A Plat/ inJlireeAct'i
THORNTON
WILDER
OUP
TOWN
by
THORNTON WILDER
This is a definitive edition of Thornton
Wilder's best-known and most frequently
performed play. First produced and pub-
lished in 1938, at which time it won the
Pulitzer Prize, its reputation as an Ameri-
can classic has increased over the years.
Brooks Atkinson, in his review of Our
Town's first performance, had this to say:
"Taking as his material three periods in
the history of a placid New Hampshire
town, Mr. Wilder has transmuted the sim-
ple events of human life into universal
reverie. He has given familiar facts a
deeply moving, philosophical perspective.
. . . Our Town is, in this columnist's opin-
ion, one of the finest achievements of the
current stage."
Its universal appeal is set forth by the
Stage Manager in the play: "This is the
way we were in our growing up and in
our marrying and in our doctoring and in
our living and in our dying."
YA
No. OQ15A 01160
MAI EC 1 7 1976
MAI APR 2 3 1985
APR 26 1986
JUL 081988
iHAI AtlGO? 1989
MAI MAR 2 199P
MAI OCT 8 1990
NOV 8 199*
OCT 3
MAY 8 1993
OCT 1 9 1993
FEB 1 o 1994
MAR 30 1994
MAY 161995
,4AI AUG 241995
SEP
L2 fo673o-2 66- 13927 $3 -50
Wilder, Thornton Niven, 1697-
Our tcxwn, a play in three
acts. N.Y., Harper C19573
103p.
p ^ T p [) J I 5
OWN-
Books by
THORNTON WILDER
Novels
THE CABALA
THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY
THE WOMAN OF ANDROS
HEAVEN'S MY DESTINATION
THE IDES OF MARCH
Collections of Short Plays
THE ANGEL THAT TROUBLED THE WATERS
THE LONG CHRISTMAS DINNER
Plays
OUR TOWN
THE MERCHANT OF YONKERS
THE SKIN OF OUR TEETH
THREE PLAYS
Our Town
The Skin of Our Teeth
The Matchmaker
OUR
Play in Three Acts
THORNTON WILDER
HARPER & ROW, PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK, EVANSTON, AND LONDON
OUR TOWN
Copyright (c) /p3#, /pjy by Thornton Wilder
Printed in the United States of America
This book may not be reproduced, in 'whole or in part, in
any form except by 'written permission from the publishers.
All rights including the right of reproduction in whole or in
part, in any form, are reserved under International and Pan-
American Copyright Conventions. 'Published in New York
by Harper & Ro<w, Publishers, Incorporated.
Caution! OTJR TOWN is the sole property of the author and is fully protected
by copyright. It may not be acted by professionals or amateurs without
formal permission and the payment of a royalty. All rights, including pro-
fessional, amateur, stock, radio and television, broadcasting, motion picture,
recitation, lecturing, public reading, and the rights of translation into foreign
languages are reserved. All professional inquiries should be addressed to the
author's agent: Harold Freedman, Brandt & Brandt Dramatic Department,
Inc., 101 Park Avenue, New York 17, Ne<w York. All requests for amateur
rights should be addressed to Samuel French, 25 West 4$th Street, New
York 19, N.Y.
Library of Congress catalog card number: 60-1688$
L-o
To Alexander Woolkott
of Castleton Township, Rutland County, Vermont
OUR TOWN
The first performance of this play took place at the
McCarter Theatre, Princeton, New Jersey, on January 22,
1938. The first New York performance was at the Henry
Miller Theatre, February 4, 1938. It was produced and
directed by Jed Harris. The technical director was Ray-
mond Sovey; the costumes were designed by Madame
Helene Pons. The role of the Stage Manager was played
by Frank Craven. The Gibbs family were played by Jay
Fassett, Evelyn Varden, John Craven and Marilyn Erskine;
the Webb family by Thomas Ross, Helen Carew, Martha
Scott (as Emily) and Charles Wiley, Jr. Mrs. Soames was
played by Doro Merande; Simon Stimson by Philip
Coolidge.
CHARACTERS (in the order of their appearance)
STAGE MANAGER
DR. GIBBS
JOE CROWELL
HOWIE NEWSOME
MRS. GIBBS
MRS. WEBB
GEORGE GIBBS
REBECCA GIBBS
WALLY WEBB
EMILY WEBB
PROFESSOR WILLARD
MR. WEBB
WOMAN IN THE BALCONY
MAN IN THE AUDITORIUM
LADY IN THE Box
SIMON STIMSON
MRS. SOAMES
CONSTABLE WARREN
Si CROWELL
THREE BASEBALL PLAYERS
SAM CRAIG
JOE STODDARD
The entire play takes place in Grover's Corners, New Hampshire.
ACT I
No curtain.
No scenery.
The audience, arriving, sees an empty stage in half-tight.
Presently the STAGE MANAGER, hat on and pipe in mouth^
enters and begins placing a table and three chairs down-
stage left y and a table and three chairs downstage right.
He also places a lo f w bench at the corner of what will be
the Webb house , left.
"Left" and "right" are from the point of view of the actor
facing the audience. "Up" is toward the back wall.
As the house lights go down he has finished setting the
stage and leaning against the right prosceniwn pillar
'watches the late arrivals in the audience.
When the auditorium is in complete darkness he speaks:
STAGE MANAGER:
This play is called "Oar Town." It was written by Thornton
Wilder; produced and directed by A. ... (or: produced by
A ; directed by B ). In it you will see Miss C ; Miss
D ; MissE ; and Mr. F ; Mr. G ; Mr. H ; and
many others. The name of the town is Grover's Corners, New
Hampshire just across the Massachusetts line: latitude 42 degrees
40 minutes; longitude 70 degrees 37 minutes. The First Act shows a
day in our town. The day is May 7, 1901. The time is just before
dawn.
A rooster crows.
OUR TOv N
The sky is beginning to show some sneaks of light over in the
East there, behind our mount'in.
The morning star always gets wonderful bright the minute before
it has to go, doesn't it?
He stares at it -for a moment, then goes upstage.
Well, I'd better show you how our town lies. Up here
That is: parallel with the back wall.
is Main Street. Way back there is the railway station; tracks go
that way. Polish Town's across the tracks, and some Canuck
families.
Toward the left.
Over there is the Congregational Church; across the street's the
Presbyterian.
Methodist and Unitarian are over there.
Baptist is down in the holla' by the river.
Catholic Church is over beyond the tracks.
Here's the Town Hall and Post Office combined; jail's in the
basement.
Bryan once made a speech from these very steps here.
Along here's a row of stores. Hitching posts and horse blocks in
front of them. First automobile's going to come along in about
five years belonged to Banker Cartwright, our richest citizen
. . . lives in the big white house up on the hill.
Here's the grocery store and here's Mr. Morgan's drugstore. Most
everybody in town manages to look into those two stores once
a day.
Public School's over yonder. High School's still farther over.
Quarter of nine mornings, noontimes, and three o'clock after-
noons, the hull town can hear the yelling and screaming from
those schoolyards.
He approaches the table and chairs do f wnstage right.
6
ACT ONE
This is our doctor's house, Doc Gibbs*. This is the back door.
Two arched trellises, covered with vines and flowers, are
pushed out, one by each proscenium pillar.
There's some scenery for those who think they have to have
scenery.
This is Mrs. Gibbs' garden. Corn . . . peas . . . beans . . . hollyhocks
. . . heliotrope . . . and a lot of burdock.
Crosses the stage.
In those days our newspaper come out twice a week the
Grover's Corners Sentineland this is Editor Webb's house.
And this is Mrs. Webb's garden.
Just like Mrs. Gibbs', only it's got a lot of sunflowers, too.
He looks upward, center stage.
Right here . . .'s a big butternut tree.
He returns to his place by the right proscenium pillar and
looks at the audience for a wnnifie.
Nice town, y'know what I mean?
Nobody very remarkable ever come out of it, s'far as we know.
The earliest tombstones in the cemetery up there on the mountain
say 1670-1680 they're Grovers and Cartwrights and Gibbses and
Herseys same names as are around here now.
Well, as I said: it's about dawn.
The only lights on in town are in a cottage over by the tracks
where a Polish mother's just had twins. And in the Joe Crowell
house, where Joe Junior's getting up so as to deliver the paper.
And in the depot, where Shorty Hawkins is getrin' ready to flag
the 5:45 for Boston.
A train whistle is heard. The STAGE MANAGER takes out his
watch and nods.
Naturally, out in the country all around there've been lights on
for some time, what with milkin's and so on. But town people
sleep kte.
7
OUR TOWN
So another day's begun.
There's Doc Gibbs comin' down Main Street now, comin' back
from that baby case. And here's his wife comin' downstairs to get
breakfast.
MRS. GIBBS, a plump, pleasant woman in the middle thirties,
comes "downstairs" right. She pulls up an imaginary
window shade in her kitchen and starts to make a fire in
her stove.
Doc Gibbs died in 1930. The new hospital's named after him.
Mrs. Gibbs died first long time ago, in fact. She went out to visit
her daughter, Rebecca, who married an insurance man in Canton,
Ohio, and died there pneumonia but her body was brought
back here. She's up in the cemetery there now in with a whole
mess of Gibbses and Herseys she was Julia Hersey 'fore she
married Doc Gibbs in the Congregational Church over there.
In our town we like to know the facts about everybody.
There's Mrs. Webb, coming downstairs to get her breakfast, too.
That's Doc Gibbs. Got that call at half past one this morning.
And there comes Joe Crowell, Jr., delivering Mr. Webb's
Sentinel.
- been coming along Main Street from the left,
oint where he would turn to approach his house,
sets down his imaginary black bag, takes off
vd rubs his face with fatigue, using cm enormous
\chipf.
#$ thin, serious, crisp woman, has entered her
left, tying on an apron. She goes through the
motions of putting wood into a stove, lighting it, and
preparing breakfast.
Suddenly, JOE CROWELL, JR., eleven, starts down Main
Street from the right, hurling imaginary newspapers into
doorways.
8
ACT ONE
JOE CROWELL, JR.:
Morning, Doc Gibbs.
DR. GIBBS:
Morning, Joe.
JOE CROWELL, JR.:
Somebody been sick, Doc?
DR. GIBBS:
No. Just some twins born over in Polish Town.
JOE CROWELL, JR.:
Do you want your paper now?
DR. GIBBS:
Yes, Fll take it. Anything serious goin* on in the world since
Wednesday?
JOE CROWELL, JR.:
Yessir. My schoolteacher, Miss Foster, 's getting married to a fella
over in Concord.
DR. GIBBS:
I declare. How do you boys feel about that?
JOE CROWELL, JR.: *
Well, of course, it's none of my business but T think if a person
starts out to be a teacher, she ought to stay OL
DR. GIBBS:
How's your knee, Joe?
JOE CROWELL, JR.:
Fine, Doc, I never think about it at all. Only like you said, it
always tells me when it's going to rain.
9
OUR TOWN
DR. GIBBS:
What's it telling you today? Goin' to rain?
JOE CROWELL, JR.:
No, sir.
DR. GIBBS:
Sure?
JOE CROWELL, JR.:
Yessir.
DR. GIBBS:
Knee ever make a mistake?
JOE CROWELL, JR.:
No, sir.
JOE goes off. DR. GIBBS stands reading his paper.
STAGE MANAGER:
Want to tell you something a>out that boy Joe Crowell there.
Joe was awful bright graduated from high school here, head of
his class. So he got a scholarship to Massachusetts Tech. Graduated
head of his class there, too. It was all wrote up in the Boston paper
at the time. Goin' to be a great engineer, Joe was. But the war
broke out and he died in France. All that education for nothing.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Off left.
Giddap, Bessie! What's the matter with you today?
STAGE MANAGER:
Here comes Howie Newsome, deliverin' the milk.
HOWIE NEWSOME, about thirty ' y in overalls, comes along
Main Street from the left, 'walking beside an invisible horse
10
ACT ONE
and wagon and carrying an imaginary rack ivith milk
bottles. The sound of clinking milk bottles is heard. He
leaves same bottles at Mrs. Webb's trellis, then, crossing
the stage to Mrs. Gibbs\ he stops center to talk to Dr.
Gibbs.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Morning, Doc.
DR. GIBBS:
Morning, Howie.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Somebody sick?
DR. GIBBS:
Pair of twins over to Mrs. Goruslawski's.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Twins, eh? This town's gettin' bigger every year.
DR. GIBBS:
Goin' to rain, Howie?
HOWIE NEWSOME:
No, no. Fine day that'll burn through. Come on, Bessie.
DR. GIBBS:
Hello Bessie.
He strokes the horse, 'which has remained up center.
How old is she, Howie?
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Going on seventeen. Bessie's all mixed up about the route ever since
the Lockharts stopped takin' their quart of milk every day. She
ii
OUR TOWN
wants to leave 'em a quart just the same keeps scolding me the
hull trip,
He reaches Mrs. Gibb? back door. She is waiting for him.
MRS. GIBBS:
Good morning, Howie.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Morning, Mrs. Gibbs. Doc's just comin' down the street.
MRS. GIBBS:
Is he? Seems like you're late today.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Yes. Somep'n went wrong with the separator. Don't know what
'twas.
He passes Dr. Gibbs up center.
Doc!
DR. GIBBS:
Howie!
MRS. GIBBS:
Calling upstairs.
Children! Children! Time to get up.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Come on, Bessie!
He goes off right.
MRS. GIBBS:
George! Rebecca!
DR. GIBBS arrives at his back door and passes through the
trellis into his house.
MRS. GIBBS:
Everything all right, Frank?
12
ACT ONE
DR. GIBBS:
Yes. I declare easy as kittens.
MRS. GIBBS:
Bacon'll be ready in a minute. Set down and drink your coffee.
You can catch a couple hours' sleep this morning, can't you?
DR. GIBBS:
Hm! . . . Mrs. Wentworth's coming at eleven. Guess I know what
it's about, too. Her stummick ain't what it ought to be.
MRS. GIBBS:
All told, you won't get more'n three hours' sleep. Frank Gibbs, I
don't know what's goin' to become of you. I do wish I could get
you to go away someplace and take a rest. I think it would do you
good.
MRS. WEBB:
Emileeee! Time to get upl Wally! Seven o'clock!
MRS. GIBBS:
I declare, you got to speak to George. Seems like something's
come over him lately. He's no help to me at all. I can't even get
him to cut me some wood.
DR. GIBBS:
Washing and drying his hands at the sink. MRS. GIBBS is
busy at the stove.
Is he sassy to you?
MRS. GIBBS:
No. He just whines! All he thinks about is that baseball George!
Rebecca! You'll be kte for school.
DR. GIBBS:
M-m-m . . .
13
OUR TOWN
MRS. GIBBS:
George!
0R. GIBBS:
George, look sharp!
GEORGE'S VOICE:
Yes, Pa!
0R. GIBBS:
As he goes off the stage.
Don't you hear your mother calling you? I guess I'll go upstairs
and get forty winks*
MRS. WEBB:
Walleee! Emileee! You'll be late for school! Walleee! You wash
yourself good or I'll come up and do it myself.
REBECCA GIBBS' VOICE:
Ma! What dress shall I wear?
MRS. GIBBS:
Don't make a noise. Your father's been out all night and needs his
sleep. I washed and ironed the blue gingham for you special.
REBECCA:
Ma, I hate that dress.
MRS. GIBBS:
Oh, hush-up-with-you.
REBECCA:
Every day I go to school dressed like a sick turkey.
MRS. GIBBS:
Now, Rebecca, you always look very nice.
ACT ONE
REBECCA:
Mama, George's throwing soap at me.
MRS. GIBBS:
F1I come and slap the both of you, that's what FU do.
A factory whistle sounds.
The CHILDREN dash in and take their places at the tables.
Right, GEORGE, about sixteen, and REBECCA, eleven. Left,
EMILY and WALLY, same ages. They carry strapped school-
books.
STAGE MANAGER:
We've got a factory in our town too hear it? Makes blankets*
Cartwrights own it and it brung 'em a fortune.
MRS. WEBB:
Children! Now I won't have it. Breakfast is just as good as any
other meal and I won't have you gobbling like wolves. It'll stunt
your growth, that's a fact. Put away your book, Wally.
WALLY:
Aw, Ma! By ten o'clock I got to know all about Canada.
MRS. WEBB:
You know the rule's well as I do no books at table. As for me, I'd
rather have my children healthy than bright.
EMILY:
I'm both, Mama: you know I am. I'm the brightest girl in school
for my age. I have a wonderful memory.
MRS. WEBB:
Eat your breakfast.
WALLY:
Fm bright, too, when I'm looking at my stamp collection.
15
OUR TOWN
MRS. GIBBS:
111 speak to your father about it when he's rested. Seems to me
twenty-five cents a week's enough for a boy your age. I declare I
don't know how you spend it all.
GEORGE:
Aw, Ma, I gotta lotta things to buy.
MRS. GIBBS:
Strawberry phosphates that's what you spend it oiu
GEORGE:
I don't see how Rebecca comes to have so much money. She has
more'n a dollar.
REBECCA:
Spoon in mouthy dreamily.
I've been saving it up gradual.
MRS. GIBBS:
Well, dear, I think it's a good thing to spend some every now and
then.
REBECCA:
Mama, do you know what I love most in the world do you?
Money,
MRS. GIBBS:
Eat your breakfast.
THE CHILDREN:
Mama, there's first bell. I gotta hurry. I don't want any more.
I gotta hurry.
The CHILDREN rise, seize their books and dash out through
16
ONE
the trellises. They meet, down center, and cb&termg,
walk to Mean Street, then turn left.
The STAGE MANAGER goes off, unobtrusively y right.
MRS. WEBB:
Walk fast, but you don't have to run. Wally, poll up your pants
at the knee. Stand up straight, Emily.
MRS. GIBBS:
Tell Miss Foster I send her my best congratulations can you re-
member that?
REBECCA:
Yes, Ma.
MRS. GIBBS:
You look real nice, Rebecca. Pick up your feet.
ALL:
Good-by.
MRS GIBBS fills her apron 'with food for the chickens and
comes do e wn to the footlights.
MRS. GIBBS:
Here, chick, chick, chick.
No, go away, you. Go away.
Here, chick, chick, chick.
What's the matter with you? Fight, fight, fight, that's all you do.
Hm . . . you don't belong to me. Where'd you come from?
She shakes her apron.
Oh, don't be so scared. Nobody's going to hurt you.
MRS. WEBB is sitting on the bench by her trellis, stringing
beans.
Good morning, Myrtle. How's your cold?
OUR TOWN
MRS, WEBB:
Well, I still get that tickling feeling in my throat. I told Charles I
didn't know as I'd go to choir practice tonight. Wouldn't be any
use.
MRS. GIBBS:
Have you tried singing over your voice?
MRS. WEBB:
Yes, but somehow I can't do that and stay on the key. While Fm
resting myself I thought I'd string some of these beans.
MRS. GIBBS:
Rolling up her sleeves as she crosses the stage for a chat.
Let me help you. Beans have been good this year.
MRS. WEBB:
I've decided to put up forty quarts if it kiUs me. The children say
they hate 'em, but I notice they're able to get 'em down all winter.
Pause. Brief sound of chickens cackling.
MRS. GIBBS:
Now, Myrtle. I've got to tell you something, because if I don't tell
somebody I'll burst.
MRS. WEBB:
Why, Julia Gibbs!
MRS. GIBBS:
Here, give me some more of those beans. Myrtle, did one of those
secondhand-furniture men from Boston come to see you last
Friday?
MRS. WEBB:
No-o.
18
ACT ONE
MRS. GIBBS:
Well, he called on me. First I thought he was a patient wantin' to
see Dr. Gibbs. *N he wormed his way into my parlor, and, Myrtle
Webb, he offered me three hundred and fifty dollars for Grand-
mother Wentworth's highboy, as I'm sitting here!
MRS. WEBB:
Why, Julia Gibbs!
MRS. GIBBS:
He did! That old thing! Why, it was so big I didn't know where
to put it and I almost give it to Cousin Hester Wilcox.
MRS. WEBB:
Well, you're going to take it, aren't you?
MRS. GIBBS:
I don't know.
MRS. WEBB:
You don't know three hundred and fifty dollars! What's come
over you?
MRS. GIBBS:
Well, if I could get the Doctor to take the money and go away
someplace on a real trip, I'd sell it like that. Y'know, Myrtle, it's
been the dream of my life to see Paris, France. Oh, I don't know.
It sounds crazy, I suppose, but for years I've been promising my-
self that if we ever had the chance
MRS. WEBB:
How does the Doctor feel about it?
MRS. GIBBS:
Well, I did beat about the bush a little and said that if I got a
legacy that's the way I put it I'd make him take me somewhere,
19
OUR TOWN
MRS. WEBB:
M-m-m . . . What did he say?
MRS. GIBBS:
You know how he is. I haven't heard a serious word out of him
since I've known him. No, he said, it might make him discontented
with Grover's Corners to go traipsin' about Europe; better let
well enough alone, he says. Every two years he makes a trip to the
battlefields of the Qvil War and that's enough treat for anybody,
he says.
MRS. WEBB:
Well, Mr. Webb just admires the way Dr. Gibbs knows every-
thing about the Civil War. Mr. Webb's a good mind to give up
Napoleon and move over to the Civil War, only Dr. Gibbs being
one of the greatest experts in the country just makes him despair.
MRS. GIBBS:
It's a fact! Dr. Gibbs is never so happy as when he's at Antietam
or Gettysburg. The times I've walked over those hills, Myrtle,
stopping at every bush and pacing it all out, like we were going
to buy it.
MRS. WEBB:
Well, if that secondhand man's really serious about buyin' it,
Julia, you sell it. And then you'll get to see Paris, all right Just
keep droppin' hints from time to time that's how I got to see the
Atlantic Ocean, y'know.
MRS. GIBBS:
Oh, I'm sorry I mentioned it. Only it seems to me that once in
your life before you die you ought to see a country where they
don't talk in English and don't even want to.
The STAGE MANAGER enters briskly from the right. He tips
his hat to the ladies, who nod their heads.
ACT ONE
STAGE MANAGER:
Thank you, ladies. Thank you very much.
MRS. GIBBS and MRS. WEBB gather up their things, return
into their homes and disappear.
Now we're going to skip a few hours.
But first we want a little more information about the town, kind
of a scientific account, you might say.
So I've asked Professor Willard of our State University to sketch
in a few details of our past history here.
Is Professor Willard here?
PROFESSOR WILLARD, a rural savant, pince-nez on a vwde
satin ribbon, enters from the right with some notes in his
hand.
May I introduce Professor Willard of our State University.
A few brief notes, thank you, Professor, unfortunately our time
is limited.
PROFESSOR WILLARD:
Grover's Corners ... let me see ... Grover's Corners lies on the
old Pleistocene granite of the Appalachian range. I may say it's
some of the oldest land in the world. We're very proud of that.
A shelf of Devonian basalt crosses it with vestiges of Mesozoic
shale, and some sandstone outcroppings; but that's all more recent:
two hundred, three hundred million years old.
Some highly interesting fossils have been found ... I may say:
unique fossils . . . two miles out of town, in Silas Peckham's cow
pasture. They can be seen at the museum in our University at any
time that is, at any reasonable time. Shall I read some of Profes-
sor Gruber's notes on the meteorological situation mean precipi-
tation, et cetera?
STAGE MANAGER:
Afraid we won't have time for that, Professor. We might have a
few words on the history of man here.
21
OUR TOWN
PROFESSOR WILLARD:
Yes . . . anthropological data: Early Amerindian stock. Cotahatchee
tribes ... no evidence before the tenth century of this era ...
hm . . . now entirely disappeared . . . possible traces in three
families. Migration toward the end of the seventeenth century of
English brachiocephalic blue-eyed stock ... for the most part.
Since then some Slav and Mediterranean
STAGE MANAGER:
And the population, Professor Willard?
PROFESSOR WILLARD:
Within the town limits: 2,640.
STAGE MANAGER:
Just a moment, Professor.
He whispers into the professor's ear.
PROFESSOR WILLARD:
Oh, yes, indeed? The population, at the moment, is 2,642. The
Postal District brings in 507 more, making a total of 3,149. Mor-
tality and birth rates: constant. By MacPherson's gauge: 6.032.
STAGE MANAGER:
Thank you very much, Professor. We're all very much obliged
to you, I'm sure.
PROFESSOR WILLARD:
Not at all, sir; not at all.
STAGE MANAGER:
This way, Professor, and thank you again.
Exit PROFESSOR WILLARD.
22
ACT ONE
Now die political and social report: Editor Webb. Oh, Mr.
Webb?
MBS. WEBB appears at her back door.
MRS. WEBB:
He'll be here in a minute. He just cut his hand while he was
eatin' an apple.
STAGE MANAGER:
Thank you, Mrs. Webb.
MRS. WEBB:
Charles! Everybody's waitin'.
Exit MRS. WEBB.
STAGE MANAGER:
Mr. Webb is Publisher and Editor of the Grover's Corners Sen-
tinel. That's our local paper, y'know.
MR. WEBB enters from his house, pulling on his coat. His
finger is bound in a handkerchief*
MR. WEBB:
Well ... I don't have to tell you that we're run here by a Board
of Selectmen. All males vote at the age of twenty-one. Women
vote indirect. We're lower middle class: sprinkling of professional
men . . . ten per cent illiterate laborers. Politically, we're eighty-
six per cent Republicans; six per cent Democrats; four per cent
Socialists; rest, indifferent.
Religiously, we're eighty-five per cent Protestants; twelve per cent
Catholics; rest, indifferent.
STAGE MANAGER:
Have you any comments, Mr. Webb?
23
OUR TOWN
MR. WEBB:
Very ordinary town, if you ask me. Little better behaved than
most. Probably a lot duller.
But our young people here seem to like it well enough. Ninety
per cent of 'em graduating from high school settle down right
here to live even when they Ve been away to college.
STAGE MANAGER:
Now, is there anyone in the audience who would like to ask
Editor Webb anything about the town?
WOMAN IN THE BALCONY:
Is there much drinking in Grover's Corners?
MR. WEBB:
Well, ma'am, I wouldn't know what you'd call much. Satiddy
nights the farmhands meet down in Ellery Greenough's stable
and holler some. We've got one or two town drunks, but they're
always having remorses every time an evangelist comes to town.
No, ma'am, I'd say likker ain't a regular thing in the home here,
except in the medicine chest. Right good for snake bite, y'know
always was.
BELLIGERENT MAN AT BACK OF AUDITORIUM:
Is there no one in town aware of
STAGE MANAGER:
Come forward, will you, where we can all hear you What were
you saying?
BELLIGERENT MAN:
Is there no one in town aware of social injustice and industrial
inequality?
ACT ONE
MR. WEBB:
Oh, yes, everybody is somethin' terrible. Seems like they spend
most of their rime talking about who's rich and who's poor.
BELLIGERENT MAN:
Then why don't they do something about it?
He withdraws without waiting for m answer.
MR. WEBB:
Well, I dunno. ... I guess we're all hunting like everybody else
for a way the diligent and sensible can rise to the top and the
lazy and quarrelsome can sink to the bottom. But it ain't easy to
find. Meanwhile, we do all we can to help those that can't help
themselves and those that can we leave alone. Are there any
other questions?
LADY IN A BOX:
Oh, Mr. Webb? Mr. Webb, is there any culture or love of beauty
in Grover's Corners?
MR. WEBB: *
Well, ma'am, there ain't much not in the sense you mean. Come
to think of it, there's some girls that play the piano at High School
Commencement; but they ain't happy about it. No, ma'am, there
isn't much culture; but maybe this is the place to tell you that
we've got a lot of pleasures of a kind here: we like the sun comin'
up over the mountain in the morning, and we all notice a good
deal about the birds. We pay a lot of attention to them. And we
watch the change of the seasons; yes, everybody knows about
them. But those other things you're right, ma'am, there ain't
much. Robinson Crusoe and the Bible; and Handel's "Largo,"
we all know that; and Whistler's "Mother" those are just about
as far as we go.
25
OUR TOWN
LADY IN A BOX:
So I thought. Thank you, Mr. Webb.
STAGE MANAGER:
Thank you, Mr. Webb.
MR. WEBB retires.
Now, we'll go back to the town. It's early afternoon. All 2,642
have had their dinners and all the dishes have been washed.
MR. WEBB, having removed his coat, returns and starts
pushing a lawn mower to and fro beside his house.
There's an early-afternoon calm in our town: a buzzin' and a
hummin' from the school buildings; only a few buggies on Main
Street the horses dozing at the hitching posts; you all remember
what it's like. Doc Gibbs is in his office, tapping people and mak-
ing them say "ah." Mr. Webb's cuttin' his lawn over there; one
man in ten thinks it's a privilege to push his own lawn mower.
No, sir. It's later than I thought. There are the children coming
home from school already.
Shrill girls' voices are heard, off left. EMILY comes along
Main Street, carrying some books. There are some signs
that she is imagining herself to be a lady of startling
elegance.
EMILY:
I can't, Lois. I've got to go home and help my mother. I promised.
MR. WEBB:
Emily, walk simply. Who do you think you are today?
EMILY:
Papa, you're terrible. One minute you tell me to stand up straight
and the next minute you call me names. I just don't listen to you,
She gives him an abrupt kiss.
26
ACT ONE
MR. WEBB:
Golly, I never got a kiss from such a great lady before.
He goes out of sight. EMILY leans over and picks some
flowers by the gate of her house.
GEORGE GIBBS comes careeTimg do e wn Mam Street. He is
throttling a ball up to dizzying heights, snd *wa$tmg to
catch it again. This sometimes requires his taking six
steps backward. He bumps into an OLD LADY invisible to
us.
GEORGE:
Excuse me, Mrs. Forrest.
STAGE MANAGER:
As Mrs. Forrest*
Go out and play in the fields, young man. You got no business
playing baseball on Main Street.
GEORGE:
Awfully sorry, Mrs. Forrest. Hello, Emily.
EMILY:
H'lo.
GEORGE:
You made a fine speech in class.
EMILY:
Well ... I was really ready to make a speech about the Monroe
Doctrine, but at the last minute Miss Corcoran made me talk
about the Louisiana Purchase instead. I worked an awful long
time on both of them.
GEORGE:
Gee, it's funny, Emily. From my window up there I can just see
OUR TOWN
your head nights when you're doing your homework over in
your room.
EMILY:
Why, can you?
GEORGE:
You certainly do stick to it, Emily. I don't see how you can sit
still that long. I guess you like school.
EMILY:
Well, I always feel it's something you have to go through.
GEORGE:
Yeah.
EMILY:
I don't mind it really. It passes the time.
GEORGE:
Yeah. Emily, what do you think? We might work out a kinda
telegraph from your window to mine; and once in a while you
could give me a kinda hint or two about one of those algebra
problems. I don't mean the answers, Emily, of course not . . .
just some little hint , . ,
EMILY:
Oh, I think hints are allowed. So ah if you get stuck, George,
you whistle to me; and I'll give you some hints.
GEORGE:
Emily, you're just naturally bright, I guess.
EMILY:
I figure that it's just the way a person's born.
28
ACT ONE
GEORGE:
Yeah. But, you see, I want to be a farmer, and my Uncle Luke
says whenever Fm ready I can come over and work on his farm
and if I'm any good I can just gradually have it
EMILY:
You mean the house and everything?
Enter MRS. WEBB 'with a large bowl and sits on the bench
by her trellis.
GEORGE:
Yeah. Well, thanks ... I better be getting out to die baseball
field. Thanks for the talk, Emily. Good afternoon, Mrs. Webb.
MRS. WEBB:
Good afternoon, George.
GEORGE:
So long, Emily.
EMILY:
So long, George.
MRS. WEBB:
Emily, come and help me string these beans for the winter.
George Gibbs let himself have a real conversation, didn't he?
Why, he's growing up. How old would George be?
EMILY:
I don't know.
MRS. WEBB:
Let's see. He must be almost sixteen.
EMILY:
Mama, I made a speech in class today and I was very good.
29
OUR TOWN
MRS. WEBB:
Yon must recite it to your father at supper. What was It about?
EMILY:
The Louisiana Purchase. It was like silk off a spool. I'm going
to make speeches all my life. Mama, are these big enough?
MRS. WEBB:
Try and get them a little bigger if you can.
EMILY:
Mama, will you answer me a question, serious?
MRS. WEBB:
Seriously, dear not serious.
EMILY:
Seriously, will you?
MRS. WEBB:
Of course, I will.
EMILY:
Mama, am I good looking?
MRS. WEBB:
Yes, of course you are. All my children have got good features;
I'd be ashamed if they hadn't.
EMILY:
Oh, Mama, that's not what I mean, What I mean is; am I pretty?
WEBB:
IVe already told you, yes. Now that's enough of that. You have
a nice young pretty face. I never heard of such foolishness.
30
ACT ONE
EMILY:
Oh, Mama, you never tell us the truth about anything.
MRS. WEBB:
I am telling you the truth.
EMILY:
Mama, were you pretty?
MRS. WEBB:
Yes, I was, if I do say it. I was the prettiest girl in town next to
Mamie Cartwright.
EMILY:
But, Mama, you've got to say something about me. Am I pretty
enough ... to get anybody ... to get people interested in me?
MRS. WEBB:
Emily, you make me tired. Now stop it. You're pretty enough
for all normal purposes. Come along now and bring that bowl
with you.
EMILY:
Oh, Mama, you're no help at all.
STAGE MANAGER:
Thank you. Thank you! That'll do. We'll have to interrupt again
here. Thank you, Mrs. Webb; thank you, Emily.
MRS. WEBB and EMILY e mthdra f w.
There are some more things we want to explore about this town.
He comes to the center of the stage. During the fottoiu-
mg speech the lights gradually dim to darkness, leaving
only a spot on him.
I think this is a good time to tell you that the Cartwright interests
3*
OUR TOWN
have just begun building a new bank in Grover's Corners had
to go to Vermont for the marble, sorry to say. And they've
asked a friend of mine what they should put in the cornerstone
for people to dig up ... a thousand years from now. . . . Of
course, they've put in a copy of the New York Times and a copy
of Mr. Webb's Sentinel. . . . We're kind of interested in this be-
cause some scientific fellas have found a way of painting all that
reading matter with a glue a silicate glue that'll make it keep a
thousand two thousand years.
We're putting in a Bible . . . and the Constitution of the United
States and a copy of William Shakespeare's plays. What do you
say, folks? What do you think?
Y'know Babylon once had two million people in it, and all we
know about 'em is the names of the kings and some copies of
wheat contracts . . . and contracts for the sale of slaves. Yet every
night all those families sat down to supper, and the father came
home from his work, and the smoke went up the chimney, same
as here. And even in Greece and Rome, all we know about the
real life of the people is what we can piece together out of the
joking poems and die comedies they wrote for the theatre back
then.
So I'm going to have a copy of this play put in the cornerstone
and the people a thousand years from now'll know a few simple
facts about us more than the Treaty of Versailles and the Lind-
bergh flight.
See what I mean?
So people a thousand years from now this is the way we were
in the provinces north of New York at the beginning of the
twentieth century. This is the way we were: in our growing
up and in our marrying and in our living and in our dying.
A chair partially concealed in the orchestra fit has begun
singing "Blessed Be the Tie That Binds."
3*
ACT ONE
SIMON STIMSON stands directing them.
T<wo ladders have been pushed onto the stage; they serve
as indication of the second story m the Gibbs and Webb
houses. GEORGE and EMILY matmt them, and apply them-
selves to their schoolwork.
DR. GIBBS has entered and is seated in his kitchen reading.
Well! good deal of rime's gone by. It's evening.
You can hear choir practice going on in die Congregational
Church.
The children are at home doing their schoolwork.
The day's running down like a tired clock.
SIMON STIMSON:
Now look here, everybody. Music come into the world to give
pleasure. Softer! Softer! Get it out of your heads that music's
only good when it's loud. You leave loudness to the Methodists.
You couldn't beat 'em, even if you wanted to. Now again.
Tenors!
GEORGE:
Hssst! Emily!
EMILY:
Hello.
GEORGE:
Hello!
EMILY:
I can't work at all. The moonlight's so terrible.
GEORGE:
Emily, did you get the third problem?
33
OUR TOWN
EMILY:
Which?
GEORGE:
The third?
EMILY:
Why, yes, George that's the easiest of them all.
GEORGE:
I don't see it. Emily, can you give me a hint?
EMILY:
1*11 tell you one thing: the answer's in yards,
GEORGE:
! ! I In yards? How do you mean?
In sqtiare yards*
GEORGE:
Oh ... in square yards.
EMILY:
Yes, George, don't you see?
GEORGE:
Yeah.
EASILY:
In square yards of wallpaper*
GEORGE:
"Wallpaper, oh, I see. Thanks a lot, Emily.
34
ACT ONE
EMILY:
YouYe welcome. My, isn't the moonlight terrible? And choir
practice going on. I think if you hold your breath you can hear
the train all the way to Contoocook. Hear it?
GEORGE:
M-m-m What do you know!
EMILY:
Well, I guess I better go back and try to work.
GEORGE:
Good night, Emily. And thanks,
EMILY:
Good night, George.
SIMON STIMSON:
Before I forget it: how many of you will be able to come in Tues-
day afternoon and sing at Fred Hersey's wedding? show your
hands. That'll be fine; that'll be right nice. We'll do the saine
music we did for Jane Trowbridge's last month.
Now we'll do: "Art Thou Weary; Art Thou Languid?" It's
a question, ladies and gentlemen, make it talk. Ready.
DR. GIBBS:
Oh, George, can you come down a minute?
GEORGE:
Yes, Pa.
He descends the ladder.
DR. GIBBS:
Make yourself comfortable, George; I'll only keep you a minute.
George, how old are you?
35
OUR TOWN
GEORGE:
I? Fm sixteen, almost seventeen.
DR. GIBBS:
What do you want to do after school's over?
GEORGE:
Why, you know, Pa. I want to be a farmer on Uncle Luke's farm.
DR. GIBBS:
You'll be willing, will you, to get up early and milk and feed the
stock . . . and you'll be able to hoe and hay all day?
GEORGE:
Sure, I will. What are you . . . what do you mean, Pa?
DR. GIBBS:
Well, George, while I was in my office today I heard a funny
sound . . . and what do you think it was? It was your mother
chopping wood. There you see your mother getting up early;
cooking meals all day long; washing and ironing; and still she
has to go out in the back yard and chop wood. I suppose she just
got tired of asking you. She just gave up and decided it was easier
to do it herself. And you eat her meals, and put on the clothes she
keeps nice for you, and you run off and play baseball, like she's
some hired girl we keep around the house but that we don't like
very much. Well, I knew all I had to do was call your attention
to it. Here's a handkerchief, son. George, I've decided to raise
your spending money twenty-five cents a week. Not, of course,
for chopping wood for your mother, because that's a present you
give her, but because you're getting older and I imagine there
are lots of things you must find to do with it
GEORGE:
Thanks, Pa.
ACT ONE
DK GIBBS:
Let's see tomorrow's your payday. You can count on it Hmm.
Probably Rebecca'll feel she ought to have some more too. Won-
der what could have happened to your mother. Choir practice
never was as late as this before.
GEORGE:
It's only half past eight, Pa.
DR. GIBBS:
I don't know why she's in that old choir. She hasn't any more
voice than an old crow. . . . Traipsin' around the streets at this
hour of the night . . . Just about time you retired, don't you
think?
GEORGE:
Yes, Pa.
GEORGE mounts to his place on the ladder.
Laughter and good nights can be heard on stage left and
presently MRS. GIBBS, MRS. SOAMES and MRS. WEBB come
do f wn Main Street. When they arrive at the corner of the
stage they stop.
MRS. SOAMES:
Good night, Martha. Good night, Mr. Foster.
MRS. WEBB:
I'll tell Mr. Webb; I know he'll want to put it in the paper.
MRS. GIBBS:
My, it's late!
MRS. SOAMES:
Good night, Irma.
37
OUR TOWN
MRS. GIBBS:
Real nice choir practice, wa'n't it? Myrtle Webb! Look at that
moon, will you! Tsk-tsk-tsk. Potato weather, for sure.
They are silent a moment , gazing up at the moon.
MRS. SOAMES:
Naturally I didn't want to say a word about it in front of those
others, but now we're alone really, it's the worst scandal that
ever was in this town!
MRS. GIBBS:
What?
MRS. SOAMES:
Simon Stimson!
MRS. GIBBS:
Now, Louella!
MRS, SOAMES:
But, Julia! To have the organist of a church drink and dnmk
year after year. You know he was drunk tonight.
MRS. GIBBS:
Now, Louella! We all know about Mr. Stimson, and we all know
about the troubles he's been through, and Dr. Ferguson knows
too, and if Dr. Ferguson keeps him on there in his job the only
thing the rest of us can do is just not to notice it.
MRS. SOAMES:
Not to notice it! But it's getting worse.
MRS. WEBB:
No, it isn't, Louella. It's getting better. IVe been in that choir
twice as long as you have. It doesn't happen anywhere near so
38
ACT ONE
often. . . . My, I hate to go to bed on a night like this. I better
hurry. Those children'll be sitting up rill all hours. Good night,
Louella.
They all exchange good nights. She hurries downst&ge,
enters her house and disappears.
MRS. GIBBS:
Can you get home safe, Louella?
MRS. SOAMES:
It's as bright as day. I can see Mr. Soames scowling at the window
now. You'd think we'd been to a dance the way the menfolk
carry on.
More good nights. MRS. GIBBS arrives at her home and
passes through the trellis into the kitchen.
MRS. GIBBS:
Well, we had a real good time.
DR. GIBBS:
You're late enough.
MRS. GIBBS:
Why, Frank, it ain't any later *n usuaL
DR. GIBBS:
And you stopping at the corner to gossip with a lot of hens.
MRS. GIBBS:
Now, Frank, don't be grouchy. Come out and smell the heliotrope
in the moonlight.
They stroll out arm in arm along the footlights.
Isn't that wonderful? What did you do all the time I was away?
39
OUR TOWN
DR. GIBBS:
Oh, I read as usual. What were the girls gossiping about to-
night?
MRS. GIBBS:
Well, believe me, Frank there is something to gossip about.
DR. GIBBS:
Hmm! Simon Stimson far gone, was he?
MRS. GIBBS:
Worst I've ever seen him. How'll that end, Frank? Dr. Ferguson
can't forgive him forever.
DR. GIBBS:
I guess I know more about Simon Stimson's affairs than anybody
in this town. Some people ain't made for small-town life. I don't
know how that'll end; but there's nothing we can do but jiut
leave it alone. Come, get in,
MRS. GIBBS:
No, not yet ... Frank, I'm worried about you.
DR. GIBBS:
What are you worried about?
MRS. GIBBS:
I think it's my duty to make plans for you to get a real rest and
change. And if I get that legacy, well, I'm going to insist on it.
DR. GIBBS:
Now, Julia, there's no sense in going over that again.
MRS. GIBBS:
Frank, you're just unreasonable!
40
ACT ONE
DR. GIBBS:
Starting into the house.
Come on, Julia, it's getting late. First thing you know youll
catch cold. I gave George a piece of my mind tonight. I reckon
you'll have your wood chopped for a while anyway. No, no,
start getting upstairs.
MRS. GIBBS:
Oh, dear. There's always so many things to pick op, seems like.
You know, Frank, Mrs. Fairchild always locks her front door
every night. All those people up that part of town do.
DR. GIBBS:
Bl&wing out the lamp.
They're all getting citified, that's the trouble with them. They
haven't got nothing fit to burgle and everybody knows it.
They disappear.
REBECCA climbs up the ladder beside GEORGE.
GEORGE:
Get out, Rebecca. There's only room for one at this window.
You're always spoiling everything.
REBECCA:
Well, let me look just a minute.
GEORGE:
Use your own window.
REBECCA:
I did, but there's no moon there. . . . George, do you know what I
think, do you? I think maybe the moon's getting nearer and
nearer and there'll be a big 'splosion.
OUR TOWN
GEORGE:
Rebecca, you don't know anything. If the moon were getting
nearer, the guys that sit up all night with telescopes would see it
first and they'd tell about it, and it'd be in all the newspapers.
REBECCA:
George, is the moon shining on South America, Canada and half
the whole world?
GEORGE:
Well prob'ly is.
The STAGE MANAGER Strolls 072.
Pause. The sound of crickets is heard.
STAGE MANAGER:
Nine thirty. Most of the lights are out. No, there's Constable
Warren trying a few doors on Main Street. And here comes
Editor Webb, after putting his newspaper to bed.
MR. WARREN, an elderly policeman, comes along Main
Street from the right, MR. WEBB from the left.
MR. WEBB:
Good evening, Bill.
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Evenin 7 , Mr. Webb.
MR. WEBB:
Quite a moon!
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Yepp.
MR. WEBB:
All quiet tonight?
ACT ONE
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Simon Stimson is rollin' around a little. Just saw his wife niovin*
out to hunt for him so I looked the other way there he is now.
V
SIMON STIMSON comes down Main Street from the left,
only a trace of unsteadiness in his walk.
MR. WEBB:
Good evening, Simon . . . Town seems to have settled down for
die night pretty well. . . .
SIMON STIMSON comes up to him and pauses a moment
and stares at him, swaying slightly.
Good evening . . . Yes, most of the town's settled down for the
night, Simon I guess we better do the same. Can I walk aloag
a ways with you?
SIMON STIMSON continues on his way without a word
and disappears at the right.
Good night.
CONSTABLE WARREN:
I don't know how that's goin' to end, Mr. Webb.
MR. WEBB:
Well, he's seen a peck of trouble, one thing after another. . . .
Oh, Bill ... if you see my boy smoking cigarettes, just give him
a word, will you? He thinks a lot of you, Bill,
CONSTABLE WARREN:
I don't think he smokes no cigarettes, Mr. Webb. Leastways, not
more'n two or three a year.
MR. WEBB:
Hm ... I hope not. Well, good night, Bill
43
OUR TOWN
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Good night, Mr. Webb.
Exit.
MR. WEBB:
Who's that up there? Is that you, Myrtle?
EMILY:
No, it's me, Papa.
MR. WEBB:
Why aren't you in bed?
EMILY:
I don't know. I just can't sleep yet, Papa. The moonlight's so
ii70#-derfuL And the smell of Mrs. Gibbs' heliotrope. Can you
smell it?
MR. WEBB:
Hm . . . Yes. Haven't any troubles on your mind, have you,
Emily?
EMILY:
Troubles, Papa? No.
MR. WEBB:
Well, enjoy yourself, but don't let your mother catch you. Good
night, Emily.
EMILY:
Good night, Papa.
MR. WEBB crosses into the house, 'whistling "Blessed Be
the Tie That Binds" and disappears.
44
ACT ONE
REBECCA:
I never told you about that letter Jane Crofut got from her
minister when she was sick. He wrote Jane a letter and on the
envelope the address was like this: It said: Jane Crofut; The
Crofut Farm; Grover's Corners; Sutton County; New Hamp-
shire; United States of America.
GEORGE:
What's funny about that?
REBECCA:
But listen, it's not finished: die United States of America; Conti-
nent of North America; Western Hemisphere; the Earth; the
Solar System; the Universe; the Mind of God that's what it said
on the envelope.
GEORGE:
What do you know!
REBECCA:
And the postman brought it just the same.
GEORGE:
What do you know!
STAGE MANAGER:
That's the end of the First Act, friends. You can go and smoke
now, those that smoke.
45
ACT II
The tables and chairs of the Pwo kitchens are still on the
stage.
The ladders and the small bench have been withdraivn*
The STAGE MANAGER has been at his accustomed place
watching the midience return to its seats.
STAGE MANAGER:
Three years have gone by.
Yes, the sun's come up over a thousand times.
Summers and winters have cracked the mountains a little bit more
and the rains have brought down some of the dirt.
Some babies that weren't even born before have begun talking
regular sentences already; and a number of people who thought
they were right young and spry have noticed that they can't
bound up a flight of stairs like they used to, without their heart
fluttering a little.
All that can happen in a thousand days.
Nature's been pushing and contriving in other ways, too: a
number of young people fell in love and got married.
Yes, the mountain got bit away a few fractions of an inch; mil-
lions of gallons of water went by the mill; and here and there a
new home was set up under a roof.
Almost everybody in the world gets married, you know what
I mean? In our town there aren't hardly any exceptions. Most
everybody in the world climbs into their graves married.
ACT TWO
The First Act was called the Daily Life. This act is cklled
and Marriage. There's another act coming after this: I reckon
you can guess what that's about.
So:
It's three years later. It's 1904.
It's July 7th, just after High School Commencement.
That's the time most of our young people jump up and get mar-
ried.
Soon as they Ve passed their last examinations in solid geometry
and Cicero's Orations, looks like they suddenly fed themselves fit
to be married.
It's early morning. Only this time it's been raining. It's been poor-
ing and thundering.
Mrs. Gibbs' garden, and Mrs. Webb's here: drenched.
All those bean poles and pea vines: drenched.
All yesterday over there on Main Street, the rain looked like
curtains being blown along.
Hm ... it may begin again any minute.
There! You can hear the 5:45 for Boston.
MRS. GIBBS and MRS. WEBB enter their kitchen and start
the day as in the First Act.
And there's Mrs. Gibbs and Mrs, Webb come down to make
breakfast, just as though it were an ordinary day. I don't have to
point out to the women in my audience that those ladies they see
before them, both of those ladies cooked three meals a day one
of 'em for twenty years, the other for forty and no summer
vacation. They brought up two children apiece, washed, cleaned
the house, and never a nervous breakd&wn.
It's like what one of those Middle West poets said: You've got to
love life to have life, and youVe got to have life to love life. . .
It's what they call a vicious circle.
47
OUR TOWN
HOWIE NEWSQME:
Of stage left.
Giddap, Bessie!
STAGE MANAGER:
Here comes Howie Newsome delivering the milk. And there's Si
Croweil delivering the papers like his brother before him*
si QROWELL bos entered hwrlmg imaginary newspapers
into doorways; HOWIE NEWSOME has come along Mam
Street <whb Bessie.
SI OTOWEIX:
Morning, Howie.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Morning, Si. Anything in the papers I ought to know?
si CROWEIX:
Nothing much, except we're losing about the best baseball pitcher
Grover's Corners ever had George Gibbs.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Reckon he is.
si CROWEIX:
He could hit and run bases, wo.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Yep. Mighty fine ball player. Whoa! Bessie! I guess 1 can stop
and talk if I've a mind to!
si CROWELL:
I don't see how he could give up a thing like that just to ge& xnat>
ried. Would you, Howie?
ACT TWO
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Can't tell, Si. Never had no talent that way.
CONSTABLE WARREN enters. They exchange good mornings.
You're up early, BUI
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Seein' if there's anything I can do to prevent a flood. River's been
risin' all night.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Si CrowelTs all worked up here about George Gibbs* retiring
from baseball.
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Yes, sir; that's die way it goes. Back in '84 we had a player, Si
even George Gibbs couldn't touch him. Name of Hank Todd.
Went down to Maine and become a parson. Wonderful ball
player. Howie, how does the weather look to you?
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Oh, 'tain't bad Think maybe itll clear up for good.
CONSTABLE WARREN cmd si CROWELL continue on their
HOWIE NEWSOME brings the mlk first to Mrs. Gibbs*
bouse. She meets him by the trellis.
MRS. GIBBS:
Good morning, Howie. Do you think it's going to rain again?
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Morning, Mrs. Gibbs. It rained so heavy, I think maybe it'll clear
up.
MRS. GIBBS:
Certainly hope it will.
49
OUR TOWN
HOWIE NEWSOME:
How much did you want today?
MRS. GIBBS:
I'm going to have a houseful of relations, Howie. Looks to me
like I'll need three-a-milk and two-a-cream.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
My wife says to tell you we both hope they'll be very happy,
Mrs. Gibbs, Know they njrilL
MRS. GIBBS:
Thanks a lot, Howie. Tell your wife I hope she gits there to the
wedding.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Yes, she'll be there; she'll be there if she kin.
HOWIE NEWSOME crosses to Mrs. WebVs house.
Morning, Mrs. Webb.
MRS. WEBB:
Oh, good morning, Mr. Newsome. I told you four quarts of milk,
but I hope you can spare me another.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Yes'm . . . and the two of cream,
MRS. WEBB:
Will it start raining again, Mr. Newsome?
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Well. Just sayin* to Mrs. Gibbs as how it may lighten up, Mrs.
Newsome told me to tell you as how we hope they'll both be
very happy, Mrs. Webb. Know they wilL
5
ACT TWO
MRS. WEBB:
Thank you, and thank Mrs* Newsome and we're counting on
seeing you at the wedding.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Yes, Mrs. Webb. We hope to git there. Couldn't miss that. Come
on, Bessie.
Exit HOWIE NEWSOME,
DR. GIBBS descends m shirt sleeves, md sits donm &$ Ms
breakfast table.
DR. GIBBS:
Well, Ma, the day has come. You're losin* one of your chicks.
MRS, GIBBS:
Frank Gibbs, don't you say another word. I feel like crying every
minute. Sit down and drink your coffee.
DR. GIBBS:
The groom's up shaving himself only there ain't an awful lot
to shave. Whistling and singing, like he's glad to leave us. Every
now and then he says "I do" to the mirror, but k don't sound con-
vincing to me.
MRS. GIBBS:
I declare, Frank, I don't know how he'll get along. I've arranged
his clothes and seen to it he's put warm things on, Frank! they're
too young. Emily won't think of such things. He'll catch his deatft
of cold within a week.
DR. GIBBS:
I was remembering my wedding morning, Julia*
MRS. GIBBS:
Now don't start that, Frank Gibbs.
5 1
OUR TOWN
DR. GIBBS:
I was the scaredest young fella in the State of New Hampshire.
I thought Fd make a mistake for sure. And when I saw you comm*
down that aisle I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen,
but the only trouble was that I'd never seen you before. There
I was in the Congregational Church marryin' a total stranger.
MK& GIBBS:
And how do you think I felt! Frank, weddings are perfectly
awful things. Farces, that's what they are!
She puts a plt&e before him.
Here, Fve made something for you,
DR, GIBBS:
Why, Julia Hersey French toast!
MRS. GIBBS:
Tain't hard to make and I had to do something.
Pause. DR. GIBBS pours on the syrup.
DR. GIBBS:
How'd you sleep last night, Julia?
MRS. GIBBS:
Well, I heard a lot of the hours struck off.
DR. GIBBS:
Ye-e-s! I get a shock every time I think of George setting out to
be a family man that great gangling thing! I tell you Julia,
there's nothing so terrifying in the world as a son. The relation
of father and son is the darndest, awkwardest
MRS. GIBBS:
Well, mother and daughter's no picnic, let me tell you.
ACT TWO
DR. GIBBS:
They'll have a lot of troubles, I suppose, but that's none of our
business. Everybody has a right to their own troubles,
MRS, GIBBS:
At the table, drinking her coffee, meditatively.
Yes . . . people are meant to go through life two by two. TTam't
natural to be lonesome.
Pause. DR. GIBBS starts laughing.
DR. GIBBS:
Julia, do you know one of the things I was scared of when I
married you?
MRS. GIBBS:
Oh, go along with you!
DR. GIBBS:
I was afraid we wouldn't have material for conversation more Vd
last us a few weeks.
Both laugh.
I was afraid we'd run out and eat our meals in silence, that's a
fact. Well, you and I been conversing for twenty years now
without any noticeable barren spells.
MRS. GIBBS:
Well, good weather, bad weather 'tain't very choice, but I
always find something to say.
She goes to the foot of the stairs.
Did you hear Rebecca stirring around upstairs?
DR. GIBBS:
No. Only day of the year Rebecca hasn't been managing every-
body's business up there. She's hiding in her room. I got die
impression die's crying.
S3
OUR TOWN
MRS, GIBBS:
Lord's sakes! This has got to stop. Rebecca! Rebecca! Come
and get your breakfast.
GEORGE comes rattling down the stairs, very brisk.
GEORGE:
Good morning, everybody. Only five more hours to live.
Makes the gesture of cutting his throat, and a loud
***-*-*," and starts through the trellis.
MRS. GIBBS:
George Gibbs, where are you going?
GEORGE:
Just stepping across the grass to see my girl.
MRS. GIBBS:
Now, George! You put on your overshoes. It's raining torrents.
You don't go out of this house without you're prepared for it.
GEORGE:
Aw, Ma. It's just a step!
MRS. GIBBS:
George! You'll catch your death of cold and cough all through
the service.
DR. GIBBS:
George, do as your mother tells you!
DR. GIBBS goes upstairs.
GEORGE returns reluctantly to the kitchen and pantomimes
putting on overshoes.
MRS. GIBBS:
From tomorrow on you can kill yourself in all weathers, but
while you're in my house you'll live wisely, thank you, Maybe
54
ACT TWO
Mrs. Webb isn't used to callers at seven in the morning. Here,
take a cup of coffee first.
GEORGE:
Be back in a minute.
He crosses the stage, leaping over the puddles.
Good morning, Mother Webb.
MRS. WEBB:
Goodness! You frightened me! Now, George, you can come ia
a minute out of the wet, but you know I can't ask you in.
GEORGE:
Why not ?
MRS. WEBB:
George, you know's well as I do: the groom can't see his bride
on his wedding day, not until he sees her in church.
GEORGE:
Aw! that's just a superstition. Good morning, Mr. Webb.
Enter MR. WEBB.
MR. WEBB:
Good morning, George.
GEORGE:
Mr. Webb, you don't believe in that superstition, do you?
MR. WEBB:
There's a lot of common sense in some superstitions, George,
He sits at the table, -facing right.
MRS. WEBB:
Millions have folla'd it, George, and you don't want to be the
first to fly in the face of custom.
55
OUR TOWN
GEORGE:
How is Emily?
MRS. WEBB;
She hasn't waked tip yet. I haven't heard a sound out of her.
GEORGE:
Emily's asleeplll
MRS. WEBB:
No wonder! We were up 'til all hours, sewing and packing. Now
Fll tell you what I'll do; you set down here a minute with Mr.
Webb and drink this cup of coffee; and I'll go upstairs and see she
doesn't come down and surprise you. There's some bacon, too; but
don't be long about it.
Exit MRS. WEBB.
Embarrassed silence.
MR. WEBB dunks doughnuts m his coffee.
More silence.
MR. WEBB:
Suddenly and loudly.
Well, George, how are you?
GEORGE:
Startled, choking over his coffee.
Oh, fine, I'm fine.
Pause.
Mr. Webb, what sense could there be in a superstition like that?
MR. WEBB:
Well, you see, on her wedding morning a girl's head's apt to
be full of ... clothes and one thing and another. Don't you think
that's probably it?
ACT TWO
GEORGE:
Ye-e-s. I never thought of that.
MR. WEBB:
A girl's apt to be a mite nervous on her wedding day.
Pause.
GEORGE:
I wish a fellow could get married without aH that marching up
and down.
MR. WEBB:
Every man that's ever lived has f ek that way about it, George;
but it hasn't been any use. It's the womenfolk who've built up
weddings, my boy. For a while now the women have it all their
own. A man looks pretty small at a wedding, George. AH those
good women standing shoulder to shoulder making sure that the
knot's tied in a mighty public way.
GEORGE:
But . . . you believe in it, don't you, Mr. Webb?
MR. WEBB:
With alacrity.
Oh, yes; oh, yes. Don't you misunderstand me, my boy. Marriage
is a wonderful thing, wonderful thing. And don't you forget
that, George.
GEORGE:
No, sir. Mr. Webb, how old were you when you got married?
MR. WEBB:
Well, you see: I'd been to college and I'd taken a little time to
get settled. But Mrs. Webb she wasn't much older than what
57
OUR TOWN
Emily k Oh, age hasn't much to do with it, George, not
compared with ... uh ... other things.
GEORGE:
What were you going to say, Mr. Webb?
MR. WEBB:
Oh, I don't know. Was I going to say something?
Pause.
George, I was thinking the other night of some advice my father
gave me when I got married. Charles, he said, Charles, start out
early showing who's boss, he said. Best thing to do is to give
an order, even if it don't make sense; just so she'll learn to obey.
And he said: if anything about your wife irritates you her
conversation, or anything just get up and leave the house. That'll
make it clear to her, he said. And, oh, yes! he said never, never
let your wife know how much money you have, never.
GEORGE:
Well, Mr. Webb ... I don't think I could , . .
MR. WEBB:
So I took the opposite of my father's advice and I've been happy
ever since. And let that be a lesson to you, George, never to ask
advice on personal matters. George, are you going to raise
chickens on your farm?
GEORGE:
What?
MR. WEBB:
Are you going to raise chickens on your farm?
GEORGE:
Uncle Luke's never been much interested, but I thought
58
ACT TWO
MR. WEBB;
A book came into my office the other day, George, on the Philo
System of raising chickens. I want you to read it, Fm thinking of
beginning in a small way in the back yard, and I'm going to put
an incubator in the cellar
Enter MRS. WEBB.
MRS. WEBB:
Charles, are you talking about that old incubator again? I thought
you two'd be talking about things worth while.
MR. WEBB:
Eitmgly.
Well, Myrtle, if you want to give the boy some good advice, Fll
go upstairs and leave you alone with him.
MRS. WEBB:
Pulling GEORGE Up.
George, Emily's got to come downstairs and eat her breakfast.
She sends you her love but she doesn't want to lay eyes on you.
Good-by.
GEORGE:
Good-by.
GEORGE crosses the stage to his o f wn home, bewildered and
crestfallen* He slowly dodges a puddle and disappears
into his house.
MR. WEBB:
Myrde, I guess you don't know about that older superstition.
MRS. WEBB:
What do you mean, Charles?
59
OUR TOWN
MR. WEBB:
Since the cave men: no bridegroom should see his father-in-law
00 the day of the wedding, or near it. Now remember that.
Both leave the stage.
STAGE MANAGER:
Thank you very much, Mr. and Mrs. Webb. Now I have to
interrupt again here. You see, we want to know how all this began
this wedding, this plan to spend a lifetime together. Fm awfully
interested in how big things like that begin.
You know how it is: you're twenty-one or twenty-two and you
make some decisions; then whisssh! you're seventy: you've been
a lawyer for fifty years, and that white-haired lady at your side
has eaten over fifty thousand meals with you.
How do such things begin?
George and Emily are going to show you now the conversation
they had when they first knew that . . . that ... as the saying
goes . . . they were meant for one another.
But before they do it I want you to try and remember what it
was like to have been very young.
And particularly the days when you were first in love; when
you were like a person sleepwalking, and you didn't quite see the
street you were in, and didn't quite hear everything that was said
to you.
You're just a litde bit crazy. Will you remember that, please?
Now they'll be coming out of high school at three o'clock. George
has just been elected President of the Junior Class, and as it's
June, that means he'll be President of the Senior Class all next
year. And Emily's just been elected Secretary and Treasurer.
1 don't have to tell you how important that is.
He places a board across the backs of two chairs, 'which
he takes from those at the Gibbs family's table. He brings
60
ACT TWO
two high stools from the wings and places them behind
the board. Persons sitting on the stools wll be faring the
audience. This is the counter of Mr. Morgan's drugstore.
The sounds of young people's voices are heard off left*
Yepp, there they are coming down Main Street now.
EMILY, carrying an armful of magiTurry schoolbooks,
comes along Main Street from the left.
EMILY:
I can't, Louise. Fve got to go home. Good-by. Oh, Ernestine!
Ernestine! Can you come over tonight and do Latin? Isn't that
Cicero the worst thing I Tell your mother you have to. G*by.
G*by, Helen. G*by, Fred.
QEORGE, also carrying books, catches up mtb her.
GEORGE:
Can I carry your books home for you, Emily?
EMILY:
Coolly.
Why ... uh ... Thank you. It isn't far.
She gives them to him.
GEORGE:
Excuse me a minute, Emily. Say, Bob, if Fm a little late, start
practice anyway. And give Herb some long high ones.
EMILY:
Good-by, Lizzy.
GEORGE:
Good-by, Lizzy. Fm awfully glad you were elected, too, Emily.
EMILY:
Thank you.
They have been standing on Main Street, almost against
61
OUR TOWN
the back *wall They take the first steps toward the
audience when GEORGE stops md says:
GEORGE:
Emily, why are you mad at me?
EMILY:
I'm not mad at you.
GEORGE:
YouVe been treating me so funny lately.
EMILY:
Well, since you ask me, I might as well say it right out, George,
She catches sight of a teacher passing.
Good-by, Miss Corcoran.
GEORGE:
Good-by, Miss Corcoran. Wha what is it?
EMILY:
Not scoldmgly; finding it difficult to say.
I don't like the whole change that's come over you in the last year.
I'm sorry if that hurts your feelings, but I've got to tell the truth
and shame the devil.
GEORGE:
A change? Wha what do you mean?
EMILY:
Well, up to a year ago I used to like you a lot. And I used
to watch you as you did everything . . . because we'd been friends
so long . . . and then you began spending all your time at baseball
. . , and you never stopped to speak to anybody any more. Not
even to your own family you didn't . * . and, George, it's a fact,
62
ACT TWO
youVe got awful conceited and stuck-up, and all die girls say so.
They may not say so to your face, but that's what they say about
you behind your back, and it hurts me to hear them say it, but
I've got to agree with them a little. I'm sorry if it hurts yoor
feelings . . . but I can't be sorry I said it.
GEORGE:
I ... I'm glad you said it, Emily. I never thought that such a
thing was happening to me. I guess it's hard for a fella not to have
faults creep into his character.
They take a step or ttwt in silence, then sttmd stiU m
misery.
EMILY:
I always expect a man to be perfect and I think he should be.
GEORGE:
Oh ... I don't think it's possible to be perfect, Emily.
EMILY:
Well, my -father is, and as far as I can see your father is. There's
no reason on earth why you shouldn't be, too.
GEORGE:
Well, I feel it's the other way round. That men aren't naturally
good; but girls are.
EMILY:
Well, you might as well know right now that I'm not perfect. It's
not as easy for a girl to be perfect as a man, because we girls are
more more nervous. Now I'm sorry I said all that about yoo,
I don't know what made me say it.
GEORGE:
Emily,
OUR TOWN
EMILY:
Now I can sec It's not die truth at ali And I suddenly feel that it
isn't important, anyway.
GEORGE:
Emily would you like an ice-cream soda, or something, before
you go home?
EMILY:
Well, thank you. . . * I would.
They advance toward the audience and make an abrupt
right turn, opening the door of Morgan's drugstore.
Under strong emotion, EMILY keeps her -face down.
GEORGE speaks to some passers-by.
GEORGE:
Hello, Stew, how are you? Good afternoon, Mrs. Slocum.
The STAGE MANAGER, wearing spectacles and asnmwng the
role of Mr. Morgan, enters abruptly from the right and
stands between the audience and the counter of his soda
fountain.
STAGE MANAGER:
Hello, George. Hello, Emily. What'll you have? Why, Emily
Webb, what you been crying about?
GEORGE:
He gropes for an explanation.
She . . . she just got an awful scare, Mr. Morgan. She almost got
run over by that hardware-store wagon. Everybody says that
Tom Huckins drives like a crazy man.
STAGE MANAGER:
Drawing a drink of water.
Well, now! You take a drink of water, Emily. You look all shook
64
ACT TWO
up. I tell you, you Ve got to look both ways before ycm cross Mam
Street these days. Gets worse every year. What'B you have?
EMILY:
ril have a strawberry phosphate, thank you, Mr. Morgan.
GEORGE:
No, no, Emily. Have an ice-cream soda with me. Two strawberry
ice-cream sodas, Mr. Morgan.
STAGE MANAGER:
Working the ] meets*
Two strawberry ice-cream sodas, yes sir. Yes, sir. There are a
hundred and twenty-five horses in Grover's Corners this minute
I'm talking to you. State Inspector was in here yesterday. And
now they're bringing in these auto-mo-biles, the best thing to do
is to just stay home. Why, I can remember when a dog could go to
sleep all day in the middle of Main Street and nothing come along
to disturb him.
He sets the imaginary glasses before them.
There they are. Enjoy 'em.
He sees a customer, right.
Yes, Mrs. Ellis. What can I do for you?
He goes out right.
EMILY:
They're so expensive.
GEORGE:
No, no, don't you think of that. We're celebrating our election.
And then do you know what else Fin celebrating?
EMILY:
N-no.
OUR TOWN
GEORGE:
Tm celebrating because Fve got a friend who tells me all the
things that ought to be told me.
EMILY:
George, please don't think of that. I don't know why I said it.
It's not true. You're
GEORGE:
No, Emily, you stick to it. I'm glad you spoke to me like you did.
But you'll see: I'm going to change so quick you bet I'm going
to change. And, Emily, I want to ask you a favor.
EMILY:
What?
GEORGE:
Emily, if I go away to State Agriculture College next year, will
you write me a letter once in a while?
EMILY:
I certainly will. I certainly will, George . . .
Pause. They start sipping the sodas through the straws.
It certainly seems like being away three years you'd get out of
touch with things. Maybe letters from Grover's Corners wouldn't
be so interesting after a while. Grover's Corners isn't a very
important place when you think of all New Hampshire; but I
think it's a very nice town.
GEORGE:
The day wouldn't come when I wouldn't want to know every-
thing that's happening here. I know that's true, Emily.
EMILY:
Well, I'll try to make my letters interesting.
Pause.
66
ACT TWO
GEORGE:
Y'know. Emily, whenever I meet a farmer I ask him if he thinks
it's important to go to Agriculture School to be a good farmer.
EMILY:
Why, George
GEORGE:
Yeah, and some of them say that it's even a waste of time. You
can get all those things, anyway, out of the pamphlets the govern-
ment sends out. And Uncle Luke's getting old, he's about ready
for me to start in taking over his farm tomorrow, if I could.
EMILY:
My!
GEORGE:
And, like you say, being gone all that time ... in other places
and meeting other people . . . Gosh, if anything like that can
happen I don't want to go away. I guess new people aren't any
better than old ones. I'll bet they almost never are. Emily ... I
feel that you're as good a friend as I've got. I don't need to go and
meet the people in other towns.
EMILY:
But, George, maybe it's very important for you to go and learn
all that about cattle judging and soils and those things. ... Of
course, I don't know.
GEORGE:
After a pause, very seriously.
Emily, I'm going to make up my mind right now. I won't go.
I'll tell Pa about it tonight.
67
OUR TOWN
EMILY:
Why, George, I don't see why you have to decide right now.
It's a whole year away.
GEORGE:
Emily, Fm glad you spoke to me about that . . . that fault in my
character. What you said was right; but there was one thing
wrong in it, and that was when you said that for a year I wasn't
noticing people, and . . . you, for instance. Why, you say you were
watching me when I did everything ... I was doing the same
about you all the time. Why, sure, I always thought about you
as one of the chief people I thought about. I always made sure
where you were sitting on the bleachers, and who you were with,
and for three days now I've been trying to walk home with you;
but something's always got in the way. Yesterday I was standing
over against the wall waiting for you, and you walked home with
Miss Corcoran.
EMILY:
George! . . . Life's awful funny! How could I have known that?
Why, I thought
GEORGE:
Listen, Emily, I'm going to tell you why I'm not going to Agricul-
ture School. I think that once you've found a person that you're
very fond of ... I mean a person who's fond of you, too, and
likes you enough to be interested in your character . . . Well, I
think that's just as important as college is, and even more so.
That's what I think.
EMILY:
I think it's awfully important, too.
GEORGE:
Emily.
68
ACT TWO
EMILY:
Y-yes, George.
GEORGE:
Emily, if I do improve and make a big change . . . would you be
... I mean: could you be ...
EMILY:
I ... I am now; I always have been.
GEORGE:
Pause.
So I guess this is an important talk weVe been having.
EMILY:
Yes . . . yes.
GEORGE:
Takes a deep breath and straightens his back.
Wait just a minute and I'll walk you home.
With mounting alarm he digs into bis pockets for the
money.
The STAGE MANAGER ent ers, right.
GEORGE, deeply embarrassed, but direct, says to him:
Mr. Morgan, I'll have to go home and get the money to pay you
for this. It'll only take me a minute.
STAGE MANAGER:
"Pretending to be affronted.
What's that? George Gibbs, do you mean to tell me !
GEORGE:
Yes, but I had reasons, Mr. Morgan. Look, here's niy gold watch
to keep until I come back with the money.
69
OUR TOWN
STAOT MANAGER:
That's all right Keep your watch. FU trust you.
GEORGE:
I'll be back in five minutes.
STAGE MANAGER:
I'll trust you ten years, George, not a day over. Got all over
your shock, Emily?
EMILY:
Yes, thank you, Mr. Morgan. It was nothing.
GEORGE:
Taking up the books from the counter,
I'm ready.
They walk in grave silence across the stage and pass
through the trellis at the Webbs' back door and dis-
appear.
The STAGE MANAGER watches them go out, then turns to
the audience^ removing his spectacles.
STAGE MANAGER:
Well,
He claps his hands as a signal.
Now we're ready to get on with the wedding.
He stands waiting while the set is prepared -for the next
scene.
STAGEHANDS remove the chairs, tables and trellises from
the Gibbs and Webb houses.
They arrange the pews for the church in the center of
the stage. The congregation will sit facing the back wall.
The aisle of the church starts at the center of the back
wall and comes toward the audience.
70
ACT TWO
A small platform is placed against the buck wall on which
the STAGE MANAGER will stand later, playing the minister.
The image of a stained-glass <wmdo > w is cast -from &
lantern slide upon the back 'wall.
When all is ready the STAGE MANAGER strolls to the center
of the stage, do*um front, and, musingly , addresses the
audience,
There are a lot of things to be said about a wedding; there are a
lot of thoughts that go on during a wedding.
We can't get them all into one wedding, naturally, and especially
not into a wedding at Grower's Corners, where they're awfully
plain and short.
In this wedding I play die minister. That gives me the right to say
a few more things about it.
For a while now, the play gets pretty serious.
Y'see, some churches say that marriage is a sacrament. I don't
quite know what that means* but I can guess. Like Mrs. Gibbs
said a few minutes ago: People were made to live two-by-two.
This is a good wedding, but people are so put together that even
at a good wedding there's a lot of confusion way down deep in
people's minds and we thought that that ought to be in our play,
too.
The real hero of this scene isn't on the stage at all, and you know
who that is. It's like what one of those European fellas said: every
child born into the world is nature's attempt to make a perfect
human being. Well, we've seen nature pushing and contriving for
some time now. We all know that nature's interested in quantity;
but I think she's interested in quality, too, that's why I'm in
the ministry.
And don't forget all the other witnesses at this wedding, the
ancestors. Millions of them. Most of them set out to live two-by-
two, also. Millions of them.
7*
OUR TOWN
Well, that's all my sermon. Twan't very long, anyway.
The organ starts playing Handefs "Largo"
The congregation streams into the church and sits m
silence.
Church bells are heard.
MRS. GIBBS sits in the front row, the first seat on the aisle,
the right section; next to her are REBECCA and DR. GIBBS,
Across the aisle MRS. WEBB, WALLY and MR. WEBB. A
small choir takes hs place, facing the audience under the
stained-glass window.
MRS. WEBB, on the way to her place, turns back and speaks
to the audience.
MRS. WEBB:
I don't know why on earth I should be crying. I suppose there's
nothing to cry about. It came over me at breakfast this morning;
there was Emily eating her breakfast as she's done for seventeen
years and now she's going off to eat it in someone else's house. I
suppose that's it.
And Emily! She suddenly said: I can't eat another mouthful, and
she put her head down on the table and she cried.
She starts toward her seat in the church, but turns back
and adds:
Oh, I've got to say it: you know, there's something downright
cruel about sending our girls out into marriage this way.
I hope some of her girl friends have told her a thing or two. It's
cruel, I know, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I went
into it blind as a bat myself.
In half-amused exasperation.
The whole world's wrong, that's what's the matter.
There they come.
She hurries to her place in the pew.
7*
ACT TWO
GEORGE starts to come d&um the right aisle of the theatre,
through the audience.
Suddenly THREE MEMBERS of bis b&sebatt team appear by
the right proscenium pill&r tmd start whistling and c&cdl-
mg to him. They ore dressed for the bdl field.
THE BASEBALL PLAYERS:
Eh f George, George! Hast yaow! Look at him, fellas he looks
scared to death. Yaow! George, don't look so innocent, yoa old
geezer. We know what you're thinking. Don't disgrace the team,
big boy. Whoo-oo-oo.
STAGE MANAGER:
All right! All right! That'll do. That's enough of that.
Smiling^ he pushes them off the stage. They lean back to
shout a few more c&tc&Ils.
There used to be an awful lot of that kind of thing at weddings
in the old days, Rome, and later. We're more civilized now,
so they say.
The choir starts singing "Love Divine, All Love Ex-
celling ." GEORGE has reached the stage. He st&res & the
congregation a moment, then takes a f e^ steps of imth-
drawal, toward the right proscenium pillar. His mother,
from the front row, seems to have -felt his confusion. She
leaves her seat and comes do*um the aisle quickly to him.
MRS. GIBBS:
George! George! What's the matter?
GEORGE:
Ma, I don't want to grow old. Why's everybody pushing me so?
MRS. GIBBS:
Why, George . . . you wanted it.
73
OUR TOWN
GEORGE:
No, Ma, listen to me
MRS. GIBBS:
No, no, George, you're a man now.
GEORGE:
Listen, Ma, for the last time I ask you . . . All I want to do is to
be a fella
MRS. GIBBS:
George! If anyone should hear you! Now stop. Why, Fm
ashamed of you!
GEORGE:
He comes to himself and looks over the scene.
What? Where's Emily?
MRS. GIBBS:
Relieved.
George! You gave me such a turn.
GEORGE:
Cheer up, Ma. I'm getting married.
MRS. GIBBS:
Let me catch my breath a minute.
GEORGE:
Comforting her.
Now, Ma, you save Thursday nights. Emily and I are coming
over to dinner every Thursday night . . . you'll see. Ma, what
are you crying for? Come on; we've got to get ready for this.
MRS. GIBBS, mastering her emotion, fixes his tie and 'whis-
pers to him.
74
ACT TWO
In the meantime^ EMILY, hi white md wearing her
d'mg veil, has come through the audience and mounted
onto the stage. She too draws back^ frightened, *wken $h$
sees the congregation in the church. The choir begins:
"Blessed Be the Tie That Binds."
EMILY:
I never felt so alone in my whole life. And George over there,
looking so . . .! I hate him. I wish I were dead. Papa! Papa!
MR. WEBB:
Leaves his se&t in the pews and comes toward ber
anxiously.
Emily! Emily! Now don't get upset. . . .
EMILY:
But, Papa, I don't want to get married. . . .
MR. WEBB:
Sh sh Emily. Everything's all right.
EMILY:
Why can't I stay for a while just as I am? Let's go away,
MR. WEBB:
No, no, Emily. Now stop and think a minute.
EMILY:
Don't you remember that you used to say, all the time you used
to say all the rime: that I was your girl! There must be lots of
places we can go to. I'll work for you. I could keep house.
MR. WEBB:
Sh . . . You mustn't think of such things. You're just nervous,
Emily.
He turns and calls:
75
OUR TOWN
George! George! Will you come here a minute?
He leads her toward George.
Why you're marrying the best young fellow in the workL George
is a fine fellow.
EMILY:
But Papa,
MRS. GIBBS returns unobtrusively to her seat.
MR. WEBB bos one arm arotmd his daughter. He places bis
hand on GEORGE'S shoulder.
MR. WEBB:
I'm giving away my daughter, George. Do you think you can take
care of her?
GEORGE:
Mr. Webb, I want to ... I want to try. Emily, I'm going to do
my best. I love you, Emily. I need you.
EMILY:
Well, if you love me, help me. All I want is someone to love me.
GEORGE:
I will, Emily. Emily, I'll try.
EMILY:
And I mean for ever. Do you hear? For ever and ever.
They fall into each others arms.
The March from Lohengrin is heard.
The STAGE MANAGER, as CLERGYMAN, stands on the box,
up center.
MR. WEBB:
Come, they're waiting for us. Now you know it'll be all right.
Come, quick.
ACT TWO
GEORGE slips away and takes bis place beside the STAGE
MANAGER-CLERGYMAN.
EMILY proceeds up the aisle cm her fathers arm.
STAGE MANAGER:
Do you, George, take this woman, Emily, to be your wedded wife,
to have . . .
MRS. SOAMES has been sitting in the last ro*w of the congre-
gation.
She now turns to her neighbors md speaks in & shrill voice.
Her chatter dro*wns out the rest of the clergym&tfs t&ords*
MRS. SOAMES:
Perfectly lovely wedding! Loveliest wedding I ever saw. Oh, I
do love a good wedding, don't you? Doesn't she make a lovely
bride?
GEORGE:
I do.
STAGE MANAGER:
Do you, Emily, take this man, George, to be your wedded
husband,
Again his further 'words are covered by those of MRS.
SOAMES.
MRS. SOAMES:
Don't know when I've seen such a lovely wedding. But I always
cry. Don't know why it is, but I always cry. I just like to see
young people happy, don't you? Oh, I think it's lovely.
The ring.
The kiss.
The stage is suddenly arrested into silent tableau.
The STAGE MANAGER, his eyes on the distance, as though
to himself;
77
OUR TOWN
STAGE MANAGER:
I've married over two hundred couples in my day.
Do I believe in it?
I don't know,
M marries N millions of them.
The cottage, the go-cart, the Sunday-afternoon drives in the Ford,
die first rheumatism, the grandchildren, the second rheumatism,
the deathbed, the reading of the will,
He no<w looks at the audience for the first time, with a
'warm smle that removes any sense of cynicism from the
next line.
Once in a thousand times it's interesting.
Well, let's have Mendelssohn's "Wedding March"!
The organ picks up the March.
The BRIDE and GROOM come do t wn the aisle, radiant, but
trying to be very dignified.
MRS. SOAMES:
Aren't they a lovely couple? Oh, I've never been to such a nice
wedding. I'm sure they'll be happy. I always say: happiness, that's
the great thing! The important thing is to be happy.
The BRIDE and GROOM reach the steps leading into the
audience. A bright light is thro t wn upon them. They
descend into the auditorium and run up the aisle joyously.
STAGE MANAGER:
That's all the Second Act, folks. Ten minutes' intermission.
CURTAIN
ACT III
During the intermission the audience has seen the STAGE-
HANDS arranging the stage. On the right-hand side, a little
right of the center, ten or twelve ordinary chairs have
been placed in three openly spaced rows facing the
audience.
These are graves in the cemetery.
Toward the end of the intermission the ACTORS enter and
take their places. The -front row contains: toward the
center of the stage, an empty chair; then MRS. GIBBS;
SIMON STIMSON.
The second row contains, among others, MRS. SOAMES.
The third row has WALLY WEBB.
The dead do not turn their heads or their eyes to right or
lefty but they sit in a quiet without stiffness. When they
speak their tone is matter-of-fact, without sentimentality
and, above all, without lugubriousness.
The STAGE MANAGER takes his accustomed place and waits
for the house lights to go down.
STAGE MANAGER:
This time nine years have gone by, friends summer, 1913.
Gradual changes in Grover's Corners. Horses are getting rarer.
Farmers coming into town in Fords.
Everybody locks their house doors now at night. Ain't been any
burglars in town yet, but everybody's heard about 'em.
79
OUR TOWN
You'd be surprised, though on the whole, things don't change
much around here.
This is certainly an important part of Grover's Corners. It's on a
hilltop a windy hilltop lots of sky, lots of clouds, often lots
of sun and moon and stars,
You come up here, on a fine afternoon and you can see range on
range of hills awful blue they are up there by Lake Sunapee
and Lake Winnipesaukee . . . and way up, if you've got a glass,
you can see the White Mountains and Mt. Washington where
North Conway and Conway is. And, of course, our favorite
mountain, Mt. Monadnock, *s right here and all these towns that
lie around it: Jaffrey, 'n East Jaffrey, 'n Peterborough, 'n Dublin;
and
Then painting down in the audience.
there, quite a ways down, is Grover's Corners.
Yes, beautiful spot up here. Mountain laurel and li-lacks. I often
wonder why people like to be buried in Woodlawn and Brooklyn
when they might pass the same time up here in New Hampshire.
Over there
Pointing to stage left.
are the old stones, 1670, 1680. Strong-minded people that come
a long way to be independent. Summer people walk around there
laughing at the funny words on the tombstones ... it don't do any
harm. And genealogists come up from Boston get paid by city
people for looking up their ancestors. They want to make sure
they're Daughters of the American Revolution and of the May-
flower. . . . Well, I guess that don't do any harm, either. Wherever
you come near the human race, there's layers and layers of non-
sense. . . .
Over there are some Civil War veterans. Iron flags on their
graves . . . New Hampshire boys . . . had a notion that the Union
ought to be kept together, though they'd never seen more than
80
ACT THREE
fifty miles of it themselves. All they knew was the name, friends
the United States of America. The United States of America. And
they went and died about it.
This here is the new part of the cemetery. Here's your friend
Mrs. Gibbs. 'N let me see Here's Mr. Stimson, organist at the
Congregational Church. And Mrs. Soames who enjoyed the wed-
ding so you remember? Oh, and a lot of others. And Editor
Webb's boy, Wallace, whose appendix burst while he was on a
Boy Scout trip to Crawford Notch.
Yes, an awful lot of sorrow has sort of quieted down up here.
People just wild with grief have brought their relatives up to this
hilL We all know how it is ... and then time . . . and sunny
days . . . and rainy days . . . 'n snow . . . We're all glad they're
in a beautiful pkce and we're coming up here ourselves when our
fit's over.
Now there are some things we all know, but we don't take'ni out
and look at'm very often. We all know that something is eternal.
And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't
even the stars . . . everybody knows in their bones that something
is eternal, and that somediing has to do with human beings. All
the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five
thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always
losing hold of it. There's something way down deep that's eternal
about every human being.
Pause.
You know as well as I do that the dead don't stay interested in us
living people for very long. Gradually, gradually, they lose hold
of the earth . . . and the ambitions they had . . . and the pleasures
they had . . . and the things they suffered . . . and the people
they loved.
They get weaned away from earth that's the way I put it,
weaned away.
81
OUR TOWN
And they stay here while the earth part of 'em bums away, burns
out; and all that rime they slowly get indifferent to what's goin*
on in Grover's Corners.
They're waiting They're wairin' for something that they feel is
comin'. Something important, and great. Aren't they waitin' for
the eternal part in them to come out clear?
Some of the things they're going to say maybe'H hurt your feel-
ings but that's the way it is: mother'n daughter . . . husband 'n
wife . . . enemy 'n enemy . . . money 'n miser ... all those
terribly important things kind of grow pale around here. And
what's left when memory's gone, and your identity, Mrs. Smith?
He looks at the audience a Tmmtte, then turns to the stage.
Well! There are some living people. There's Joe Stoddard, our
undertaker, supervising a new-made grave. And here comes a
Grover's Corners boy, that left town to go out West.
JOE STODDARD has hovered about in the background. SAM
CRAIG enters left, wiping his forehead from the exertion.
He carries an umbrella and strolls front.
SAM CRAIG:
Good afternoon, Joe Stoddard.
JOE STODDARD:
Good afternoon, good afternoon. Let me see now: do I know you?
SAM CRAIG:
I'm Sam Craig.
JOE STODDARD:
Gracious sakes' alive! Of all people! I should'a knowed you'd be
back for the funeral. You've been away a long time, Sam.
SAM CRAIG:
Yes, I've been away over twelve years. I'm in business out in
Buffalo now, Joe. But I was in the East when I got news of my
82
ACT THREE
cousin's death, so I thought I'd combine things a little and come
and see the old home. You look well.
JOE STODDARD:
Yes, yes, can't complain. Very sad, our journey today, Samuel.
SAM CRAIG:
Yes.
JOE STODDARD:
Yes, yes. I always say I hate to supervise when a young person is
taken. They'll be here in a few minutes now. I had to come here
early today my son's supervisin' at the home.
SAM CRAIG:
Reading stones.
Old Fanner McCarty, I used to do chores for him after school.
He had the lumbago.
JOE STODDARD:
Yes, we brought Farmer McCarty here a number of years ago
now.
SAM CRAIG:
Staring at Mrs. Gibbs* knees.
Why, this is my Aunt Julia ... I'd forgotten that she'd ... of
course, of course.
JOE STODDARD:
Yes, Doc -Gibbs lost his wife two-three years ago . . . about this
time. And today's another pretty bad blow for him, too.
MRS. GIBBS:
To Simon Stimson: in an even voice.
That's my sister Carey's boy, Sam . . . Sam Craig.
OUR TOWN
SIMON STOMSON:
Fm always uncomfortable when thefre around*
MRS. GIBBS:
Simon*
SAM. CRAIG:
Do they choose their own verses much, Joe?
JOE STODDARD:
No . . . not usual Mostly the bereaved pick a verse.
SAM CRAIG:
Doesn't sound like Aunt Julia. There aren't many of those Hersey
sisters left now. Let me see: where are ... I wanted to look at
my father's and mother's . . .
JOE STODDARD:
Over there with the Craigs * . . Avenue F.
SAM CRAIG:
Reading Simon Stimsorfs epitaph.
He was organist at church, wasn't he? Hm, drank a lot, we used
to say.
JOE STODDARD:
Nobody was supposed to know about it He'd seen a peck of
trouble.
Behind his hand.
Took his own life, y' know?
SAM CRAIG:
Oh, did he?
JOE STODDARD:
Hung himself in lie attic. They tried to hush it up, but of course
ACT THREE
it got around. He chose his own epy-taph. You can see it there.
It ain't a verse exactly.
SAM CRAIG:
Why, it's just some notes of music what is it?
JOE STODDARD:
Oh, I wouldn't know. It was wrote up in the Boston papers at the
time.
SAM CRAIG:
Joe, what did she die of?
JOE STODDARD:
Who?
SAM CRAIG:
My cousin.
JOE STODDARD:
Oh^ didn't you know? Had some trouble bringing a baby into the
world. 'Twas her second, though. There's a little boy 'bout four
years old.
SAM CRAIG:
Opening his umbrella.
The grave's going to be over there?
JOE STODDARD:
Yes, there ain't much more room over here among the Gibbses, so
they're opening up a whole new Gibbs section over by Avenue B.
You'll excuse me now. I see they're comin'.
From left to center, at the hack of the stage, comes a pro-
cession. FOUR MEN carry a casket, invisible to us. All the
rest are under umbrellas. One can vaguely see: DR. GIBBS,
85
OUR TOWN
GEORGE, the WEBBS, etc. They gather about a grave in the
back center of the stage, a little to the left of center.
MRS. SOAMES:
Who is it, Julia?
MRS. GIBBS:
Without raising her eyes.
My daughter-in-law, Emily Webb.
MRS. SOAMES:
A little surprised, but no emotion.
Well, I declare! The road up here must have been awful muddy.
What did she die of, Julia?
MRS. GIBBS:
In childbirth.
MRS. SOAMES:
Childbirth.
Almost with a laugh.
I'd forgotten all about that. My, wasn't life awful
With a sigh.
and wonderful.
SIMON STIMSON:
With a sideways glance.
Wonderful, was it?
MRS. GIBBS:
Simon! Now, remember!
MRS. SOAMES:
I remember Emily's wedding. Wasn't it a lovely wedding! And I
remember her reading the class poem at Graduation Exercises.
86
ACT THREE
Emily was one of the brightest girls ever graduated from High
School. I've heard Principal Wilkins say so time after time. I called
on them at their new farm, just before I died. Perfectly beautiful
farm.
A WOMAN FROM AMONG THE DEAD:
It's on the same road we lived on,
A MAN AMONG THE BEAD:
Yepp, right smart farm.
They subside. The group by the grave starts singing
"Blessed Be the Tie That Binds."
A WOMAN AMONG THE DEAD:
I always liked that hymn. I was hopin' they'd sing a hymn.
Pause. Suddenly EMILY appears from among the i&n-
brellas. She is wearing a 'white dress. Her hair is down her
back and tied by a white ribbon like a little girl She comes
slowly, gazing wonderingly at the dead, a little dazed.
She stops halfway and smiles -faintly. After looking at the
mourners -for a moment, she walks slowly to the vacant
chair beside Mrs. Gibbs and sits down.
EMILY:
To them all, quietly, smiling.
Hello.
MRS. SOAMES:
Hello, Emily.
A MAN AMONG THE DEAD:
Hello, M's Gibbs.
EMILY:
Warmly.
Hello, Mother Gibbs.
8?
OUR TOWN
MRS. GIBBS:
Emily.
EMILY:
Hello.
With surprise.
It's raining.
tier eyes drift back to the funeral company.
MRS. GIBBS:
Yes . . . They'll be gone soon, dear. Just rest yourself.
EMILY:
It seems thousands and thousands of years since I ... Papa re-
membered that that was my favorite hymn.
Oh, I wish I'd been here a long time. I don't like being new here.
How do you do, Mr. Stimson?
SIMON STIMSON:
How do you do, Emily.
EMILY continues to look about her with a wondering
smile; as though to shut out from her mind the thought of
the funeral company she starts speaking to Mrs. Gibbs
with a touch of nervousness.
EMILY:
Mother Gibbs, George and I have made that farm into just the
best place you ever saw. We thought of you all the time. We
wanted to show you the new barn and a great long ce-ment drink-
ing fountain for the stock. We bought that out of the money you
left us.
MRS. GIBBS:
I did?
88
ACT THREE
EMILY:
Don't you remember, Mother Gibbs the legacy you left us?
Why, it was over three hundred and fifty dollars.
MRS. GIBBS:
Yes, yes, Emily.
EMILY:
Well, there's a patent device on the drinking fountain so that it
never overflows, Mother Gibbs, and it never sinks below a certain
mark they have there. It's fine.
Her voice trails off and her eyes return to the funeral
group.
It won't be the same to George without me, but it's a lovely farm.
Suddenly she looks directly at Mrs. Gibbs.
Live people don't understand, do they?
MRS. GIBBS:
No, dear not very much.
EMILY:
They're sort of shut up in little boxes, aren't they? I feel as though
I knew them last a thousand years ago . . . My boy is spending
the day at Mrs. Carter's.
She sees MR. CARTER among the dead.
Oh, Mr. Carter, my little boy is spending the day at your house.
MR. CARTER:
Is he?
EMILY:
Yes, he loves it there. Mother Gibbs, we have a Ford, too. Never
gives any trouble. I don't drive, though. Mother Gibbs, when does
this feeling go away? Of being . . . one of them? How long
does it . . . ?
89
OUR TOWN
MRS. GIBBS:
Sh! dear* Just wait and be patient.
EMILY:
With a sigh.
I know. Look, they're finished. They're going.
MRS. GIBBS:
Sh .
The umbrellas leave the stage. DR. GIBBS has come over to
his wife's grave and stands before it a moment. EMILY
looks up at his face. MRS. GIBBS does not raise her eyes.
EMILY:
Look! Father Gibbs is bringing some of my flowers to you. He
looks just like George, doesn't he? Oh, Mother Gibbs, I never
realized before how troubled and how . . . how in the dark live
persons are. Look at him. I loved him so. From morning till night,
that's all they are troubled.
DR. GIBBS goes Off.
THE DEAD:
Little cooler than it was. Yes, that rain's cooled it off a little.
Those northeast winds always do the same thing, don't they?
If -it isn't a rain, it's a three-day blow.
A patient calm falls on the stage. The STAGE MANAGER
appears at his proscenium pillar, smoking. EMILY sits up
abruptly imth an idea.
EMILY:
But, Mother Gibbs, one can go back; one can go back there
again . . . into living. I feel it. I know it. Why just then for a
moment I was thinking about . . . about the farm . . . and for a
minute I was there, and my baby was on my lap as plain as day.
90
ACT THREE
MRS. GIBBS:
Yes, of course you can.
EMILY:
I can go back there and live all those days over again . . . why not?
MRS. GIBBS:
All I can say is, Emily, don't.
EMILY:
She appeals urgently to the stage manager.
But it's true, isn't it? I can go and live , . . back there . . . again.
STAGE MANAGER:
Yes, some have tried but they soon come back here.
MRS. GIBBS:
Don't do it, Emily.
MRS. SOAMES:
Emily, don't. It's not what you think it'd be.
EMILY:
But I won't live over a sad day. I'll choose a happy one I'll choose
the day I first knew that I loved George. Why should that be
painful?
THEY are silent. Her question turns to the stage manager.
STAGE MANAGER:
You not only live it; but you watch yourself living it.
EMILY:
Yes?
STAGE MANAGER:
And as you watch it, you see the thing that they down there
OUR TOWN
never know. You see die future. You know what's going to happen
afterwards.
EMILY:
But is that painful? Why?
MRS. GIBBS:
That's not the only reason why you shouldn't do it, Emily. When
you've been here longer you'll see that our life here is to forget all
that, and think only of what's ahead, and be ready for what's
ahead. When you've been here longer you'll understand.
EMILY:
Softly.
But, Mother Gibbs, how can I ever forget that life? It's all I know.
It's all I had.
MRS. SOAMES:
Oh, Emily. It isn't wise. Really, it isn't.
EMILY:
But it's a thing I must know for myself. I'll choose a happy day,
anyway.
MRS. GIBBS:
Nof At least, choose an unimportant day. Choose the least im-
portant day in your life. It will be important enough.
EMILY:
To'herself.
Then it can't be since I was married; or since the baby was born.
To the stage manager, eagerly.
I can choose a birthday at least, can't I? I choose my twelfth
birthday.
ACT THREE
STAGE MANAGER:
All right. February nth, 1899. A Tuesday. Do yon want any
special time of day?
EMILY:
Oh, I want the whole day,
STAGE MANAGER:
We'll begin at dawn. You remember it had been snowing for
several days; but it had stopped the night before, and they had
begun clearing the roads. The sun's coming up.
EMILY:
With a cry; rising.
There's Main Street . . . why, that's Mr. Morgan's drugstore
before he changed it! ... And there's the livery stable.
The^age at no time in this act has, been very dark; but
now tbe left half of the stage gracffadly becomes very
bright the brightness 0f 4 crisp wintef morning.
EMILY walk? toward Main Street.
STAGE MANAGER:
Yes, it's 1899. This is fourteen years ago.
EMILY:
Oh, that's the town I knew as a little girl. And, look, there's the
old white fence that used to be around our house. Oh, I'd for-
gotten that! Oh, I love it so! Are they inside?
STAGE MANAGER:
Yes, your mother'll be coming downstairs in a minute to make
breakfast.
EMILY:
Softly.
Will she?
93
OUR TOWN
STAGE MANAGER:
And you remember: your father had been away for several days;
he came back on the early-morning train.
EMILY:
No . . . ?
STAGE MANAGER:
He'd been back to his college to make a speech in western
New York, at Clinton.
EMILY:
Look! There's Howie Newsome. There's our policeman. But
he's dead; he died.
The voices of HOWIE NEWSOME, CONSTABLE WARREN and
JOE CROWELL, JR., are heard at the left of the stage. EMILY
listens in delight.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Whoa, Bessie! Bessie! 'Morning, Bill.
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Morning, Howie.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
You're up early.
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Been rescuin' a party; darn near froze to death, down by Polish
Town thar. Got drunk and lay out in the snowdrifts. Thought he
was in bed when I shook'm.
EMILY:
Why, there's Joe Crowell. . . .
94
ACT THREE
JOE CROWELL:
Good morning, Mr. Warren. 'Morning, Howie.
MRS. WEBB has appeared in her kitchen, but EMILY does
not see her until she calls.
MRS. WEBB:
Qul-dren! Wally! Emily! . . . Time to get up.
EMILY:
Mama, I'm here! Oh! how young Mama looks! I didn't know
Mama was ever that young.
MRS. WEBB:
You can come and dress by the kitchen fire, if you like; but hurry.
HOWIE NEWSOME has entered along Main Street and brings
the walk to Mrs. WebWs door.
Good -morning,- Mr. Newseme, Whhhh it's cold.
HOWIE NEWSOME:
Ten below by my barn, Mrs. Webb.
MRS. WEBB:
Think of it! Keep yourself wrapped up.
She takes her bottles in, shuddering.
EMILY:
With an effort.
Mama, I can't find my blue hair ribbon anywhere.
MRS. WEBB:
Just open your eyes, dear, that's all. I laid it out for you special
on the dresser, there. If it were a snake it would bite you.
EMILY:
Yes, yes . . .
She puts her hand on her heart. MR. WEBB comes along
95
OUR TOWN
Mmn Street, ivhere he meets CONSTABLE WARREN. Their
movements and voices are increasingly lively in the sharp
air.
MR. WEBB:
Good morning, Bill.
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Good morning, Mr. Webb. You're up early.
MR. WEBB:
Yes, just been back to my old college in New York State. Been
any trouble here?
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Well, I was called up this mornin* to rescue a Polish fella darn
near froze to death he was.
MR. WEBB:
We must get it in the paper.
CONSTABLE WARREN:
Tw^n't much.
EMILY:
Whispers.
Papa.
MR. WEBB shakes the siww off his feet and enters his house.
CONSTABLE WARREN goes off, right.
MR. WEBB:
Good morning, Mother.
MRS. WEBB:
How did it go, Charles?
96
ACT THREE
MR. WEBB:
Oh, fine, I guess. I tolcTm a few things. Everything all right here?
MRS. WEBB:
Yes can't think of anything that's happened, special. Been right
cold. Howie Newsome says it's ten below over to his barn.
MR. WEBB:
Yes, well, it's colder than that at Hamilton College. Students' ears
are falling oif. It ain't Christian. Paper have any mistakes in it?
MRS. WEBB:
None that I noticed. Coffee's ready when you want it.
He starts upstairs.
Charles! Don't forget; it's Emily's birthday. Did you remember
to get her something?
MR. WEBB:
Patting his pocket.
Yes, I've got something here.
Calling up the stairs.
Where's my girl? Where's my birthday girl?
He goes off left.
MRS. WEBB:
Don't interrupt her now, Charles. You can see her at breakfast.
She's slow enough as it is. Hurry up, children! It's seven o'clock.
Now, I don't want to call you again.
EMILY:
Softly, more in wonder than in grief.
I can't bear it. They're so young and beautiful. Why did they ever
have to get old? Mama, I'm here. I'm grown up. I love you all,
everything. I can't look at everything hard enough.
97
OUR TOWN
She looks questioningly at the STAGE MANAGER, saying or
suggesting: "Can I go in?" lie nods briefly. She crosses to
the inner door to the kitchen, left of her Toother, and as
though entering the room, says, suggesting the voice of a
girl of twelve:
Good morning, Mama,
MRS. WEBB:
Crossing to embrace and kiss her; in her characteristic
matter-of-fact manner.
Well, now, dear, a very happy birthday to my girl and many
happy returns. There are some surprises waiting for you on the
kitchen table.
EMILY:
Oh, Mama, you shouldrit have.
She throws an anguished glance at the stage manager.
I can't I can't.
MRS. WEBB:
Facing the audience, over her stove.
But birthday or no birthday, I want you to eat your breakfast
good and slow. I want you to grow up and be a good strong
girl.
That in the blue paper is from your Aunt Carrie; and I reckon
you can guess who brought the post-card album. I found it on the
doorstep when I brought in the milk George Gibbs . . . must
have come over in the cold pretty early . . . right nice of him.
EMILY:
To herself.
Oh, George! I'd forgotten that. . .
ACT THREE
MRS. WEBB:
Chew that bacon good and slow. It'll help keep you warm on a
cold day.
EMILY:
With motmting urgency.
Oh, Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw
me. Mama, fourteen years have gone by. I'm dead. You're a grand-
mother, Mama. I married George Gibbs, Mama. Wally's dead, too.
Mama, his appendix burst on a camping trip to North Conway.
We felt just terrible about it don't you remember? But, just for
a moment now we're all together. Mama, just for a moment we're
happy. Let's look at one another.
MRS. WEBB:
That in the yellow paper is something I found in the attic among
your grandmother's things. You're old enough to wear it now, and
I thought you'd like it.
EMILY:
And this is from you. Why, Mama, it's just lovely and it's just
what I wanted. It's beautiful!
She flings her arms around her mother's neck. Her
MOTHER goes on with her cooking, but is pleased.
MRS. WEBB:
Well, I hoped you'd like it. Hunted all over. Your Aunt Norah
couldn't find one in Concord, so I had to send all the way to
Boston.
Laughing.
Wally has something for you, too. He made it at manual-training
class and he's very proud of it. Be sure you make a big fuss about
it. Your father has a surprise for you, too; don't know what it
is myself. Sh here he comes.
99
OUR TOWN
MR, WEBB:
Off stage.
Where's my girl? Where's my birthday girl?
EMILY:
In a loud voice to the stage manager.
I can't. I can't go on. It goes so fast. We don't have time to look
at one another.
She break? dotvn sobbing.
The lights dim on the left half of the stage. MRS. WEBB
disappears.
I didn't realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed.
Take me back up the hill to my grave. But first: Wait! One
more look.
Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover's Corners . . . Mama
and Papa. Good-by to clocks ticking . . . and Mama's sunflowers.
And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths . . .
and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for
anybody to realize you.
She looks toward the stage manager and asks abruptly,
through her tears:
Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? every,
every minute?
STAGE MANAGER:
No.
Pause.
The saints and poets, maybe they do some.
EMILY:
I'm ready to go back.
She returns to her chair beside Mrs. Gibbs.
Pause.
100
ACT THREE
MRS. GIBBS:
Were you happy?
EMILY:
No I should have listened to you. That's all human beings are!
Just blind people.
MRS. GIBBS:
Look, it's clearing up. The stars are coming out.
EMILY:
Oh, Mr. Stimson, I should have listened to them.
SIMON STIMSON:
With mounting violence; bitingly.
Yes, now you know. Now you know! That's what it was to be
alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down
trampling on the feelings of those ... of those about you. To spend
and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at
the mercy of one self -centered passion, or another. Now you
know that's the happy existence you wanted to go back to.
Ignorance and blindness,
MRS. GIBBS:
Spiritedly.
Simon Sdmson, that ain't the whole truth and you know it. Emily,
look at that star. I forget its name.
A MAN AMONG THE DEAD:
My boy Joel was a sailor, knew 'em all. He'd set on the porch
evenings and tell 'em all by name. Yes, sir, wonderful!
ANOTHER MAN AMONG THE DEAD*.
A star's mighty good company.
101
OUR TOWN
A WOMAN AMONG THE DEAD:
Yes. Yes, 'tis.
SIMON STIMSON:
Here's one of them coming.
THE DEAD:
That's funny. Tain't no time for one of them to be here.
Goodness sakes.
EMILY:
Mother Gibbs, it's George.
MRS. GIBBS:
Sh, dear. Just rest yourself.
EMILY:
It's George.
GEORGE enters from the left, and slowly comes toward
them.
A MAN FROM AMONG THE DEAD:
And my boy, Joel, who knew the stars he used to say it took
millions of years for that speck o' light to git to the earth. Don't
seem like a body could believe it, but that's what he used to say
millions of years.
GEORGE sinks to his knees then falls full length at Ermlfs
feet.
A WOMAN AMONG THE DEAD:
Goodness! That ain't no way to behave!
MRS. SOAMES:
He ought to be home.
102
ACT THREE
EMILY:
Mother Gibbs?
MRS. GIBBS:
Yes, Emily?
EMILY:
They don't understand, do they?
MRS. GIBBS:
No, dear. They don't understand.
The STAGE MANAGER appears at the right, one hand on &
dark curtain which he slowly draws across the scene.
In the distance a clock is heard striking the hour very
faintly.
STAGE MANAGER:
Most everybody's asleep in Grover's Corners. There are a few
lights on: Shorty Hawkins, down at the depot, has just watched
the Albany train go by. And at the livery stable somebody's
setting up late and talking. Yes, it's clearing up. There are the
stars doing their old, old crisscross journeys in the sky. Scholars
haven't settled the matter yet, but they seem to think there are no
living beings up there. Just chalk ... or fire. Only this one is
straining away, straining away all the time to make something of
itself. The strain's so bad that every sixteen hours everybody lies
down and gets a rest.
He winds his watch.
Hm. . . . Eleven o'clock in Grover's Corners. You get a good
rest, too. Good night.
THE END
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