The Apple podcast title, The Raja of Mirth, uncovering
John Larkin, early Hollywood and vaudeville history,
Apple podcast description. Join us for a fascinating
deep dive into the extraordinary yet largely
forgotten life of African -American actor John
Larkin. Using biographical sources, we explore
his 40 -year career, from touring the globe with
minstrel shows and vaudeville troupes in the
early 1900s to becoming what one 1933 newspaper
called the highest -paid Negro actor in Hollywood.
We uncover the mysteries of his birth, his secret
family in Australia, and the paradox of a highly
respected character actor relegated to uncredited
roles in 1930s cinema. Perfect for fans of black
Hollywood history, early 20th century entertainment
and untold historical biographies. Imagine for
a second being billed across the globe as the
Raja of Mirth. I mean, that is quite the title.
Right. Or having the curtain rise to these just
roaring crowds and you're introduced as the funniest
colored comedian in the world. Which was a massive
deal for that era. Exactly. Like imagine spending
decades crossing oceans, headlining international
tours and basically building this absolute empire
on the vaudeville stage. You're a titan of early.
entertainment at that point. You really are.
Yeah. But then picture the camera rolling a few
decades later and you've been reduced to playing
uncredited, nameless background roles in Hollywood
movies. It's a really jarring shift. Yeah. And
here's the real kicker. While playing those silent,
uncredited background roles, you are allegedly
the highest paid black actor in town. It's just
a massive head spinning contradiction. It really
is. So if you're a fan of black Hollywood history.
early 20th century entertainment, or if you just
love uncovering untold historical biographies,
you are in the exact right place. Absolutely.
Because today we're going on a deep dive into
the extraordinary, yet honestly largely forgotten
life of African -American actor John Larkin.
It really is a staggering story and one that's
been sitting quietly in the margins of history
for just far too long. Yeah. We're pulling our
insights today from a single... deeply fascinating
Wikipedia article that attempts to piece together
Larkin's massive 40 -year career. 40 years. Yeah.
And when you look at the sheer scope of what
this man accomplished, it forces you to completely
rethink how we view early Hollywood, the vaudeville
era, and really the very concept of historical
legacy. Okay, let's unpack this because the volume
of work we are looking at is just... Wild. It's
unprecedented for a lot of performers. Right.
We're talking about a career spanning from the
late 1890s all the way to 1936. A huge window
of time. And that covers stage acting, songwriting,
producing his own shows, and then right at the
dawn of the sound film era, pivoting to accumulate
nearly 50 film credits in just six years. It's
an incredible work ethic. But before we even
get into all those accomplishments. We run into
a major historical mystery right out of the gate.
We do. We have conflicting sources just trying
to figure out when and where the man was born.
Yeah. And that discrepancy immediately sets the
tone for the complexities of historical record
keeping, especially when we're talking about
marginalized artists of this era. The paper trail
is just. Incredibly fragmented, right? Exactly.
If you pull up the Internet Movie Database, IMDD,
it lists his birth year as 1877 and his birthplace
as Wilmington, North Carolina. But then we have
an actual physical scrapbook of his. Which is...
Amazing that it even survived. It really is.
It's this fragile piece of history preserved
at Emory University, which they acquired back
in 2000. And according to the archives connected
to his own personal scrapbook, he was born in
1882 in Norfolk, Virginia. That is a five year
gap. Yeah. And a completely different state.
Like, how does history just lose track of half
a decade for someone who had become a global
star? Well, it speaks volumes about the systemic
erasure in late 19th century documentation. Birth
records for African -Americans in the post -Civil
War South were often incomplete, lost or simply
never filed. So they just didn't exist in the
formal record. Right. We literally have to rely
on a preserved scrapbook to figure this out.
A collection of ticket stubs, clippings and handwritten
notes just to piece together the basic facts
of his existence. But regardless of whether he
was born in 1877 or 1882, the sources agree that
by the twilight of the 19th century, John Larkin.
Or Jolly John Larkin, as he was often billed.
Exactly. He was already making waves as a professional
entertainer. So if we're looking at the late
1890s, where does a performer like Larkin even
get his start? Is he just doing local theater
or was he part of something other? He started
massive. By 1898, the records show he and his
wife, a singer and dancer named Ida Larkins,
were already touring with the champion Cakewalkers
company. Okay, and for context, because we throw
terms like cakewalk around without much thought
today, what exactly was that? Yeah, that's important.
The cakewalk was originally a pre -Civil War
dance created by enslaved people. It was actually
a subversive, exaggerated parody mocking the
grandiosity of their enslavers' formal ballroom
dances. Oh, wow. So it had this deeply rebellious
origin. Exactly. But by the 1890s, it had ironically
evolved into this massive, highly stylized theatrical
craze across America. So Larkin was right at
the forefront of this huge cultural phenomenon.
That is such crucial context. It wasn't just
a dance. It was a layered, complex piece of cultural
history. It really was. And he keeps building
on that momentum. By 1900, the sources place
him and Ida with Boom's Black Diamond Company.
Yes. But from what I'm reading, he wasn't just
up on stage delivering punchlines. He was the
principal comedy performer, sure, but he was
also the stage manager. What's fascinating here
is that from the very beginning, Larkin had an
incredible mind for the business and the invisible
mechanics of theater. He wasn't just waiting
around for a director. No, he wasn't waiting
for someone to hand him a script or tell him
where to stand. He was a manager, a producer,
a creator. And you see that business acumen kick
in when his personal life hits a bump. Right,
1901. Yes, his wife Ida leaves the show in 1901.
Which you'd think might derail a husband and
wife act entirely. For a lot of performers it
absolutely would have, but Larkin's simply restructured.
He brought in a new performing partner named
Dora Patterson, revised the entire act into Larkins
and Patterson, and together they starred in a
musical called A Trip to the Jungles during the
1902 and 1903 seasons. So he was just incredibly
adaptable. Always looking for the next opportunity
to expand his footprint. And he didn't limit
himself to just one project at a time either.
Around that same period in 1902, he starts working
part -time with the Black Patty Troubadours.
And this troupe... was a very big deal in African
-American entertainment, wasn't it? Huge. The
Black Patty Troubadours were a famous musical
and acrobatic troupe fronted by Matilda Cicciaretta
Joyner -Jones. Who went by the stage name Black
Patty. Yes, she was an absolute vocal powerhouse.
And Larkin joined them not just as a singer,
but as a creative force. He was writing songs
for their acts. That's incredible. And there's
actually a tangible piece of this history held
by the Library of Congress today. Yes, it's sheet
music from 1907 for a song he wrote called A
Royal Coon. It was published by Will Rossiter
out in Chicago. And right there on the cover
of the sheet music preserved for over a century
is John Lorcan's Smiling Face. It is amazing
that those artifacts still exist. It really is.
And that collaboration paid off beautifully because
his earlier musical, A Trip to the Jungles, ended
up being completely revised specifically as a
starring vehicle for Black Patty herself. Yes,
they renamed the show A Trip to Africa. Right,
and it played for years from 1908 to 1911 with
Larkin featured as the star comedy performer.
He was everywhere. But as much as I love hearing
about his time on stage, the source material
points out something even even more impactful
about his offstage role during these years. This
is a crucial point. When the Troubadours were
on hiatus, he was running his own outfit, the
Jolly John Larkins Musical Comedy Company. And
that is where we see his true historical weight.
He was the boss. He was organizing the tours,
managing the payroll, and most importantly, deciding
who got hired. And the people he hired were no
small names. Not at all. The musical directors
he chose to employ went on to become monumental
figures in American music. from 1906 to 1907
he hired a man named james reese europe to be
his musical director wow And a few years later,
for his 1911 to 1912 tour of a show called Royal
Sam, he brought on H. Lawrence Freeman. Now,
for listeners who might not recognize those names
offhand, just how significant are they? They
are historically renowned African -American composers
who quite literally helped shape the sound of
the 20th century. Larkin wasn't just a comedian.
He was an incubator for black excellence. He
provided a platform, a stage and a steady paycheck
for musical geniuses who were pushing the boundaries.
of what American music could be. He was literally
funding the future of music while making audiences
laugh. Exactly. That is an incredible legacy
to hold just within the United States alone.
But he didn't stop there. The timeline shifts
to 1917. America is entering World War I. Larkin
is around 40 years old at this point, and instead
of slowing down, he takes over the leadership
of the Dandy Dixie Minstrels. And this kicks
off a solid decade of world tours. Yeah, the
sources list him taking shows to London, China,
South Africa, Australia and New Zealand. He is
taking this theatrical experience completely
global. And you have to put yourself in the shoes
of touring artist in 1917 to understand the sheer
logistics of that. We are talking about weeks
-long journeys on steamships managing a large
troop of performers, their instruments, and their
costumes across entirely different continents
and cultures. Right in the middle of a world
war. Yes. It requires immense capability as a
leader. It also speaks to the universal appeal
of his comedic timing and his musical talents.
Comedy doesn't always translate across borders,
but Larkin found a way to make the whole world
laugh. But here's where it gets really interesting.
Because while he is successfully navigating these
massive global tours and managing all these moving
parts, his personal life down in Australia becomes
incredibly complicated. Highly complicated. In
September 1920, the records show he gets married
at St. Peter's Church in East Sydney. His new
bride is a vaudeville actress named Elsie Levine
Morris, who had previously performed in India
and all over Australia. And just as a quick side
note on that marriage certificate, his age is
listed as 37. Which definitely lends a lot of
weight to that 1882 birth year from the Emory
University scrapbook. It does align perfectly
with the later birth date, but the marriage to
Elsie was unfortunately deeply troubled from
the start. Yeah, the historical record paints
a rather messy reality offstage. It does. Larkin
was reported to be gambling large sums of money,
which created severe financial and emotional
disharmony in the relationship. The isolation
and transience of being a global touring artist
can take a heavy toll. And in Larkin's case,
it led to a complete fracture. He just walked
away, right? He did. In March 1923, he deserted
Elsie. He simply left and she never heard from
him again, eventually being granted a divorce
for desertion in 1928. It's a sad end to that
chapter. But wait, because the source material
drops an absolute bombshell right here. It really
does. A development that nobody in the 1920s
could have ever seen coming. Thanks to modern
science, we now know that his time in Australia
left an even bigger, entirely secret legacy.
Completely hidden from the public. While he was
there, he had a relationship with a costume designer
named Rachel Anderson, who went by Ray. Together,
they had two daughters, Olga, born in 1919, and
Joan, born in 1924. But that's not even the end
of it. No, it's not. If an entire secret family
wasn't enough in 2019, a DNA match revealed that
Larkin had also fathered a son named Alan in
Melbourne. in 1920. it is a stunning revelation
for nearly a century the full scope of larkin's
family tree was completely unknown to the public
record hidden in the shadows of his international
tours it's wild to think about and i think it
is vital to pause here and reflect on how Modern
technology like DNA matching is actively rewriting
historical biographies today. We often think
of history as something fixed, like dusty old
facts printed in a textbook. Right. Like it's
already settled. Exactly. But it is actually
a living, breathing puzzle that is constantly
being updated. A simple DNA swab taken in 2019
completely changes our understanding of a vaudeville
star's private life in 1920s Australia. It really
recontextualizes everything. It shows that beneath
the public persona of the Raja of mirth. There
was a man living multiple, deeply compartmentalized
lives across the globe. It is mind -blowing to
think about. He has this vast, complex life headlining
theaters in Sydney and London, fathering children
across continents. But eventually, the roaring
20s come to a crashing halt, and the world changes
overnight. Quite literally overnight. The Wall
Street crash of 1929 devastated the global economy.
And the entertainment industry was hit incredibly
hard. Live acting companies, minstrel shows and
vaudeville troops struggled to survive because
people simply no longer had the disposable income
to buy theater tickets. They just couldn't afford
it. Exactly. In 1930, Larkin was touring in Southern
California, and he found himself staring down
the barrel of a collapsed industry. He was in
his early 50s by now, an age when most people
are settling down, but he had to completely reinvent
himself to survive. So he turned to the booming
new industry operating right in his backyard,
which was sound films. And reinvent himself he
did. His film debut was in a Warner Brothers
picture called Man to Man, which was released
in December 1930. From there, he just hit the
ground running with an absolute vengeance. He
was working constantly. The sources tell us that
between 1931 and 1936, he appeared in at least
45 films. He was working for nearly every major
studio in town, MGM, RKO, Paramount, Universal
Republic. He was churning out anywhere from 6
to 11 films a year. But that pivot from the stage
to the silver screen came with a very harsh,
very racialized reality. This is the tough part.
On a vaudeville stage, Larkin was the headliner.
He was the producer. He was the man in charge.
In 1930s Hollywood, the casting mores of the
era dictated a very different, highly restricted
path for African -American actors. Even with
his massive resume. Despite his massive resume,
over half of his film appearances were completely
uncredited. And the roles he was offered were
heavily stereotyped. He was repeatedly cast as
shoeshine man. servants, porters, janitors, stable
hands, and slaves. It is such a jarring emotional
and cultural shift. You spend your life as the
Raja of Mirth standing in front of thousands
of people producing your own shows and hiring
musical legends and then you are reduced to being
the unnamed guy holding a door or sweeping a
floor in the background of a movie scene. If
we connect this to the bigger picture it becomes
even more poignant when you compare Larkin to
his African American contemporaries in Hollywood.
at the time. Like who? Well, you had stars like
Steppen Fetchit, who was utilized almost exclusively
for pure, often demeaning comedy relief. Then
you had Bilbo Jangles Robinson, whose screen
time was heavily focused on showcasing his incredible
singing and tap dancing abilities. Right. But
Larkin was utilized by the studios strictly as
a character actor. And for those unfamiliar,
a character actor is someone who plays unusual,
highly specific or eccentric supporting roles
rather than the leading part. weren't letting
him show off his real talents. The tragedy is
that Hollywood gave Larkin very few opportunities
to actually display the vast singing, dancing,
and comedic skills that had made him a global
sensation. They wanted his physical presence
and his professionalism, but they kept his actual
genius hidden. They boxed him in completely.
But despite being pushed to the bottom of the
cast list or left off it entirely, the sources
reveal this massive, almost unbelievable paradox
about his time in Hollywood. This is one of the
most fascinating details. In 1933, he was in
an MGM film called Gabriel Over the White House.
Right. He played a character named Sebastian,
the president's valet, as usual, as a completely
uncredited role. Right. But that exact same year,
the California Eagle, which was a major African
-American newspaper based in Los Angeles, ran
a huge story on him. They openly called him the
real star of the film. And what did the caption
say? Right next to his photo, the caption read
in big letters, High Pay Man. The article stated
he was earning a greater salary than any other
black performer in Hollywood. Which is a fascinating
dynamic to analyze, and it cuts right to the
heart of how structural racism operated in the
studio system. How so? Well, what does it mean
when the industry clearly values your talent
enough to make you the highest paid actor in
your demographic, yet simultaneously refuses
to put your name on the screen? It's a blatant
double standard. Think about it like this. Behind
closed doors, the studio executives were writing
him the biggest checks because they knew his
extensive stage experience meant he could nail
a scene in one take and save a production time
and money. He was efficient and professional.
But putting his name in the credits meant putting
his name on a marquee, and the Hollywood system
simply wasn't built to share that kind of public
prestige with a black character actor. It shows
a massive disconnect between industry reliance
behind the scenes and public visibility. It is
infuriating, honestly. But it is also a massive
testament to his sheer undeniable talent that
he commanded that kind of premium salary anyway.
He knew his worth, and he just kept working right
up until the very end. He really did. And sadly,
that end came quite suddenly. On March 18, 1936,
John Larkin died in Los Angeles from a cerebral
hemorrhage. And because he worked at such a relentless,
machine -like pace, his presence in the cinema
continued well after his death. Five films featuring
Larkin were released in 1936 alone. Five films
in one year. The first one, The Trail of the
Lonesome Pine, premiered just five days before
he passed away. The other four were released
posthumously, and these weren't small indie pictures.
No, these were massive productions. We are talking
about major cinematic works like The Great Ziegfeld
Frankie and Johnny Hart's Divided, and his final
fittingly uncredited role playing a sexton in
The Green Pastures. According to the source,
he is buried at Evergreen Cemetery in Los Angeles.
This was significant because it was a cemetery
that uniquely permitted the burial of African
Americans during an era of strict segregation.
An important historical detail. He rests there
alongside other groundbreaking performers whose
careers overlapped with his, like Eddie Rochester
Anderson and Louise Beavers. And on his tombstone,
there's a photograph of him along with the years
1882 to 1936. So they went with the 1882 date.
They did. So right up to the very hand, that
mystery of his exact age, whether he was 54 or
58, is quite literally carved in stone. It is
a fittingly enigmatic end to a life that, as
we discussed with the recent DNA discoveries,
we are still actively uncovering today. So what
does this all mean? For you, the listener navigating
the media landscape today. Larkin's story challenges
everything we assume about what it meant to be
a successful entertainer in the early 20th century.
It wasn't a simple path at all. Success wasn't
a straight line. You could be an international
stage phenomenon, a pioneer employing musical
geniuses, a man living a secret life with a hidden
family on the other side of the planet, and the
highest paid black actor in Hollywood. All while
the history books and movie studio credits actively
tried to render you invisible. It's a profound
legacy. He forces us to look closer at the margins
of history because the people standing in the
background often have the most incredible stories
to tell. And it leaves us with one final provocative
thought to mull over. We only know the truth
of Larkin's exact birth year, his early career
triumphs, and his vaudeville origins because
a single physical scrapbook filled with tangible
ticket stubs and fading photographs survived
against all odds and made it to the Emory University
archives in the year 2000. It's miraculous it
wasn't thrown away. It makes you wonder about
the nature of legacy in our modern digital age
where everything is stored in the cloud but can
be deleted, corrupted or overwritten with a single
keystroke. Are we actually better equipped to
preserve the legacies of today's marginalized
artists? Or are we just creating a different,
more fragile kind of invisible history? That
is a chilling thought. We have more data than
ever, but maybe less permanence. It really makes
you want to hold on to those physical artifacts
and certainly makes you want to go back and watch
those old movies with completely new eyes. Thank
you for joining us on this journey into the life
of the Raja of Mirth, John Larkin. Keep digging,
keep questioning, and we will catch you on the
next deep dive.