Graveyard Interred

For over half a century Cain's Transfer Co., Inc. has hauled scenery from darkened Manhattan theatres to its maw of a warehouse. For almost as long, "Gone to Cain's" has been a brutal euphemism for a flop. Last week the famous graveyard was itself interred.

Founded by John Cain, a onetime policeman, the business expired under his son, quiet, broken-nosed, gold-toothed Patrick Joseph ("Patsy"; Cain. At the height of its run, Cain's was five floors deep in trellises and pillars, spangles and swords, chariot wheels from Ben Hur, a papier-mache elephant from Face the Music, highfalutin gear from Shakespeare revivals, tinsel & gilt from Follies, Scandals, Gaieties. On one single night in 1905 John Cain moved eight shows (94 loads, 654 pieces). His son was always on hand for closings, and the sight of him in the audience required quarts of brandy to steady the actors' nerves.

Then came Depression, the upsurge of radio, the decline of road earnings. Cain's business dwindled. In 1933 its storage space shrank from five solid floors to a ground floor & basement. From storing sets it descended to clumping & burning them--$30 a truckload for the ride, $4 for the bonfire. Presently Cain's took to burning unclaimed junk at its own expense. Finally, on the last day of 1937, it folded secretly. Patsy Cain kept mum about it for six weeks, hoping for a saving miracle. Said he last week: ''I got out without being exactly broke, but if I had waited much longer. . . ."

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