Buddy Clawson adjusted the stage props as he listened to the audience settle into their seats. He peeked through the crack in the curtains. New York gentlemen and ladies in their finest attire murmured to each other as they read through their programs. Their enthusiasm made Buddy's knees shake. He went backstage, giving a wide berth to the performers. How things had changed! Not so long ago, Buddy had been one of the performers waiting in the wings, barely noticing the stagehands. And he hadn't been some minor player, either; Buddy Clawson had been a vaudeville star. He could sing, dance, and crack jokes with the best of them. His confidence was rock solid, his timing flawless. "My doctor told me I'm out of shape," Buddy would begin during the opening comedy act. "So I said I wanted a second opinion." He could feel the audience anticipate the punch line, holding their breaths as they waited for Buddy's finest gag. And he anticipated their laughter. "So my doctor says, 'Okay—you should dress better, too.'" This exchange worked like magic, creating an energy that lasted throughout the show. It was success after success after success for Buddy Clawson. Until that night in Cleveland. "Look what the cat dragged in!" That was what Buddy was supposed to say to Hugh Hatfield that night. He'd delivered the line dozens of times. But the words would not come out of his mouth. He froze onstage. It was as though the spotlight had turned, shining on the faces in the theater instead of on the performance itself. A thousand glowing eyes watched Buddy Clawson fade into darkness. By the time the show reached Denver, Buddy was banished to working behind the scenes. Instead of a tuxedo, he was donning overalls, touching up the stage props with paint, and assisting with the lighting. During rehearsals and in the dressing room, he was the old Buddy Clawson, charming and quick witted. But onstage he froze. Whenever the show started, he wanted to disappear. The performers, exiting and entering, would smile at him. They were encouraging smiles, but they left him feeling ashamed, reminding him of what he had been. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to hide in the cramped traveling quarters. New York was the show's final performance, and the entertainers buzzed backstage, until the stage manager warned everyone that the first act was about to begin. As was his custom now, Buddy left by the back door, escaping the quiet, unbearable anticipation. He wouldn't be needed until it was time to pack up the equipment. Buddy scuffed along the cobblestone avenue. He threaded his way through the people busily working. An elderly man hawked newspapers, a shoe shiner snapped his rag, and a woman read people's fortunes. The shoe shiner chatted easily with his customers, the elderly man sold newspaper after newspaper, and the fortune-teller gestured flamboyantly, painting the future with dramatic flourishes of her hands. They all could perform confidently for their customers, Buddy sadly reflected. The street might as well have been another theater. Again, the need to hide descended upon him. Even out here, in the open air. Buddy's darting eyes landed on the glowing sign of a nickelodeon; he'd heard about the new motion pictures. He paid the five cents and found a chair in the darkness. Immediately, a man and a woman began dancing the tango on the screen, and Buddy leaned in closer. A soulful South American guitar accompanied the dancers' steps. His feet began moving on the gritty theater floor, backward and forward. His heart raced as he anticipated the dancers' great swivel. Some of the people in the dark nickelodeon cheered, but their reactions certainly didn't affect the dancers on the screen. The next part was a bank robbery. Though the dialogue was silent, the actors' faces and gestures did the talking. The suspense built as the police pursued the thieves. Buddy felt the tension in the dark theater, and he looked around. Everyone was absorbed in the action onscreen. No one seemed to be waiting for one of the actors to trip and fall. Outside the nickelodeon, Buddy studied the names on the movie poster. He thought about the tremendous luck of those actors, their wonderful performances machine-delivered to anyone who could spare a nickel. The concept was just perfect. According to the poster, the motion picture studio was in New Jersey. That was directly across the Hudson River, a few blocks from where Buddy was standing. He caught sight of the fortune-teller and asked her for directions to the ferry terminal.