Debut

There came to Manhattan a special delegation from Kansas City, a delegation that included Mayor Beach and many substantial citizens. There were taxi-loads of flowers. There were 10,000 people beside themselves to get into the Metropolitan Opera House, and arrogant mounted police out to control them. There were more than 5,000 people turned away, nine of whom took their disappointment so ill-humoredly that they were arrested for being disorderly. There were those who offered $100, $150 for a seat, one man who paid $25 for admission to stand. And through it all, a person who did not seem to lose her head was the girl with the voice that was creating all the excitement, the girl who had provided the daily press with one of the best human-interest stories of the year--the new prima donna, 19-year-old Marion Nevada Talley, who for the big evening last week was supposed not to be herself but Gilda, daughter of Rigoletto, jester of the Duke of Mantua.

She ran on stage just five minutes after the curtain went up on the second act. It was a nervous, awkward little run, as if she would start at once with the business of the evening. But for the audience the business of the evening had begun. They would not wait to hear her sing. They clapped and clapped until Marion Talley had to give up being Gilda and bow many times, shy, awkward little bows as if she realized the time was not yet ripe for bowing. A few remembered they had come to hear her sing, hissed for quiet. "Mia Padre", she began, trying once more to be Gilda.

They let her finish her aria, then clapped her back again to Talleyhood, gave her an ovation every time there came a pause in the music, made her take ten little bows after her "Caro Nome" aria, recalled her 18 times at the end of the opera, pronounced her a success.

Down in the front of the orchestra with his daughter Florence sat Mr. Talley. Genial, gentle, a little embarrassed, he radiated satisfaction. After the second act he (a professional telegrapher) found his way back stage, broke into his first vacation" in 18 years to click off an Associated Press despatch on an improvised apparatus: "THE THINGS THAT THE TALLEY FAMILY HAVE BEEN DREAMING OF FOR 15 YEARS HAVE COME TRUE STOP OUR LITTLE GIRL IS SINGING TO THE WORLD AS WE ALWAYS THOUGHT SHE COULD SOMETIME DO AND WOULD DO CHARLES M. TALLEY."

After the performance rugged Kansas Cityites, squeezing themselves with excitement and I-told-you-so's, went back stage where Marion Talley, full-fledged prima donna, was holding court on a little platform set against a dense background of flowers. Cameramen were first to be received. They photographed her alone, they photographed her with Otto Hermann Kahn, President of the Board of Directors of the Metropolitan Opera Company; with Otto Hermann Kahn and Mayor Albert I. Beach of Kansas City; with Otto Kahn and Mayor Beach and Father Talley and Mother Talley and Sister Talley and a few favored delegates. There were speeches and a silver plaque presented by W. Frank Gentry in behalf of the Kansas City Chamber of Commerce. There were pressmen thirsty for new paragraphs to spin out their human interest story. Was she thrilled? No, she was a thrill-less person, she guessed. Had she been frightened? No. How did she feel now that it was all over? Why just about the same as she did before. . . .

It was left for critics to prick the bubble, critics who must hold themselves aloof from human interest stories, delegations and silver plaques. They heard a natural, at times a beautiful voice. They saw an unaffected young person conducting herself with a self-possession which, under the circumstances, was good indeed. They were honestly pleased. But most of them suffered a twang of disappointment. Perhaps they too, along with the witting laymen, had worked themselves into expecting a phenomenal voice. It was not phenomenal, they said. It was lovely at times. There were technical deficiencies. It was immature. Perhaps, with wise training, in five years. . . .

It was left for the critics to counteract the front-page impressions given by their news-perverted brethren, to remind people that Adelina Patti sang in Lucia at the Old Academy of Music when she was 16, that Schumann-Heink and Lilli Lehmann made their debuts at 17, that Minnie Hauk was a full-fledged prima donna at Covent Garden at 18, that Jennie Lind was on the stage at 18, Marcella Sembrich, Etelka Gerster, Emma Calve and Geraldine Farrar at 19.

Two nights after her first metropolitan appearance, Marion made another debut, sang over the radio to an audience estimated by the reliable, honest New York World at 6,000,000. She sang "Home, Sweet Home" especially for the 367,481 people in Kansas City, she said. She spoke a little piece:

"My love and thanks to all my friends in Kansas City. Your loyal support for more than three years has been my greatest encouragement. And to my new friends of the radio audience, my affectionate greetings."

Marion's Life Story. A solemn, fat baby was born in a little railroad town, just a few miles outside Kansas City. The telegrapher father was a Pennsylvania Dutchman. The mother was one of 15 children, the daughter of a German shoemaker. The name of the town was Nevada. They named the baby after it--Marion Nevada Talley. When she was six months old they moved into Kansas City, and took a small apartment there.

Marion was a proper little piece. So was Florence, six years older Florence was a musical little girl. She sang, she played upon the piano. She taught Marion to sing when she was scarcely old enough to talk, taught her to sing "Schooldays"* all the way through by herself.

In 1917, Mrs. Talley and Florence sang in the choir of the First Christian Church. Marion wished she could, but she was only ten and there was no one under 16 in the choir. She used to go with her mother and Florence to rehearsal, used to tease Director John R. Jones to let her sing too. He relented, put her in the grown-up row next to her mother, was interested, taught her until the War came when he went away with the Kansas City troops.

The Talleys looked around for another teacher, chose Ottley Cranston, who with Mrs. Cranston directs the Kansas City Civic Opera Company. Marion studied the roles of Mignon and Arline in the Bohemian Girl, sang them in May, 1922 (aged 15), Kansas City pricked up its ears. Jacob A. Harzfeld and John T. Harding did more than prick up their ears. They set about overcoming the Talley difficulty, which was lack of funds, arranged a series of concerts that netted $10,000, arranged through Otto Kahn an audition with the Metropolitan Opera authorities in November, 1922. There followed months of study in Manhattan, then more concerts in Kansas City, Kan., in Lindsborg, Kan., in Emporia. The Talleys--mother, Florence and Marion--went to Italy, stayed nearly a year in Milan. Marion studied languages, interpretation, acquired a repertoire. There on July 4, 1925, she and Signer Gatti-Casazza met, drew up the contract whose fulfillment began last week.

*SCHOOL days, SCHOOL days, Dear old GOLDen RULE days! READing, and WRITing and 'RITHmetic, TAUGHT to the TUNE of the HICK'ry stick ! You were my QUEEN in CALico, I was your BASHful BAREfoot beau; You wrote on my slate "I LOVE you, Jo." When WE were a COUPle o' KIDS, kids, kids, kids.