy! If a few slapstick comedies could arouse such excitement, was there not something bogus about all celebrity? I had always thought I would like the public’s attention, and here it was – paradoxically isolating me with a depressing sense of loneliness.

In Chicago, where it was necessary to change trains and stations, crowds lined the exit and hoorayed me into a limousine. I was driven to the Blackstone Hotel and given a suite of rooms to rest in before embarking for New York.

At the Blackstone a telegram arrived from the Chief of Police of New York, requesting that I oblige him by putting off at 125th Street, instead of arriving at Grand Central Station as scheduled, as crowds were already gathering there in anticipation.

At 125th Street Sydney met me with a limousine, tense and excited. He spoke in whispers.