127631
A RAISIN
IN THE SUN
Unabridged 25th Anniversary Edition
and
THE SIGN IN SIDNEY
BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW
by Lorraine Hansberry
Robert Nemiroff, editor
With a New Foreword by Robert Nemiroff
and Critical Essays by Amiri Baraka (Leroi Jones),
Frank Rich,
John Braine and Robert Nemiroff
A PLUME BOOK
PLUME
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published by Plume, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Books USA Inc.
First Plume Printing, July, 1987
10 9 8 7 6 5
FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION
1987 by Robert Nemiroff. All Rights Reserved.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN
1958 by Robert Nemiroff, as an unpublished work.
1959, 1966, 1984, 1987 by Robert Nemiroff. All Rights Reserved.
THE SIGN IN SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW and
101 FINAL PERFORMANCES Essay
1965, 1966 by Robert Nemiroff.
Copyright, 1964, by John Braine.
All rights, including the right of reproduction in whole or in
part, in any form, are reserved under International and
Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
For information address Random House, Inc., 201 East 50 Street,
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emphasis is laid on the question of readings, permission for which
must be secured in writing. All inquiries should be addressed to
the William Morris Agency, 1350 Avenue of the Americas, New
York, NY 10019, authorized agents for the Estate of Lorraine
Hansberry and for Robert Nemiroff, Executor.
The quotation on page 5 is from Montage of a Dream
Deferred* by Langston Hughes, published by Henry Holt & Co.,
and was reprinted in Selected Poems of Langston Hughes,
published by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.,
Copyright, 1951, 1959, by Langston Hughes.
Reprinted by permission of Harold Ober Associates Incorporated.
"H APPY TALK" by Richard Rodgers & Oscar Hammerstein II
Copyright 1949 by Richard Rodgers & Oscar Hammerstein II
Copyright renewed; Williamson Music Co., owner of publication
and allied rights throughout the Western Hemisphere and Japan
International Copyright Secured
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Used by permission
"YOU DID IT" by Alan Jay Lerner & Frederick Loewe
Copyright 1956 by Alan Jay Lerner & Frederick Loewe
Copyright renewed; Chappell & Co., Inc., owner of publication
and allied rights throughout the world
International Copyright Secured
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Used by permission
"A Raisin in the Sun, the 25th Anniversary 1 * by Frank Rich.
Copyright 1983 by The New York Times Company.
Reprinted by permission.
"A Raisin in the Sun's Enduring Passion" by Amiri Baraka.
Copyright I986 by Amiri Baraka. Reprinted by permission. This
piece appeared in slightly different form in The Washington Post.
Published by arrangement with Random House, Inc.
REGISTERED TRADEMARK MARCA REGISTRADA
Originally published in a Signet edition
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hansbeny, Lorraine, I930-1965
A raisin in the sun; & The sign in Sidney Brustein's
window.
I. Hansberry, Lorraine, 1930-1965. Sign in Sidney
Brustein's window. 1987. IL Nemiroff, Robert.
III. Title. IV, Title: Sign in Sidney Brustein's
window.
PS3515.A515A6 1987 8l2'.54 87-5748
ISBN 0452-25942-8
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO
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CONTENTS
A bout the Contributors viii
Foreword to This New Edition ix
Robert Nemirofi
Acknowledgments xix
A RAISIN IN THE SUN
An Appreciation: A Raisin in the Sun, the 25th
Anniversary
Frank Rich 7
A Critical Reevaluation: A Raisin in the Sim's Enduring
Passion
Amiri Baraka 9
The Play 21
THE SIGN IN SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW
An Appreciation: Sidney Brustein A "Great" Play
No Other Word Is Possible
John Braine 155
A Portrait: The 101 "Final" Performances of Sidney
Brustein
Robert Nemiroff 160
The Play 208
About the Contributors
ROBERT NEMIROFF, Lorraine Hansberry's literary
executor, shared a working relationship with the play-
wright from the time of their marriage in 1953. Originally
an editor, music publisher, and award-winning songwriter,
he produced Ms. Hansberry's second play, The Sign in
Sidney Brustein's Window. Mr. Nemiroff s own play, Post-
mark Zero, was presented on Broadway in 1965, in
London, and on national television. Since then his adapta-
tions of Ms. Hansberry's works, To Be Young, Gifted and
Black and Les Blancs, have been hailed by both the critics
and the public. In 1974 he won the Tony Award ("Best
Musical of the Year") for Raisin (based on Ms. Hans-
berry's play), which he produced and co-authored.
FRANK RICH is the principal drama critic of The New
York Times.
AMIRI BARAKA (LeRoi Jones) is a poet, activist, and
currently professor of Africana Studies at the State Uni-
versity of New York at Stonybrook. Among his published
works are Preface to a Twenty-Volume Suicide Note,
Blues People, Dutchman and The Slave, The Dead Lec-
turer, The System of Dante's Hell, The Baptism and The
Toilet, Black Art, Black Music, and Arm Yourself or
Harm Yourself, He is the editor, along with Amina Baraka,
of Confirmation: An Anthology of African-American
Women. His most recent work, Bumpy; A Bopera, with
music by Max Roach, will be produced by the New York
University School of the Arts.
JOHN BRAINE's novels include Room at the Top, Life
at the Top, Stay with Me Till Morning, and One Last
Love. He is also the author of Writing a Novel, his account
of literary craftsmanship.
FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION
By Robert Nemirof
This new edition ot A Raisin in the Sun and The Sign
in Sidney Brustein's Window restores to Raisin a number
of scenes and lines staged for the first time in the new
revivals of the play passages that had been cut in the
original production, but which Lorraine Hansberry later
felt were important to the play.
"The events of every passing year add resonance to
A Raisin in the Sun. It is as if history is conspiring to
make the play a classic." So wrote one of the four New
York Times critics who successively, in the last three years,
has used the term "classic" in reviewing new productions.
The unprecedented resurgence of the work that began in
its twenty-fifth anniversary year and continues with no
end in sight (ten revivals at major regional theaters at this
writing, and a pending national tour) occasions this new
edition.
Produced in 1959, the play presaged the revolution in
black and women's consciousness and the revolutionary
ferment in Africa that exploded in the years following
the playwright's death in 1965 to ineradicably alter the
social fabric and consciousness of the nation and the world.
As so many have commented lately, it did so in a manner
and to an extent that few could have foreseen, and the
years have made plain just how pertinent some of the ex-
cised passages were. A number speak directly to issues and
concerns unfamiliar to many at the time but inescapable
now: value systems of the black family and the conflict
between generations; .concepts of African American
beauty, identity, hairstyle; class differences between the
Youngers and the Murchisons; the relationships of hus-
band and wife, black men and women; and, in the final
scene between Beneatha and Asagai, the larger statement
of the play and the ongoing struggle it portends. Other
x FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION
passages for example, the bedtime scene between Walter
and Travis (entirely cut in the original) and the scene
with Mrs. Johnson speak to the motivations and goals of
the characters and put into sharper relief the underlying
issues and consequences of the action.
Not one of those cuts, it should be emphasized, was
made to dilute or censor the play or to "soften" its state-
ment, for everyone in that herculean, now-legendary band
that brought Raisin to Broadway and most specifically
the producer, Philip Rose, and director, Lloyd Richards
believed in the importance of that statement with a degree
of commitment that would have countenanced nothing of
the kind. How and why, then, did the cuts come about?
The scene in which Beneatha unveils her natural haircut
is an interesting example. In 1959, when the play was pre-
sented, the rich variety of Afro styles introduced in the
mid-sixties had not yet arrived: the very few black women
who wore their hair unstraightened cut it very short. When
the hair of Diana Sands (who created the role) was
cropped in this fashion, however, a few days before the
opening, it was not properly contoured to suit her: her
particular facial structure required a fuller Afro, of the
sort she in fact adopted in later years. Result? Rather than
vitiate the playwright's point the beauty of black hair
the scene was dropped.
Some cuts were similarly the result of happenstance or
unpredictables of the kind that occur in any production:
difficulties with a scene, the "processes" of actors, the
dynamics of staging, etc. But most were related to the
length of the play: running time. Time in the context of
bringing to Broadway the first play by a black (young
and unknown) woman, to be directed, moreover, by
another unknown black "first," in a theater where black
audiences virtually did not exist and where, in the entire
history of the American stage, there had never been a
serious commercially successful black drama!
So unlikely did the prospects seem in that day, in fact,
to all but Phil Rose and the company, that much as some
expressed admiration for the play, Rose's eighteen-month
tn find a co-nroducer to help complete the financing
FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION xi
was turned down by virtually every established name in
the business. He was joined at the last by another new-
comer, David Cogan, but even with the money in hand,
not a single theater owner on the Great White Way would
rent to the new production! So that when the play left
New York for tryouts with a six-hundred-dollar advance
in New Haven and no theater to come back to had the
script and performance been any less ready, and the re-
sponse of critics and audiences any less unreserved than
they proved to be, A Raisin in the Sun would never have
reached Broadway.
Under these circumstances the pressures were enormous
(if unspoken and rarely even acknowledged in the excite-
ment of the work) not to press fate unduly with unneces-
sary risks. And the most obvious of these was the running
time. It is one thing to present a four-and-a-half-hour
drama by Eugene O'Neill on Broadway but a first play
(even ignoring the special features of this one) in the
neighborhood of even threeWi By common concensus,
the need to keep the show as tight and streamlined as
possible was manifest. Some things philosophical flights,
nuances the general audience might not understand, shad-
ings, embellishments would have to be sacrificed.
At the time the cuts were made (there were also some
very good ones that focused and strengthened the drama),
it was assumed by all that they would in no way signifi-
cantly affect or alter the statement of the play, for there is
nothing in the omitted lines that is not implicit elsewhere,
and throughout, A Raisin in the Sun. But to think this was
to reckon without two factors the future would bring into
play. The first was the swiftness and depth of .the revolu-
tion in consciousness that was coming and the consequent,
perhaps inevitable, tendency of some people to assume,
because the "world" had changed, that any "successful"
work which preceded the change must embody the values
they had outgrown. And the second was the nature of the
American audience.
James Baldwin has written that "Americans suffer from
an ignorance that is not only colossal, but sacred." He is
referring to that apparently endless capacity we have nur-
xii FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION
tured through long years to deceive ourselves where race
is concerned: the baggage of myth and preconception we
carry with us that enables northerners, for example, to
shield themselves from the extent and virulence of segrega-
tion in the North, so that each time an "incident" of
violence so egregious that they cannot look past it occurs
they are "shocked" anew, as if it had never happened
before or as if the problem were largely pass6. (In 1975,
when the cast of Raisin, the musical, became involved in
defense of a family whose home in Queens, New York
City, had been fire-bombed, we learned of a 1972 City
Commissioner of Human Rights Report, citing "eleven
cases in the last eighteen months in which minority-owned
homes had been set afire or vandalized, a church had been
bombed, and a school bus had been attacked" in New
York City!)
But Baldwin is referring also to the human capacity,
where a work of art is involved, to substitute, for what the
writer has written, what in our hearts we wish to believe,
(As Hansberry put it in response to one reviewer's en-
thusiastic if particularly misguided praise of her play:
". . . it did not disturb the writer in, the least that there is
no such implication in the entire three acts. He did not
need it in the play; he had it in his head." 1
Such problems did not, needless to say, stop America
from embracing A Raisin in the Sun. But it did interfere
drastically, for a generation, with the way the play was
interpreted and assessed and, in hindsight, it made all
the more regrettable the abridgment (though without it
would we even know the play today?). In a remarkable
rumination on Hansberry's death, Ossie Davis (who suc-
ceeded Sidney Poitier in the role of Walter Lee) put it
this way:
The play deserved all this the playwright deserved all this,
and more. Beyond question! But I have a feeling that for all
she got, Lorraine Hansberry never got all she deserved in
regard to A Raisin in the Sun that she got success, but
1 'Willie Loman, Walter Youncer. and He Who Must Live,**
FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION xttt
that in her success she was cheated, both as a writer and
as a Negro.
One of the biggest selling points about Raisin filling
the grapevine, riding the word-of-mouth, laying the founda-
tion for its wide, wide acceptance was how much the
Younger family was just like any other American family.
Some people were ecstatic to find that "it didn't really have
to be about Negroes at all!" It was, rather, a walking, talk-
ing, living demonstration of our mythic conviction that,
underneath, all of us Americans, color-ain't-got-nothing-to-
do-with-it, are pretty much alike. People are just people,
whoever they are; and all they want is a chance to be like
other people. This uncritical assumption, sentimentally held
by the audience, powerfully fixed in the character of the
powerful mother with whom everybody could identify, im-
mediately and completely, made any other questions about
the Youngers, and what living in the slums of Southside
Chicago had done to them, not only irrelevant and im-
pertinent, but also disloyal . . . because everybody who
walked into the theater saw in Lena Younger ... his own
great American Mama. And that was decisive. 1
In effect, as Davis went on to develop, white America
"kidnapped" Mama, stole her away and used her fanta-
sized image to avoid what was uniquely African American
in the play. And what it was saying.
Thus, in many reviews (and later academic studies),
the Younger family maintained by two female domestics
and a chauffeur, son of a laborer dead of a lifetime of hard
labor was transformed into an acceptably "middle class"
family. The decision to move became a desire to "inte-
grate" (rather than, as Mama says simply, "to find the
nicest house for the least amount of money for my
family. . . . Them houses they put up for colored in them
areas way out always seem to cost twice as much") . Mama
herself about whose "acceptance" of her "place" in the
society there is not a word in the play, and who, in quest
of her family's survival over the soul- and body-crushing
conditions of the ghetto, is prepared to defy housing-
i "The Significance of Lorraine Hansberry," Freedomways, Sum-
jciv FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION
pattern taboos, threats, bombs, and God knows what else
became the safely "conservative" matriarch, upholder
of the social order and proof that if one only perseveres
with faith, everything will come out right in the end, and
the system ain't so bad after all. (All this, presumably,
because, true to character, she speaks and thinks in the
language of her generation, shares their dream of a better
life and, like millions of her counterparts, takes her
Christianity to heart.)
And perhaps most ironical of all to the playwright, who
had herself as a child been almost killed in such a real-
life story, 1 the climax of the play became, pure and simple,
a "happy ending" despite the fact that it leaves the
Youngers on the brink of what will surely be, in their new
home, at best a nightmare of uncertainty. ("If he thinks
that's a happy ending," said Hansberry in an interview, "I
invite him to come live in one of the communities where
the Youngers are going!" 2 ) Which is not even to mention
the fact that that little house in a blue-collar neighborhood
hardly suburbia, as some have imagined is hardly the
answer to the deeper needs and inequities of race and class
and sex that Walter and Beneatha have articulated.
When Lorraine Hansberry read the reviews delighted
by the accolades, grateful for the recognition, but also
deeply troubled she decided in short order to put back
many of the materials excised. She did that in the 1959
Random House edition, but faced with the actuality of a
prize-winning play, she hesitated about some others which,
for reasons now beside the point, had not in rehearsal
come alive. She later felt, however, that the full last scene
between Beneatha and Asagai 3 and Walter's bedtime scene
with Travis (originally conceived as a separate scene, but
1 To Be Young, Gifted and Black, New York: New American
Library, p. 51.
2 "Make New Sounds: Studs Terkel Interviews Lorraine Hans-
berry," American Theatre, November 1984.
3 At the suggestion of director Harold Scott in the rehearsals for
the New York production, I have substituted for a few transi-
tional lines in this scene the lines from another draft about money
FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION jcv
now as the climax of the scene with Mama) should be
restored at the first opportunity, and this was done in the
1966 New American Library edition of A Raisin in the
Sun and The Sign in Sidney Brusteiris Window. As any-
one who has seen the recent productions will attest, they
are among the most powerful (and most applauded)
moments in the play.
Because the visit of Mrs. Johnson adds the costs of
another character to the cast (not an inconsequential con-
sideration at most theaters) and ten more minutes to the
play, it has not been used in most revivals. But in those
where it has been tried it has worked to great and
hilarious effect. It is included here in any case, because
it speaks to fundamental issues of the play, makes plain
the realities that await the Youngers at the curtain, and,
above all, makes clear what, in the eyes of the author,
Lena Younger in her typicality within the black ex-
perience does and does not represent.
What is for me personally, as a witness to the foregoing
events, most gratifying about the current revival is that
today, some twenty-eight years after Lorraine Hansberry,
thinking back with disbelief a few nights after the opening
of Raisin, typed out these words
... I had turned the last page out of the typewriter and
pressed all the sheets neatly together in a pile, and gone and
stretched out face down on the living room floor. I had
finished a play; a play I had no reason to think or not think
would ever be done; a play that I was sure no one would
quite understand. . . .*
her play is not only being done, but that more than
she had ever thought possible and more clearly than it
ever has been before it is being understood. The two
pieces by Frank Rich and Amiri Baraka that I have
selected, from among the many that might have been
chosen for this volume, are from quite different worlds
and perspectives examples of that.
Finally, a word about the stage directions and inter-
i Tn Re Yotine. Gifted and Black, p. 120.
xvi FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION
pretive descriptions: These are the author's original direc-
tions combined, where meaningful to the reader, with the
specifics of Lloyd Richards' classic original staging (in-
corporated by Hansberry into the first acting edition) and
with, in some instances where they enhance understanding
of situation and character, those of later directors most
notably Harold Scott, whose successive revivals culminat-
ing in the inspired Roundabout Theatre production for
the Kennedy Center, have given the revised text, in my
view, its fullest realization to-date.
In 1970 Julius Lester, in a groundbreaking essay on
Hansberry for the Village Voice, put his finger on the heart
of The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window;
The play was produced a year and a half before white
liberal intellectuals were to be confronted by the spectre of
black power. Sign was a conscious warning. Lorraine Hans-
berry was speaking to those white intellectuals of her own
generation and telling them to prepare for what was to
come ... she cared enough about her white intellectual
counterparts ... to beg them to prepare to pick up the
gauntlet and return to the field. ... On another level, how-
ever, the play is a warning to those of us who are now
young as Sidney once was and who will be growing older.
. . . Where will we be ten, fifteen years from now, with our
books, our records, and our dreams? Where will we be if
(or when) the bubble bursts? ... All of us will, in one way
or another, have to walk the painful road walked by Sidney
Brustein and I hope that at the end of it, we can say, as
Sidney does, that he is "a fool . . . who believes. . . ." Her
idealism is a kind that we don't have anymore . . . and if
that is true, then chaos and barbarism stretch before us
into infinity. 1
In the twenty-two years since Sidney's Sign came down
from its "window" on Broadway, Lester is neither the first
nor the last to express such a viewpoint. The play has been
* "Young, Gifted and Black: the Politics of Caring," Village Voice,
May 28, 1970.
FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION xvii
variously called, in critical studies, histories of the theater
and by reviewers, "a form of poetry [that] illuminates
whole segments of life" (Saturday Review, 1966), "a
mirror to the life of the human race" (Playbill, 1968), "a
key play in the history of modern American drama . . .
both in its subtly complex writing, and -its philosophical
premises" (Emory Lewis, Stages: The Fifty-Year Child-
hood of the American Theatre, 1969), and "one of the
most sensitive and fully developed portraits of a Jew in
contemporary drama" (Ellen Schiff, From Stereotype to
Metaphor: The Jew in Contemporary Drama, 1982). It
has been reprinted in Best American Plays, staged all over
America in productions of varying quality, and in 1972
there was an abortive (woefully underfinanced) effort to
return it to Broadway in a new semi-musicalized version
that did not work. 1 Every year there are another twenty
or so productions at small or university theaters, and every
time, it would seem, the play engenders in some of the
participants and some in the audience I have met or
received letters from literally hundreds the same passion
and intensity of commitment that marked its original "101
'final' performances" on Broadway.
Still, the fact is that to this date John Braine's confident
prediction in his Foreword to the first edition, reprinted
here, that "sooner or later, in one production or another,
in this country or another," the play would receive the
full vindication and recognition it merits, has yet to be
fulfilled. Despite that, I would venture to say that, on re-
reading or discovering The Sign in Sidney Brustein's
Window, more readers than not will find with me that
Braine's fundamental assessment is sound. If anything,
the play is more potent, more pertinent and moving in its
painful affirmation of humanity, and its challenge to our
1 Though brilliantly staged by the late Alan Schneider, the concept
for this "musical" in which Brechtian commentaries sung by
four "Flower generation" youths set off, and as it turned out
fatally diffused, the dramatic scenes-niid not work. But in the
course of its mounting, Schneider's vision of the play itself, and
his insightful analysis into problems of the text, suggested some
answers invaluable to future production.
xvffi FOREWORD TO THIS NEW EDITION
times and to what we do with our lives, than on the day
it was written.
This edition follows the author's original conception of
Act Three, Scene One, and incorporates passages from
that scene not used on Broadway or included in the
Random House edition. But because the author was too
ill at the time of its staging to complete the final honing
(and in one area restructuring) she envisioned after seeing
the full work on its feet, it is, in this unabridged form, a
play not without flaws. These have been addressed in
several recent experimental productions, reflecting my last
discussions about the play with Hansberry, the knowledge
gained from various productions through the years, and
especially the insights of director Alan Schneider, who at
the time of his tragic death in London was contemplating
a major revival. The results are reflected in the new
Samuel French acting edition for the stage.
At this writing, I have reason to anticipate that the kind
of truly major production by a director and company of
the stature required to bring the play's full dimensions to
life will shortly occur and that, therefore, the larger
history of Sidney Brustein as a play and as a challenge
to our age is only beginning. We shall see.
Croton-on-Hudson, N.Y.
January, 1987
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In addition to individuals and institutions noted above
and the many others too numerous to record who have
contributed to the current revival I wish especially to
thank: the redoubtable Gene Feist and Todd Haimes of the
Roundabout Theatre; Burt D'Lugoff and Howard Hausman,
friends, guides, and allies through all these years; Estelle
Frank and Sol and Faye Medoff , without whose support in
times past the work of the Hansberry estate could not have
proceeded; my wife, Jewell Handy Gresham, who has
stood unbending through the worst and the best of times,
providing light and unfailing inspiration to the vision we
share; Dr. Margaret B. Wilkerson, Hansberry 's biographer,
who generously and unstintingly has brought her keen
critical judgment to bear whenever called upon; and Samuel
Liff of the William Morris Agency without whose personal
commitment arid extraordinary perse verence, going far
beyond the professional to a love of the works, much that
has happened could never have been.
R.N.
xix
A RAISIN IN THE SUN
To Mama:
in gratitude for the dream
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over
Like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
Langston Hughes
An Appreciation:
A RAISIN IN THE SUN
THE 25TH ANNIVERSARY
By Frank Rich
Chicago It was 25 years ago that a 28-year-old black
woman from this city changed American theater forever
with her first produced play. The woman Was Lorraine
Hansberry, and the play, of course, was A Raisin in the
Sun.
Taking her title from Langston Hughes's poem "Har-
lem," Miss Hansberry forced both blacks and whites to
reexamine the deferred dreams of black America. She
asked blacks to reconsider how those dreams might be
defined; she demanded that whites not impede the fulfill-
ment of those dreams for one more second. And she posed
all her concerns in a work that portrayed a black family
with a greater realism and complexity than had ever been
previously seen on an American stage. A writer of un-
limited compassion, Miss Hansberry believed that all
people must be measured, as she put it, by both their "hills
and valleys. 9 *
Miss Hansberry, who died of cancer at the age of 34 in
1965, wrote Raisin well before the marches on Washing-
ton, the assassination of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther
King, Jr., and the inner-city explosions. Yet, with remark-
able prescience, she saw history whole: Her play encom-
passes everything from the rise of black nationalism in the
United States and Africa to the advent of black militancy
to the specific dimensions of the black woman's liberation
movement. And she always saw the present and future in
the light of the past clear back to the slavery of the Old
8 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
South and the new slavery that followed for black workers
who migrated to the industrial ghettos of the North.
Miss Hansberry works within the confines of what
might be called a kitchen-sink drama, set in a cramped,
tri-generational household on the South Side in the 1950s.
At the plot level, Raisin is about how the Younger family
will spend a ten-thousand-dollar insurance payment it has
received after its patriarch's death and about whether
the family will move into a now-affordable new home in a
hostile, lily-white neighborhood. But Miss Hansberry's real
drama is the battle for the soul and identity of Walter Lee
Younger, the family's son,
Walter, 35, is a chauffeur who wants to get rich by open-
ing a liquor store. Without quite realizing it, he oppresses
his wife, Ruth, a domestic, and mocks the ambitions of his
20-year-old sister, Beneatha, a fledgling activist and med-
ical student. "I got me a dream," says Walter early in the
play but his dream is not to be confused with Dr. King's.
What he wants is "things," and, as he tells his horrified
mother, Lena, he no longer regards money merely as a
passport to freedom but as the essence of life.
In this sense, Walter is not just a black victim of white
racism but also a victim of a materialistic American dream
that can enslave men or women of any race. Seeing Raisin
again, one is struck by how much Miss Hansberry's pro-
tagonist resembles those of other Chicago writers, from
Dreiser's Sister Carrie to David Mamet's proletarian
schemer in American Buffalo. What makes Raisin so mov-
ing is that Walter finally does rise above his misplaced
values to find a new dignity and moral courage and that
he does so with the support of his contentious but always
loving family. . . .
The New York Times
Octobers, 1983
A Critical Re evaluation :
A RAISIN IN THE SUN'S
ENDURING PASSION
By AmmBaraka
In the wake of its twenty-fifth anniversary, Lorraine
Hansberry's great play A Raisin in the Sun is enjoying a
revival of a most encouraging kind. Complete with restora-
tions to the text of scenes and passages removed from the
first production, the work is currently being given a new
direction and interpretation that reveal even more clearly
the play's profoundly imposing stature, continuing rel-
evance, and pointed social analysis. At major regional
theaters in city after city Raisin has played to packed
houses and, as on the night I saw it, standing ovations. It
has broken or approached long-standing box office records
and has been properly hailed as "a classic," while the
Washington Post has called it succinctly: "one of the
handful of great American dramas ... in the inner circle,
along with Death of a Salesman, Long Day's Journey into
Night, and The Glass Menagerie"
For a playwright who knows, too well, the vagaries and
realities of American theater, this assessment is gratifying.
But of even greater significance is the fact that A Raisin in
the Sun is being viewed by masses of people, black and
white, in the light of a new day.
For Raisin typifies American society in a way that re-
flects more accurately the real lives of the black U.S.
majority than any work that ever received commercial
exposure before it, and few if any since. It has the life
that only classics can maintain. Any useful re-appreciation
9
10 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
of it cannot be limited, therefore, to the passages restored
or the new values discovered, important though these are:
it is the play itself, as a dramatic (and sociopolitical)
whole, that demands our confirmation of its grandeur.
When Raisin first appeared in 1959, the Civil Rights
Movement was in its earlier stages. And as a document
reflecting the essence of those struggles, the play is un-
excelled. For many of us it was and remains the
quintessential civil rights drama. But any attempt to con-
fine the play to an era, a mind-set, an issue ("Housing")
or set of topical concerns was, as we now see, a mistake.
The truth is that Hansberry's dramatic skills have yet to be
properly appreciated and not just by those guardians of
the status quo who pass themselves off as dramatic critics.
For black theater artists and would-be theorists especially,
this is ironic because the play is probably the most widely
appreciated particularly by African Americans black
drama that we have.
Raisin lives in large measure because black people have
kept it alive. And because Hansberry has done more than
document, which is the most limited form of realism. She
is a critical realist, in a way that Langston Hughes, Richard
Wright, and Margaret Walker are. That is, she analyzes
and assesses reality and shapes her statement as an aesthe-
tically powerful and politically advanced work of art. Her
statement cannot be separated from the characters she
creates to embody, in their totality, the life she observes:
it becomes, in short, the living material of the work, part
of its breathing body, integral and alive.
George Thompson in Poetry and Marxism points out
that drama is the most expressive artistic form to emerge out
of great social transformation. Shakespeare is the artist of
the destruction of feudalism and the emergence of capital-
ism. The mad Macbeths, bestial Richard Ill's, and other
feudal worthies are actually shown, like the whole class, as
degenerate and degenerating. This is also why Shake-
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 11
speare deals with race (Othello), anti-Semitism (The
Merchant of Venice), and feminism (The Taming of the
Shrew) ; because these will be the continuing dilemmas of
the bourgeois epoch! If we opponents of racism, sexism,
and the degeneracies of capitalism today were to write
Richard the Nix and Ronnie the Rex, we would not be
called the Bard's heirs, although it is the bourgeoisie who
came to shower celebration on Shakespeare now they
provide sterile, dead productions to hide the real texts.
Hansberry's play, too, was political agitation. It dealt
with the very same issues of democratic rights and equality
that were being aired in the streets. It dealt with them with
an unabating dramatic force, vision, political concreteness
and clarity that, in retrospect, are awesome. But it dealt
with them not as abstractions, fit only for infantile-left
pamphlets, but as they are lived. In reality.
All of Raisin's characters speak to the text and are
critical to its dramatic tensions and understanding. They
are necessarily larger than life in impact but crafted
meticulously from living social material
When the play opened on Broadway, Lena Younger,
the emotional adhesive of the family, was given a broad,
aggressive reading by Claudia McNeil. Indeed, her reading
has been taken as the model and somewhat institutionalized
in various productions I've seen.
The role itself of family head, folksy counsel, up-
holder of tradition has caused many people to see her as
the stereotyped "black matriarch" of establishment and
commercial sociological fame. Carrying with them (or
rebelling against) the preconceived baggage of that stereo-
type, and recalling the play through the haze of memory
(or from the compromised movie version), they have not
bothered to look more closely at the actual woman Hans-
berry created and at what tradition she in fact upholds.
When my wife and I and three of our children went to
12 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
the recent New York revival by the Roundabout Theatre,
Olivia Cole was playing the role. Her reading was revela-
tion and renewal.
Ms. Cole came at the role from the inside out. Her Lena
is a woman, black, poor, struggle-worn but proud and
loving. She was in the world before the rest of the family,
before many of us viewing the play. She has seen and felt
what we have not, or what we cannot yet identify. She is
no quaint, folksy artifact; she is truth, history, love and
struggle as they can be manifest only in real life.
At this writing, Esther Rolle has taken over the role for
the Kennedy Center production in Washington, and I have
not seen her. But with Harold Scott's inspired direction, I
would expect (and all accounts confirm) an equally ful-
filling performance. For Scott has dug beneath the easy
mis-seeing of the work as "soap opera," "stereotype,"
"well-made melodrama," and given us the emotional
depths of these real people. He has done it by allowing the
text to be heard, the boiling and lyrical words to strike
home and be connected by the social actuality of real life
impeccably rendered (and analyzed and criticized).
Similarly, the new interpreters of Walter Lee (James
Pickens in New York, Delroy Lindo at Yale and in Wash-
ington) are something "fresh," like our kids say. They bring
a contemporary flavoring to the work that consists of
knowing with more certainty than, say, Sidney Poitier
could have in the original the frustration and rage ani-
mating the healthy black male, post-civil rights era. They
play Walter Lee more aggressively, more self-consciously,
so that when he does fall we can actually hate him hate
the frivolous, selfish male-chauvinist part of ourselves.
And when he stands up at the finale and will not be beaten,
we can cry with joy.
Part of the renewed impact of the play comes with the
fresh interpretation of both director and actors. But we
cannot stop there! The social materials that Hansberry so
brilliantly shaped into drama are not lightweight. For me
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 13
this is the test of the writer: no matter the skill of the
execution what has been executed? What is it he or she is
talking about? Form can never be dismissed, to say the
least, particularly by an artist. But in the contradiction
between form and content, content must be the bottom
line though unless the form be an extension of (and
correctly serve) that content, obviously even understand-
ing of the content will be flawed.
Formalist artists must resort to all kinds of superficial
aberrations of form because usually they have nothing to
say. Brecht said how much safer the red is in a "non-
objective" painting than the red of blood rushing out of
the slain worker's chest. This is why one expects to see
more Pollocks in the banks than Orozcos or Riveras or
John Biggers or Jake Lawrences. And it is one reason
why some critics will always have a problem with the
realism of a Hansberry and ignore the multilayered rich-
ness of her form.
A Raisin in the Sun is about dreams, ironically enough.
And how those psychological projections of human life
can come into conflict like any other product of that life.
For Lena, a new house, the stability and happiness of her
children, are her principal dream. And as such this is the
completion of a dream she and her late husband who has
literally, like the slaves, been worked to death conceived
together.
Ruth's dream, as mother and wife, is somewhat similar.
A room for her son, an inside toilet. She dreams as one of
those triply oppressed by society as worker, as African
American, and as woman. But her dream, and her mother-
in-law's, conflicts with Walter Lee's. He is the chauffeur
to a rich white man and dreams of owning all and doing
all the things he sees "Mr. Arnold" do and own. On one
level Walter Lee is merely aspiring to full and acknowl-
edged humanity; on another level he yearns to strut his
"manhood," a predictable mix of machismo and fantasy.
14 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
But Hansberry takes it even further to show us that on
still another level Walter Lee, worker though he be, has
the "realizable" dream of the black petty bourgeoisie.
"There he is! Monsieur le petit bourgeois noir himself!,"
cries Beneatha, the other of Lena Younger's children.
"There he is Symbol of a Rising Class! Entrepreneur!
Titan of the system!" The deepness of this is that Hans-
berry can see that the conflict of dreams is not just that of
individuals but, more importantly, of classes. Not since
Theodore Ward's Big White Fog (1938) has there been
a play so thoroughly and expertly reflective of class
struggle within a black family.
Beneatha dreams of medical school. She is already so-
cially mobile, finding a place, as her family cannot, among
other petty bourgeois aspirants on the rungs of "education,"
where their hard work has put her. Her aspiration is less
caustic, more attainable than Walter's. But she yearns for
something more. Her name Beneatha (as who ain't?)
should instruct us. She is, on the one hand, secure in the
collegiate world of "ideas" and elitism, above the mass; on
the other, undeceived by the myths and symbols of class
and status. Part militant, part dilletante, "liberated"
woman, little girl, she questions everything and dreams of
service to humanity, an identity beyond self and family in
the liberation struggles of her people. Ah, but will she have
the strength to stay the course?
Hansberry has Beneatha grappling with key contro-
versies of the period, but also some that had yet to clearly
surface. And she grapples with some that will remain with
us until society itself is changed: The relationship of the
intellectual to the masses. The relationship of African
Americans to Africans. The liberation movement itself and
the gnawing necessity of black self-respect in its many
guises (e.g., "straightened" hair vs. "the natural"). Written
in 1956 and first seen by audiences in the new revivals, the
part of the text in which Beneatha unveils her hair the
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 75
"perm'* cut off and she glowing with her original woolly
crown precedes the "Afro" by a decade. Dialogue be-
tween Beneatha and her mother, brother, Asagai and
George Murchison digs into all these still-burning concerns.
Similarly, Walter Lee and Ruth's dialogues lay out his
male chauvinism and even self- and group-hate born of the
frustration of too many dreams too long deferred: the
powerlessness of black people to control their own fate or
that of their families in capitalist America where race is
place, white is right, and money makes and defines the
man. Walter dreams of using his father's insurance money
to buy a liquor store. This dream is in conflict not only
with the dreams of the Younger women, but with reality.
But Walter appreciates only his differences with and
blames the women. Throughout the work, Hansberry
addresses herself to issues that the very young might feel
only The Color Purple has raised. Walter's relationship to
his wife and sister, and Beneatha's with George and
Asagai, gives us a variety of male chauvinism working
class, petty bourgeois, African.
Asagai, the Nigerian student who courts Beneatha,
dreams of the liberation of Africa and even of taking
Beneatha there: "We will pretend that . . . you have only
been away for a day." But that's not reality either, though
his discussion of the dynamics and dialectics of revolution
and of the continuity of human struggle, the only means
of progress still rings with truth!
Hansberry's warnings about neo-colonialism and the
growth (and corruption) of a post-colonial African bour-
geoisie "the servants of empire," as Asagai calls them
are dazzling because of their subsequent replication by
reality. As is, above all, her sense of the pressures mount-
ing inexorably in this one typical household, and in Walter
Lee especially, and of where they must surely lead. It was
the "explosion" Langston Hughes talked about in his
great poem "Harlem" centerpiece of his incomparable
16 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
Montage of a Dream Deferred, from which the play's title
was taken and it informs the play as its twinned projec-
tion: dream or coming reality.
These are the categories Langston proposes for the
dream:
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Dried up is what Walter Lee and Ruth's marriage had
become, because their respective dreams have been de-
ferred. When Mama Lena and Beneatha are felled by
news of Walter Lee's weakness and dishonesty, their life's
w ill the desired greening of their humanity is defoliated.
Or fester like a sore
And then run?
Walter Lee's dream has festered, and in his dealings
with the slack-jawed con man Willie (merchant of the
stuff of dreams), his dream is "running."
We speak of the American Dream. Malcolm X said that
for the Afro-American it was the American Nightmare.
The little ferret man (played again tellingly by John
Fiedler, one of the original cast on Broadway and in the
film) is the dream's messenger, and the only white person
in the play. His name is Lindner (as in "neither a bor-
rower nor a Lindner be"), and the thirty or so "pieces of
silver" he proffers are meant to help the niggers understand
the dichotomous dream.
"But you've got to admit that a man, right or wrong, has
the right to want to have the neighborhood he lives in a
certain kind of way," says Lindner. Except black folks.
Yes, these "not rich and fancy" representatives of white
lower-middle America have a dream, too. A class dream,
though it does not even serve them. But they are kept
ignorant enough not to understand that the real dimensions
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 17
of that dream white supremacy, black "inferiority," and
with them ultimately, though they know it not, fascism and
war are revealed every day throughout the world as
deadly to human life and development even their own.
In the post-civil rights era, in "polite" society, theirs is
a dream too gross even to speak of directly anymore. And
this is another legacy of the play: It was one of the shots
fired (and still being fired) at the aberrant white-supremacy
dream that is American reality. And the play is also a
summation of those shots, that battle, its heightened state-
ment. Yet the man, Lindner, explains him/them self, and
there is even a hint of compassion for Lindner the man as
he bumbles on in outrageous innocence of all he is actually
saying that "innocence" for which Americans are fam-
ous, which begs you to love and understand me for hating
you, the innocence that kills. Through him we see this
other dream:
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over
Like a syrupy sweet?
Almost everyone else in the play would sound like
Martin Luther King at the march on Washington were we
to read their speeches closely and project them broadly.
An exception is George Murchison (merchant's son) , the
"assimilated" good bourgeois whose boldest dream, if one
can call it that, is to "get the grades ... to pass the course
... to get a degree" en route to making it the American
way. George wants only to "pop" Beneatha after she, look-
ing good, can be seen with him in the "proper" places.
He is opposed to a woman's "thinking" at all, and black
heritage to him "is nothing but a bunch of raggedy-ass
spirituals and some grass huts." The truth of this portrait
is one reason the black bourgeoisie has not created the
black national theaters, publishing houses, journals, gal-
leries, film corporations, and newspapers the African
18 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
American people desperately need. So lacking in self-
respect are members of this class of George's, they even
let the Kentucky Colonel sell us fried chicken and giblets.
The clash between Walter Lee and George, one of the
high points of class struggle in the play and a dramatic tour
de force, gives us the dialogue between the sons of the
house and of the field slaves. And Joseph Phillips* por-
trayal of George's dumb behind in the production I saw is
so striking because he understands that George thinks he
is "cool" He does not understand he is corny!
When Raisin appeared the movement itself was in tran-
sition, which is why Hansberry could sum up its throbbing
profile with such clarity. The baton was ready to pass from
"George's father" as leader of the "Freedom Movement"
(when its real muscle was always the Lena Youngers and
their husbands) to the Walter Lees and Beneathas and
Asagais and even the Georges.
In February 1960, black students at North Carolina
A & T began to "sit in" at Woolworth's in a more forceful
attack on segregated public facilities. By the end of 1960,
some 96,000 students across the country had gotten in-
volved in these sit-ins. In 1961, Patrice Lumumba was
assassinated, and black intellectuals and activists in New
York stormed the United Nations gallery. While Ralph
Bunche (George's spiritual father) shrank back "embar-
rassed" probably more so than by slavery and colonial-
ism! But the Pan African thrust had definitely returned.
And by this time, too, Malcolm X, "the fire prophet,"
had emerged as the truest reflector of black mass feelings.
It was of someone like Malcolm that Walter Lee spoke as
in a trance in prophecy while he mounts the table to deliver
his liquor-fired call to arms. (Nation of Islam headquarters
was Chicago where the play is set!) Walter Lee embodies
the explosion to be what happens when the dream is
deferred past even the patience of the Lena Youngers.
Young militants like myself were taken with Malcolm's
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 19
coming, with the immanence of explosion (e.g., Birming-
ham, when black Walters and Ruths struck back with ice-
picks and clubs in response to the bombing of a black
church and the killing of four little girls in Sunday school.
We thought Hansberry's play was part of the "passive
resistance" phase of the movement, which was over the
minute Malcolm's penetrating eyes and words began to
charge through the media with deadly force. We thought
her play "middle class" in that its focus seemed to be on
"moving into white folks' neighborhoods," when most
blacks were just trying to pay their rent in ghetto shacks.
We missed the essence of the work that Hansberry had
created a family on the cutting edge of the same class and
ideological struggles as existed in the movement itself and
among the people. What is most telling about our igno-
rance is that Hansberry's play still remains overwhelmingly
popular and evocative of black and white reality, and the
masses of black people dug it true.
The next two explosions in black drama, Baldwin's
Blues for Mr. Charlie and my own Dutchman (both 1964)
raise up the militance and self-defense clamor of the
movement as it came fully into the Malcolm era: Jimmy
by constructing a debate between King (Meridian) and
Richard (Malcolm) , and I by having Clay openly advocate
armed resistance. But neither of these plays is as much a
statement from the African American majority as is Raisin.
For one thing, they are both (regardless of their "power")
too concerned with white people.
It is Lorraine Hansberry's play which, though it seems
"conservative" in form and content to the radical petty
bourgeoisie (as opposed to revolutionaries), is the accu-
rate telling and stunning vision of the real struggle. Both
Clay and Richard are rebellious scions of the middle class.
The Younger family is part of the black majority, and the
concerns I once dismissed as "middle class" buying a
house and moving into "white folks' neighborhoods"
are actually reflective of the essence of black people's
20 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
striving and the will to defeat segregation, discrimination,
and national oppression. There is no such thing as a "white
folks' neighborhood" except to racists and to those sub-
mitting to racism.
The Younger famUy is the incarnation before they
burst from the bloody Southern backroads and the burning
streets of Watts and Newark onto TV screens and the
world stage of our common ghetto-variey Fanny Lou
Hamers, Malcolm X's, and Angela Davises. And their
burden surely will be lifted, or one day it certainly will
"explode."
November, 1986
A RAISIN IN THE SUN was first presented by Philip Rose
and David J. Cogan at the Ethel Barrymore Theatre,
New York City, March 11, 1959, with the following cast:
(In order of appearance)
RUTH YOUNGER Ruby Dee
TRAVIS YOUNGER Glynn Turman
WALTER LEE YOUNGER (BROTHER) Sidney Poitier
BENEATHA YOUNGER Diana Sands
LENA YOUNGER (MAMA) Claudia McNeil
JOSEPH ASAGAI Ivan Dixon
GEORGE MURCHISON LOUIS GoSSCtt
KARL LINDNER John Fiedler
BOBO Lonne Elder HI
MOVING MEN Ed Hall, Douglas Turner Ward
Directed by Lloyd Richards
Designed and Lighted by Ralph Alswang
Costumes by Virginia Volland
21
The action of the play is set in Chicago's Southside,
sometime between World War II and the present.
Act I
Scene One: Friday morning.
Scene Two: The following morning.
Act II
Scene One: Later, the same day.
Scene Two : Friday night, a few weeks later.
Scene Three: Moving day, one week later.
Act III
An hour later.
22
ACT I
SCENE ONE
The YOUNGER living room would be a comfortable and
well-ordered room if it were not for a number of inde-
structible contradictions to this state of being. Its furnish-
ings are typical and undistinguished and their primary
feature now is that they have clearly had to accommodate
the living of too many people for too many years and
they are tired. Still, we can see that at some time, a time
probably no longer remembered by the family {except
perhaps for MAMA), the furnishings of this room were
actually selected with care and love and even hope and
brought to this apartment and arranged with taste and
pride.
That was a long time ago. Now the once loved pattern
of the couch upholstery has to fight to show itself from
under acres of crocheted doilies and couch covers which
have themselves finally come to be more important than
the upholstery. And here a table or a chair has been
moved to disguise the worn places in the carpet; but the
carpet has fought back by showing its weariness, with
depressing uniformity, elsewhere on its surface.
Weariness has, in fact, won in this room. Everything
has been polished, washed, sat on, used, scrubbed too
23
24 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
often. All pretenses but living itself have long since van-
ished from the very atmosphere of this room.
Moreover, a section of this room, for it is not really a
room unto itself, though the landlord's lease would make
it seem so, slopes backward to provide a small kitchen
area, where the family prepares the meals that are eaten
in the living room proper, which must also serve as dining
room. The single window that has been provided for these
"two" rooms is located in this kitchen area. The sole
natural light the family may enjoy in the course of a day is
only that which fights its way through this little window.
At left, a door leads to a bedroom which is shared by
MAMA and her daughter, BENEATHA. At right, opposite, is
a second room (which in the beginning of the life of this
apartment was probably a breakfast room) which serves
as a bedroom for WALTER and his wife, RUTH.
Time: Sometime between World War II and the present.
Place: Chicago's Southside.
At Rise: It is morning dark in the living room. TRAVIS
is asleep on the make-down bed at center. An alarm clock
sounds from within the bedroom at right, and presently
RUTH enters from that room and closes the door behind
her. She crosses sleepily toward the window. As she passes
her sleeping son she reaches down and shakes him a little.
At the window she raises the shade and a dusky Southside
morning light comes in feebly. She fills a pot with water
and puts it on to boil. She calls to the boy, between yawns,
in a slightly muffled voice.
RUTH is about thirty. We can see that she was a pretty
girl, even exceptionally so, but now it is apparent that
life has been little that she expected, and disappointment
has already begun to hang in her face. In a few years, be-
fore thirty-five even, she will be known among her people
as a "settled woman"
She crosses to her son and gives him a good, final,
rousing shake.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 25
RUTH Come on now, boy, it's seven thirty! (Her son sits
up at last, in a stupor of sleepiness) I say hurry up,
Travis! You ain't the only person in the world got to
use a bathroom! (The child, a sturdy, handsome little
boy of ten or eleven, drags himself out of the bed and
almost blindly takes his towels and "today's clothes"
from drawers and a closet and goes out to the bath-
room, which is in an outside hall and which is shared
by another family or families on the same floor. RUTH
crosses to the bedroom door at right and opens it and
calls in to her husband) Walter Lee! . . . It's after seven
thirty! Lemme see you do some waking up in there
now! (She waits) You better get up from there, man!
It's after seven thirty I tell you. (She waits again) All
right, you just go ahead and lay there and next thing
you know Travis be finished and Mr. Johnson'll be in
there and yo.u'll be fussing and cussing round here like
a madman! And be late too! (She waits, at the end of
patience) Walter Lee it's time for you to GET UP!
(She waits another second and then starts to go
into the bedroom, but is apparently satisfied that
her husband has begun to get up. She stops, pulls
the door to, and returns to the kitchen area. She
wipes her face with a moist cloth and runs her
fingers through her sleep-disheveled hair in a vain
effort and ties an apron around her housecoat. The
bedroom door at right opens and her husband
stands in the doorway in his pajamas, which are
rumpled and mismated. He is a lean, intense young
man in his middle thirties, inclined to quick nervous
movements and erratic speech habits and always
in his voice there is a quality of indictment)
WALTER Is he out yet?
RUTH What you mean out? He ain't hardly got in there
good yet.
26 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
WALTER (Wandering in, still more oriented to sleep than
to a new day) Well, what was you doing all that
yelling for if I can't even get in there yet? (Stopping and
thinking) Check coming today?
RUTH They said Saturday and this is just Friday and I
hopes to God you ain't going to get up here first thing
this morning and start talking to me 'bout no money
'cause I 'bout don't want to hear it.
WALTER Something the matter with you this morning?
RUTH No I'm just sleepy as the devil. What kind of
eggs you want?
WALTER Not scrambled. (RUTH starts to scramble eggs)
Paper come? (RUTH points impatiently to the rolled up
Tribune on the table, and he gets it and spreads it out
and vaguely reads the front page) Set off another bomb
yesterday.
RUTH (Maximum indifference) Did they?
WALTER (Looking up) What's the matter with you?
RUTH Ain't nothing the matter with me. And don't keep
asking me that this morning.
WALTER Ain't nobody bothering you. (Reading the news
of the day absently again) Say Colonel McCormick
is sick.
RUTH (Affecting tea-party interest) Is he now? Poor
thing.
WALTER (Sighing and looking at his watch) Oh, me.
(He waits) Now what is that boy doing in that bathroom
all this time? He just going to have to start getting up
earlier. I can't be being late to work on account of
him fooling around in there.
RUTH (Turning on him) Oh, no he ain't going to be get-
ting up no earlier no such thing! It ain't his fault that
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 27
he can't get to bed no earlier nights 'cause he got a
bunch of crazy good-for-nothing clowns sitting up run-
ning their mouths in what is supposed to be his bed-
room after ten o'clock at night . . .
WALTER That's what you mad about, ain't it? The things
I want to talk about .with my friends just couldn't be
important in your mind, could they?
(He rises and finds a cigarette in her handbag on
the table and crosses to the little window and looks
out, smoking and deeply enjoying this first one)
RUTH (Almost matter of factly, a complaint too automatic
to deserve emphasis) Why you always got to smoke
before you eat in the morning?
WALTER (At the window) Just look at 'em down there
. . . Running and racing to work . . . (He turns and
faces his wife and watches her a moment at the stove,
and then, suddenly) You look young this morning, baby.
RUTH (Indifferently) Yeah?
WALTER Just for a second stirring them eggs. Just for
a second it was you looked real young again. (He
reaches for her; she crosses away. Then, drily) It's gone
now you look like yourself again!
RUTH Man, if you don't shut up and leave me alone.
WALTER (Looking out to the street again) First thing
a man ought to learn in life is not to make love to no
colored woman first thing in the morning. You all some
eeeevil people at eight o'clock in the morning.
(TRAVIS appears in the hall doorway, almost fully
dressed and quite wide awake now, his towels and
pajamas across his shoulders. He opens the door
and signals for his father to make the bathroom
in a hurry)
28 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
TRAVIS (Watching the bathroom) Daddy, come on!
(WALTER gets his bathroom utensils and flies out
to the bathroom)
RUTH Sit down and have your breakfast, Travis.
TRAVIS Mama, this is Friday. (Gleefully) Check coming
tomorrow, huh?
RUTH You get your mind off money and eat your
breakfast.
TRAVIS (Eating) This is the morning we supposed to
bring the fifty cents to school.
RUTH Well, I ain't got no fifty cents this morning.
TRAVIS Teacher say we have to.
RUTH I don't care what teacher say. I ain't got it. Eat
your breakfast, Travis.
TRAVIS I am eating.
RUTH Hush up now and just eat!
(The boy gives her an exasperated look for her
lack of understanding, and eats grudgingly)
TRAVIS You think Grandmama would have it?
RUTH No! And I want you to stop asking your grand-
mother for money, you hear me?
TRAVIS (Outraged) Gaaaleee! I don't ask her, she just
gimme it sometimes!
RUTH Travis Willard Younger I got too much on me
this morning to be
TRAVIS Maybe Daddy
RUTH Travis!
(The boy hushes abruptly. They are both quiet and
tense for several seconds)
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 29
TRAVIS (Presently) Could I maybe go carry some gro-
ceries in front of the supermarket for a little while
after school then?
RUTH Just hush, I said. (Travis jabs his spoon into his
cereal bowl viciously, and rests his head in anger upon
his fists) If you through eating, you can get over there
and make up your bed.
(The boy obeys stiffly and crosses the room, al-
most mechanically, to the bed and more or less
folds the bedding into a heap, then angrily gets his
books and cap)
TRAVIS (Sulking and standing apart from her unnaturally)
I'm gone.
RUTH (Looking up from the stove to inspect him auto-
matically) Come here. (He crosses to her and she
studies his head) If you don't take this comb and fix
this here head, you better! (TRAVIS puts down his books
with a great sigh of oppression, and crosses to the
mirror. His mother mutters under her breath about his
"slubbornness") 'Bout to march out of here with that
head looking just like chickens slept in it! I just don't
know where you get your slubborn ways . . , And get
your jacket, too. Looks chilly out this morning.
TRAVIS (With conspicuously brushed hair and jacket) Tm
gone.
RUTH Get carfare and milk money (Waving one finger)
and not a single penny for no caps, you hear me?
TRAVIS (With sullen politeness) Yes'm.
(He turns in outrage to leave. His mother -watches
after him as in his frustration he approaches the
door almost comically. When she speaks to him,
her voice has become a very gentle tease)
RUTH (Mocking; as she thinks he would say it) Oh,
Mama makes me so mad sometimes, I don't know
30 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
what to do! (She waits and continues to his back as he
stands stock-still in front of the door) I wouldn't kiss
that woman good-bye for nothing in this world this
morning! (The boy finally turns around and rolls his
eyes at her, knowing the mood has changed and he is
vindicated; he does not, however, move toward her yet)
Not for nothing in this world! (She finally laughs aloud
at him and holds out her arms to him and we see that
it is a way between them, very old and practiced. He
crosses to her and allows her to embrace him warmly
but keeps his face fixed with masculine rigidity. She
holds him back from her presently and looks at him
and runs her fingers over the features of his face. With
utter gentleness ) Now whose little old angry man
are you?
TRAVIS (The masculinity and gruff ness start to jade at
last) Aw gaalee Mama ...
RUTH (Mimicking) Aw gaaaaalleeeee, Mama! (She
pushes him, with rough playfulness and finality, toward
the door) Get on out of here or you going to be late.
TRAVIS (In the face of love, new aggressiveness) Mama,
could I please go carry groceries?
RUTH Honey, it's starting to get so cold evenings.
WALTER (Coming in from the bathroom and drawing a
make-believe gun from a make-believe holster and
shooting at his son) What is it he wants to do?
RUTH Go carry groceries after school at the supermarket.
WALTER Well, let him go ...
TRAVIS (Quickly, to the ally) I have to she won't gimme
the fifty cents . . .
WALTER (To his wife only) Why not?
RUTH (Simply, and with flavor) 'Cause we don't have it.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 31
WALTER (To RUTH only) What you tell the boy things
like that for? (Reaching down into his pants with a
rather important gesture) Here, son
(He hands the boy the coin, but his eyes are di-
rected to his wife's. TRAVIS takes the money hap-
pily)
TRAVIS Thanks, Daddy.
(He starts out. RUTH watches both of them with
murder in her eyes. WALTER stands and stares
back at her with defiance, and suddenly reaches
into his pocket again on an afterthought)
WALTER (Without even looking at his son, still staring
hard at his wife) In fact, here's another fifty cents . . .
Buy yourself some fruit today or take a taxicab to
school or something!
TRAVIS Whoopee
(He leaps up and clasps his father around the
middle with his legs, and they face each other in
mutual appreciation; slowly WALTER LEE peeks
around the boy to catch the violent rays from his
wife's eyes and draws his head back as if shot)
WALTER You better get down now and get to school,
man.
TRAVIS (At the door) O.K. Good-bye.
(He exits)
WALTER (After him, pointing with pride) That's my boy.
(She looks at him in disgust and turns back to her
work) You know what I was thinking 'bout in the bath-
room this morning?
RUTH No.
WALTER How come you always try to be so pleasant!
RUTH What is there to be pleasant 'bout!
32 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
WALTER You want to know what I was thinking 'bout
in the bathroom or not!
RUTH I know what you thinking 'bout.
WALTER (Ignoring her) 'Bout what me and Willy Harris
was talking about last night.
RUTH (Immediately a refrain) Willy Harris is a good-
for-nothing loudmouth.
WALTER Anybody who talks to me has got to be a
good-for-nothing loudmouth, ain't he? And what you
know about who is just a good-for-nothing loudmouth?
Charlie Atkins was just a "good-for-nothing loud-
mouth" too, wasn't he! When he wanted me to go in
the dry-cleaning business with him. And now he's
grossing a hundred thousand a year. A hundred thou-
sand dollars a year! You still call him a loudmouth!
RUTH (Bitterly) Oh, Walter Lee . . .
(She folds her head on her arms over the table)
WALTER (Rising and coming to her and standing over her)
You tired, ain't you? Tired of everything. Me, the boy,
the way we live this beat-up hole everything. Ain't
you? (She doesn't look up, doesn't answer) So tired
moaning and groaning all the time, but you wouldn't do
nothing to help, would you? You couldn't be on my side
that long for nothing, could you?
RUTH Walter, please leave me alone.
WALTER A man needs for a woman to back him up , . .
RUTH Walter
WALTER Mama would listen to you. You know she listen
to you more than she do me and Bennie. She think
more of you. All you have to do is just sit down with
her when you drinking your coffee one morning and
talking 'bout things like you do and (He sits down be-
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 33
side her and demonstrates graphically what he thinks her
methods and tone should be) you just sip your coffee,
see, and say easy like that you been thinking 'bout that
deal Walter Lee is so interested in, 'bout the store and
all, and sip some more coffee, like what you saying ain't
really that important to you And the next thing you
know, she be listening good and asking you questions
and when I come home I can tell her the details. This
ain't no fly-by-night proposition, baby. I mean we
figured it out, me and Willy and Bobo.
RUTH ( With a frown ) Bobo?
WALTER Yeah. You see, this little liquor store we got in
mind cost seventy-five thousand and we figured the
initial investment on the place be 'bout thirty thousand,
see. That be ten thousand each. Course, there's a couple
of hundred you got to pay so's you don't spend your
life just waiting for them clowns to let your license get
approved
RUTH You mean graft?
WALTER (Frowning impatiently) Don't call it that. See
there, that just goes to show you what women under-
stand about the world. Baby, don't nothing happen
for you in this world 'less you pay somebody off!
RUTH Walter, leave me alone! (She raises her head and
stares at him vigorously then says, more quietly) Eat
your eggs, they gonna be cold.
WALTER (Straightening up from her and looking off)
That's it. There you are. Man say to his woman: I got
me a dream. His woman say: Eat your eggs. (Sadly,
but gaining in power) Man say: I got to take hold of
this here world, baby! And a woman will say: Eat your
eggs and go to work. (Passionately now) Man say: I
got to change my life, I'm choking to death, baby! And
34 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
his woman say (In utter anguish as he brings his fists
down on his thighs) Your eggs is getting cold!
RUTH (Softly) Walter, that ain't none of our money.
WALTER (Not listening at all or even looking at her) This
morning, I was lookin' in the mirror and thinking about
it ... I'm thirty-five years old; I been married eleven
years and I got a boy who sleeps in the living room
(Very, very quietly) and all I got to give him is stories
about how rich white people live . . .
RUTH Eat your eggs, Walter.
WALTER (Slams the table and jumps up) DAMN MY
EGGS DAMN ALL THE EGGS THAT EVER WAS!
RUTH Then go to work.
WALTER (Looking up at her) See I'm trying to talk to
you 'bout myself (Shaking his head with the repetition)
and all you can say is eat them eggs and go to work.
RUTH (Wearily) Honey, you never say nothing new. I
listen to you every day, every night and every morning,
and you never say nothing new. (Shrugging) So you
would rather be Mr. Arnold than be his chauffeur. So
I would rather be living in Buckingham Palace.
WALTER That is just what is wrong with the colored
woman in this world . . . Don't understand about build-
ing their men up and making 'em feel like they some-
body. Like they can do something.
RUTH (Drily, but to hurt) There are colored men who do
things.
WALTER No thanks to the colored woman.
RUTH Well, being a colored woman, I guess I can't help
myself none.
(She rises and gets the ironing board and sets it
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 55
up and attacks a huge pile of rough-dried clothes,
sprinkling them in preparation for the ironing and
then rolling them into tight fat balls)
WALTER (Mumbling) We one group of men tied to a race
of women with small minds!
(His sister BENEATHA enters. She is about twenty,
as slim and intense as her brother. She is not as
pretty as her sister-in-law, but her lean, almost
intellectual face has a handsomeness of its own.
She wears a bright-red flannel nightie, and her
thick hair stands wildly about her head. Her speech
is a mixture of many things; it is different from the
rest of the family's insofar as education has per-
meated her sense of English and perhaps the
Midwest rather than the South has finally at last
won out in her inflection; but not altogether, be-
cause over all of it is a soft slurring and trans-
formed use of vowels which is the decided influ-
ence of the Southside. She passes through the
room without looking at either RUTH or WALTER
and goes to the outside door and looks, a little
blindly, out to the bathroom. She sees that it has
been lost to the Johnsons. She closes the door with
a sleepy vengeance and crosses to the table and sits
down a little defeated)
BENEATHA I am going to start timing those people.
WALTER You should get up earlier.
BENEATHA (Her face in her hands. She is still fighting the
urge to go back to bed) Really would you suggest
dawn? Where's the paper?
WALTER (Pushing the paper across the table to her as he
studies her almost clinically, as though he has never
seen her before) You a horrible-looking chick at this
hour.
36 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
BENEATHA (Drily) Good morning, everybody.
WALTER (Senselessly) How is school coming?
BENEATHA (In the same spirit) Lovely. Lovely. And
you know, biology is the greatest. (Looking up at him)
I dissected something that looked just like you yes-
terday.
WALTER I just wondered if you've made up your mind
and everything.
BENEATHA (Gaining in sharpness and impatience) And
what did I answer yesterday morning and the day
before that?
RUTH (From the ironing board, like someone disinterested
and old) Don't be so nasty, Bennie.
BENEATHA (Still to her brother) And the day before that
and the day before that!
WALTER (Defensively) I'm interested in you. Something
wrong with that? Ain't many girls who decide
WALTER and BENEATHA (In unison) "to be a doctor."
(Silence)
WALTER Have we figured out yet just exactly how much
medical school is going to cost?
RUTH Walter Lee, why don't you leave that girl alone
and get out of here to work?
BENEATHA (Exits to the bathroom and bangs on the door)
Come on out of there, please!
(She comes back into the room)
WALTER (Looking at his sister intently) You know the
check is coming tomorrow.
BENEATHA (Turning on him with a sharpness all her own)
That money belongs to Mama, Walter, and it's for her
to decide how she wants to use it. I don't care if she
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 37
wants to buy a house or a rocket ship or just nail it up
somewhere and look at it. It's hers. Not ours hers.
WALTER (Bitterly) Now ain't that fine! You just got your
mother's interest at heart, ain't you, girl? You such a
nice girl but if Mama got that money she can always
take a few thousand and help you through school too
can't she?
BENEATHA I have never asked anyone around here to do
anything for me!
WALTER No! And the line between asking and just ac-
cepting when the time comes is big and wide ain't it!
BENEATHA (With jury) What do you want from me,
Brother that I quit school or just drop dead, which!
WALTER I don't want nothing but for you to stop acting
holy 'round here. Me and Ruth done made some sacri-
fices for you why can't you do something for the
family?
RUTH Walter, don't be dragging me in it.
WALTER You are in it Don't you get up and go work
in somebody's kitchen for the last three years to help
put clothes on her back?
RUTH Oh, Walter that's not fair . . .
WALTER It ain't that nobody expects you to get on your
knees and say thank you, Brother; thank you, Ruth;
thank you, Mama and thank you, Travis, for wearing
the same pair of shoes for two semesters
BENEATHA (Dropping to her knees) Well I do all
right? thank everybody! And forgive me for ever
wanting to be anything at all! (Pursuing him on her
knees across the floor) FORGIVE ME, FORGIVE
ME, FORGIVE ME!
38 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
RUTH Please stop it! Your mama'U hear you.
WALTER Who the hell told you you had to be a doctor?
If you so crazy 'bout messing 'round with sick people
then go be a nurse like other women or just get
married and be quiet . . .
BENEATHA Well you finally got it said ... It took you
three years but you finally got it said. Walter, give up;
leave me alone it's Mama's money.
WALTER He was my father, too!
BENEATHA So what? He was mine, too and Travis'
grandfather but the insurance money belongs to
Mama. Picking on me is not going to make her give it
to you to invest in any liquor stores (Underbreath,
dropping into a chair) and I for one say, God bless
Mama for that!
WALTER (To RUTH) See did you hear? Did you hear!
RUTH Honey, please go to work.
WALTER Nobody in this house is ever going to under-
stand me.
BENEATHA Because you're a nut.
WALTER Who's a nut?
BENEATHA You you are a nut. Thee is mad, boy.
WALTER (Looking at his wife and his sister from the door,
very sadly) The world's most backward race of peo-
ple, and that's a fact.
BENEATHA (Turning slowly in her chair) And then there
are all those prophets who would lead us out of the
wilderness (WALTER slams out of the house) into
the swamps!
RUTH Bennie, why you always gotta be pickin' on your
brother? Can't you be a little sweeter sometimes? (Door
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 59
opens. WALTER walks in. He fumbles with his cap, starts
to speak, clears throat, looks everywhere but at RUTH.
Finally:)
WALTER (To RUTH) I need some money for carfare.
RUTH (Looks at him, then warms; teasing, but tenderly)
Fifty cents? (She goes to her bag and gets money)
Here take a taxi!
(WALTER exits. MAMA enters. She is a woman in
her early sixties, full-bodied and strong. She is
one of those women of a certain grace and beauty
who wear it so unobtrusively that it takes a while
to notice. Her dark-brown face is surrounded by
the total whiteness of her hair, and, being a woman
who has adjusted to many things in life and over-
come many more, her face is full of strength. She
has, we can see, wit and faith of a kind that keep
her eyes lit and full of interest and expectancy.
She is, in a word, a beautiful woman. Her bearing
is perhaps most like the noble bearing of the
women of the Hereros of Southwest Africa
rather as if she imagines that as she walks she still
bears a basket or a vessel upon her head. Her
speech, on the other hand, is as careless as her car-
riage is precise she is inclined to slur everything
but her voice is perhaps not so much quiet as
simply soft)
MAMA Who that 'round here slamming doors at this
hour?
(See crosses through the room, goes to the win-
dow, opens it, and brings in a feeble little plant
growing doggedly in a small pot on the window
sill. She feels the dirt and puts it back out)
RUTH That was Walter Lee. He and Bennie was at it
again.
40 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA My children and they tempers. Lord, if this little
old plant don't get more sun than it's been getting it
ain't never going to see spring again. (She turns from
the window) What's the matter with you this morning,
Ruth? You looks right peaked. You aiming to iron all
them things? Leave some for me. I'll get to 'em this
afternoon. Bennie honey, it's too drafty for you to be
sitting 'round half dressed. Where's your robe?
BENEATHA In the cleaners.
MAMA Well, go get mine and put it on.
BENEATHA I'm not cold, Mama, honest.
MAMA I know but you so thin . . .
BENEATHA (Irritably) Mama, I'm not cold.
MAMA (Seeing the make-down bed as TRAVIS has left it)
Lord have mercy, look at that poor bed. Bless his
heart he tries, don't he?
(She moves to the bed TRAVIS has sloppily made
up)
RUTH No he don't half try at all 'cause he knows you
going to come along behind him and fix everything.
That's just how come he don't know how to do nothing
right now you done spoiled that boy so.
MAMA (Folding bedding) Well he's a little boy* Ain't
supposed to know 'bout housekeeping. My baby, that's
what he is. What you fix for his breakfast this morning?
RUTH (Angrily) I feed my son, Lena!
MAMA I ain't meddling (Underbreath; busy-bodyish)
I just noticed all last week he had cold cereal, and
when it starts getting this chilly in the fall a child ought
to have some hot grits or something when he goes out
in the cold
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 41
RUTH (Furious) I gave him hot oats is that all right!
MAMA I ain't meddling. (Pause) Put a lot of nice butter
on it? (RUTH shoots her an angry look and does not
reply) He likes lots of butter.
RUTH (Exasperated) Lena
MAMA (To BENEATHA. MAMA is inclined to wander con-
versationally sometimes) What was you and your
brother fussing 'bout this morning?
BENEATHA It* s not important, Mama.
(She gets up and goes to look out at the bath-
room, which is apparently free, and she picks up
her towels and rushes out)
MAMA What was they fighting about?
RUTH Now you know as well as I do.
MAMA (Shaking her head) Brother still worrying his-
self sick about that money?
RUTH You know he is.
MAMA You had breakfast?
RUTH Some coffee.
MAMA Girl, you better start eating and looking after
yourself better. You almost thin as Travis.
RUTH Lena
MAMA Un-hunh?
RUTH What are you going to do with it?
MAMA Now don't you start, child. It's too early in the
morning to be talking about money. It ain't Christian.
RUTH It's just that he got his heart set on that store
42 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA You mean that liquor store that Willy Harris
want him to invest in?
RUTH Yes
MAMA We ain't no business people, Ruth. We just plain
working folks.
RUTH Ain't nobody business people till they go into
business. Walter Lee say colored people ain't never
going to start getting ahead till they start gambling on
some different kinds of things in the world investments
and things.
MAMA What done got into you, girl? Walter Lee done
finally sold you on investing.
RUTH No. Mama, something is happening between
Walter and me. I don't know what it is but he needs
something something I can't give him any more. He
needs this chance, Lena.
MAMA (Frowning deeply) But liquor, honey
RUTH Well like Walter say I spec people going to al-
ways be drinking themselves some liquor.
MAMA Well whether they drinks it or not ain't none of
my business. But whether I go into business selling it
to 'em is, and I don't want that on my ledger this late
in life. (Stopping suddenly and studying her daughter-
in-law} Ruth Younger, what's the matter with you to-
day? You look like you could fall over right there.
RUTH I'm tired.
MAMA Then you better stay home from work today,
RUTH I can't stay home. She'd be calling up the agency
and screaming at them, "My girl didn't come in today
send me somebody! My girl didn't come in!" Oh, she
just have a fit ...
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 43
MAMA Well, let her have it. I'll just call her up and say
you got the flu
RUTH (Laughing) Why the flu?
MAMA 'Cause it sounds respectable to 'em. Something
white people get, too. They know 'bout the flu. Other-
wise they think you been cut up or something when you
tell 'em you sick.
RUTH I got to go in. We need the money.
MAMA Somebody would of thought my children done all
but starved to death the way they talk about money
here late. Child, we got a great big old check coming
tomorrow.
RUTH (Sincerely, but also self-righteously) Now that's
your money. It ain't got nothing to do with me. We all
feel like that Walter and Bennie and me even Travis.
MAMA (Thoughtfully, and suddenly very far away) Ten
thousand dollars
RUTH Sure is wonderful.
MAMA Ten thousand dollars.
RUTH You know what you should do, Miss Lena? You
should take yourself a trip somewhere. To Europe or
South America or someplace
MAMA (Throwing up her hands at the thought) Oh,
child!
RUTH I'm serious. Just pack up and leave! Go on away
and enjoy yourself some. Forget about the family and
have yourself a ball for once in your life
MAMA (Drily) You sound like I'm just about ready to
die. Who'd go with me? What I look like wandering
'round Europe by myself?
44 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
RUTH Shoot these here rich white women do it all the
time. They don't think nothing of packing up they suit-
cases and piling on one of them big steamships and
swoosh! they gone, child.
MAMA Something always told me I wasn't no rich white
woman.
RUTH Well what are you going to do with it then?
MAMA I ain't rightly decided. (Thinking. She speaks now
with emphasis) Some of it got to be put away for
Beneatha and her schoolin' and ain't nothing going to
touch that part of it. Nothing. (She waits several sec-
onds, trying to make up her mind about something,
and looks at RUTH a little tentatively before going on)
Been thinking that we maybe could meet the notes on a
little old two-story somewhere, with a yard where Travis
could play in the summertime, if we use part of the
insurance for a down payment and everybody kind of
pitch in. I could maybe take on a little day work again,
few days a week
RUTH (Studying her mother-in-law furtively and concen-
trating on her ironing, anxious to encourage without
seeming to) Well, Lord knows, we've put enough
rent into this here rat trap to pay for four houses by
now
MAMA (Looking up at the words t( rat trap" and then
looking around and leaning back and sighing in a
suddenly reflective mood ) "Rat trap" yes, that's
all it is. (Smiling) I remember just as well the day me
and Big Walter moved in here. Hadn't been married
but two weeks and wasn't planning on living here no
more than a year. (She shakes her head at the dissolved
dream) We was going to set away, little by little, don't
you know, and buy a little place out in Morgan Park.
We had even picked out the house. (Chuckling a little)
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 45
Looks right dumpy today. But Lord, child, you should
know all the dreams I had 'bout buying that house and
fixing it up and making me a little garden in the back
(She waits and stops smiling) And didn't none of it
happen.
(Dropping her hands in a futile gesture)
RUTH (Keeps her head down, ironing) Yes, life can be
a barrel of disappointments, sometimes.
MAMA Honey, Big Walter would come in here some
nights back then and slump down on that couch there
and just look at the rug, and look at me and look at
the rug and then back at me and I'd know he was
down then . . . really down. (After a second very long
and thoughtful pause; she is seeing back to times that
only she can see) And then, Lord, when I lost that
baby little Claude I almost thought I was going to
lose Big Walter too. Oh, that man grieved hisself ! He
was one man to love his children.
RUTH Ain't nothin' can tear at you like losin' your baby.
MAMA I guess that's how come that man finally worked
hisself to death like he done. Like he was fighting
his own war with this here world that took his baby
from him.
RUTH He sure was a fine man, all right. I always liked
Mr. Younger.
MAMA Crazy 'bout his children! God knows there was
plenty wrong with Walter Younger hard-headed,
mean, kind of wild with women plenty wrong with
him. But he sure loved his children. Always wanted
them to have something be something. That's where
Brother gets all these notions, I reckon. Big Walter
used to say, he'd get right wet in the eyes sometimes,
lean his head back with the water standing in his eyes
and say, "Seem like God didn't see fit to give the
46 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
black man nothing but dreams but He did give us
children to make them dreams seem worth while."
(She smiles) He could talk like that, don't you know.
RUTH Yes, he sure could. He was a good man, Mr.
Younger.
MAMA Yes, a fine man just couldn't never catch up
with his dreams, that's all.
(BENEATHA comes in, brushing her hair and look-
ing up to the ceiling, where the sound of a vacuum
cleaner has started up)
BENEATHA What could be so dirty on that woman's rugs
that she has to vacuum them every single day?
RUTH I wish certain young women 'round here who I
could name would take inspiration about certain rugs
in a certain apartment I could also mention.
BENEATHA (Shrugging) How much cleaning can a house
need, for Christ's sakes.
MAMA (Not liking the Lord's name used thus) Bennie!
RUTH Just listen to her just listen!
BENEATHA Oh, God!
MAMA If you use the Lord's name just one more time
BENEATHA (A bit of a whine) Oh, Mama
RUTH Fresh just fresh as salt, this girl!
BENEATHA (Drily) Well if the salt loses its savor
MAMA Now that will do. I just ain't going to have you
'round here reciting the scriptures in vain you hear
me?
BENEATHA How did I manage to get on everybody's
wrong side by just walking into a room?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 47
RUTH If you weren't so fresh
BENEATHA Ruth, I'm twenty years old.
MAMA What time you be home from school today?
BENEATHA Kind of late. (With enthusiasm) Madeline is
going to start my guitar lessons today.
(MAMA and RUTH look up with the same expres-
sion)
MAMA Your what kind of lessons?
BENEATHA Guitar.
RUTH Oh, Father!
MAMA How come you done taken it in your mind to
learn to play the guitar?
BENEATHA I just want to 9 that's all.
MAMA (Smiling) Lord, child, don't you know what to
get tired of this now like you got tired of that little
do with yourself? How long it going to be before you
play-acting group you joined last year? (Looking at
RUTH) And what was it the year before that?
RUTH The horseback-riding club for which she bought
that fifty-five-dollar riding habit that's been hanging in
the closet ever since!
MAMA (To BENEATHA) Why you got to flit so from one
thing to another, baby?
BENEATHA (Sharply) I just want to learn to play the
guitar. Is there anything wrong with that?
MAMA Ain't nobody trying to stop you. I just wonders
sometimes why you has to flit so from one thing to an-
other all the time. You ain't never done nothing with all
that camera equipment you brought home
48 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
BENEATHA I don't flit! I I experiment with different
forms of expression
RUTH Like riding a horse?
BENEATHA People have to express themselves one way
or another.
MAMA What is it you want to express?
BENEATHA (Angrily) Me! (MAMA and RUTH look at each
other and burst into raucous laughter) Don't worry
I don't expect you to understand.
MAMA (To change the subject) Who you going out with
tomorrow night?
BENEATHA (With displeasure) George Murchison again.
MAMA (Pleased) Oh you getting a little sweet on him?
RUTH You ask me, this child ain't sweet on nobody but
herself (Vnderbreath) Express herself !
(They laugh)
BENEATHA Oh I like George all right, Mama. I mean
I like him enough to go out with him and stuff, but
RUTH (For devilment) What does and stuff mean?
BENEATHA Mind your own business.
MAMA Stop picking at her now, Ruth. (She chuckles
then a suspicious sudden look at her daughter as she
turns in her chair for emphasis) What DOES it mean?
BENEATHA (Wearily) Oh, I just mean I couldn't ever
really be serious about George. He's he's so shallow.
RUTH Shallow what do you mean he's shallow? He's
Rich!
MAMA Hush, Ruth.
BENEATHA I know he's rich. He knows he's rich, too.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 49
RUTH Well what other qualities a man got to have to
satisfy you, little girl?
BENEATHA You wouldn't even begin to understand. Any-
body who married Walter could not possibly under-
stand.
MAMA (Outraged) What kind of way is that to talk about
your brother?
BENEATHA Brother is a flip let's face it.
MAMA (To RUTH, helplessly) What's a flip?
RUTH (Glad to add kindling) She's saying he's crazy.
BENEATHA Not crazy. Brother isn't really crazy yet
he he's an elaborate neurotic.
MAMA Hush your mouth!
BENEATHA As for George. Well. George looks good
he's got a beautiful car and he takes me to nice places
and, as my sister-in-law says, he is probably the rich-
est boy I will ever get to know and I even like him
sometimes but if the Youngers are sitting around
waiting to see if their little Bennie is going to tie up
the family with the Murchisons, they are wasting their
time.
RUTH You mean you wouldn't marry George Murchison
if he asked you someday? That pretty, rich thing?
Honey, I knew you was odd
BENEATHA No I would not marry him if all I felt for him
was what I feel now. Besides, George's family wouldn't
really like it
MAMA Why not?
BENEATHA Oh, Mama The Murchisons are honest-to-
God-real-Kve-rich colored people, and the only people
in the world who are more snobbish than rich white
50 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
people are rich colored people. I thought everybody
knew that. I've met Mrs. Murchison. She's a scene!
MAMA You must not dislike people 'cause they well off,
honey.
BENEATHA Why not? It makes just as much sense as
disliking people 'cause they are poor, and lots of people
do that.
RUTH (A wisdom-of-the-ages manner. To MAMA) Well,
she'll get over some of this
BENEATHA Get over it? What are you talking about,
Ruth? Listen, I'm going to be a doctor. I'm not wor-
ried about who I'm going to marry yet if I ever get
married.
MAMA and RUTH If!
MAMA Now, Bennie
BENEATHA Oh, I probably will ... but first I'm going to
be a doctor, and George, for one, still thinks that's
pretty funny. I couldn't be bothered with that. I am
going to be a doctor and everybody around here better
understand that!
MAMA (Kindly) 'Course you going to be a doctor,
honey, God willing.
BENEATHA (Drily) God hasn't got a thing to do with it.
MAMA Beneatha that just wasn't necessary.
BENEATHA Well neither is God. I get sick of hearing
about God.
MAMA Beneatha!
BENEATHA I mean it! I'm just tired of hearing about God
all the time. What has He-got to do with anything? Does
he pay tuition?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 51
MAMA You 'bout to get your fresh little jaw slapped!
RUTH That's just what she needs, all right!
BENEATHA Why? Why can't I say what I want to around
here, like everybody else?
MAMA It don't sound nice for a young girl to say things
like that you wasn't brought up that way. Me and
your father went to trouble to get you and Brother to
church every Sunday.
BENEATHA Mama, you don't understand. It's all a matter
of ideas, and God is just one idea I don't accept. It's
not important. I am not going out and be immoral or
commit crimes because I don't believe in God. I don't
even think about it. It's just that I get tired of Him get-
ting credit for all the things the human race achieves
through its own stubborn effort. There simply is no
blasted God there is only man and it is he who makes
miracles!
(MAMA absorbs this speech, studies her daughter
and rises slowly and crosses to BENEATHA and slaps
her powerfully across the face. After, there is only
silence and the daughter drops her eyes from her
mother's face, and MAMA is very tall before her)
MAMA Now you say after me, in my mother's house
there is still God. (There is a long pause and BENEATHA
stares at the floor wordlessly. MAMA repeats the phrase
with precision and cool emotion) In my mother's house
there is still God.
BENEATHA In my mother's house there is still God.
(A long pause)
MAMA (Walking away from BENEATHA, too disturbed for
triumphant posture. Stopping and turning back to her
daughter) There are some ideas we ain't going to have
in this house. Not long as I am at the head of this
family.
52 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
BENEATHA Yes, ma'am.
(MAMA walks out of the room)
RUTH (Almost gently, with profound understanding)
You think you a woman, Bennie but you still a little
girl. What you did was childish so you got treated
like a child.
BENEATHA I see. (Quietly) I also see that everybody
thinks it's all right for Mama to be a tyrant. But all the
tyranny in the world will never put a God in the
heavens!
(She picks up her books and goes out. Pause)
RUTH (Goes to MAMA'S door) She said she was sorry.
MAMA (Coming out, going to her plant) They frightens
me, Ruth. My children.
RUTH You got good children, Lena. They just a little off
sometimes but they're good.
MAMA No there's something come down between me
and them that don't let us understand each other and
I don't know what it is. One done almost lost his mind
thinking 'bout money all the time and the other done
commence to talk about things I can't seem to under-
stand in no form or fashion. What is it that's changing,
Ruth.
RUTH (Soothingly, older than her years) Now . . . you
taking it all too seriously. You just got strong-willed
children and it takes a strong woman like you to keep
'em in hand.
MAMA (Looking at her plant and sprinkling a little water
on it) They spirited all right, my children. Got to ad-
mit they got spirit Bennie and Walter. Like this little
old plant that ain't never had enough sunshine or noth-
ing and look at it ...
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 53
{She has her back to RUTH, who has had to stop
ironing and lean against something and put the
back of her hand to her forehead)
RUTH (Trying to keep MAMA from noticing) You . . .
sure . . . loves that little old thing, don't you? . . .
MAMA Well, I always wanted me a garden like I used
to see sometimes at the back of the houses down home.
This plant is close as I ever got to having one. {She
looks out of the window as she replaces the plant)
Lord, ain't nothing as dreary as the view from this win-
dow on a dreary day, is there? Why ain't you singing
this morning, Ruth? Sing that "No Ways Tired." That
song always lifts me up so (She turns at last to see
that RUTH has slipped quietly to the floor, in a state of
semiconsciousness) Ruth! Ruth honey what's the mat-
ter with you . . . Ruth!
Curtain
SCENE Two
It is the following morning; a Saturday morning, and
house cleaning is in progress at the YOUNGERS. Furniture
has been shoved hither and yon and MAMA is giving the
kitchen-area walls a washing down. BENEATHA, in dun-
garees, with a handkerchief tied around her face, is
spraying insecticide into the cracks in the walls. As they
work, the radio is on and a Southside disk-jockey pro-
gram is inappropriately filling the house with a rather
exotic saxophone blues. TRAVIS, the sole idle one, is lean-
ing on his arms, looking out of the window.
TRAVIS Grandmama, that stuff Bennie is using smells
awful. Can I go downstairs, please?
MAMA Did you get all them chores done already? I ain't
seen you doing much.
TRAVIS Yes'm finished early. Where did Mama go this
morning?
MAMA (Looking at BENEATHA) She had to go on a little
errand.
(The phone rings. BENEATHA runs to answer it and
reaches it before WALTER, who has entered from
bedroom)
TRAVIS Where?
MAMA To tend to her business.
BENEATHA Haylo . . . (Disappointed) Yes, he is. (She
tosses the phone to WALTER, who barely catches it) It's
Willie Harris again.
WALTER (As privately as possible under MAMA'S gaze)
Hello, Willie. Did you get the papers from the lawyer?
54
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 55
. . . No, not yet. I told you the mailman doesn't get here
till ten-thirty . . . No, I'll come there . . . Yeah! Right
away. (He hangs up and goes for his coat)
BENEATHA Brother, where did Ruth go?
WALTER (As he exits) How should I know!
TRAVIS Aw come on, Grandma. Can I go outside?
MAMA Oh, I guess so. You stay right in front of the
house, though, and keep a good lookout for the post-
man.
TRAVIS Yes'm. (He darts into bedroom for stickball and
bat, reenters, and sees BENEATHA on her knees spraying
under sofa with behind upraised. He edges closer to the
target, takes aim, and lets her have it. She screams)
Leave them poor little cockroaches alone, they ain't
bothering you none! (He runs as she swings the spray-
gun at h ; m viciously and playfully) Grandma! Grandma!
MAMA Look out there, girl, before you be spilling some
of that stuff on that child!
TRAVIS (Safely behind the bastion of MAMA) That's
right look out, now! (He exits)
BENEATHA (Drily) I can't imagine that it would hurt him
it has never hurt the roaches.
MAMA Well, little boys' hides ain't as tough as Southside
roaches. You better get over there behind the bureau. I
seen one marching out of there like Napoleon yesterday.
BENEATHA There's really only one way to get rid of
them, Mama
MAMA HOW?
BENEATHA Set fire to this building! Mama, where did
Ruth go?
56 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA (Looking at her with meaning) To the doctor, I
think.
BENEATHA The doctor? What's the matter? (They ex-
change glances) You don't think
MAMA (With her sense of drama) Now I ain't saying
what I think. But I ain't never been wrong 'bout a
woman neither.
(The phone rings')
BENEATHA (At the phone) Hay-lo . . . (Pause, and a
moment of recognition) Well when did you get back!
. . . And how was it? ... Of course I've missed you
in my way . . . This morning? No . . . house cleaning
and all that and Mama hates it if I let people come
over when the house is like this . . . You have? Well,
that's different . . . What is it Oh, what the hell,
come on over . . . Right, see you then. Arrividerci.
(She hangs up)
MAMA (Who has listened vigorously, as is her habit)
Who is that you inviting over here with this house
looking like this? You ain't got the pride you was born
with!
BENEATHA Asagai doesn't care how houses look, Mama
he's an intellectual.
MAMA Who?
BENEATHA Asagai Joseph Asagai. He's an African boy
I met on campus. He's been studying in Canada all
summer.
MAMA What's his name?
BENEATHA Asagai, Joseph. Ah-sah-guy . . . He's from
Nigeria.
MAMA Oh, that's the little country that was founded by
slaves way back . , .
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 57
BENEATHA No, Mama that* s Liberia.
MAMA I don't think I never met no African before.
BENEATHA Well, do me a favor and don't ask him a
whole lot of ignorant questions about Africans. I mean,
do they wear clothes and all that
MAMA Well, now, I guess if you think we so ignorant
'round here maybe you shouldn't bring your friends
here
BENEATHA It's just that people ask such crazy things.
All anyone seems to know about when it comes to
Africa is Tarzan
MAMA (Indignantly) Why should I know anything about
Africa?
BENEATHA Why do you give money at church for the
missionary work?
MAMA Well, that's to help save people.
BENEATHA You mean save them from heathenism
MAMA (Innocently) Yes.
BENEATHA I'm afraid they need more salvation from the
British and the French.
(RUTH comes in forlornly and pulls off her coat
with dejection. They both turn to look at her)
RUTH (Dispiritedly) Well, I guess from all the happy
f aces everybody knows.
BENEATHA You pregnant?
MAMA Lord have mercy, I sure hope it's a little old girl.
Travis ought to have a sister.
(BENEATHA and RUTH give her a hopeless look for
this grandmotherly enthusiasm)
58 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
BENEATHA How far along are you?
RUTH Two months.
BENEATHA Did you mean to? I mean did you plan it or
was it an accident?
MAMA What do you know about planning or not plan-
ning?
BENEATHA Oh, Mama.
RUTH ( Wearily) She's twenty years old, Lena.
BENEATHA Did you plan it, Ruth?
RUTH Mind your own business.
BENEATHA It is my business where is he going to live,
on the roof? (There is silence following the remark as
the three women react to the sense of it) Gee I
didn't mean that, Ruth, honest. Gee, I don't feel like
that at all. I I think it is wonderful.
RUTH (Dully) Wonderful.
BENEATHA Yes really.
MAMA (Looking at RUTH, worried) Doctor say every-
thing going to be all right?
RUTH (Far away) Yes she says everything is going to
be fine . . .
MAMA (Immediately suspicious) "She" What doctor
you went to?
(RUTH folds over, near hysteria)
MAMA (Worriedly hovering over RUTH) Ruth honey
what's the matter with you you sick?
(RUTH has her fists clenched on her thighs and is
fighting hard to suppress a scream that seems to
be rising in her)
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 59
BENEATHA What's the matter with her, Mama?
MAMA (Working her fingers in RUTH'S shoulders to relax
her) She be all right. Women gets right depressed
sometimes when they get her way. (Speaking softly,
expertly, rapidly) Now you just relax. That's right . . .
just lean back, don't think 'bout nothing at all ...
nothing at all
RUTH I'm all right . . .
(The glassy-eyed look melts and then she col-
lapses into a fit of heavy sobbing. The bell rings)
BENEATHA Oh, my God that must be Asagai.
MAMA (To RUTH) Come on now, honey. You need to
lie down and rest awhile . . . then have some nice hot
food.
(They exit, RUTH'S weight on her mother-in-law.
BENEATHA, herself profoundly disturbed, opens
the door to admit a rather dramatic-looking young
man with a large package)
ASAGAI Hello, Alaiyo
BENEATHA (Holding the door open and regarding him
with pleasure) Hello . . . (Long pause) Well come
in. And please excuse everything. My mother was very
upset about my letting anyone come here with the
place like this.
ASAGAI' (Coming into the room) You look disturbed
too ... Is something wrong?
BENEATHA (Still at the door, absently) Yes . . . we've
all got acute ghetto-itus. (She smiles and comes toward
him, finding a cigarette and sitting) So sit down!
No! Wait! (She whips the spray gun off sofa where she
had left it and puts the cushions back. At last perches
on arm of sofa. He sits) So, how was Canada?
60 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
ASAGAI (A sophisticate} Canadian.
BENEATHA (Looking at him) Asagai, I'm very glad you
are back.
ASAGAI (Looking back at her in turn) Are you really?
BENEATHA Yes very.
ASAGAI Why? you were quite glad when I went .away.
What happened?
BENEATHA You went away.
ASAGAI Ahhhhhhhh.
BENEATHA Before you wanted to be so serious before
there was time.
ASAGAI How much time must there be before one knows
what one feels?
BENEATHA (Stalling this particular conversation. Her hands
pressed together, in a deliberately childish gesture)
What did you bring me?
ASAGAI (Handing her the package) Open it and see.
BENEATHA (Eagerly opening the package and drawing
out some records and the colorful robes of a Nigerian
woman) Oh, Asagai! . . . You got them for me! . . .
How beautiful . . . and the records too! (She lifts out
the robes and runs to the mirror with them and holds
the drapery up in front of herself)
ASAGAI (Coming to her at the mirror) I shall have to
teach you how to drape it properly. (He flings the
material about her for the moment and stands back to
look at her) Ah Oh-pay-gay~day, oh-gbah-mu-shay.
(A Yoruba exclamation for admiration) You wear it
well . . . very well . . . mutilated hair and all.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 61
BENEATHA (Turning suddenly) My hair what's wrong
with my hair?
ASAGAI (Shrugging) Were you born with it like that?
BENEATHA (Reaching up to touch it) No ... of course
not.
(She looks back to the mirror, disturbed)
(Smiling) How then?
BENEATHA You know perfectly well how ... as crinkly
as yours . . . that's how.
ASAGAI And it is ugly to you that way?
BENEATHA (Quickly) Oh, no not ugly . . . (More
slowly, apologetically) But it's so hard to manage
when it's, well raw.
ASAGAI And so to accommodate that you mutilate it
every week?
BENEATHA It's not mutilation!
ASAGAI (Laughing aloud at her seriousness) Oh ...
please! I am only teasing you because you are so very
serious about these things. (He stands back from her
and folds his arms across his chest as he watches her
pulling at her hair and frowning in the minor) Do you
remember the first time you met me at school? . . . (He
laughs) You came up to .me and you said and I
thought you were the most serious little thing I had
ever seen you said: (He imitates her) "Mr. Asagai I
want very much to talk with you. About Africa. You
see, Mr. Asagai, I am looking for my identity! 9 '
(He laughs)
BENEATHA (Turning to him, not laughing) Yes
(Her face is quizzical, profoundly disturbed)
62 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
ASAGAI (Still teasing and reaching out and taking her face
in his hands and turning her profile to him) Well . . .
it is true that this is not so much a profile of a Holly-
wood queen as perhaps a queen of the Nile (A mock
dismissal of the importance of the question) But what
does it matter? Assimilationism is so popular in your
country.
BENEATHA (Wheeling, passionately, sharply) I am not
an assimilationist!
ASAGAI (The protest hangs in the room for a moment and
ASAGAI studies her, his laughter fading) Such a seri-
ous one, (There is a pause) So you like the robes?
You must take excellent care of them they are from
my sister's personal wardrobe.
BENEATHA (With incredulity) You you sent all the
way home for me?
ASAGAI (With charm) For you I would do much more
. . . Well, that is what I came for. I must go.
BENEATHA Will you call me Monday?
ASAGAI Yes . . . We have a great deal to talk about. I
mean about identity and time and all that.
BENEATHA Time?
ASAGAI Yes. About how much time one needs to know
what one feels.
BENEATHA You see! You never understood that there is
more than one kind of feeling which can exist between
a man and a woman or, at least, there should be.
ASAGAI (Shaking his head negatively but gently) No.
Between a man and a woman there need be only one
kind of feeling. I have that for you . . . Now even . . .
right this moment ...
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 63
BENEATHA I know and by itself it won't do. I can
find that anywhere.
ASAGAI For a woman it should be enough.
BENEATHA I know because that's what it says in all the
novels that men write. But it isn't. Go ahead and
laugh but I'm not interested in being someone's little
episode in America or (With feminine vengeance)
one of them! (ASAGAI has burst into laughter again)
That's funny as hell, huh!
ASAGAI It's just that every American girl I have known
has said that to me. White black in this you are all
the same. And the same speech, too!
BENEATHA (Angrily) Yuk, yuk, yuk!
ASAGAI It's how you can be sure that the world's most
liberated women are not liberated at all. You all talk
about it too much!
(MAMA enters and is immediately all social charm
because of the presence of a guest)
BENEATHA Oh Mama this is Mr. Asagai.
MAMA How do you do?
ASAGAI (Total politeness to an elder) How do you do,
Mrs. Younger. Please forgive me for coming at such
an outrageous hour on a Saturday.
MAMA Well, you are quite welcome. I just hope you
understand that our house don't always look like this.
(Chatterish) You must come again. I would love to
here all about (Not sure of the name) your country.
I think it's so sad the way our American Negroes don't
know nothing about Africa 'cept Tarzan and all that.
And all that money they pour into these churches when
they ought to be helping you people over there drive out
64 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
them French and Englishmen done taken away your
land.
(The mother flashes a slightly superior look at
her daughter upon completion of the recitation)
ASAGAI (Taken aback by this sudden and acutely unre-
lated expression of sympathy) Yes ... yes ...
MAMA (Smiling at him suddenly and relaxing and look-
ing him over) How many miles is it from here to
where you come from?
ASAGAI Many thousands.
MAMA (Looking at him as she would WALTER) I bet
you don't half look after yourself, being away from
your mama either. I spec you better come 'round here
from time to time to get yourself some decent home-
cooked meals . . .
ASAGAI (Moved) Thank you. Thank you very much.
(They are all quiet, then ) Well ... I must go. I
will call you Monday, Alaiyo.
MAMA What's that he call you?
ASAGAI Oh "Alaiyo." I hope you don't mind. It is
what you would call a nickname, I think. It is a Yoruba
word. I am a Yoruba.
MAMA (Looking at BENEATHA) I I thought he was
from (Uncertain)
ASAGAI (Understanding) Nigeria is my country. Yoruba
is my tribal origin
BENEATHA You didn't tell us what Alaiyo means . . .
for all I know, you might be calling me Little Idiot or
something . . .
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 65
ASAGAI Well . . . let me see ... I do not know how
just to explain it ... The sense of a thing can be so
different when it changes languages.
BENEATHA You're evading.
ASAGAI No really it is difficult . . . (Thinking) It means
... it means One for Whom Bread Food Is Not
Enough. {He looks at her) Is that all right?
BENEATHA ( Understanding, softly) Thank you.
MAMA (Looking from one to the other and not under-
standing any of it) Well , . . that's nice . . . You must
come see us again Mr.
ASAGAI Ah-sah-guy * * .
MAMA Yes . . . Do come again.
ASAGAI Good-bye,
(He exits)
MAMA (After him) Lord, that's a pretty thing just went
out here! (Insinuatingly, to her daughter) Yes, I guess
I see why we done commence to get so interested in
Africa 'round here. Missionaries my aunt Jenny!
(She exits)
BENEATHA Oh, Mama! . . .
(She picks up the Nigerian dress and holds it up
to her in front of the mirror again. She sets the
headdress on haphazardly and then notices her
hair again and clutches at it and then replaces the
headdress and frowns at herself. Then she starts
to wriggle in front of the mirror as she thinks a
Nigerian woman might. TRAVIS enters and stands
regarding her)
TRAVIS What's the matter, girl, you cracking up?
66 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
BENEATHA Shut Up.
(She pulls the headdress off and looks at herself
in the mirror and clutches at her hair again and
squinches her eyes as if trying to imagine some-
thing. Then, suddenly, she gets her raincoat and
kerchief and hurriedly prepares for going out)
MAMA (Coming back into the room) She's resting now.
Travis, baby, run next door and ask Miss Johnson to
please let me have a little kitchen cleanser. This here
can is empty as Jacob's kettle.
TRAVIS I just came in.
MAMA Do as you told. (He exits and she looks at her
daughter) Where you going?
BENEATHA (Halting at the door) To become a queen of
the Nile!
(She exits in a breathless blaze of glory. RUTH ap-
pears in the bedroom doorway)
MAMA Who told you to get up?
RUTH Ain't nothing wrong with me to be lying in no
bed for. Where did Bennie go?
MAMA (Drumming her fingers) Far as I could make
out to Egypt. (RUTH just looks at her) What time is
it getting to?
RUTH Ten twenty. And the mailman going to ring that
bell this morning just like he done every morning for
the last umpteen years.
(TRAVIS comes in with the cleanser can)
TRAVIS She say to tell you that she don't have much.
MAMA (Angrily) Lord, some people I could name sure
is tight-fisted! (Directing her grandson) Mark two cans
of cleanser down on the list there. If she that hard up
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 67
for kitchen cleanser, I sure don't want to forget to get
her none!
RUTH Lena maybe the woman is just short on cleans-
er
MAMA (Not listening) Much baking powder as she
done borrowed from me all these years, she could of
done gone into the baking business!
(The bell sounds suddenly and sharply and all
three are stunned serious and silent mid-speech.
In spite of all the other conversations and dis-
tractions of the morning, this is what they have
been waiting for, even TRAVIS, who looks help-
lessly from his mother to his grandmother. RUTH
is the first to come to life again)
RUTH (To TRAVIS) Get down them steps, boy!
(TRAVIS snaps to life and flies out to get the mail)
MAMA (Her eyes wide, her hand to her breast) You
mean it done really come?
RUTH (Excited) Oh, Miss Lena!
MAMA (Collecting herself) Well ... I don't know what
we all so excited about 'round here for. We known it
was coming for months.
RUTH That's a whole lot different from having it come
and being able to hold it in your hands ... a piece of
paper worth ten thousand dollars . . . (TRAVIS bursts
back into the room. He holds the envelope high above
his head, like a little dancer, his face is radiant and he
is breathless. He moves to his grandmother with sud-
den slow ceremony and puts the envelope into her
hands. She accepts it, and then merely holds it and
looks at it) Come on! Open it ... Lord have mercy,
I wish Walter Lee was here!
TRAVIS Open it, Grandmama!
68 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA (Staring at it) Now you all be quiet. It's just a
check.
RUTH Open it ...
MAMA (Still staring at it) Now don't act silly ... We
ain't never been no people to act silly 'bout no money
RUTH (Swiftly) We ain't never had none before OPEN
IT!
(MAMA finally makes a good strong tear and pulls
out the thin blue slice of paper and inspects it
closely. The boy and his mother study it raptly
over MAMA'S shoulders)
MAMA Travis! (She is counting off with doubt) Is that
the right number of zeros.
TRAVIS Yes'm . . . ten thousand dollars. Gaalee, Grand-
mama, you rich.
MAMA (She holds the check away from her, still looking
at it. Slowly her face sobers into a mask of unhappi-
ness) Ten thousand dollars. (She hands it to RUTH)
Put it away somewhere, Ruth. (She does not look at
RUTH; her eyes seem to be seeing something some-
where very far off) Ten thousand dollars they give
you. Ten thousand dollars,
TRAVIS (To his mother, sincerely) What's the matter
with Grandmama don't she want to be rich?
RUTH (Distractedly) You go on out and play now,
baby. (TRAVIS exits. MAMA starts wiping dishes absent-
ly, humming intently to herself. RUTH turns to her, with
kind exasperation) You've gone and got yourself upset.
MAMA (Not looking at her) I spec if it wasn't for you
all ... I would just put that money away or give it to
the church or something.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 69
RUTH Now what kind of talk is that. Mr. Younger
would just be plain mad if he could hear you talking
foolish like that.
MAMA (Stopping and staring off) Yes . . . he sure
would. (Sighing) We got enough to do with that
money, all right. (She halts then, and turns and looks
at her daughter-in-law hard; RUTH avoids her eyes and
MAMA wipes her hands with finality and starts to speak
firmly to RUTH) Where did you go today, girl?
RUTH To the doctor.
MAMA (Impatiently) Now, Ruth , . . you know better
than that. Old Doctor Jones is strange enough in his
way but there ain't nothing 'bout him make somebody
slip and call him "she" like you done this morning.
RUTH Well, that's what happened my tongue slipped.
MAMA You went to see that woman, didn't you?
RUTH (Defensively, giving herself away) What woman
you talking about?
MAMA (Angrily ) That woman who
(WALTER enters in great excitement)
WALTER Did it come?
MAMA (Quietly) Can't you give people a Christian
greeting before you start asking about money?
WALTER (To RUTH) Did it come? (RUTH unfolds the
check and lays it quietly before him, watching him in-
tently with thoughts of her own. WALTER sits down
and grasps it close and counts off the zeros) Ten thou-
sand dollars (He turns suddenly, frantically to his
mother and draws some papers out of his breast pock-
et) Mama look. Old Willy Harris put everything on
paper
70 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA Son I think you ought to talk to your wife . . .
I'll go on out and leave you alone if you want
WALTER I can talk to her later Mama, look
MAMA Son
WALTER WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE LISTEN TO
ME TODAY!
MAMA (Quietly) I don't 'low no yellin' in this house,
Walter Lee, and you know it (WALTER stares at them
in frustration and starts to speak several times) And
there ain't going to be no investing in no liquor stores.
WALTER But, Mama, you ain't even looked at it.
MAMA I don't aim to have to speak on that again.
(A long pause)
WALTER You ain't looked at it and you don't aim to have
to speak on that again? You ain't even looked at it and
you have decided (Crumpling his papers) Well, you
tell that to my boy tonight when you put him to sleep
on the living-room couch . . . (Turning to MAMA and
speaking directly to her) Yeah and tell it to my wife,
Mama, tomorrow when she has to go out of here to
look after somebody else's kids. And tell it to me,
Mama, every time we need a new pair of curtains and I
have to watch you go out and work in somebody's
kitchen. Yeah, you tell me then!
(WALTER starts out)
RUTH Where you going?
WALTER I'm going out!
RUTH Where?
WALTER Just out of this house somewhere
RUTH (Getting her coat) I'll come too.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 71
WALTER I don't want you to come!
RUTH I got something to talk to you about, Walter.
WALTER That's too bad.
MAMA (Still quietly) Walter Lee (She waits and he
finally turns and looks at her) Sit down.
WALTER I'm a grown man, Mama.
MAMA Ain't nobody said you wasn't grown. But you
still in my house and my presence. And as long as you
are you'll talk to your wife civil. Now sit down.
RUTH (Suddenly) Oh, let him go on out and drink him-
self to death! He makes me sick to my stomach! (She
flings her coat against him and exits to bedroom)
WALTER (Violently flinging the coat after her) And you
turn mine too, baby! (The door slams behind her) That
was my biggest mistake
MAMA (Still quietly) Walter, what is the matter with
you?
WALTER Matter with me? Ain't nothing the matter with
me!
MAMA Yes there is. Something eating you up like a
crazy man. Something more than me not giving you
this money. The past few years I been watching it
happen to you. You get all nervous acting and kind
of wild in the eyes (WALTER jumps up impatiently
at her words) I said sit there now, I'm talking to you!
WALTER Mama I don't need no nagging at me today.
MAMA Seem like you getting to a place where you al-
ways tied up in some kind of knot about something.
But if anybody ask you 'bout it you just yell at 'em
and bust out the house and go out and drink some-
wheres. Walter Lee, people can't live with that. Ruth's
72 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
a good, patient girl in her way but you getting to be
too much. Boy, don't make the mistake of driving that
girl away from you.
WALTER Why what she do for me?
MAMA She loves you.
WALTER Mama I'm going out. I want to go off some-
where and be by myself for a while.
MAMA I'm sorry 'bout your liquor store, son. It just
wasn't the thing for us to do. That's what I want to
tell you about
WALTER I got to go out, Mama
{He rises)
MAMA It's dangerous, son.
WALTER What's dangerous?
MAMA When a man goes outside his home to look for
peace.
WALTER (Beseechingly) Then why can't there never be
no peace in this house then?
MAMA You done found it in some other house?
WALTER No there ain't no woman! Why do women
always think there's a woman somewhere when a man
gets restless. (Picks up the check) Do you know what
this money means to me? Do you know what this money
can do for us? (Puts it back) Mama Mama I want
so many things
MAMA Yes, son
WALTER I want so many things that they are driving me
kind of crazy . . . Mama look at me.
MAMA I'm looking at you. You 1 a good-looking boy.
You got a job, a nice wife, a fine boy and
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 73
WALTER A job. (Looks at her) Mama, a job? I open
and close car doors all day long. I drive a man around
in his limousine and I say, "Yes, sir; no, sir; very
good, sir; shall I take the Drive, sir?" Mama, that ain't
no kind of job . . . that ain't nothing at all. (Very
quietly) Mama, I don't know if I can make you under-
stand.
MAMA Understand what, baby?
WALTER (Quietly) Sometimes it's like I can see the fu-
ture stretched out in front of me just plain as day.
The future, Mama. Hanging over there at the edge of
my days. Just waiting for me a big, looming blank
space full of nothing. Just waiting for me. But it don't
have to be. (Pause. Kneeling beside her chair) Mama
sometimes when I'm downtown and I pass them cool,
quiet-looking restaurants where them white boys are
sitting back and talking 'bout things . . . sitting there
turning deals worth millions of dollars . . . sometimes I
see guys don't look much older than me
MAMA Son how come you talk so much *bout money?
WALTER (With immense passion) Because it is life,
Mama!
MAMA (Quietly) Oh (Very quietly) So now it's life.
Money is life. Once upon a time freedom used to be
life now it's money. I guess the world really do
change . . .
WALTER No it was always money, Mama. We just
didn't know about it.
MAMA No ... something has changed. (She looks at
him) You something new, boy. In my time we was
worried about not being lynched and getting to the
North if we could and how to stay alive and still have
a pinch of dignity too . . . Now here come you and
74 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
Beneatha talking 'bout things we ain't never even
thought about hardly, me and your daddy. You ain't
satisfied or proud of nothing we done. I mean that you
had a home; that we kept you out of trouble till you
was grown; that you don't have to ride to work on the
back of nobody's streetcar You my children but
how different we done become.
WALTER (A long beat. He pats her hand and gets up)
You just don't understand, Mama, you just don't under-
stand.
MAMA Son do you know your wife is expecting an-
other baby? (WALTER stands, stunned, and absorbs
what his mother has said) That's what she wanted to
talk to you about. (WALTER sinks down into a chair)
This ain't for me to be telling but you ought to know.
(She waits) I think Ruth is thinking 'bout getting rid
of that child.
WALTER (Slowly understanding) No no Ruth
wouldn't do that.
MAMA When the world gets ugly enough a woman
will do anything for her family. The part thafs already
living.
WALTER You don't know Ruth, Mama, if you think she
would do that,
(RUTH opens the bedroom door and stands there
a little limp)
RUTH (Beaten) Yes I would too, Walter. (Pause) I
gave her a five-dollar down payment.
(There is total silence as the man stares at his
wife and the mother stares at her son)
MAMA (Presently) Well (Tightly) Well son, I'm
waiting to hear you say something . . . (She waits) I'm
waiting to hear how you be your father's son. Be the
man he was . . . (Pause. The silence shouts) Your wife
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 75
say she going to destroy your child. And I'm waiting to
hear you talk like him and say we a people who give
children life, not who destroys them (She rises) I'm
waiting to see you stand up and look like your daddy
and say we done give up one baby to poverty and that
we ain't going to give up nary another one . . . I'm
waiting.
WALTER Ruth (He can say nothing)
MAMA If you a son of mine, tell her! (WALTER picks up
his keys and his coat and walks out. She continues, bit-
terly) You . . . you are a disgrace to your father's
memory. Somebody get me my hat!
Curtain
ACT II
SCENE ONE
Time: Later the same day.
At rise: RUTH is ironing again. She has the radio going.
Presently BENEATHA'S bedroom door opens and RUTH'S
mouth falls and she puts down the iron in fascination.
RUTH What have we got on tonight!
BENEATHA (Emerging grandly from the doorway so that
we can see her thoroughly robed in the costume Asagai
brought) You are looking at what a well-dressed Ni-
gerian woman wears (She parades for RUTH, her hair
completely hidden by the headdress; she is coquettish-
ly fanning herself with an ornate oriental fan, mistak-
enly more like Butterfly than any Nigerian that ever
was) Isn't it beautiful? (She promenades to the radio
and, with an arrogant flourish, turns off the good loud
blues that is playing) Enough of this assimilationist
junk! (RUTH follows her with her eyes as she goes to
the phonograph and puts on a record and turns and
waits ceremoniously for the music to come up. Then,
with a shout ) OCOMOGOSIAY!
(RUTH jumps. The music comes up, a lovely Ni-
gerian melody. BENEATHA listens, enraptured, her
76
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 77
eyes jar away "back to the past." She begins to
dance. RUTH is dumfounded)
RUTH What kind of dance is that?
BENEATHA Afolkdance.
RUTH (Pearl Bailey) What kind of folks do that, honey?
BENEATHA It's from Nigeria. It's a dance of welcome.
RUTH Who you welcoming?
BENEATHA The men back to the village.
RUTH Where they been?
BENEATHA How should I know out hunting or some-
thing. Anyway, they are coming back now . . .
RUTH Well, that's good.
BENEATHA ( With the record)
Alundi, alundi
Alundialunya
Jop pu a jeepua
Ang gu soooooooooo
Aiyaiyae. . .
Ayehaye alundi
(WALTER comes in during this performance; he
has obviously been drinking. He leans against the
door heavily and watches his sister, at "first -with
distaste. Then his eyes look off "back to the
past' as he lifts both his fists to the roof,
screaming)
WALTER YEAH ... AND ETHIOPIA STRETCH
FORTH HER HANDS AGAIN! . . .
RUTH (Drily, looking at him) Yes and Africa sure is
claiming her own tonight. (She gives them both up and
starts ironing again)
78 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
WALTER (All in a drunken, dramatic shout) Shut up!
. . . I'm digging them drums . . . them drums move me!
. . . (He makes his weaving way to his wife's face and
leans in close to her) In my heart of hearts (He
thumps his chest) I am much warrior!
RUTH (Without even looking up) In your heart of hearts
you are much drunkard.
WALTER (Coming away from her and starting to wander
around the room, shouting) Me and Jomo . . . (In-
tently, in his sister's face. She has stopped dancing to
watch him in this unknown mood) That's my man,
Kenyatta. (Shouting and thumping his chest) FLAM-
ING SPEAR! HOT DAMN! (He is suddenly in pos-
session of an imaginary spear and actively spearing
enemies all over the room) OCOMOGOSIAY . . .
BENEATHA (To encourage WALTER, thoroughly caught up
with this side of him ) OCOMOGOSIA Y, FLAMING
SPEAR!
WALTER THE LION IS WAKING . . . OWIMOWEH!
(He pulls his shirt open and leaps up on the table and
gestures with his spear)
BENEATHA OWIMOWEH!
WALTER (On the table, very far gone, his eyes pure glass
sheets. He sees what we cannot, that he is a leader of
his people, a great chief, a descendant of Chaka, and
that the hour to march has come) Listen, my black
brothers
BENEATHA OCOMOGOSIAY!
WALTER Do you hear the waters rushing against the
shores of the coastlands
BENEATHA OCOMOGOSIAY!
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 79
WALTER Do you hear the screeching of the cocks in
yonder hills beyond where the chiefs meet in council
for the coming of the mighty war
BENEATHA OCOMOGOSIAY!
(And now the lighting shifts subtly to suggest the
world of WALTER'S imagination, and the mood
shifts from pure comedy. It is the inner WALTER
speaking: the Southside chauffeur has assumed an
unexpected majesty )
WALTER Do you hear the beating of the wings of the
birds flying low over the mountains and the low places
of our land
BENEATHA OCOMOGOSIAY!
WALTER Do you hear the singing of the women, sing-
ing the war songs of our fathers to the babies in the
great houses? Singing the sweet war songs! (The door-
bell rings) OH, DO YOU HEAR, MY BLACK
BROTHERS!
BENEATHA (Completely gone) We hear you, Flaming
Spear
(RUTH shuts off the phonograph and opens the
door. GEORGE MURCHISON enters)
WALTER Telling us to prepare for the GREATNESS OF
THE TIME! (Lights back to normal. He turns and sees
GEORGE) Black Brother!
(He extends his hand for the fraternal clasp)
GEORGE Black Brother, hell !
RUTH (Having had enough, and embarrassed for the
family) Beneatha, you got company what's the matter
with you? Walter Lee Younger, get down off that table
and stop acting like a fool . . .
80 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
(WALTER comes down off the table suddenly and
makes a quick exit to the bathroom)
RUTH He's had a little to drink ... I don't know what
her excuse is.
GEORGE (To BENEATHA) Look honey, we're going to
the theatre we're not going to be in it ... so go
change, huh?
(BENEATHA looks at him and slowly, ceremoni-
ously, lifts her hands and pulls off the headdress.
Her hair is close-cropped and unstraightened.
GEORGE freezes mid-sentence and RUTH'S eyes all
but fall out of her head)
GEORGE What in the name of
RUTH (Touching BENEATHA'S hear) Girl, you done lost
your natural mind!? Look at your head!
GEORGE What have you done to your head I mean your
hair!
BENEATHA Nothing except cut it off.
RUTH Now that's the truth it's what ain't been done
to it! You expect this boy to go out with you with your
head all nappy like that?
BENEATHA (Looking at GEORGE) That' s up to George.
If he's ashamed of his heritage
GEORGE Oh, don't be so proud of yourself, Bennie just
because you look eccentric.
BENEATHA How can something that's natural be eccen-
tric?
GEORGE Thaf s what being eccentric means being nat-
ural. Get dressed.
BENEATHA I don't like that, George.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 81
RUTH Why must you and your brother make an argu-
ment out of everything people say?
BENEATHA Because I hate assimilationist Negroes!
RUTH Will somebody please tell me what assimila-who-
ever means!
GEORGE Oh, it's just a college girl's way of calling people
Uncle Toms but that isn't what it means at all.
RUTH Well, what does it mean?
BENEATHA (Cutting GEORGE off and staring at him as she
replies to RUTH) It means someone who is willing to
give up his own culture and submerge himself com-
pletely in the dominant, and in this case oppressive
culture!
GEORGE Oh, dear, dear, dear! Here we go! A lecture on
the African past! On our Great West African Heri-
tage! In one second we will hear all about the great
Ashanti empires; the great Songhay civilizations; and
the great sculpture of B6nin and then some poetry
in the Bantu and the whole monologue will end with
the word heritage! (Nastily') Let's face it, baby, your
heritage is nothing but a bunch of raggedy-assed spirit-
uals and some grass huts!
BENEATHA GRASS HUTS! (RUTH crosses to her and
forcibly pushes her toward the bedroom) See there . . .
you are standing there in your splendid ignorance talk-
ing about people who were the first to smelt iron on the
face of the earth! (RUTH is pushing her through the
door) The Ashanti were performing surgical opera-
tions when the English (RUTH pulls the door to, with
BENEATHA on the other side, and smiles graciously at
GEORGE. BENEATHA opens the door and shouts the end
of the sentence defiantly at GEORGE) were still tatoo-
ing themselves with blue dragons! (She goes back inside)
82 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
RUTH Have a seat, George (They both sit. RUTH folds
her hands rather primly on her lap, determined to
demonstrate the civilization of the family) Warm, ain't
it? I mean for September. (Pause) Just like they always
say about Chicago weather: If it's too hot or cold for
you, just wait a minute and it'll change. (She smiles
happily at this clich6 of cliches) Everybody say it's
got to do with them bombs and things they keep setting
off. (Pause) Would you like a nice cold beer?
GEORGE No, thank you. I don't care for beer. (He looks
at his watch) I hope she hurries up.
RUTH What time is the show?
GEORGE It's an eight-thirty curtain. That's just Chicago,
though. In New York standard curtain time is eight
forty.
(He is rather proud of this knowledge)
RUTH (Properly appreciating it) You get to New York
a lot?
GEORGE (Offhand) Few times a year.
RUTH Oh that's nice. I've never been to New York.
(WALTER enters. We feel he has relieved himself,
but the edge of unreality is still with him)
WALTER New York ain't got nothing Chicago ain't. Just
a bunch of hustling people all squeezed up together
being "Eastern."
(He turns his face into a screw of displeasure)
GEORGE Oh you've been?
WALTER Plenty of times.
RUTH (Shocked at the lie) Walter Lee Younger!
WALTER (Staring her down) Plenty! (Pause) What we
got to drink in this house? Why don't you offer this
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 83
man some refreshment. (To GEORGE) They don't know
how to entertain people in this house, man.
GEORGE Thank you I don't really care for anything.
WALTER (Feeling his head; sobriety coming) Where's
Mama?
RUTH She ain't come back yet.
WALTER (Looking MURCHISON over from head to toe,
scrutinizing his carefully casual tweed sports jacket over
cashmere V-neck sweater over soft eyelet shirt and tie,
and soft slacks, finished off with white buckskin shoes)
Why all you college boys wear them faggoty-looking
white shoes?
RUTH Walter Lee!
(GEORGE MURCHISON ignores the remark)
WALTER (To RUTH) Well, they look crazy as hell
white shoes, cold as it is.
RUTH (Crushed) You have to excuse him
WALTER No he don't! Excuse me for what? What you
always excusing me for! I'll excuse myself when I needs
to be excused! (A pause) They look as funny as them
black knee socks Beneatha wears out of here all the
time.
RUTH It's the college style, Walter.
WALTER Style, hell. She looks like she got burnt legs or
something!
RUTH Oh, Walter
WALTER (An irritable mimic) Oh, Walter! Oh, Walter!
(To MURCHISON) How's your old man making out? I
understand you all going to buy that big hotel on the
Drive? (He finds a beer in the refrigerator, wanders
over to MURCHISON, sipping and wiping his lips with
84 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
the back of his hand, and straddling a chair back-
wards to talk to the other man) Shrewd move. Your
old man is all right, man. (Tapping his head and half
winking for emphasis) I mean he knows how to oper-
ate. I mean he thinks big, you know what I mean, I
mean for a home, you know? But I think he's kind of
running out of ideas now. I'd like to talk to him. Lis-
ten, man, I got some plans that could turn this city
upside down. I mean think like he does. Big. Invest
big, gamble big, hell, lose big if you have to, you know
what I mean. It's hard to find a man on this whole
Southside who understands my kind of thinking you
dig? (He scrutinizes MURCfflsON again, drinks his beer,
squints his eyes and leans in close, confidential, man
to man) Me and you ought to sit down and talk some-
times, man. Man, I got me some ideas . . .
MURCHISON (With boredom) Yeah sometimes we'll
have to do that, Walter.
WALTER (Understanding the indifference, and offended)
Yeah well, when you get the time, man. I know you
a busy little boy.
RUTH Walter, please
WALTER (Bitterly, hurt) I know ain't nothing in this
world as busy as you colored college boys with your
fraternity pins and white shoes . . .
RUTH (Covering her -face with humiliation) Oh, Walter
Lee
WALTER I see you all all the time with the books
tucked under your arms going to your (British A a
mimic) "clahsses." And for what! What the hell you
learning over there? Filling up your heads (Count-
ing off on his fingers) with the sociology and the
psychology but they teaching you how to be a man?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 85
How to take over and run the world? They teaching
you how to run a rubber plantation or a steel mill?
Naw just to talk proper and read books and wear
them f aggoty-looking white shoes . . .
GEORGE (Looking at him with distaste, a little above it
all) You're all wacked up with bitterness, man.
WALTER (Intently, almost quietly, between the teeth,
glaring at the boy) And you ain't you bitter, man?
Ain't you just about had it yet? Don't you see no stars
gleaming that you can't reach out and grab? You
happy? You contented son-of-a-bitch you happy?
You got it made? Bitter? Man, I'm a volcano. Bitter?
Here I am a giant surrounded by ants! Ants who
can't even understand what it is the giant is talking
about.
RUTH (Passionately and suddenly) Oh, Walter ain't
you with nobody!
WALTER (Violently) No! 'Cause ain't nobody with me!
Not even my own mother!
RUTH Walter, that's a terrible thing to say!
(BENEATHA enters, dressed for the evening in a
cocktail dress and earrings, hair natural)
GEORGE Well hey (Crosses to BENEATHA; thoughtful,
with emphasis, since this is a reversal) You look great!
WALTER (Seeing his sister's hair for the first time) What's
the matter with your head?
BENEATHA (Tired of the jokes now) I cut it off, Brother.
WALTER (Coming close to inspect it and walking around
her) Well, Til be damned. So that's what they mean
by the African bush . . .
BENEATHA Ha ha. Let's go, George.
86 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
GEORGE (Looking at her} You know something? I like it.
It's sharp. I mean it really is. (Helps her into her wrap)
RUTH Yes I think so, too. (She goes to the mirror and
starts to clutch at her hair)
WALTER Oh no! You leave yours alone, baby. You might
turn out to have a pin-shaped head or something!
BENEATHA See you all later.
RUTH Have a nice time.
GEORGE Thanks. Good night. (Half out the door, he re-
opens it. To WALTER) Good night, Prometheus!
(BENEATHA and GEORGE exit)
WALTER (To RUTH) Who is Prometheus?
RUTH I don't know. Don't worry about it.
WALTER (In fury, pointing after GEORGE) See there
they get to a point where they can't insult you man to
man they got to go talk about something ain't nobody
never heard of!
RUTH How do you know it was an insult? (To humor
him) Maybe Prometheus is a nice fellow.
WALTER Prometheus! I bet there ain't even no such
thing! I bet that simple-minded clown
RUTH Walter
(She stops what she i"y doing and looks at him)
WALTER (Yelling) Don't start!
RUTH Start what?
WALTER Your nagging! Where was I? Who was I with?
How much money did I spend?
RUTH (Plaintively) Walter Lee why don't we just try
to talk about it ...
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 87
WALTER (Not listening) I been out talking with people
who understand me. People who care about the things
I got on my mind.
RUTH (Wearily) I guess that means people like Willy
Harris.
WALTER Yes, people like Willy Harris.
RUTH (With a sudden flash of impatience) Why don't
you all just hurry up and go into the banking business
and stop talking about it!
WALTER Why? You want to know why? 'Cause we all
tied up in a race of people that don't know how to do
nothing but moan, pray and have babies!
(The line is too bitter even for him and he looks
at her and sits down)
RUTH Oh, Walter . . . (Softly) Honey, why can't you
stop fighting me?
WALTER (Without thinking) Who's fighting you? Who
even cares about you?
(This line begins the retardation of his mood)
RUTH Well (She waits a long time, and then with res-
ignation starts to put away her things) I guess I might
as well go on to bed . . . (More or less to herself) I
don't know where we lost it ... but we have . . .
(Then, to him) I I'm sorry about this new baby,
Walter. I guess maybe I better go on and do what I
started ... I guess I just didn't realize how bad things
was with us ... I guess I just didn't really realize
(She starts out to the bedroom and stops) You want
some hot milk?
WALTER Hot milk?
RUTH Yes hot milk*
WALTER Why hot milk?
88 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
RUTH 'Cause after all that liquor you come home with
you ought to have something hot in your stomach.
WALTER I don't want no milk.
RUTH You want some coffee then?
WALTER No, I don't want no coffee. I don't want noth-
ing hot to drink. (Almost plaintively) Why you always
trying to give me something to eat?
RUTH (Standing and looking at him helplessly) What
else can I give you, Walter Lee Younger?
(She stands and looks at him and presently turns
to go out again. He lifts his head and watches her
going away from him in a new mood which began
to emerge when he asked her "Who cares about
your)
WALTER It's been rough, ain't it, baby? (She hears and
stops but does not turn around and he continues to her
back) I guess between two people there ain't never as
much understood as folks generally thinks there is. I
mean like between me and you (She turns to face
him) How we gets to the place where we scared to talk
softness to each other. (He waits, thinking hard him-
self) Why you think it got to be like that? (He is
thoughtful, almost as a child would be) Ruth, what
is it gets into people ought to be close?
RUTH I don't know, honey. I think about it a lot.
WALTER On account of you and me, you mean? The
way things are with us. The way something done come
down between us.
RUTH There ain't so much between us, Walter . . . Not
when you come to me and try to talk to me. Try to
be with me ... a little even.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 89
WALTER (Total honesty) Sometimes . . . sometimes . . .
I don't even know how to try.
RUTH Walter
WALTER Yes?
RUTH (Coming to him, gently and with misgiving, but
coming to him) Honey . . . lif e don't have to be like
this. I mean sometimes people can do things so that
things are better . . . You remember how we used to
talk when Travis was born . . . about the way we were
going to live . . . the kind of house . . . (She is strok-
ing his head) Well, it's all starting to slip away from
us ...
(He turns her to him and they look at each other
and kiss, tenderly and hungrily. The door opens
and MAMA enters WALTER breaks away and
jumps up. A beat)
WALTER Mama, where have you been?
MAMA My them steps is longer than they used to be.
Whew! (She sits down and ignores him) How you feel-
ing this evening, Ruth?
(RUTH shrugs, disturbed at having been interrupted
and watching her husband knowingly)
WALTER Mama, where have you been all day?
MAMA (Still ignoring him and leaning on the table and
changing to more comfortable shoes) Where's Travis?
RUTH I let him go out earlier and he ain't come back
yet. Boy, is he going to get it!
WALTER Mama!
MAMA (As if she has heard him for the first time) Yes,
son?
90 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
WALTER Where did you go this afternoon?
MAMA I went downtown to tend to some business that I
had to tend to.
WALTER What kind of business?
MAMA You know better than to question me like a child,
Brother.
WALTER (Rising and bending over the table) Where
were you, Mama? (Bringing his fists down and shout-
ing) Mama, you didn't go do something with that in-
surance money, something crazy?
(The front door opens slowly, interrupting him,
and TRAVIS peeks his head in, less than hopefully)
TRAVIS ( To his mother) Mama, I
RUTH "Mama I" nothing! You're going to get it, boy!
Get on in that bedroom and get yourself ready!
TRAVIS But I
MAMA Why don't you all never let the child explain
hisself.
RUTH Keep out of it now, Lena.
(MAMA clamps her lips together, and RUTH ad-
vances toward her son menacingly)
RUTH A thousand times I have told you not to go off
like that
MAMA (Holding out her arms to her grandson) Well
at least let me tell him something. I want him to be
the first one to hear . . . Come here, Travis. (The boy
obeys, gladly) Travis (She takes him by the shoulder
and looks into his face) you know that money we
got in the mail this morning?
TRAVIS Yes'm
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 91
MAMA Well what you think your grandmama gone and
done with that money?
TRAVIS I don't know, Grandmama.
MAMA (Putting her finger on his nose for emphasis) She
went out and she bought you a house! (The explosion
comes from WALTER at the end of the revelation and he
jumps up and turns away from all of them in a fury.
MAMA continues, to TRAVIS) You glad about the house?
It's going to be yours when you get to be a man.
TRAVIS Yeah I always wanted to live in a house.
MAMA All right, gimme some sugar then (TRAVIS puts
his arms around her neck as she watches her son over
the boy's shoulder. Then, to TRAVIS, after the embrace)
Now when you say your prayers tonight, you thank
God and your grandfather 'cause it was him who
give you the house in his way.
RUTH (Taking the boy -from MAMA and pushing him to-
ward the bedroom) Now you get out of here and get
ready for your beating.
TRAVIS Aw, Mama
RUTH Get on in there (Closing the door behind him
and turning radiantly to her mother-in-law) So you
went and did it!.
MAMA (Quietly, looking at her son with pain) Yes, I
did.
RUTH (Raising both arms classically) PRAISE GOD!
(Looks at WALTER a moment, -who says nothing. She
crosses rapidly to her husband) Please, honey let me
be glad . . . you be glad too. (She has laid her hands
on his shoulders, but he shakes himself free of her
roughly, without turning to face her) Oh, Walter . . .
92 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
a home . . . a home. (She comes back to MAMA) Well
where is it? How big is it? How much it going to
cost?
MAMA Well
RUTH When we moving?
MAMA (Smiling at her) First of the month.
RUTH (Throwing back her head with jubilance) Praise
God!
MAMA (Tentatively, still looking at her son's back turned
against her and RUTH) It's it's a nice house too ...
(She cannot help speaking directly to him. An im-
ploring quality in her voice, her manner, makes her
almost like a girl now) Three bedrooms nice big one
for you and Ruth. , . . Me and Beneatha still have to
share our room, but Travis have one of his own and
(With difficulty) I figure if the new baby is a boy,
we could get one of them double-decker outfits . . .
And there's a yard with a little patch of dirt where I
could maybe get to grow me a few flowers . . , And a
nice big basement . . .
RUTH Walter honey, be glad
MAMA (Still to his back, fingering things on the table)
'Course I don't want to make it sound fancier than it
is ... It's just a plain little old house but it's made
good and solid and it will be ours. Walter Lee it
makes a difference in a man when he can walk on
floors that belong to him . . .
RUTH Where is it?
MAMA (Frightened at this telling) Well well it's out
there in Clybourne Park
(RUTH'S radiance jades abruptly, and WALTER
finally turns slowly to face his mother with incre-
dulity and hostility)
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 93
RUTH Where?
MAMA (Matter-of-factly) Four o six Clybourne Street,
Clybourne Park.
RUTH Clybourne Park? Mama, there ain't no colored
people living in Clybourne Park.
MAMA (Almost idiotically) Well, I guess there's going
to be some now.
WALTER (Bitterly) So that's the peace and comfort you
went out and bought for us today!
MAMA (Raising her eyes to meet his finally) Son I
just tried to find the nicest place for the least amount
of money for my family.
RUTH (Trying to recover from the shock) Well well
'course I ain't one never been 'fraid of no crackers,
mind you but well, wasn't there no other houses
nowhere?
MAMA Them houses they put up for colored in them
areas way out all seem to cost twice as much as other
houses. I did the best I could.
RUTH (Struck senseless with the news, in its various de-
grees of goodness and trouble, she sits a moment,
her fists propping her chin in thought, and then she
starts to rise, bringing her fists down with vigor, the
radiance spreading from cheek to cheek again) Well
well! All I can say is if this is my time in life
MY TIME to say good-bye (And she builds with
momentum as she starts to circle the room with an
exuberant, almost tearfully happy release) to these
Goddamned cracking walls! (She pounds the walls)
and these marching roaches! (She wipes at an im-
aginary army of marching roaches) and this cramped
little closet which ain't now or never was no kitchen!
. . . then I say it loud and good, HALLELUJAH! AND
94 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
GOOD-BYE MISERY ... I DON'T NEVER WANT
TO SEE YOUR UGLY FACE AGAIN! (She laughs
joyously, having practically destroyed the apartment,
and flings her arms up and lets them come down happily,
slowly, reflectively, over her abdomen, aware for the
first time perhaps that the life therein pulses with hap-
piness and not despair) Lena?
MAMA (Moved, watching her happiness) Yes, honey?
RUTH (Looking off) Is there is there a whole lot of
sunlight?
MAMA (Understanding) Yes, child, there's a whole lot
of sunlight.
(Long pause)
RUTH (Collecting herself and going to the door of the
room TRAVIS is in) Well I guess I better see 'bout
Travis. (To MAMA) Lord, I sure don't feel like whip-
ping nobody today!
(She exits)
MAMA (The mother and son are left alone now and the
mother waits a long time, considering deeply, before
she speaks) Son you you understand what I done,
don't you? (WALTER is silent and sullen) I I just
seen my family falling apart today . . . just falling to
pieces in front of my eyes . . . We couldn't of gone on
like we was today. We was going backwards 'stead of
forwards talking 'bout killing babies and wishing each
other was dead . . . When it gets like that in life you
just got to do something different, push on out and do
something bigger . . . (She waits) I wish you say some-
thing, son ... I wish you'd say how deep inside you
you think I done the right thing
WALTER (Crossing slowly to his bedroom door and finally
turning there and speaking measuredly) What you
need me to say you done right for? You the head of this
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 95
family. You run our lives like you want to. It was
your money and you did what you wanted with it. So
what you need for me to say it was all right for? (Bit-
terly, to hurt her as deeply as he knows is possible)
So you butchered up a dream of mine you who al-
ways talking 'bout your children's dreams . . .
MAMA Walter Lee
(He just closes the door behind him. MAMA sits
alone, thinking heavily)
Curtain
SCENE Two
Time: Friday night. A few weeks later.
At rise: Packing crates mark the intention of the family
to move. BENEATHA and GEORGE come in, presumably from
an evening out again.
GEORGE O.K. . . . O.K., whatever you say ... (They
both sit on the couch. He tries to kiss her. She moves
away) Look, we've had a nice evening; let's not spoil
it, huh? . . .
(He again turns her head and tries to nuzzle in and
she turns away from him, not with distaste but
with momentary lack of interest; in a mood to pur-
sue what they were talking about)
BENEATHA I'm trying to talk to you.
GEORGE We always talk.
BENEATHA Yes and I love to talk.
GEORGE (Exasperated; rising) I know it and I don't
mind it sometimes ... I want you to cut it out, see
The moody stuff, I mean. I don't like it. You're a nice-
looking girl ... all over. That's all you need, honey,
forget the atmosphere. Guys aren't going to go for the
atmosphere they're going to go for what they see.
Be glad for that. Drop the Garbo routine. It doesn't
go with you. As for myself, I want a nice (Groping)
simple (Thoughtfully) sophisticated girl . . . not a
poet O.K.?
(He starts to kiss her, she rebuffs him again and
he jumps up)
BENEATHA Why are you angry, George?
GEORGE Because this is stupid! I don't go out with you
to discuss the nature of "quiet desperation" or to hear
96
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 97
all about your thoughts because the world will go on
thinking what it thinks regardless
BENEATHA Then why read books? Why go to school?
GEORGE (With artificial patience, counting on his fingers)
It's simple. You read books to learn facts to get
grades to pass the course to get a degree. That's all
it has nothing to do with thoughts.
(A long pause)
BENEATHA I see. (He starts to sit) Good night, George.
(GEORGE looks at her a little oddly, and starts to
exit. He meets MAMA coming in)
GEORGE Oh hello, Mrs. Younger.
MAMA Hello, George, how you feeling?
GEORGE Fine fine, how are you?
MAMA Oh, a little tired. You know them steps can get
you after a day's work. You all have a nice time to-
night?
GEORGE Yes a fine time. A fine time.
MAMA Well, good night.
GEORGE Good night. (He exits. MAMA closes the door be-
hind her) Hello, honey. What you sitting like that for?
BENEATHA I'm just sitting.
MAMA Didn't you have a nice time?
BENEATHA No.
MAMA No? What's the matter?
BENEATHA Mama, George is a fool honest. (She rises)
MAMA (Hustling around unloading the packages she has
entered with. She stops) Is he, baby?
98 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
BENEATHA Yes.
(BENEATHA makes up TRAVIS' bed as she talks)
MAMA You sure?
BENEATHA Yes.
MAMA Well I guess you better not waste your time
with no fools.
(BENEATHA looks up at her mother, watching her
put groceries in the refrigerator. Finally she gath-
ers up her things and starts into the bedroom. At
the door she stops and looks back at her mother)
BENEATHA Mama
MAMA Yes, baby
BENEATHA Thank you.
MAMA For what?
BENEATHA For understanding me this time.
{She exits quickly and the mother stands, smiling
a little, looking at the place -where BENEATHA just
stood. RUTH enters)
RUTH Now don't you fool with any of this stuff, Lena
MAMA Oh, I just thought I'd sort a few things out. Is
Brother here?
RUTH Yes.
MAMA ( With concern ) Is he
RUTH (Reading her eyes) Yes.
(MAMA is silent and someone knocks on the door.
MAMA and RUTH exchange 'weary and knowing
glances and RUTH opens it to admit the neighbor,
MRS. JOHNSON,* who is a rather squeaky wide-
* This character and the scene of her visit were cut from the
original production and early editions of the play.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 99
eyed lady of no particular age, with a newspaper
under her arm)
MAMA (Changing her expression to acute delight and a
ringing cheerful greeting) Oh hello there, Johnson.
JOHNSON (This is a woman who decided long ago to be
enthusiastic about EVERYTHING in life and she is
inclined to wave her wrist vigorously at the height of her
exclamatory comments') Hello there, yourself! H'you
this evening, Ruth?
RUTH (Not much of a deceptive type) Fine, Mis* John-
son, h'you?
JOHNSON Fine. (Reaching out quickly, playfully, and
patting RUTH'S stomach") Ain't you starting to poke out
none yet! (She mugs with delight at the over-familiar
remark and her eyes dart around looking at the crates
and packing preparation; MAMA'S face is a cold sheet
of endurance) Oh, ain't we getting ready round here,
though! Yessir! Lookathere! I'm telling you the
Youngers is really getting ready to "move on up a little
higher!" Bless God!
MAMA (A little drily, doubting the total sincerity of the
Blesser) Bless God.
JOHNSON He's good, ain't He?
MAMA Oh yes, He's good.
JOHNSON I mean sometimes He works in mysterious
ways . . . but He works, don't He!
MAMA (The same) Yes, he does.
JOHNSON I'm just soooooo happy for y'all. And this
here child (About RUTH) looks like she could just
pop open with happiness, don't she. Where's all the rest
of the family?
100 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA Bonnie's gone to bed
JOHNSON Ain't no . . . (The implication is pregnancy)
sickness done hit you I hope . . . ?
MAMA No she just tired. She was out this evening.
JOHNSON (All is a coo, an emphatic coo) Aw ain't that
lovely. She still going out with the little Murchison boy?
MAMA (Drily) Ummmm huh.
JOHNSON That's lovely. You sure got lovely children,
Younger. Me and Isaiah talks all the time 'bout what
fine children you was blessed with. We sure do.
MAMA Ruth, give Mis' Johnson a piece of sweet potato
pie and some milk.
JOHNSON Oh honey, I can't stay hardly a minute I
just dropped in to see if there was anything I could do.
(Accepting the food easily) I guess y'all seen the news
what's all over the colored paper this week . . .
MAMA No didn't get mine yet this week.
JOHNSON (Lifting her head and blinking with the spirit of
catastrophe) You mean you ain't read 'bout them
colored people that was bombed out their place out
there?
(RUTH straightens with concern and takes the paper
and reads it. JOHNSON notices her and feeds com-
mentary)
JOHNSON Ain't it something how bad these here white
folks is getting here in Chicago! Lord, getting so you
think you right down in Mississippi! (With a tremendous
and rather insincere sense of melodrama) 'Course I
thinks it's wonderful how our folks keeps on pushing
out. You hear some of these Negroes round here talking
'bout how they don't go where they ain't wanted and all
that but not me, honey! (This is a lie) Wilhemenia
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 101
Othella Johnson goes anywhere, any time she feels like
it! (With head movement for emphasis) Yes I do! Why
if we left it up to these here crackers, the poor niggers
wouldn't have nothing (She clasps her hand over her
mouth) Oh, I always forgets you don't 'low that word
in your house.
MAMA (Quietly, looking at her) No I don't 'low it.
JOHNSON (Vigorously again) Me neither! I was just
telling Isaiah yesterday when he come using it in front of
me I said, "Isaiah, it's just like Mis' Younger says all
the time "
MAMA Don't you want some more pie?
JOHNSON No no thank you; this was lovely. I got to
get on over home and have my midnight coffee. I hear
some people say it don't let them sleep but I finds I can't
close my eyes rigjit lessen I done had that laaaast cup of
coffee . . . (She waits. A beat. Undaunted) My Good-
night coffee, I calls it!
MAMA (With much eye-rolling and communication be-
tween herself and RUTH) Ruth, why don't you give
Mis' Johnson some coffee.
(RUTH gives MAMA an unpleasant look for her
kindness)
JOHNSON (Accepting the coffee) Where's Brother to-
night?
MAMA He's lying down.
JOHNSON MMmmmmm, he sure gets his beauty rest,
don't he? Good-looking man. Sure is a good-looking
man! (Reaching out to pat RUTH'S stomach again) I
guess that's how come we keep on having babies around
here. (She winks at MAMA) One thing 'bout Brother,
he always know how to have a good time. And soooooo
ambitious! I bet it was his idea y'all moving out to
102 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
Clybourne Park. Lord I bet this time next month
y'alFs names will have been in the papers plenty
(Holding up her hands to mark off each word of the
headline she can see in front of her) "NEGROES IN-
VADE CLYBOURNE PARK BOMBED!"
MAMA (She and RUTH look at the woman in amazement)
We ain't exactly moving out there to get bombed.
JOHNSON Oh, honey you know I'm praying to God
every day that don't nothing like that happen! But you
have to think of life like it is and these here Chicago
peckerwoods is some baaaad peckerwoods.
MAMA (Wearily) We done thought about all that Mis'
Johnson.
(BENEATHA comes out of the bedroom in her robe
and passes through to the bathroom. MRS. JOHNSON
turns)
JOHNSON Hello there, Bennie !
BENEATHA (Crisply) Hello, Mrs. Johnson.
JOHNSON How is school?
BENEATHA (Crisply) Fine, thank you. (She goes out.)
JOHNSON (Insulted) Getting so she don't have much to
say to nobody.
MAMA The child was on her way to the bathroom.
JOHNSON I know but sometimes she act like ain't got
time to pass the time of day with nobody ain't been to
college. Oh I ain't criticizing her none. It's just you
know how some of our young people gets when they get
a little education. (MAMA and RUTH say nothing, just
look at her) Yes well. Well, I guess I better get on
home. (Unmoving) 'Course I can understand how she
must be proud and everything being the only one in
the family to make something of herself. I know just
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 103
being a chauffeur ain't never satisfied Brother none. He
shouldn't feel like that, though. Ain't nothing wrong
with being a chauffeur.
MAMA There's plenty wrong with it.
JOHNSON What?
MAMA Plenty. My husband always said being any kind of
a servant wasn't a fit thing for a man to have to be. He
always said a man's hands was made to make things, or
to turn the earth with not to drive nobody's car for
'em or (She looks at her own hands) carry they slop
jars. And my boy is just like him he wasn't meant to
wait on nobody.
JOHNSON (Rising, somewhat offended) Mmmmmmmmm
The Youngers is too much for me! (She looks around)
You sure one proud-acting bunch of colored folks. Well
I always thinks like Booker T. Washington said that
time "Education has spoiled many a good plow
hand"
MAMA Is that what old Booker T. said?
JOHNSON He sure did.
MAMA Well, it sounds just like him. The fool.
JOHNSON (Indignantly) Well he was one of our great
men.
MAMA Who said so?
JOHNSON (Nonplussed) You know, me and you ain't
never agreed about some things, Lena Younger. I guess
I better be going
RUTH (Quickly) Good night.
JOHNSON Good night. Oh (Thrusting it at her) You
can keep the paper! (With a trill) 'Night.
104 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA Good night, Mis' Johnson.
(MRS. JOHNSON exits)
RUTH If ignorance was gold * . ,
MAMA Shush. Don't talk about folks behind their backs.
RUTH You do.
MAMA I'm old and corrupted. (BENEATHA enters') You
was rude to Mis' Johnson, Beneatha, and I don't like
it at all.
BENEATHA (At her door) Mama, if there are two things
we, as a people, have got to overcome, one is the Klu
Klux Klan andtfie other is Mrs. Johnson. (She exits)
MAMA Smart aleck.
(The phone rings)
RUTH I'll get it.
MAMA Lord, ain't this a popular place tonight.
RUTH (At the phone) Hello Just a minute. (Goes to
door) Walter, it's Mrs. Arnold. (Waits. Goes back to
the phone. Tense) Hello. Yes, this is his wife speaking
. . . He's lying down now. Yes . . . well, he'll be in
tomorrow. He's been very sick. Yes I know we should
have called, but we were so sure he'd be able to come in
today. Yes yes, I'm very sorry. Yes . . . Thank you
very much. (She hangs up. WALTER is standing in the
doorway of the bedroom behind her) That was Mrs.
Arnold.
WALTER (Indifferently) Was it?
RUTH She said if you don't come in tomorrow that they
are getting a new man . .
WALTER Ain't that sad ain't that crying sad.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 105
RUTH She said Mr. Arnold has had to take a cab for
three days . . . Walter, you ain't been to work for three
days! (This is a revelation to her) Where you been,
Walter Lee Younger? (WALTER looks at her and starts
to laugh ) You're going to lose your job.
WALTER That's right . . . (He turns on the radio)
RUTH Oh, Walter, and with your mother working like
a dog every day
(A steamy, deep blues pours into the room)
WALTER That's sad too Everything is sad.
MAMA What you been doing for these three days, son?
WALTER Mama you don't know all the things a man
what got leisure can find to do in this city . . . What's
this Friday night? Well Wednesday I borrowed Willy
Harris* car and I went for a drive . . . just me and my-
self and I drove and drove . . . Way out . . . way past
South Chicago, and I parked the car and I sat and
looked at the steel mills all day long. I just sat in the
car and looked at them big black chimneys for hours.
Then I drove back and I went to the Green Hat.
(Pause) And Thursday Thursday I borrowed the car
again and I got in it and I pointed it the other way and
I drove the other way for hours way, way up to
Wisconsin, and I looked at the farms. I just drove and
looked at the farms. Then I drove back and I went to
the Green Hat. (Pause) And today today I didn't
get the car. Today I just walked. All over the South-
side. And I looked at the Negroes and they looked at
me and finally I just sat down on the curb at Thirty-
ninth and South Parkway and I just sat there and
watched the Negroes go by. And then I went to the
Green Hat. You all sad? You all depressed? And you
know where I am going right now
(RUTH goes out quietly)
106 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA Oh, Big Walter, is this the harvest of our days?
WALTER You know what I like about the Green Hat?
I like this little cat they got there who blows a sax . . .
He blows. He talks to me. He ain't but 'bout five feet
tall and he's got a conked head and his eyes is always
closed and he's all music
MAMA (Rising and getting some papers out of her hand-
bag) Walter
WALTER And there's this other guy who plays the piano
. . . and they got a sound. I mean they can work on
some music . . . They got the best little combo in the
world in the Green Hat . . . You can just sit there and
drink and listen to them three men play and you real-
ize that don't nothing matter worth a damn, but just
being there
MAMA I've helped do it to you, haven't I, son? Walter
I been wrong.
WALTER Naw you ain't never been wrong about noth-
ing, Mama.
MAMA Listen to me, now. I say I been wrong, son. That
I been doing to you what the rest of the world been
doing to you. (She turns off the radio) Walter (She
stops and he looks up slowly at her and she meets his
eyes pleadingly) What you ain't never understood is that
I ain't got nothing, don't own nothing, ain't never really
wanted nothing that wasn't for you. There ain't nothing
as precious to me . . . There ain't nothing worth holding
on to, money, dreams, nothing else if it means if it
means it's going to destroy my boy. (She takes an en-
velope out of her handbag and puts it in front of him
and he watches her without speaking or moving) I paid
the man thirty-five hundred dollars down on the house.
That leaves sixty-five hundred dollars. Monday morning
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 107
I want you to take this money and take three thousand
dollars and put it in a savings account for Beneatha's
medical schooling. The rest you put in a checking
account with your name on it. And from now on any
penny that come out of it or that go in it is for you
to look after. For you to decide. (She drops her hands
a little helplessly) It ain't much, but it's all I got in the
world and I'm putting it in your hands. I'm telling you
to be the head of this family from now on like you
supposed to be.
WALTER (Stares at the money) You trust me like that.
Mama?
MAMA I ain't never stop trusting you. Like I ain't never
stop loving you.
(She goes out, and WALTER sits looking at the
money on the table. Finally, in a decisive gesture,
he gets up, and, in mingled joy and desperation,
picks up the money. At the same moment, TRAVIS
enters for bed)
TRAVIS What's the matter, Daddy? You drunk?
WALTER (Sweetly, more sweetly than we have ever known
him) No, Daddy ain't drunk. Daddy ain't going to
never be drunk again
TRAVIS Well, good night, Daddy.
(The FATHER has come from behind the couch and
leans over, embracing his son)
WALTER Son, I feel like talking to you tonight.
TRAVIS About what?
WALTER Oh, about a lot of things. About you and what
kind of man you going to be when you grow up. ...
Son son, what do you want to be when you grow up?
108 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
TRAVIS A bus driver.
WALTER (Laughing a little) A what? Man, that ain't
nothing to want to be!
TRAVIS Why not?
WALTER 'Cause, man it ain't big enough you know
what I mean.
TRAVIS I don't know then. I can't make up my mind.
Sometimes Mama asks me that too. And sometimes
when I tell her I just want to be like you she says she
don't want me to be like that and sometimes she says
she does. . . .
WALTER (Gathering him up in his arms) You know
what, Travis? In seven years you going to be seventeen
years old. And things is going to be very different with
us in seven years, Travis. . . . One day when you are
seventeen I'll come home home from my office down-
town somewhere
TRAVIS You don't work in no office, Daddy.
WALTER No but after tonight. After what your daddy
gonna do tonight, there's going to be offices a whole
lot of offices. . . .
TRAVIS What you gonna do tonight, Daddy?
WALTER You wouldn't understand yet, son, but your
daddy's gonna make a transaction ... a business
transaction that's going to change our lives. . . . That's
how come one day when you 'bout seventeen years old
I'll come home and I'll be pretty tired, you know what
I mean, after a day of conferences and secretaries get-
ting things wrong the way they do ... 'cause an exec-
utive's life is hell, man (The more he talks the farther
away he gets) And I'll pull the car up on the driveway
. . . just a plain black Chrysler, I think, with white
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 109
walls no black tires. More elegant. Rich people
don't have to be flashy . . . though I'll have to get
something a little sportier for Ruth maybe a Cadillac
convertible to do her shopping in. ... And I'll come
tip the steps to the house and the gardener will be clip-
ping away at the hedges and he'll say, "Good evening,
Mr. Younger." And I'll say, "Hello, Jefferson, how are
you this evening?" And I'll go inside and Ruth will
come downstairs and meet me at the door and we'll kiss
each other and she'll take my arm and we'll go up to
your room to see you sitting on the floor with the cata-
logues of all the great schools in America around you.
. . . All the great schools in the world! And and I'll
say, all right son it's your seventeenth birthday, what
is it you've decided? . . . Just tell me where you want to
go to school and you'll go. Just tell me, what it is you
want to be and you'll be it. , - . Whatever you want
to be Yessir! (He holds his arms open for TRAVIS)
You just name it, son . . . (TRAVIS leaps into them) and
I hand you the world!
(WALTER'S voice has risen in pitch and hysterical
promise and on the last line he lifts TRAVIS high)
(Blackout)
SCENE THREE
Time: Saturday, moving day, one week later.
Before the curtain rises, RUTH'S voice, a strident, dra-
matic church alto, cuts through the silence.
It is, in the darkness, a triumphant surge, a penetrating
statement of expectation: "Oh, Lord, I don't feel no ways
tired! Children, oh, glory hallelujah! 9 '
As the curtain rises we see that RUTH is alone in the
living room, finishing up the family's packing. It is moving
day. She is nailing crates and tying cartons. BENEATHA
enters, carrying a guitar case, and watches her exuberant
sister-in-law.
RUTH Hey!
BENEATHA (Putting away the case) Hi.
RUTH (Pointing at a package) Honey look in that
package there and see what I found on sale this morning
at the South Center. (RUTH gets up and moves to the
package and draws out some curtains) Lookahere
hand-turned hems!
BENEATHA How do you know the window size out there?
RUTH (Who hadn't thought of that) Oh Well, they
bound to fit something in the whole house. Anyhow,
they was too good a bargain to pass up. (RUTH slaps
her head, suddenly remembering something) Oh, Ben-
nie I meant to put a special note on that carton over
there. That's your mama's good china and she wants
5 em to be very careful with it.
BENEATHA I'll do it
(BENEATHA finds a piece of paper and starts to
draw large letters on it)
110
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 111
RUTH You know what I'm going to do soon as I get in
that new house?
BENEATHA What?
RUTH Honey I'm going to run me a tub of water up to
here . . . (With her fingers practically up to her nos-
trils} And I'm going to get in it and I am going to
sit ... and sit ... and sit in that hot water and the
first person who knocks to tell me to hurry up and
come out
BENEATHA Gets shot at sunrise.
RUTH (Laughing happily) You said it, sister! (Noticing
how large BENEATHA is absent-mindedly making the
note) Honey, they ain't going to read that from no
airplane.
BENEATHA (Laughing herself) I guess I always think
things have more emphasis if they are big, somehow.
RUTH (Looking up at her and smiling) You and your
brother seem to have that as a philosophy of life. Lord,
that man done changed so 'round here. You know
you know what we did last night? Me and Walter Lee?
BENEATHA What?
RUTH (Smiling to herself) We went to the movies.
(Looking at BENEATHA to see if she understands) We
went to the movies. You know the last time me and
Walter went to the movies together?
BENEATHA No.
RUTH Me neither. That's how long it been. (Smiling
again) But we went last night. The picture wasn't much
good, but that didn't seem to matter. We went and
we held hands.
BENEATHA Oh, Lord!
112 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
RUTH We held hands and you know what?
BENEATHA What?
RUTH When we come out of the show it was late and
dark and all the stores and things was closed up ...
and it was kind of chilly and there wasn't many people
on the streets . . . and we was still holding hands, me
and Walter.
BENEATHA You're killing me.
(WALTER enters with a large package. His happi-
ness is deep in him; he cannot keep still with his
new-found exuberance. He is singing and wiggling
and snapping his fingers. He puts his package in
a corner and puts a phonograph record, which he
has brought in with him, on the record player. As
the music, soulful and sensuous, comes up he
dances over to RUTH and tries to get her to dance
with him. She gives in at last to his raunchiness and
in a fit of giggling allows herself to be drawn into
his mood. They dip and she melts into his arms in
a classic, body-melding "slow drag")
BENEATHA (Regarding them a long time as they dance,
then drawing in her breath for a deeply exaggerated
comment which she does not particularly mean) Talk
about oldddddddddd-fashioneddddddd Negroes!
WALTER (Stopping momentarily) What kind of Negroes?
(He says this in fun. He is not angry with her
today, nor with anyone. He starts to dance with
his wife again)
BENEATHA Old-fashioned.
WALTER (As he dances with RUTH) You know, when
these New Negroes have their convention (Pointing at
his sister) that is going to be the chairman of the
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 113
Committee on Unending Agitation. (He goes on danc-
ing, then stops) Race, race, race! . . , Girl, I do be-
lieve you are the first person in the history of the
entire human race to successfully brainwash yourself.
(BENEATHA breaks up and he goes on dancing. He
stops again, enjoying his tease) Damn, even the N
double A C P takes a holiday sometimes! (BENEATHA
and RUTH laugh. He dances with RUTH some more and
starts to laugh and stops and pantomimes someone over
an operating table) I can just see that chick someday
looking down at some poor cat on an operating table
and before she starts to slice him, she says . . . (Pulling
his sleeves back maliciously) "By the way, what are
your views on civil rights down there? . . ."
(He laughs at her again and starts to dance hap-
pily. The bell sounds)
BENEATHA Sticks and stones may break my bones but
. . . words will never hurt me!
(BENEATHA goes to the door and opens it as
WALTER and RUTH go on with the clowning. BE-
NEATHA is somewhat surprised to see a quiet-
looking middle-aged white man in a business suit
holding his hat and a briefcase in his hand and
consulting a small piece of paper)
MAN Uh how do you do, miss. I am looking for a
Mrs. (He looks at the slip of paper) Mrs. Lena
Younger? (He stops short, struck dumb at the sight of
the oblivious WALTER and RUTH)
BENEATHA (Smoothing her hair with slight embarrass-
ment) Oh yes, that's my mother. Excuse me (She
closes the door and turns to quiet the other two) Ruth!
Brother! (Enunciating precisely but soundlessly: "There's
a white man at the doorr They stop dancing, RUTH cuts
off the phonograph, BENEATHA opens the door. The
114 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
man casts a curious quick glance at all of them) Uh
come in please.
MAN {Coming in) Thank you.
BENEATHA My mother isn't here just now. Is it business?
MAN Yes . . . well, of a sort.
WALTER (Freely, the Man of the House) Have a seat.
I'm Mrs. Younger's son. I look after most of her busi-
ness matters.
(RUTH and BENEATHA exchange amused glances)
MAN (Regarding WALTER, and sitting) Well My name
is Karl Lindner . . .
WALTER (Stretching out his hand) Walter Younger. This
is my wife (RUTH nods politely) and my sister.
LINDNER How do you do.
WALTER (Amiably, as he sits himself easily on a chair,
leaning forward on his knees with interest and looking
expectantly into the newcomer's face) What can we
do for you, Mr. Lindner!
LINDNER (Some minor shuffling of the hat and briefcase
on his knees) Well I am a representative of the Cly-
bourne Park Improvement Association
WALTER (Pointing) Why don't you sit your things on
the floor?
LINDNER Oh yes. Thank you. (He slides the briefcase
and hat under the chair) And as I was saying I am
from the Clybourne Park Improvement Association and
we have had it brought to our attention at the last meet-
ing that you people or at least your mother has
bought a piece of residential property at (He digs for
the slip of paper again) four o six Clybourne Street . . .
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 115
WALTER That's right. Care for something to drink? Ruth,
get Mr. Lindner a beer.
LINDNER (Upset for some reason) Oh no, really. I
mean thank you very much, but no thank you.
RUTH (Innocently) Some coffee?
LINDNER Thank you, nothing at all.
(BENEATHA is watching the man carefully)
LINDNER Well, I don't know how much you folks know
about our organization. (He is a gentle man; thoughtful
and somewhat labored in his manner) It is one of these
community organizations set up to look after oh, you
know, things like block upkeep and special projects and
we also have what we call our New Neighbors Orien-
tation Committee . . .
BENEATHA (Drily) Yes and what do they do?
LINDNER (Turning a little to her and then returning the
main force to WALTER) Well it's what you might
call a sort of welcoming committee, I guess. I mean
they, we I'm the chairman of the committee go
around and see the new people who move into the
neighborhood and sort of give them the lowdown on
the way we do things out in Clybourne Park.
BENEATHA (With appreciation of the two meanings, which
escape RUTH and WALTER) Un-huh.
LINDNER And we also have the category of what the
association calls (He looks elsewhere) uh special
community problems . . .
BENEATHA Yes and what are some of those?
WALTER Girl, let the man talk.
116 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
LINDNER (With understated relief) Thank you. I would
sort of like to explain this thing in my own way. I
mean I want to explain to you in a certain way.
WALTER Go ahead.
LINDNER Yes. Well. I'm going to try to get right to the
point. I'm sure we'll all appreciate that in the long run.
BENEATHA Yes.
WALTER Be still now!
LINDNER Well
RUTH (Still innocently) Would you like another chair
you don't look comfortable.
LINDNER (More frustrated than annoyed) No, thank
you very much. Please. Well to get right to the point
I (A great breath, and he is off at last) I am sure
you people must be aware of some of the incidents
which have happened in various parts of the city when
colored people have moved into certain areas (BE-
NEATHA exhales heavily and starts tossing a piece of
fruit up and down in the air) Well because we have
what I think is going to be a unique type of organiza-
tion in American community life not only do we
deplore that kind of thing but we are trying to do
something about it. (BENEATHA stops tossing and turns
with a new and quizzical interest to the man) We feel
(gaining confidence in his mission because of the in-
terest in the faces of the people he is talking to) we
feel that most of the trouble in this world, when you
come right down to it (He hits his knee for emphasis)
most of the trouble exists because people just don't
sit down and talk to each other.
RUTH (Nodding as she might in church, pleased with the
remark) You can say that again, mister.
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 117
LINDNER (More encouraged by such affirmation) That
we don't try hard enough in this world to understand
the other fellow's problem. The other guy's point of
view.
RUTH Now that's right.
(BENEATHA and WALTER merely watch and listen
with genuine interest)
LINDNER Yes that's the way we feel out in Clybourne
Park. And that's why I was elected to come here this
afternoon and talk to you people. Friendly like, you
know, the way people should talk to each other and see
if we couldn't find some way to work this thing out. As
I say, the whole business is a matter of caring about
the other fellow. Anybody can see that you are a nice
family of folks, hard working and honest I'm sure.
(BENEATHA frowns slightly, quizzically, her head tilted
regarding him) Today everybody knows what it means
to be on the outside of something. And of course, there
is always somebody who is out to take advantage of
people who don't always understand.
WALTER What do you mean?
LINDNER Well you see our community is made up of
people who've worked hard as the dickens for years
to build up that little community. They're not rich and
fancy people; just hard-working, honest people who
don't really have much but those little homes and a
dream of the kind of community they want to raise
their children in. Now, I don't say we are perfect and
there is a lot wrong in some of the things they want.
But you've got to admit that a man, right or wrong, has
the right to want to have the neighborhood he lives in
a certain kind of way. And at the moment the over-
whelming majority of our people out there feel that
people get along better, take more of a common interest
118 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
in the life of the community, when they share a com-
mon background. I want you to believe me when I
tell you that race prejudice simply doesn't enter into it.
It is a matter of the people of Clybourne Park believing,
rightly or wrongly, as I say, that for the happiness of
all concerned that our Negro families are happier when
they live in their own communities.
BENEATHA (With a grand and bitter gesture) This,
friends, is the Welcoming Committee!
WALTER (Dumjounded, looking at LINDNER) Is this
what you came marching all the way over here to tell
us?
LINDNER Well, now we've been having a fine conversa-
tion. I hope you'll hear me all the way through.
WALTER (Tightly) Go ahead, man.
LINDNER You see in the face of all the things I have
said, we are prepared to make your family a very gen-
erous offer . . .
BENEATHA Thirty pieces and not a coin less!
WALTER Yeah?
LINDNER (Putting on his glasses and drawing a form out
of the briefcase) Our association is prepared, through
the collective effort of our people, to buy the house
from you at a financial gain to your family.
RUTH Lord have mercy, ain't this the living gall!
WALTER All right, you through?
LINDNER Well, I want to give you the exact terms of the
financial arrangement
WALTER We don't want to hear no exact terms of no
arrangements. I want to know if you got any more to
tell us 'bout getting together?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 119
LINDNER (Taking off his glasses) Well I don't suppose
that you feel . . .
WALTER Never mind how I feel you got any more to
say 'bout how people ought to sit down and talk to each
other? . . . Get out of my house, man.
(He turns his back and walks to the door)
LINDNER (Looking around at the hostile faces and reach-
ing and assembling his hat and briefcase) Well I
don't understand why you people are reacting this way.
What do you think you are going to gain by moving
into a neighborhood where you just aren't wanted and
where some elements well people can get awful
worked up when they feel that their whole way of life
and everything they've ever worked for is threatened.
WALTER Get out.
LINDNER (At the door, holding a small card) Well I'm
sorry it went like this.
WALTER Get out.
LINDNER (Almost sadly regarding WALTER) You just
can't force people to change their hearts, son.
(He turns and put his card on a table and exits.
WALTER pushes the door to with stinging hatred,
and stands looking at it. RUTH just sits and BE-
NEATHA just stands. They say nothing. MAMA and
TRAVIS enter)
MAMA Well this all the packing got done since I left
out of here this morning. I testify before God that my
children got all the energy of the deadl What time the
moving men due?
BENEATHA Four o'clock. You had a caller, Mama.
(She is smiling, teasingly)
MAMA Sure enough who?
720 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
BENEATHA (Her arms folded saucily) The Welcoming
Committee.
(WALTER and RUTH giggle)
MAMA (Innocently) Who?
BENEATHA The Welcoming Committee. They said they're
sure going to be glad to see you when you get there.
WALTER (Devilishly) Yeah, they said they can't hardly
wait to see your face.
(Laughter)
MAMA (Sensing their facetiousness) What's the matter
with you all?
WALTER Ain't nothing the matter with us. We just tell-
ing you 'bout the gentleman who came to see you this
afternoon. From the Clybourne Park Improvement As-
sociation.
MAMA What he want?
RUTH (In the same mood as BENEATHA and WALTER)
To welcome you, honey.
WALTER He said they can't hardly wait. He said the
one thing they don't have, that they just dying to have
out there is a fine family of fine colored people! (To
RUTH and BENEATHA) Ain't that right!
RUTH (Mockingly) Yeah! He left his card
BENEATHA (Handing card to MAMA) In case.
(MAMA reads and throws it on the floor under-
standing and looking off as she draws her chair up
to the table on which she has put her plant and
some sticks and some cord)
MAMA Father, give us strength. (Knowingly and with-
out fun) Did he threaten us?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 121
BENEATHA Oh Mama they don't do it like that any
more. He talked Brotherhood. He said everybody ought
to learn how to sit down and hate each other with good
Christian fellowship.
(She and WALTER shake hands to ridicule the
remark)
MAMA (Sadly) Lord, protect us . . .
RUTH You should hear the money those folks raised
to buy the house from us. All we paid and then some.
BENEATHA What they think we going to do eat 'em?
RUTH No, honey, many 'em.
MAMA (Shaking her head) Lord, Lord, Lord . . .
RUTH Well that's the way the crackers crumble. (A
beat) Joke.
BENEATHA (Laughingly noticing what her mother is do-
ing) Mama, what are you doing?
MAMA Fixing my plant so it won't get hurt none on the
way . . .
BENEATHA Mama, you going to take that to the new
house?
MAMA Un-huh
BENEATHA That raggedy-looking old thing?
MAMA (Stopping and looking at her) It expresses ME!
RUTH (With delight, to BENEATHA) So there, Miss
Thing!
(WALTER comes to MAMA suddenly and bends
down behind her and squeezes her in his arms with
all his strength. She is overwhelmed by the sudden-
ness of it and, though delighted, her manner is
like that of RUTH and TRAVIS)
122 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA Look out now, boy! You make me mess up my
thing here!
WALTER (His face lit, he slips down on his knees beside
her, his arms still about her) Mama . . . you know
what it means to climb up in the chariot?
MAMA (Gruffly, very happy) Get on away from me
now . . .
RUTH (Near the gift-wrapped package, trying to catch
WALTER'S eye) Psst
WALTER What the old song say, Mama . . .
RUTH Walter Now?
(She is pointing at the package)
WALTER (Speaking the lines, sweetly, playfully, in his
mother's face)
I got wings . . . you got wings . . .
All God's Children got wings . . .
MAMA Boy get out of my face and do some work . . .
WALTER
When I get to heaven gonna put on my wings,
Gonna fly all over God's heaven . . .
BENEATHA (Teasingly, from across the room) Every-
body talking 'bout heaven ain't going there!
WALTER (To RUTH, who is carrying the box across to
them) I don't know, you think we ought to give her
that . . . Seems to me she ain't been very appreciative
around here.
MAMA (Eying the box, which is obviously a gift) What
is that?
WALTER (Taking it from RUTH and putting it on the table
in front of MAMA) Well what you all think? Should
we give it to her?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 123
RUTH Oh she was pretty good today.
MAMA I'll good you
(She turns her eyes to the box again)
BENEATHA Open it. Mama.
(She stands up, looks at it, turns and looks at all
of them, and then presses her hands together and
does not open the package)
WALTER (Sweetly) Open it, Mama. It's for you. (MAMA
looks in his eyes. It is the first present in her Hie with-
out its being Christmas. Slowly she opens her package
and lifts out, one by one, a brand-new sparkling set of
gardening tools. WALTER continues, prodding) Ruth
made up the note read it ...
MAMA (Picking up the card and adjusting her glasses)
"To our own Mrs. Miniver Love from Brother, Ruth
and Beneatha." Ain't that lovely . . .
TRAVIS ( Tugging at his father's sleeve) Daddy, can I give
her mine now?
WALTER All right, son. (TRAVIS flies to get his gift)
MAMA Now I don't have to use my knives and forks no
more . . .
WALTER Travis didn't want to go in with the rest of us,
Mama. He got his own. (Somewhat amused) We don't
know what it is ...
TRAVIS (Racing back in the room with a large hatbox and
putting it in front of his grandmother) Here!
MAMA Lord have mercy, baby. You done gone and
bought your grandmother a hat?
TRAVIS ( Very proud) Open it !
(She does and lifts out an elaborate, but very
elaborate, wide gardening hat, and all the adults
break up at the sight of it)
124 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
RUTH Travis, honey, what is that?
TRAVIS (Who thinks it is beautiful and appropriate) It's
a gardening hat! Like the ladies always have on in the
magazines when they work in their gardens.
BENEATHA (Giggling fiercely) Travis we were trying
to make Mania Mrs. Miniver not Scarlett O'Hara!
MAMA (Indignantly) What's the matter with you all!
This here is a beautiful hat! (Absurdly) I always
wanted me one just like it!
(She pops it on her head to prove it to her grand-
son, and the hat is ludicrous and considerably
oversized)
RUTH Hot dog! Go, Mama!
WALTER (Doubled over with laughter) I'm sorry, Mama
but you look like you ready to go out and chop you
some cotton sure enough!
(They all laugh except MAMA, out of deference to
TRAVIS' feelings)
MAMA (Gathering the boy up to her) Bless your heart
this is the prettiest hat I ever owned (WALTER,
RUTH and BENEATHA chime in noisily, festively and
insincerely congratulating TRAVIS on his gift) What are
we all standing around here for? We ain't finished
packin' yet. Bennie, you ain't packed one book.
(The bell rings)
BENEATHA That couldn't be the movers . . . it's not
hardly two good yet
(BENEATHA goes into her room. MAMA starts for
door)
WALTER (Turning, stiffening) Wait wait I'll get it.
(He stands and looks at the door)
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 125
MAMA You expecting company, son?
WALTER (Just looking at the door) Yeah yeah . . ,
(MAMA looks at RUTH, and they exchange inno-
cent and unfrightened glances')
MAMA (Not understanding) Well, let them in, son*
BENEATHA (From her room) We need some more string.
MAMA Travis you run to the hardware and get me
some string cord.
(MAMA goes out and WALTER turns and looks at
RUTH. TRAVIS goes to a dish for money)
RUTH Why don't you answer the door, man?
WALTER (Suddenly bounding across the floor to embrace
her) 'Cause sometimes it hard to let the future begin!
(Stooping down in her face)
I got wings! You got wings!
All God's children got wings!
(He crosses to the door and throws it open. Standing
there is a very slight little man in a not too prosperous
business suit and with haunted frightened eyes and a hat
pulled down tightly, brim up, around his forehead.
TRAVIS passes between the men and exits. WALTER
leans deep in the man's face, still in his jubilance)
When I get to heaven gonna put on my wings,
Gonna fly all over God's heaven . - .
(The little man just stares at him)
Heaven
(Suddenly he stops and looks past the little man into
the empty hallway) Where's Willy, man?
BOBO He ain't with me.
WALTER (Not disturbed) Oh come on in. You know
my wife.
126 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
BOBO (Dumbly, taking off his hat} Yes h'you, Miss
Ruth.
RUTH (Quietly, a mood apart from her husband already,
seeing BOBO) Hello, Bobo.
WALTER You right on time today . . . Right on time.
That's the way! (He slaps BOBO on his back) Sit down
. . . lemme hear.
(RUTH stands stiffly and quietly in back of them,
as though somehow she senses death, her eyes
fixed on her husband)
BOBO (His frightened eyes on the floor, his hat in his
hands) Could I please get a drink of water, before I
tell you about it, Walter Lee?
(WALTER does not take his eyes off the man. RUTH
goes blindly to the tap and gets a glass of water
and brings it to BOBO)
WALTER There ain't nothing wrong, is there?
BOBO Lemme tell you
WALTER Man didn't nothing go wrong?
BOBO Lemme tell you Walter Lee. (Looking at RUTH
and talking to her more than to WALTER) You know
how it was. I got to tell you how it was. I mean first
I got to tell you how it was all the way ... I mean
about the money I put in, Walter Lee . . .
WALTER (With taut agitation now) What about the
money you put in?
BOBO Well it wasn't much as we told you me and
Willy (He stops) I'm sorry, Walter. I got a bad feel-
ing about it. I got a real bad feeling about it ...
WALTER Man, what you telling me about all this for?
. . . Tell me what happened in Springfield . . .
A RAISIN IN THE SUN -727
BOBO Springfield.
RUTH (Like a dead woman) What was supposed to
happen in Springfield?
BOBO (To her) This deal that me and Walter went into
with Willy Me and Willy was going to go down to
Springfield and spread some money 'round so's we
wouldn't have to wait so long for the liquor license
. . . That's what we were going to do. Everybody said
that was the way you had to do, you understand, Miss
Ruth?
WALTER Man what happened down there?
BOBO (A pitiful man, near tears) I'm trying to tell you,
Walter.
WALTER (Screaming at him suddenly) THEN TELL
ME, GODDAMMIT . . . WHAT'S THE MATTER
WITH YOU?
BOBO Man ... I didn't go to no Springfield, yesterday.
WALTER (Halted, life hanging in the moment) Why not?
BOBO (The long way, the hard way to tell) 'Cause I
didn't have no reasons to ...
WALTER Man, what are you talking about!
BOBO I'm talking about the fact that when I got to the
train station yesterday morning eight o'clock like we
planned . . . Man Witty didn't never show up.
WALTER Why . . . where was he ... where is he?
BOBO That's what I'm trying to tell you ... I don't
know ... I waited six hours ... I called his house
. . . and I waited ... six hours ... I waited in
that train station six hours . . . (Breaking into tears)
That was all the extra money I had in the world . . .
128 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
(Looking up at WALTER with the tears running down his
face) Man, Willy is gone.
WALTER Gone, what you mean Willy is gone? Gone
where? You mean he went by himself. You mean he
went off to Springfield by himself to take care of get-
ting the license (Turns and looks anxiously at RUTH)
You mean maybe he didn't want too many people in
on the business down there? (Looks to RUTH again, as
before) You know Willy got his own ways. (Looks
back to BOBO) Maybe you was late yesterday and he
just went on down there without you. Maybe maybe
he's been callin' you at home tryin' to tell you what
happened or something. Maybe maybe he just got
sick. He's somewhere he's got to be somewhere. We
just got to find him me and you got to find him.
(Grabs BOBO senselessly by the collar and starts to
shake him) We got to!
BOBO (In sudden angry, frightened agony) What's the
matter with you, Walter! When a cat take off with your
money he don't leave you no road maps!
WALTER (Turning madly, as though he is looking for
WILLY in the very room) Willy! . . . Willy . . . don't
do it . . . Please don't do it ... Man, not with that
money * . . Man, please, not with that money . . .
Oh, God . . , Don't let it be true . . . (He is wan-
dering around, crying out for WILLY and looking for him
or perhaps for help from God) Man ... I trusted you
. . . Man, I put my life in your hands . . * (He starts
to crumple down on the floor as RUTH just covers her
face in horror. MAMA opens the door and comes into
the room, with BENEATHA behind her) Man . . . (He
starts to pound the floor with his fists, sobbing wildly)
THAT MONEY IS MADE OUT OF MY FATHER'S
FLESH
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 129
BOBO (Standing over him helplessly) Fm sorry, Walter
. . . (Only WALTER'S sobs reply. BOBO puts on his hat)
I had my life staked on this deal, too ...
(He exits)
MAMA (To WALTER) Son (She goes to him, bends
down to him, talks to his bent head) Son ... Is it
gone? Son, I gave you sixty-live hundred dollars. Is it
gone? All of it? Beneatha's money too?
WALTER (Lifting his head slowly) Mama , . , I never
. . . went to the bank at all ...
MAMA (Not wanting to believe him) You mean . . .
your sister's school money . . . you used that too ...
Walter? . . .
WALTER Yessss! All of it ... It's all gone . . .
(There is total silence. RUTH stands with her face
covered with her hands; BENEATHA leans forlornly
against a wall, fingering a piece of red ribbon from
the mother's gift. MAMA stops and looks at her son
without recognition and then, quite without think-
ing about it, starts to beat him senselessly in the
face. BENEATHA goes to them and stops it)
BENEATHA Mama!
(MAMA stops and looks at both of her children
and rises slowly and wanders vaguely, aimlessly
away from them)
MAMA I seen . . . him . . . night after night . . . come
in ... and look at that rug ... and then look at me
. . . the red showing in his eyes . . . the veins moving in
his head ... I seen him grow thin and old before he
was forty . . . working and working and working like
somebody's old horse . . . killing himself . . . and you
you give it all away in a day (She raises her arms to
strike him again)
130 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
BENEATHA Mama
MAMA Oh, God . . . (She looks up to Him) Look down
here and show me the strength.
BENEATHA Mama
MAMA (Folding over) Strength . . .
BENEATHA (Plaintively) Mama . . .
MAMA Strength!
Curtain
ACT III
An hour later.
At curtain, there is a sullen light of gloom in the living
room, gray light not unlike that which began the first
scene of Act One. At left we can see WALTER within his
room, alone with himself. He is stretched out on the bed,
his shirt out and open, his arms under his head. He does
not smoke, he does not cry out, he merely lies there,
looking up at the ceiling, much as if he were alone in the
world.
In the living room BENEATHA sits at the table, still sur-
rounded by the now almost ominous packing crates. She
sits looking off. We feel that this is a mood struck perhaps
an hour before, and it lingers now, full of the empty
sound of profound disappointment. We see on a line from
her brother's bedroom the sameness of their attitudes.
Presently the bell rings and BENEATHA rises without am-
bition or interest in answering. It is ASAGAI, smiling
broadly, striding into the room with energy and happy
expectation and conversation.
ASAGAI I came over ... I had some free time. I thought
I might help with the pacjdng. Ah, I like the look of
packing crates! A household in preparation for a jour-
ney! It depresses some people . . . but for me ... it
131
132 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
is another feeling. Something full of the flow of life, do
you understand? Movement, progress ... It makes me
think of Africa.
BENEATHA Africa!
ASAGAI What kind of a mood is this? Have I told you
how deeply you move me?
BENEATHA He gave away the money, Asagai . . .
ASAGAI Who gave away what money?
BENEATHA The insurance money. My brother gave it
away.
ASAGAI Gave it away?
BENEATHA He made an investment! With a man even
Travis wouldn't have trusted with his most worn-out
marbles.
ASAGAI And it's gone?
BENEATHA Gone!
ASAGAI I'm very sorry . . . And you, now?
BENEATHA Me? . . . Me? . . . Me, I'm nothing . . . Me.
When I was very small ... we used to take our sleds
out in the wintertime and the only hills we had were the
ice-covered stone steps of some houses down the street.
And we used to fill them in with snow and make them
smooth and slide down them all day . . . and it was very
dangerous, you know ... far too steep . . . and sure
enough one day a kid named Rufus came down too fast
and hit the sidewalk and we saw his face just split open
right there in front of us ... And I remember standing
there looking at his bloody open face thinking that was
the end of Rufus. But the ambulance came and they
took him to the hospital and they fixed the broken bones
and they sewed it all up ... and the next time I saw
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 133
Rufus he just had a little line down the middle of his
face ... I never got over that . . .
ASAGAI What?
BENEATHA That that was what one person could do for
another, fix him up sew up the problem, make him
all right again. That was the most marvelous thing in
the world ... I wanted to do that. I always thought
it was the one concrete thing in the world that a human
being could do. Fix up the sick, you know and make
them whole again. This was truly being God . . .
ASAGAI You wanted to be God?
BENEATHA No I wanted to cure. It used to be so im-
portant to me. I wanted to cure. It used to matter. I
used to care. I mean about people and how their bodies
hurt . . .
ASAGAI And you've stopped caring?
BENEATHA Yes I think so.
ASAGAI Why?
BENEATHA (Bitterly) Because it doesn't seem deep
enough, close enough to what ails mankind! It was a
child's way of seeing things or an idealist's.
ASAGAI Children see things very well sometimes and
idealists even better.
BENEATHA I know that's what you think. Because you
are still where I left off. You with all your talk and
dreams about Africa! You still think you can patch up
the world. Cure the Great Sore of Colonialism (Loft-
ily, mocking it) with the Penicillin of Independence !
ASAGAI Yes!
BENEATHA Independence and then what? What about all
the crooks and thieves and just plain idiots who will
134 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
come into power and steal and plunder the same as
before only now they will be black and do it in the
name of the new Independence WHAT ABOUT
THEM?!
ASAGAI That will be the problem for another time. First
we must get there.
BENEATHA And where does it end?
ASAGAI End? Who even spoke of an end? To life? To
living?
BENEATHA An end to misery! To stupidity! Don't you see
there isn't any real progress, Asagai, there is only one
large circle that we march in, around and around, each
of us with our own little picture in front of us our
own little mirage that we think is the future.
ASAGAI That is the mistake.
BENEATHA What?
ASAGAI What you just said about the circle. It isn't a
circle it is simply a long line as in geometry, you
know, one that reaches into infinity. And because we
cannot see the end we also cannot see how it changes.
And it is very odd but those who see the changes who
dream, who will not give up are called idealists . . .
and those who see only the circle we call them the
"realists"!
BENEATHA Asagai, while I was sleeping in that bed in
there, people went out and took the future right out of
my hands! And nobody asked me, nobody consulted
me they just went out and changed my life!
ASAGAI Was it your money?
BENEATHA What?
ASAGAI Was it your money he gave away?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 135
BENEATHA It belonged to all of us.
ASAGAI But did you earn it? Would you have had it at all
if your father had not died?
BENEATHA No.
ASAGAI Then isn't there something wrong in a house
in a world where all dreams, good or bad, must depend
on the death of a man? I never thought to see you like
this, Alaiyo. You! Your brother made a mistake and
you are grateful to him so that now you can give up
the ailing human race on account of it! You talk about
what good is struggle, what good is anything! Where
are we all going and why are we bothering!
BENEATHA AND YOU CANNOT ANSWER IT!
ASAGAI (Shouting over her) I LIVE THE ANSWER!
(Pause) In my village at home it is the exceptional man
who can even read a newspaper ... or who ever sees a
book at all. I will go home and much of what I will
have to say will seem strange to the people of my
village. But I will teach and work and things will
happen, slowly and swiftly. At times it will seem that
nothing changes at all ... and then again the sud-
den dramatic events which make history leap into
the future. And then quiet again. Retrogression even.
Guns, murder, revolution. And I even will have mo-
ments when I wonder if the quiet was not better than
all that death and hatred. But I will look about my vil-
lage at the illiteracy and disease and ignorance and I
will not wonder long. And perhaps . . . perhaps I will
be a great man ... I mean perhaps I will hold on to
the substance of truth and find my way always with the
right course . . . and perhaps for it I will be butchered
in my bed some night by the servants of empire . . .
BENEATHA The martyr!
136 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
ASAGAI (He smiles) ... or perhaps I shall live to be a
very old man, respected and esteemed in my new nation
. . . And perhaps I shall hold office and this is what I'm
trying to tell .you, Alaiyo: Perhaps the things I believe
now for my country will be wrong and outmoded, and I
will not understand and do terrible things to have things
my way or merely to keep my power. Don't you see that
there will be young men and women not British sol-
diers then, but my own black countrymen to step
out of the shadows some evening and slit my then
useless throat? Don't you see they have always been
there . . . that they always will be. And that such a
thing as my own death will be an advance? They who
might kill me even . . . actually replenish all that I was.
BENEATHA Oh, Asagai, I know all that.
ASAGAI Good! Then stop moaning and groaning and tell
me what you plan to do.
BENEATHA Do?
ASAGAI I have a bit of a suggestion.
BENEATHA What?
ASAGAI (Rather quietly for him) That when it is all over
that you come home with me
BENEATHA (Staring at him and crossing away with exas-
peration) Oh Asagai at this moment you decide
to be romantic!
ASAGAI (Quickly understanding the misunderstanding)
My dear, young creature of the New World I do. not
mean across the city I mean across the ocean: home
to Africa.
BENEATHA (Slowly understanding and turning to him with
murmured amazement) To Africa?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 137
ASAGAI Yes! . . . (Smiling and lifting his arms playfully)
Three hundred years later the African Prince rose up
out of the seas and swept the maiden back across the
middle passage over which her ancestors had come
BENEATHA ( Unable to play) To to Nigeria?
ASAGIA Nigeria. Home. (Coming to her with genuine ro-
mantic flippancy) I will show you our mountains and
our stars; and give you cool drinks from gourds and
teach you the old songs and the ways of our people
and, in time, we will pretend that (Very Softly) you
have only been away for a day. Say that you'll come
(He swings her around and takes her full in his arms
in a kiss which proceeds to passion)
BENEATHA (Pulling away suddenly) You're getting me
all mixed up
ASAGAI Why?
BENEATHA Too many things too many things have
happened today. I must sit down and think. I don't
know what I feel about anything right this minute.
(She promptly sits down and props her chin on her
fist)
ASAGAI (Charmed) All right, I shall leave you. No
don't get up. (Touching her, gently, sweetly) Just sit
awhile and think . . . Never be afraid to sit awhile and
think. (He goes to door and looks at her) How often
I have looked at you and said, "Ah so this is what
the New World hath finally wrought . . ."
(He exits. BENEATHA sits on alone. Presently
WALTER enters from his room and starts to rum-
mage through things, feverishly looking for some-
thing. She looks up and turns in her seat)
BENEATHA (Hissingly) Yes just look at what the New
World hath wrought! . . . Just look! (She gestures with
138 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
bitter disgust) There he is! Monsieur le petit bourgeois
noir himself! There he is Symbol of a Rising Class!
Entrepreneur! Titan of the system! (WALTER ignores
her completely and continues frantically and destruc-
tively looking for something and hurling things to floor
and tearing things out of their place in his search.
BENEATHA ignores the eccentricity of his actions and
goes on with the monologue of insult) Did you dream
of yachts on Lake Michigan, Brother? Did you see your-
self on that Great Day sitting down at the Conference
Table, surrounded by all the mighty bald-headed men
in America? AH halted, waiting, breathless, waiting for
your pronouncements on industry? Waiting for you
Chairman of the Board! (WALTER finds what he is
looking for a small piece of white paper and pushes
it in his pocket and puts on his coat and rushes out
without ever having looked at her. She shouts after
him} I look at you and I see the final triumph of
stupidity in the world!
(The door slams and she returns to just sitting
again. RUTH comes quickly out of MAMA'S room)
RUTH Who was that?
BENEATHA Your husband.
RUTH Where did he go?
BENEATHA Who knows maybe he has an appointment
at U.S. Steel.
RUTH (Anxiously, with frightened eyes) You didn't say
nothing bad to him, did you?
BENEATHA Bad? Say anything bad to him? No I told
him he was a sweet boy and full of dreams and every-
thing is strictly peachy keen, as the ofay kids say!
(MAMA enters from her bedroom. She is lost,
vague, trying to catch hold, to make some sense of
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 139
her former command of the world, but it still
eludes her. A sense of waste overwhelms her gait;
a measure of apology rides on her shoulders. She
goes to her plant, which has remained on the
table, looks at it, picks it up and takes it to the
window sill and sits it outside, and she stands and
looks at it a long moment. Then she closes the
window, straightens her body with effort and turns
around to her children)
MAMA Well ain't it a mess in here, though? (A false
cheerfulness, a beginning of something) I guess we all
better stop moping around and get some work done.
All this unpacking and everything we got to do. (RUTH
raises her head slowly in response to the sense of the
line; and BENEATHA in similar manner turns very slowly
to look at her mother} One of you all better call the
moving people and tell 'em not to come.
RUTH Tell 'em not to come?
MAMA Of course, baby. Ain't no need in 'em coming all
the way here and having to go back. They charges for
that too. (She sits down, fingers to her brow, thinking)
Lord, ever since I was a little girl, I always remembers
people saying, "Lena Lena Eggleston, you aims too
high all the time. You needs to slow down and see life
a little more like it is. Just slow down some." That's
what they always used to say down home "Lord, that
Lena Eggleston is a high-minded thing. She'll get her
due one day!"
RUTH No, Lena ...
MAMA Me and Big Walter just didn't never learn right.
RUTH Lena, no! We gotta go. Bennie tell her ...
(She rises and crosses to BENEATHA with her arms out-
stretched. BENEATHA doesn't respond) Tell her we
140 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
can still move . . . the notes ain't but a hundred and
twenty-five a month. We got four grown people in this
house we can work
MAMA (To herself) Just aimed too high all the time
RUTH (Turning and going to MAMA fast the words pour-
ing out with urgency and desperation) Lena Til work
. . . I'll work twenty hours a day in all the kitchens in
Chicago , . . Fll strap my baby on my back if I have
to and scrub all the floors in America and wash all the
sheets in America if I have to but we got to MOVE!
We got to get OUT OF HERE!!
(MAMA reaches out absently and pats RUTH'S
hand)
MAMA No I sees things differently now. Been thinking
'bout some of the things we could do to fix this place
up some. I seen a second-hand bureau over on Maxwell
Street just the other day that could fit right there.
(She points to where the new furniture might go. RUTH
wanders away from her) Would need some new handles
on it and then a little varnish and it look like something
brand-new. And we can put up them new curtains in
the kitchen . . . Why this place be looking fine. Cheer us
all up so that we forget trouble ever come . . . (To
RUTH) And you could get some nice screens to put up in
your room round the baby's bassinet . . * (She looks at
both of them, pleadingly) Sometimes you just got to
know when to give up some things . . . and hold on to
what you got. . . .
(WALTER enters from the outside, looking spent
and leaning against the door, his coat hanging
from him)
MAMA Where you been, son?
WALTER (Breathing hard) Made a call
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 141
MAMA To who, son?
WALTER To The Man. (He heads for his room)
MAMA What man, baby?
WALTER (Stops in the door) The Man, Mama. Don't
you know who The Man is?
RUTH Walter Lee?
WALTER The Man. Like the guys in the streets say
The Man. Captain Boss Mistuh Charley . . . Old
Cap'n Please Mr. Bossman . . .
BENEATHA (Suddenly) Lindner!
WALTER That's right! That's good. I told him to come
right over.
BENEATHA (Fiercely, understanding) For what? What
do you want to see him for!
WALTER (Looking at his sister) We going to do busi-
ness with him.
MAMA What you talking 'bout, son?
WALTER Talking 'bout life, Mama. You all always tell-
ing me to see life like it is. Well I laid in there on
my back today . . . and I figured it out. Life just like it
is. Who gets and who don't get. (He sits down with his
coat on and laughs) Mama, you know it's all divided
up. Life is. Sure enough. Between the takers and the
"tooken." (He laughs) I've figured it out finally. (He
looks around at them) Yeah. Some of us always getting
"tooken." (He laughs) People like Willy Harris, they
don't never get "tooken." And you know why the rest
of us do? 'Cause we all mixed up. Mixed up bad. We
get to looking 'round for the right and the wrong; and
we worry about it and cry about it and stay up nights
142 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
trying to figure out 'bout the wrong and the right of
things all the time . . . And all the time, man, them
takers is out there operating, just taking and taking.
Willy Harris? Shoot Willy Harris don't even count.
He don't even count in the big scheme of things. But
I'll say one thing for old Willy Harris . . . he's taught
me something. He's taught me to keep my eye on
what counts in this world. Yeah (Shouting out a little)
Thanks, Willy!
RUTH What did you call that man for, Walter Lee?
WALTER Called him to tell him to come on over to the
show. Gonna put on a show for the man. Just what
he wants to see. You see, Mama, the man came here
today and he told us that them people out there where
you want us to move well they so upset they willing
to pay us not to move! (He laughs again) And and
oh, Mama you would of been proud of the way me
and Ruth and Bennie acted. We told him to get out . . .
Lord have mercy! We told the man to get out! Oh, we
was some proud folks this afternoon, yeah. (He lights a
cigarette) We were still full of that old-time stuff . . .
RUTH {Coming toward him slowly) You talking 'bout
taking them people's money to keep us from moving in
that house?
WALTER I ain't just talking 'bout it, baby I'm telling
you that's what's going to happen!
BENEATHA Oh, God! Where is the bottom! Where is the
real honest-to-God bottom so he can't go any farther!
WALTER See that's the old stuff. You and that boy that
was here today. You all want everybody to carry a
flag and a spear and sing some marching songs, huh?
You wanna spend your life looking into things and try-
ing to find the right and the wrong part, huh? Yeah.
You know what's going to happen to that boy someday
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 143
he'll find himself sitting in a dungeon, locked in
forever and the takers will have the key! Forget it,
baby! There ain't no causes there ain't nothing but
taking in this world, and he who takes most is smartest
and it don't make a damn bit of difference how.
MAMA You making something inside me cry, son. Some
awful pain inside me.
WALTER Don't cry, Mama. Understand. That white man
is going to walk in that door able to write checks for
more money than we ever had. It's important to him
and I'm going to help him . . . I'm going to put on the
show, Mama.
MAMA Son I come from five generations of people
who was slaves and sharecroppers but ain't nobody
in my family never let nobody pay 'em no money that
was a way of telling us we wasn't fit to walk the earth.
We ain't never been that poor. (Raising her eyes and
looking at him) We ain't never been that dead inside.
BENEATHA Well we are dead now. All the talk about
dreams and sunlight that goes on in this house. It's all
dead now.
WALTER What's the matter with you all! I didn't make
this world! It was give to me this way! Hell, yes, I
want me some yachts someday! Yes, I want to hang
some real pearls 'round my wife's neck. Ain't she sup-
posed to wear no pearls? Somebody tell me tell me,
who decides which women is suppose to wear pearls
in this world. I tell you I am a man and I think my
wife should wear some pearls in this world!
(This last line hangs a good while and WALTER
begins to move about the room. The word "Man"
has penetrated his consciousness; he mumbles it
to himself repeatedly between strange agitated
pauses as he moves about)
144 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
MAMA Baby, how you going to feel on the inside?
WALTER Fine! . . . Going to feel fine . , . a man . . .
MAMA You won't have nothing left then, Walter Lee.
WALTER (Coming to her) I'm going to feel fine, Mama.
I'm going to look that son-of-a-bitch in the eyes and
say (He falters) and say, "All right, Mr. Lindner
(He falters even more) that's your neighborhood out
there! You got the right to keep it like you want! You
got the right to have it like you want! Just write the
check and the house is yours." And and I am going
to say (His voice almost breaks) "And you you
people just put the money in my hand and you won't
have to live next to this bunch of stinking niggers! . . ."
(He straightens up and moves away from his mother,
walking around the room) And maybe maybe I'll just
get down on my black knees . . . (He does so; RUTH and
BENNIE and MAMA watch him in frozen horror) "Cap-
tain, Mistuh, Bossman (Groveling and grinning and
wringing his hands in profoundly anguished imitation of
the slow-witted movie stereotype) A-hee-hee-hee! Oh,
yassuh boss! Yasssssuh! Great white (Voice breaking,
he forces himself to go on) Father, just gi' ussen de
money, fo' God's sake, and we's we's ain't gwine come
out deh and dirty up yo* white folks neighborhood . . ."
(He breaks down completely) And I'll feel fine! Fine!
FINE! (He gets up and goes into the bedroom)
BENEATHA That is not a man. That is nothing but a tooth-
less rat.
MAMA Yes death done come in this here house. (She
is nodding, slowly, reflectively) Done come walking in
my house on the lips of my children. You what sup-
posed to be my beginning again. You what supposed
to be my harvest. (To BENEATHA) You you mourn-
ing your brother?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 145
BENEATHA He's no brother of mine.
MAMA What you say?
BENEATHA I said that that individual in that room is no
brother of mine.
MAMA That's what I thought you said. You feeling like
you better than he is today? (BENEATHA does not an-
swer) Yes? What you tell him a minute ago? That he
wasn't a man? Yes? You give him up for me? You done
wrote his epitaph too like the rest of the world? Well,
who give you the privilege?
BENEATHA Be on my side for once! You saw what he
just did, Mama! You saw him down on his knees.
Wasn't it you who taught me to despise any man who
would do that? Do what he's going to do?
MAMA Yes I taught you that. Me and your daddy. But
I thought I taught you something else too ... I thought
I taught you to love him.
BENEATHA Love him? There is nothing left to love.
MAMA There is always something left to love. And if you
ain't learned that, you ain't learned nothing. (Looking
at her) Have you cried for that boy today? I don't
mean for yourself and for the family 'cause we lost
the money. I mean for him: what he been through and
what it done to him. Child, when do you think is the
time to love somebody the most? When they done good
and made things easy for everybody? Well then, you
ain't through learning because that ain't the time at
all. It's when he's at his lowest and can't believe in his-
self 'cause the world done whipped him so! When you
starts measuring somebody, measure him right, child,
measure him right. Make sure you done taken into ac-
count what hills and valleys he come through before
he got to wherever he is.
146 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
(TRAVIS bursts into the room at the end of the
speech, leaving the door open)
TRAVIS Grandmama the moving men are downstairs!
The truck just pulled up.
MAMA (Turning and looking at him) Are they, baby?
They downstairs?
(She sighs and sits. LINDNER appears in the door-
way. He peers in and knocks lightly, to gain at-
tention, and comes in. All turn to look at him)
LINDNER (Hat and briefcase in hand) Uh hello . . .
(RUTH crosses mechanically to the bedroom door
and opens it and lets it swing open -freely and
slowly as the lights come up on WALTER within,
still in his coat, sitting at the far corner of the
room. He looks up and out through the room to
LINDNER)
RUTH He's here.
(A long minute passes and WALTER slowly gets
up)
LINDNER (Coming to the table with efficiency, putting his
briefcase on the table and starting to unfold papers and
unscrew fountain pens) Well, I certainly was glad to
hear from you people. (WALTER has begun the trek out
of the room, slowly and awkwardly, rather like a small
boy, passing the back of his sleeve across his mouth
from time to time) Life can really be so much simpler
than people let it be most of the time. Well with
whom do I negotiate? You, Mrs. Younger, or your
son here? (MAMA sits with her hands folded on her
lap and her eyes closed as WALTER advances. TRAVIS
goes closer to LINDNER and looks at the papers curi-
ously) Just some official papers, sonny.
RUTH Travis, you go downstairs
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 147
MAMA (Opening her eyes and looking into WALTER'S)
No. Travis, you stay right here. And you make him
understand what you doing, Walter Lee. You teach
him good. Like Willy Harris taught you. You show
where our five generations done come to. (WALTER
looks from her to the boy, who grins at him innocently)
Go ahead, son (She folds her hands and closes her
eyes) Go ahead.
WALTER (At last crosses to LINDNER, who is reviewing the
contract) Well, Mr. Lindner. (BENEATHA turns away)
We called you (There is a profound, simple groping
quality in his speech) because, well, me and my family
(He looks around and shifts from one foot to the other)
Well we are very plain people . . .
LINDNER Yes
WALTER I mean I have worked as a chauffeur most of
my life and my wife here, she does domestic work in
people's kitchens. So does my mother. I mean we are
plain people . . .
LINDNER Yes, Mr. Younger
WALTER (Really like a small boy, looking down at his
shoes and then up at the man) And uh well, my
father, well, he was a laborer most of his life. . . .
LINDNER (Absolutely confused) Uh, yes yes, I under-
stand. (He turns back to the contract)
WALTER (A beat; staring at him) And my father
(With sudden intensity) My father almost beat a man
to death once because this man called him a bad name
or something, you know what I mean?
LINDNER (Looking up, frozen) No, no, Tin afraid I
don't
148 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
WALTER (A beat. The tension hangs; then WALTER steps
back from it) Yeah. Well what I mean is that we
come from people who had a lot of pride. I mean we
are very proud people. And that's my sister over there
and she's going to be a doctor and we are very
proud
LINDNER Well I am sure that is very nice, but
WALTER What I am telling you is that we called you over
here to tell you that we are very proud and that this
(Signaling to TRAVIS) Travis, come here. (TRAVIS
crosses and WALTER draws him before him facing the
man) This is my son, and he makes the sixth generation
our family in this country. And we have all thought
about your offer
LINDNER Well, good . . . good
WALTER And we have decided to move into our house
because my father my father he earned it for us
brick by brick. (MAMA has her eyes closed and is rock-
ing back and forth as though she were in church, with
her head nodding the Amen yes) We don't want to
make no trouble for nobody or fight no causes, and we
will try to be good neighbors. And that's all we got to
say about that. (He looks the man absolutely in the
eyes) We don't want your money. (He turns and walks
away)
LINDNER (Looking around at all of them) I take it then
that you have decided to occupy . . .
BENEATHA That's what the man said.
LINDNER (To MAMA in her reverie) Then I would like
to appeal to you, Mrs. Younger. You are older and
wiser and understand things better I am sure . . ,
MAMA I am afraid you don't understand. My son said
we was going to move and there ain't nothing left for
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 149
me to say, (Briskly) You know how these young folks
is nowadays, mister. Can't do a thing with 'em! (As he
opens his mouth, she rises) Good-bye.
LINDNER (Folding up his materials) Well if you are
that final about it - . . there is nothing left for me to
say. (He finishes, almost ignored by the family, who are
concentrating on WALTER LEE. At the door LINDNER
halts and looks around) I sure hope you people know
what you're getting into.
(He shakes his head and exits)
RUTH (Looking around and coming to life) Well, for
God's sake if the moving men are here LETS GET
THE HELL OUT OF HERE!
MAMA (Into action) Ain't it the truth! Look at all this
here mess. Ruth, put Travis' good jacket on him . . .
Walter Lee, fix your tie and tuck your shirt in, you
look like somebody's hoodlum! Lord have mercy, where
is my plant? (She flies to get it amid the general bustling
of the family, who are deliberately trying to ignore the
nobility of the past moment) You all start on down
. . . Travis child, don't go empty-handed . . . Ruth, where
did I put that box with my skillets in it? I want to be in
charge of it myself . . . I'm going to make us the biggest
dinner we ever ate tonight . . . Beneatha, what's the
matter with them stockings? Pull them things up, girl . . .
(The family starts to file out as two moving men
appear and begin to carry out the heavier pieces
of furniture, bumping into the family as they move
about)
BENEATHA Mama, Asagai asked me to marry him today
and go to Africa
MAMA (In the middle of her getting-ready activity) He
did? You ain't old enough to marry nobody (Seeing
the moving men lifting one of her chairs precariously)
150 A RAISIN IN THE SUN
Darling, that ain't no bale of cotton, please handle it so
we can sit in it again! I had that chair twenty-five
years . . .
(The movers sigh with exasperation and go on
with their work}
BENEATHA (Girlishly and unreasonably trying to pursue
the conversation) To go to Africa, Mama be a
doctor in Africa . . .
MAMA (Distracted) Yes, baby
WALTER Africa! What he want you to go to Africa for?
BENEATHA To practice there . . .
WALTER Girl, if you don't get all them silly ideas out
your head! You better marry yourself a man with some
loot . . .
BENEATHA (Angrily, precisely as in the first scene of the
play) What have you got to do with who I marry!
WALTER Plenty. Now I think George Murchison
BENEATHA George Murchison! I wouldn't marry him if
he was Adam and I was Eve!
(WALTER and BENEATHA go out yelling at each
other vigorously and the anger is loud and real till
their voices diminish. RUTH stands at the door and
turns to MAMA and smiles knowingly)
MAMA (Fixing her hat at last) Yeah they something
all right, my children . . .
RUTH Yeah they're something. Let's go, Lena.
MAMA (Stalling, starting to look around at the house)
Yes I'm coming. Ruth
RUTH Yes?
A RAISIN IN THE SUN 151
MAMA (Quietly, woman to woman) He finally come
into his manhood today, didn't he? Kind of like a rain-
bow after the rain . . .
RUTH (Biting her lip lest her own pride explode in front
of MAMA) Yes, Lena.
(WALTER'S voice calls for them raucously)
WALTER (Off stage) Y'all come on! These people charges
by the hour, you know!
MAMA (Waving RUTH out vaguely) All right, honey
go on down. I be down directly.
(RUTH hesitates, then exits. MAMA stands, at last
alone in the living room, her plant on the table
before her as the lights start to come down. She
looks around at all the walls and ceilings and
suddenly, despite herself, while the children call
below, a great heaving thing rises in her and she
puts her fist to her mouth to stifle it, takes a final
desperate look, pulls her coat about her, pats her
hat and goes out. The lights dim down. The door
opens and she comes back in, grabs her plant, and
goes out for the last time)
Curtain
THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW
For
Robert Nemiroff
AND
Burt D'Lugoff
AND
the committed everywhere
An Appreciation:
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN
A "GREAT" PLAY-NO
OTHER WORD IS POSSIBLE
By John Eraine
In 1959 I dined with Kenneth Tynan at Sardi's on a
first night. There wasn't much doubt about the verdict of
the reviewers, only about how nasty it would be. There's
no point in dancing on the corpse of that particular play;
it was, and quite rightly, doomed from the start.
Nevertheless, I couldn't help feeling that what Walter
Kerr and the rest had done had no connection whatever
with criticism. To produce a coherent and literate review
in one hour is an extraordinary feat; as a professional
writer, I am honestly dazzled by it. But it is a feat which
has about it the atmosphere of the circus sideshow. It's a
job which could be performed even more quickly by a
computer.
What I fiercely objected to that night at Sardi's, waiting
for the papers to arrive, was that the verdict was com-
pletely and savagely final. Since the play in question was a
bad one, it didn't really matter; the kangaroo court wasn't
hanging an innocent man. Sooner or later, however, a good
play perhaps even a great play would be condemned to
death. Of its very nature the kangaroo court must be more
often wrong than right.
With Lorraine Hansberry's The Sign in Sidney Bru-
stein's Window it seemed to do just that, not with overt
condemnation, but with the kind of "mixed notices" which
spell death in a theater where $6.90 buys the cheapest or-
chestra seat. The verdict was not reversed: there is no re-
corded instance of a drama critic having admitted himself
155
156 THE SIGN IN
to be mistaken. But the public can, as in this remarkable
instance they did, storm the courtroom and set the prisoner
free. The world was the richer for it. For a great play (I
shall repeat that a great play) not only entertains but en-
riches, not only takes us out of ourselves but into ourselves
as, nakedly, we are.
Let me be absolutely honest: I went to see Miss Hans-
berry's play partly because of A Raisin in the Sun and part-
ly because it was the only new Broadway play I could easily
obtain a ticket for. I paid for the ticket myself; I didn't
know anyone connected with the production, and if the
play hadn't held my interest I would have walked out; I
won't accept boredom meekly.
There was a moment early on in the play when I became
irritated because one wasn't told just where Sidney Bra-
stein gets the money for his apartment in Greenwich Vil-
lage and what does appear to be a pretty high standard of
living. Then I realized that it didn't matter, because Sidney
is a real person, as is everyone else in the play. Perhaps he
writes Westerns under a pen name or has a private income;
such things have been known to happen. It's a curious trait
of drama critics that they'll accept the most fantastic vari-
ations of sexual behavior as credible but not be willing to
accept that a man isn't always prepared to disclose the
source of his income.
Apart from this there are no secrets in the play. No se-
crets but many levels. It is drama of such clarity that one
may return to it again and again, and, I expect, emerge as
deeply moved and each time the more illumined. And
here, I imagine, we come to the true reason for the drama
critics* less than enthusiastic reception: the fact that there
are no characters that can be dismissed or defined on the
basis of personal relationships alone. Each is larger than
expectation has permitted either them or us. There are no
merely supporting actors, the equivalents of the spearman
and the butler and the maid. All are real. All are involved
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 757
in the lives of Sidney and Iris Brustein and they are all in-
volved in their own lives. They aren't there simply as
sounding boards for Sidney, as sitting ducks for him to
knock down, as causes for him to fight for. This isn't the
sort of play with the hero (and sometimes the heroine)
twopence-colored and the other characters penny-plain.
Miss Hansberry, I am convinced, doesn't know how to cre-
ate a character who isn't twopence-colored, who isn't
gloriously diverse, iUuminatingly contradictory, heart-
breakingly alive.
From casual beginnings, lightly and humorously entered
into, the play becomes Sidney Brustein's personal odyssey
of discovery, a confrontation with others in the process of
which he discovers himself.
His friend Alton, because his skin isn't white, has from
his birth lived in a world of injustice; he is a victim, a
martyr whether or not he wants to be one. This doesn't,
however, prevent him when he discovers the truth about
Gloria from being as prejudiced, as narrow, as unthinkingly
cruel as the world which has persecuted him. To be a vic-
tim does not necessarily improve one's character, to live in
a world without love is not the best way of learning how to
love. Alton is intelligent and sensitive and warm-hearted,
and yet he behaves as badly as a white man would do in the
same position; and this is only one of the instances in which
Miss Hansberry refuses to be influenced by progressive
prejudices which can be as blind and stupid as reaction-
ary prejudices.
Indeed, she must have shocked a great many people
whose pride is that they are unshockable. Mavis, one feels
certain, knew in her heart that Goldwater was right, and is
not only a segregationist but anti-Semite; but she is also in-
telligent and gentle and generous and brave and without
hate, growing in one marvelous scene under Sidney's very
eyes.
And David, the playwright, too is shocking. It's all very
158 THE SIGN IN
well for an audience to be asked to sympathize with a
homosexual's sad predicament; if s a different matter when
we are shown that they are not only victims but make oth-
ers their victims, that some do actually corrupt youth, and
that above all, homosexuality is not a special order but a
form of sex:
"If somebody insults you sock 'em in the jaw. If you
don't like the sex laws, attack them . . . You wanna
get up a petition? Ill sign one . . . But, David, please
get over the notion that your particular sexuality is some-
thing that only the deepest, saddest, the most nobly tor-
tured can know about. It ain't it's just one kind of sex
that's all. And, in my opinion the universe turns regard-
less."
It is all the more shocking when the author shows David's
corruption without moralizing and with a strict and terrible
compassion. This corruption is Gloria's too; one speaks of
her life of shame entirely without irony.
Colored men don't behave badly, homosexuals and pros-
titutes have the role of victim, and plays about people like
Sidney Brustein end either in defeat or, which is the same
thing, a retreat into the teddy-bear world of Jimmy Porter.
This was, in the eyes of the critics, the worst offense of
all; the play ends on a note of affirmation. Sidney and Iris
are going to drag themselves to their feet and keep going
forward. There are ways of evading the struggle, but they
reject them. Sidney Brustein is a fool:
"A fool who believes that death is waste and love is
sweet and that the earth turns and men change every day
and that rivers run and that people wanna be better than
they are and that flowers smell good and that I hurt terribly
today, and that hurt is desperation and desperation is
energy and energy can move things . . ."
This is the right ending not only for them, but for us, the
audience; or so, at least, I felt, walking out into Broadway
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 159
remembering words I hadn't thought of for years: If you
don't like the world, you can change it*
I can only repeat that The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Win-
dow is a great play. The word "great" is, I know, gro-
tesquely misused, but no other adjective is possible. The
New York drama critics, partly because of the crippling
limitations under which they work and partly because of
the narrowness of their prejudices, didn't recognize the
play's greatness. I am convinced that, sooner or later, with
one production or another, in this country or another, the
public's judgment will prove better.
November, 1964
A Portrait :
THE 101 "FINAL"
PERFORMANCES OF
SIDNEY BRU STEIN
By Robert N emir of
I care. I care about it all. It takes too much energy not to
care . . . The why of why we are here is an intrigue for
adolescents; the how is what must command the living.
Which is why I have lately become an insurgent again.
Lorraine Hansberry
At 8:50 on the morning of Tuesday, January 12, 1965,
Lorraine Hansberry, aged thirty-four, died of cancer. That
same night, in respect to her memory, Henry Miller's The-
atre stayed dark. It did not reopen thereafter and "The Sign
in Sidney Brustein's Window went into the record books'*
as the Herald Tribune reported it "after an extraordi-
nary run on Broadway of 101 performances."
At some midpoint in those 101 improbable perfor-
mances the press began to call Sidney Brustein "one of the
most talked about plays in years," and it certainly was that;
but this is the least of a story that has already become
something of theatrical legend. It is the quality of all leg-
ends (even in realms not nearly so fanciful as the theater)
that they tend to grow out of all proportion to the facts.
But hi the case of Sidney Brustein the facts themselves are
impressive enough. I was present throughout the two years
in which the author the remarkable, beautiful woman
who meant more to me than any other person in life bat-
tled so valiantly and, to the end, indomitably, against the
foe that finally took her. These were the same two years in
which Sidney Brustein came to life. And hi the last months
it was ray job, as one of the producers, at each of these 101
performances to share with the audience the day-to-day
160
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 161
facts of the struggle to keep it alive. I cannot, pretend to
objectivity about either the play or its author; I must leave
that to time and to others. But the facts are another mat-
ter; they should be allowed to speak for themselves. It is
thus appropriate to set them down, for they are not unre-
lated to the quality of the play and of the life it embodied.
la the weeks just prior to the opening of The Sign in
Sidney Brusteiris Window, Lorraine resided, with a nurse
in attendance, at the Hotel Victoria, where she might be
close to rehearsals. She did not know the nature of her ill-
ness, only that she was terribly sick and that it might be
some time before she could work again at full capacity.
Nights were the worst when she would often waken in
agony. And she had developed, too, a corollary ailment to
her lowered resistance: shingles a blistering of the skin
that girdled her torso with fire. Medication brought some
degree of relief and at times she was, in fact, relatively free
of pain. In a piece written for Playbill years earlier she had
described how a friend, a much older woman "who had
lived a purposeful and courageous life and who was then
dying of cancer, . , . saluted it [this enemy] without de-
spondency, but with a lively, beautiful and quite ribald
anger. . . . There was one thing, she felt, which would
prove equal to its relentless ravages, and that was the gen-
ius of man. Not his mysticism, but man with tubes and
slides and the stubborn human notion that the stars are
very much within our reach.'*
It was that way with Lorraine Hansberry. The "beauti-
ful, ribald anger" with which she greeted fate and the hu-
mor without which she could never approach any one of
her characters, even those she most admired, were not re-
served for die stage. Even in the last months, she would
often sit up with her dear friend Dorothy Secules, or my-
self, in some mugging pose or another, with a hot-water
bottle perched debonairly atop her head, her lips turned
162 THE SIGN IN
up, and her eyes wide. And then she would collapse with
laughter.
Autumn being ever her favorite season "melancholy
autumn," as she always called it she was able to take in
its vistas and watch the leaves turning on "jaunts" about
Central Park in a wheel chair. She managed to attend a
certain number of rehearsals and previews most often she
would force herself to take a taxi the three blocks to the
Longacre Theatre and then walk, for the wheel chair em-
barrassed her and she did an amount of writing.
In a Sunday Times article written in this period, for the
opening, she summed up what she considered to be "the
core" of her play:
Few things are more natural than that the tortures of the
engage should attract me thematically. Being 34 years old
at this writing means that I am of the generation which
grew up in the swirl and dash of the Sartre-Camus debate
of the postwar years. The silhouette of the Western in-
tellectual poised in hesitation before the flames of in-
volvement was an accurate symbolism of some of my
closest friends, some of whom crossed each other leaping
in and out, for instance, of the Communist Party, Others
searched, as agonizingly, for some ultimate justification
of their lives in the abstractions flowing out of London
or Paris. Still others were contorted into seeking a mean-
ingful repudiation of all justifications of anything and had,
accordingly, turned to Zen, action painting or even just
Jack Kerouac.
Mine is, after all, the generation that had come to
maturity drinking in the forebodings of the Silones, Koes-
tlers and Richard Wrights. It had left us ill-prepared for
decisions that had to be made in our own time about Al-
geria, Birmingham or the Bay of Pigs. By the 1960's few
enough American Intellectuals had it within them to be
ashamed that their discovery of the "betrayal" of the
Cuban Revolution by Castro just happened to coincide
with the change of heart of official American government
policy. They left it to TV humorists to defend the Agrarian
Reform in the end. It is the climate and mood of such
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 163
intellectuals, if not these particular events, which con-
stitute the core of a play called The Sign in Sidney Bru-
stein's Window.
The play opened Thursday, October 15, 1964, to mixed
notices, not surprisingly, as I look back on it now. For
apart from its human essences and the distinctively irre-
pressible humor without which Lorraine Hansberry could
never approach any character, even those she most ad-
mired, Sidney Brustein was among other things a "play of
ideas" and thus, from the start, a somewhat alien visita-
tion to Broadway. At best such plays, which have never
been entirely at home here, tend to make us nervous, save
on the special occasions when they bear the prior stamp
of British approval. To make matters worse, it was a play
of ideas that are not popular: ideas that ran deliberately
counter to the entire vogue of sophisticated ennui, the self-
absorption, negation, disenchantment and despair that pass
for "depth" in the theatre today again, in those rare in-
stances when "ideas" are admitted at all.
At a critical moment Sidney Brustein, who like so many
of us. has transformed the tensions of our age into a per-
sonal internal ulcer, is offered the only remedy that seems
within his ken: a tranquilizing pill. He reaches out for the
pill and, lifting it aloft as the stage directions say, "like
Poor Yorick's skull" he exclaims: "Yes, by all means
hand me the chloroform of my passions; the sweetening of
my conscience; the balm of my glands. Oh blessed age!
That has provided that I need never live again in the full
temper of my rage. . . ." And then, setting it down again
on the table, he continues: In another day, Sidney laments,
his ancestors migjit have confronted evil with a sword:
"But how does one confront these thousand nameless face-
less vapors that are the evil of our time? Could a sword
pierce it? ... Wrath has become a poisoned gastric juice
in the intestine. One does not smite evil anymore: one
holds one's gut, thus and takes a pill."
164 THE SIGN IN
In the face of such a world, in which passion has all but
lost the name of meaningful action, a world faced at any
conceivable moment with extinction beyond the control of
any man, it is understandable that the fashion should be
despair: that all appears absurdity and that nothing could
seem more irrelevant than the quest for alternatives. The
very day the play opened Khrushchev fell from power
in Russia, the Labor Party rose in England, and the
Chinese set off their atom bomb; where such events can
occupy twenty-four hours, what power can a single man
feel over the shaping of his destiny? Belief, confidence,
hope commitment of any kind, any act or movement de-
signed to achieve anything at all the very words become
gauche and embarrassing.
And yet it was in the face of just this world, and more-
over, with full and unblinking recognition of the actuality
of the evil within it; and with awareness too, awareness only
too personal, of the ultimate absurdity of individual fate,
the inevitability of the pain, and suffering inherent in the
"human condition" that she set out to realistically affirm
the species. It was Lorraine Hansberry's stubborn notion
that mankind might yet muddle through. Or that, in any
event, we deserved the chance and that only this was worth
the candle.
Distance, however, seems to lend perspective. The goal
she set herself, in all her work, was a task possible or at
any rate, easier of achievement in the crucible of a John
Procter, the court of a Hamlet or the Thirty Years* War of
a Mother Courage: those moments of man's past when he
stood on the brink of a great decision, and heroic action
could have clear meaning. It was a task possible even in
the slums of Walter Lee Younger's Chicago where black
and white are, still, more pronounced than our intermedi-
ate gray. If the playwright's commitment were less univer-
sal, bounded by race or restricted by color, she might have
turned for her affirmation, for example, to Mississippi. In-
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 765
stead, she chose to look for it in the most unlikely place
of all: the lives most of us lead today. Precisely, in short,
where we cannot find it. It was the mark of her respect
for us all.
The play she wrote was not neat, simple or "well-made"
for easy assimilation at one sitting. Rather than essaying a
single domestic situation or even several themes, which
would ignore the complexity we live with, she deliberately
chose to confront the "thousand nameless faceless vapors"
of evil that preoccupy and compel us. It was a sprawling
canvas on which are juxtaposed, with varying degrees of
success, the dominant themes and conflicts which, only in
their totality and terribly complicated interrelationship,
motivate and define our generation. And she did not even
allow herself the cover of obscurity. Lorraine Hansberry
insisted on clarity in complexity. She tackled sacred cows
quite as if she did not acknowledge their sanctity, and she
had the temerity to discuss ideas per se quite as if she did
not know she was not George Bernard Shaw.
Nor was the play easily classifiable; it could not be com-
fortably pigeonholed by the first-night critic with a dead-
line to meet. It was not the exercise in "naturalism" we
blithely tend to assume for the social playwright. Neither
did it have the familiar tone or attitude that makes more
experimental forms acceptable. It was too popular too
hopeful, too readily accessible to and respectful of the
intelligence of the mass audience to be taken for "serious"
drama; there was too damn much fun in it. And not one
symbol you could not understand. "There are no squares,
Sidney: everybody is his own hipster, believe me when I
tell you." In the simplistic universe of a theatre that has
discovered "guilt" and the great new revelation, "original
sin," there is something obviously disconcerting and
therefore "sentimental" about a 34-year-old author who
166 THE SIGN IN
can, after properly nailing the "bourgeois Philistine" that
is Mavis Parodus, proceed to turn right around and pay
her tribute and, moreover, actually raise fists to the gods
in her behalf, as Sidney does. There is something almost
indecent about this; it is an unforgivable lapse, the final
fall from sophistication. For it smacks of the suggestion
that there is perhaps a potential in her (and if in Mavis,
why not in us all?) greater than environment has permit-
ted. And didn't this go "out" with the thirties, at least
among "serious" men?
Finally the cardinal sin Sidney Brustein mixed styles!
For all the oft-remarked-upon felicity of the playwright's
dialogue, her wonderful ear for the comic nuance of every-
day, it flows freely as William Gibson observed in the
Sunday Times in a "range of vibrant rhetoric new in her
work and not common on our stage," And it also takes
flight into a heightened poetic compression permissible in
lonesco and Beckett but^not in popular drama as in Act
IE, Scene I, where the disintegration of Sidney's world is
paralleled in a disintegration of realistic form.
This stylistic unorthodoxy created certain problems
and ultimate failings in the production. On stage we tend
to consider it enough to suggest intellectuals; but too much
talk, the actual discussion of ideas, makes us nervous.
Heightened speech in an otherwise realistic and compre-
hensible play, shifts of style, flights of metaphor are like-
ly to embarrass the actor. The obvious solution is to cut
them. And all the more so when we accept the notion, as
most of us in the theatre seem to, that there is some inher-
ent, God-given or natural law governing the precise length
a play may be quite as if the fifteen minutes more or less
were dictated by some immutable, pre-tested Audience At-
tention Span Meter, rather than by Stagehands' Union Lo-
cal #i, and the commuter timetables of the New York
Central.
Psychological factors alone are not insurmountable, but
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 767
when they are combined with the practical problems of
production,* there is seldom time for ideal solutions. Some-
thing had to give; and the production on opening night
suffered somewhat from both too much cutting and too
little. In a few instances themes and character develop-
ments arose without adequate grounding in what went be-
fore: in Act I, Scene i, Sidney's crucial decision which
gives shape and direction to everything that follows was
not sufficiently established; and, most notably, identifica-
tion with Iris, his wife, was diminished by the omission of
Act II, Scene I. The present edition corrects these omis-
sions and also includes certain minor additions from the
author's original drafts that are interesting in themselves.
Looking back to opening night it is hardly likely, in short,
that the critic comfortably settling back with nostalgic rem-
iniscences of A Raisin in the Sun could have been prepared
for Sidney Brustein. Only five years before, at the curtain
of what is by now one of the best-loved plays in America,
the Younger family had decided to risk all for the new
home in the white middle-class neighborhood; now their
creator was saying that that house was on fire, the com-
munity a disaster area of the soul, and that a great deal of
rebuilding would have to be done from the ground up if
the neighborhood was to be fit for the Youngers to live in
at all. And she was saying it in terms a style, a frame of
reference, a genre quite different from those the critic
might have expected of her.
The fact that all of this was implicit in Raisin itself
which was actually no more "naturalistic** than its succes-
* In the case of Sidney Brustein, the replacement of our original
male star and director two weeks before the opening by Gabriel
Dell and Peter Kass, respectively. Mr. Dell's last-minute approach
to the role of Sidney who never once leaves the stage was the
achievement of a fine actor and, in the pitifully short time available
to him, the excitement and insight with which Mr. Kass infused the
entire company were little short of incredible.
168 THE SIGN IN
sor; and which did not have a "happy ending," only the
commitment to new levels of struggle did not help. For
this had quite managed to escape most of the critics at the
time, and has eluded them ever since, in the quite under-
standable rush of their enthusiasm for the new playwright's
humor and insight, and the near-ecstatic discovery that she
had not, praise God, written a play "about Negroes but hu-
man beings." As if, apparently, there were some inherent
contradiction. (Imagine, if you can, the suggestion that
"Tennessee Williams does not write about Americans, he
writes about human beings/')
Closer examination might have revealed, of course, the
deeper non-naturalistic levels of Raisin. Walter Lee Young-
er's "African" soliloquy, for example, is a speech that could
not possibly literally be his own any more than Mavis
Parodus could, in ike, become Medea, or Gloria so elo-
quently locate her essence in a Goya etching. The liquor
that loosens Walter Lee's tongue releases a language and
imagery he could not have derived from the books he has
never read, nor certainly from the movies that he has seen;
and language is not a quality of the blood. It is the poten-
tial talking in him, not the actual. It is the stature to which
he aspires, not the one he has been permitted. The chauf-
feur becomes one with African kings and in poetry's swift
illumination we are enabled to grasp, in full pathos, the
extent of the disparity: the size of the injustice that has
been done him. The moment has nothing whatever to do
with naturalism, literalism or "kitchen-sink" drama. It can
only be understood as poetic compression, larger than life.
(Just as in the Act H curtain the yardstick in Sidney's hand
becomes, visibly, the measure of his and our own di-
minishment.)
A closer look might have revealed, too, the philosophi-
cal current that is as strong in the Younger living room as
in the Brusteins' if less obvious where the idiom is folk,
not Freud; and the allusions are to Tennessee, not Paris.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 169
MAMA
. . . Child, when do you think is the time to love some-
body the most . . . it's when he's at his lowest and can't
believe in hisself 'cause the world done whipped Hm so.
When you starts measuring a man, measure him right,
child, measure him right. Make sure you done taken into
account what hills and valleys he come through before
he got to. wherever he is.
Is there any essential difference except for the language
between Wally O'Hara in Act III and this about Asugai,
the African revolutionist in Raisin:
WALTER
You and that boy that was here today. You all want every-
body to carry a flag and a spear and sing some marching
songs, huh? You wanna spend your life looking into things
and trying to find the right and the wrong part, huh? Yeah.
You know what's going to happen to that boy someday
he'll find himself sitting in a dungeon, locked in forever
and the takers will have the key! Forget it, baby! There
ain't no causes there ain't nothing but taking in this
world, and he who takes most is smartest and it don't
make a damn bit of difference how.
Or is Sidney Brustein "that boy" circa Greenwich Village
in chukka boots and corduroy?
There is a clear line between the plant that sits in Lena
Younger's window and the Sign that hangs in Sidney's. But
Raisin had never received that kind of examination. Per-
haps because of its author, perhaps because of its hopeful-
ness, perhaps because of its popularity we do not asso-
ciate "serious" art with mass success it was assumed to
be simple. The very art by which it concealed its complex-
ity was its critical undoing. Was it likely, then, that the
critic, with all the best intentions in the world, was psycho-
logically prepared to accept from the pen of this engaging
young Negro writer "hardly more than a girl," as one in-
terviewer described her what he might have from an au-
thor of another milieu or more awesome repute?
770 THE SIGN IN
It was with many of the above things in mind, but also
the prayer that I was far wide of the mark, that I worded
my opening-night telegram to Lorraine. Paraphrasing
freely from the play, it read in part:
Witness you ever-burning lights above: we fools are up
and at it again: fools who believe that death is waste and
love is sweet and people want to be better than they
are ... Whatever the outcome tonight I want you to
know:
1) That it is a great play: a measured, remorseless,
dimensional paean to life as no one no one has the
courage to write these days.
2) It is a play for people. They come, they laugh, they
take sides, they participate; it is their play and it speaks
for them this much is proven already. Let us hope now
that the intellectuals surprise us with the depth to rise to
their level.
3) It is not the best production, but it is the very best
production we had in us to give.
4) If the sign hangs long in the window, it is your sign
. . . you are tough, Lorraine Hansberry . . . even
wracked with pain as now . . . Tougher and stronger and
more beautiful than any of us. You are the best that we
have. Good health, justice tonight and more to come.
As far as my earlier prayers were concerned, I might as
well have saved them for a better purpose. There was jus-
tice "to come." But not that night
Daily reviews are of brief dominion absolute but with-
out duration. Their hour of ascendance, while it lasts, is
awesomely real; their justice swift, final, irrevocable. But
good, bad or indifferent, their only life is the life they
measure: they seldom survive the run of a play. And when
a book appears when a play is published we know their
hour is past. Ordinarily, they would have no relevance
here. But in the light of what was to come and as part
of the record they are worth recalling. It was not that
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 171
the reviews were negative. Far from it. Among them there
were a goodly number of outright "raves." But in the main
they so utterly failed to comprehend or evoke the play.
Howard Taubman's notice in The New York Times fo-
cused on "a scene more searing than anything on Broad-
way," Alton's monologue "[which] could stand alone as
a passionately eloquent sermon for a time when the Rev.
Dr. Martin Luther King also wins a Nobel Prize." He spoke
of others "that shine with humor, tremble with feeling and
summon up a vision of wisdom and integrity." But he also
found that "although the stage frequently lights up, it is
likely to dim unexpectedly. The trouble is not only in the
writing" which struck him as uneven and in need of tight-
ening "one has a feeling that the performance has not
quite jelled." Walter Kerr in the Herald Tribune largely
concurred, and Richard Watts in the New York Post shared
Taubman's reservations. Yet Watts recognized, too, "a
courageous, compassionate and warmly human spirit . . .
power and insight and * . . forthright integrity" and,
above all, "the unsentimental sympathy for the weaknesses
of man" which he felt to be "the notable feature of this
searching examination of troubled human nature. The Sign
in Sidney Brustein's Window demonstrates again that Miss
Hansberry is a talented and important dramatist." But in
the Journal-American, John McClain summed up its es-
sence otherwise: "The theme seems to be ... 'don't pick
on the world/ "
A few reviewers, however, had no difficulty with the
theme or what their colleagues complained of being the
multifarious themes and grasped the play in larger dimen-
sion. Publications as diverse as The Journal of Commerce,
New Leader, Saturday Review and National Guardian were
unstinting in their respect and admiration. But it remained
for the Wall Street Journals Richard P. Cooke, in a straight
"rave," to rejoice: "If Broadway has needed a play by some-
one who can reach into the turbulence of contemporary life
772 THE SIGN IN
and coxne up with a true report which is also a work of dra-
matic art, Lorraine Hansberry has accomplished it. ...
The taste left in the mouth after the final curtain is both
bitter and good. For the playwright herself has taste, of the
best kind."
Richard Oilman's assessment in Newsweek, however,
was in direct opposition to Cooke's; it was headlined "Bor-
rowed Bitchery" and is worth quoting at length for the
sense it gives of the intensity of emotion the play had suc-
ceeded in generating. In coming directly to the point, Mr.
Oilman did not waste one word on cast or production:
There was surely a dry agony in Lorraine Hansberry's
writing of The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window . . . the
play is a vicious sitting in judgment on others. , . .
There is a sort of inverted miracle in the way Miss
Hansberry manages to distort so many things taste, in-
telligence, craft. . . . Her dragooned themes , . . serve
exclusively as containers for her venomous anger: she
hates homosexuals, liberals, abstract artists, nonrealistic
playwrights, white people unwilling to commit suicide . .
her savage assault on intellectuality brandishes every in-
tellectual catchword. . . .
. . . In turning into a cocktail-party shrew, in shifting
her suffering to the backs of others, in using every easy
trick to destroy what threatens her, she has betrayed not
only the functions of art, but social responsibility, political
possibility, her own cause [?] and, most radically, herself.
In his defense of civilization, Richard Oilman was not
alone. Others might lack his articulateness, but Martin
Gottfried, for one, of Women's Wear Daily, was not lack-
ing for courage: he used a bold phrase, the "stinking trivi-
ality of it all." Michael Smith, in the Village Voice, ex-
plained how he "loathed" being forced "to condemn Miss
Hansberry's play" and how at first, in fact, he had intended
to pay her the tribute of silence: "I would prefer not to
cause her further pain. But the play is dreadful, and I am
deeply offended at the praise it has received for reasons that
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 775
are certainly questionable" the foremost being, he found,
"that Lorraine Hansberry, the play's author, is a Negro"
and the next, "the public knowledge of [her] critical ill-
ness."
Such comments, however, were the exception. Most re-
viewers praised the play or its parts in varying degree and
combination. But there were strong reservations, too, and
an all-too-apparent perplexity about the whole. Where
Raisin was "warm, simple and direct," Brustein was ap-
parently "depressing, diffuse and confusing . . too many
stories . . . too much talk." McClain who was perhaps
typical and who had left in the end "rejoicing" concluded
on a plaintive note: "As 1 say, I was finally won over I
really came to care but I wish Miss Hansberry hadn't
talked quite so much." A Newark colleague wished she
"could have said something simpler."
By merely cataloguing what she did say the themes out
of the context of flesh and blood; the ideas isolated from
the emotions of those who hold them on stage; the prob-
lems apart from the complexities out of which they arose;
the characters defined only by their most readily apparent
aspect the reviews, even many of the favorable ones, had
made Sidney Brustein seem impossible: a lifeless tract, a
potpourri of "wailings and woes." It was like reporting
George Bernard Shaw everything but the humor. A
straight-faced inventory of the characters in You Can't
Take It with You or a synopsis of Hamlet would have
been about as persuasive.
In the light of such reviews the lay theatre-goer might
logically assume modest success and indeed, many of our
friends called to offer congratulations. But to anyone who
understands the stringent economics of Broadway the con-
trary was clear. The play was not a "smash." It was not a
musical or a comedy and it had no great star. There had
been no great advance sale, and no line would form at the
box office next morning. There would be no calls from the
774 THE SIGN IN
brokers and theatre-party agents who provide the lifeblood
of Broadway but cannot afford to take chances; the next
sale depends on the largest number of satisfied purchasers
of the last. Furthermore, the play would have no appeal
to a not inconsiderable portion of the public: those for
whom it does not matter so much what they see as long
as they can say it was a "hit." And those for whom
this is all that matters: a pair of "hot tickets' 5 is but the
means to an end, a form of currency, not art or even "en-
tertainment," except as an item for tax deduction. Without
these a play cannot run: the drama that is not a "hit" is
dead. Sidney Brustein cost $20,000 a week just to operate.
It 'would have to close.
Serious theatre-lovers who had read the reviews were in-
trigued, of course, and many certainly planned to see it
sooner or later, but that was beside the point: at $7.50 a
throw (plus dinner and baby sitter?) to see for oneself is
an indulgence; how many of us can afford the luxury of
having our own taste? The only way to evaluate a critic
is to match him against the play he reviews. Make the com-
parison often enough, and one begins to get the feel of the
man; only then can one know whom, if anyone, to rely
upon. But who can afford it? Instead, we are forced to rely
on the internal logic of the review itself. If the man writes
well enough, we are likely to be persuaded. And if we are
persuaded often enough, he becomes a great critic. But
how well he writes may have nothing whatever to do with
the plays he reviews. It is a perfect closed circle (which is
perhaps why it is known as the Critics' Circle.)
It is only in this context that the New York critic has
assumed a power he never sought (and not infrequently
protests against to deaf ears) : he is one of the few men
with the power to both deliver a verdict and get rid of
the evidence. As Viveca Lindfors was to put it presently:
"At the post-mortem there is almost never a corpse." Un-
less, in short, a large transfusion of money were immedi-
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 775
ately available, the Sign in our window would have to come
down Saturday night. All this was apparent 2 A.M. Thurs-
day when, with wondering eyes, we heard the reviews on
the phone.
On Friday we broke the news to Lorraine. She had half
expected it. As one who knew the ways of this world only
too well, Lorraine Hansberry was always more surprised
by success or good news of any kind than the contrary
and thus able to enjoy it the more. Her own earlier tri-
umph; the proper recognition of anyone else's achieve-
ment; the plaudits of the tastemakers for work of any kind
that was genuinely good these, to her, were always happy
accidents, to be treasured to the full, but never counted on.
"A lot of people 'have if and they just get trampled to
death by the mob trying to get up the same mountain' 9 if
there was one thing Lorraine Hansbeny did not believe, it
was that talent will "out" in the end.
Still, it was the immediacy of the prospect that hurt Sid-
ney Brustein had shared the history common to most plays:
the years in the writing, planning, production; the lonely
vigils, endless drafts, conferences, crises, battles, debates,
casting calls; sessions with actors, directors, designers, up
to and down through the rehearsals themselves. A Raisin
in the Sun had run nineteen months on Broadway. Now to
run not even one week can any writer be prepared for
this?
Some scenes one does not ever forget: Lorraine's always
deep, penetrating eyes wide with concern as we talked
what if it were a long time before she could write again?
What would she do? How would she live? . . . And in the
midst of this, a phone call from Frank and Eleanor Perry,
the young couple who had written, produced and directed
the film David and Lisa. Three days before, they had lent
the production $2,500 to be used only if the reviews were
good and we ran. Now, despite the odds, they were saying:
776 THE SIGN IN
"Yes, we've read the reviews ... no, we don't give a
damn ... we know the odds . . . we're calling to say
we hope you will use it . * ."
Twenty-five hundred dollars, though, was like a drop in
the bucket, even when supplemented by a like amount from
a friend, Victor Rabinowitz, who said he also knew the
odds, but would leave the discretion to us. The next day was
Saturday, the day for which the closing notice had already
been posted. My co-producers (Burt D'Lugoff and J. I.
Jahre) and I spent the night on the phones. Trying, as
someone said, to "hold back the ocean."
About noon Saturday Lorraine called from the hotel
one of the few occasions I can recall terror in her voice
The numbness, which since yesterday morning she had fel\
in her legs, had gradually moved up to her chest. If she did
not know the full significance of this, we did: cancer had
invaded the central nervous system. Burt D'Lugoff, my
partner and for many years our dear friend, who shares the
dedication of this book, is a doctor. He told Lorraine he
would be right over. I stayed on the phones while he and a
nurse took her to the hospital for what was to be the last
time.
A member of the production called, a by-now familiar
voice though we had only met at rehearsals, who at her own
insistence must remain anonymous. She had been thinking,
she said: over many years she had been associated with
many shows, but never one like this . . . "that mattered
so much ... it should not be permitted to close." She
had $8,500 in the bank, would that help? This was not a
woman of wealth (though of good earning power ), and so
I said no, or started to she would not even hear me out.
How dare I say no? It wasn't my play ... in short, she
insisted. By now we were both laughing and crying at the
same time. This was a Mavis Parodus come to life on the
other end of the phone. And as tough. I thanked her
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 777
wanting to lift my own hands to the gods like Sidney and
got Lorraine on the phone.
"It was like penicillin," Burt later described it, "a radi-
ance, a great beaming smile settled over her face when she
heard." For one week at least the Sign would continue to
hang in our window. And sometime the next day, alone
in her hospital room, she wrote of the play to a friend,
in a letter which was never completed. It read in part:
, , . Yes, a great deal has happened to me since our
friendship. In fact, I often feel that everything in the world
which can happen has happened to me. But this is non-
sense, as a new thing crops up immediately.
... I hope that you and Polly get in to see the show.
It's ever so much more entertaining than the reviewers try
to let on. And ifs very funny.
The letter stopped there and these were, so far as I know,
the last words she put to paper. Characteristically. For it
had never ceased to amaze and delight her that the show
really was so funny that people could laugh so loud over
the lines just as it never failed to tickle her that these
figments of merest fancy, these characters dreamed up out
of her own head, could become real to so many; that people
could beam and cry, argue and passionately take sides
over them directors storm and fuss and grow furious,
actors create whole past histories and inutterably compli-
cated motivations for them and ask the most intricate inti-
mate questions about them; and that, for instance, there
never was an audience that did not burst into howls and
applause over Mavis' lines about "squares and hipsters"
just as they did over Lena Youngefs "It expresses me!"
Lorraine Hansberry was, among other things, a willful
little girl playing a prank, as she sometimes said, on a
much too sober and pontifical adult world and never
more delighted than to be caught in the act It was her
funny lines the ones that gave people pleasure of which
she was proudest
775 THE SIGN IN
In the next week three people came backstage who were
to prove instrumental in keeping the Sign in our window:
Sidney Kingsley, Shelley Winters and Viveca Lindfors.
The celebrated playwright had come to see Gabriel Dell,
whom he had originally discovered and directed as one of
the "Dead End Kids" in his perhaps most famous drama.
The word he used most frequently in discussing the play
afterward, privately and publicly, was "genius"; he made
no secret of the fact there were moments he would have
treated differently, but overall he had seen nothing to equal
its power and beauty in many years. He was outspoken
publicly, and behind the scenes worked quietly and effec-
tively in a dozen ways.
Shelley Winters was at once so moved and so profound-
ly struck by the play's contemporary relevance "it is not
a play about our time," she said at a Presidential election
rally, "it is our time" that she offered to step into a sup-
porting role at union minimum if this would help. In the
weeks to come, Miss Winters, one artist who has never
shunned the responsibility of public prominence, was to
leave no stone unturned in the play's behalf, appearing
again and again, in alternation with Miss Lindfors, on ra-
dio, television and the public platform, often on a mo-
ment's notice.
The Swedish-born star surely one of the world's most
beautiful women and no less an actress and human being
is proudly American now in all respects except one: she
still has some difficulty in accepting the dollar as a stand-
ard of art. Viveca Lindfors showed up at our office the
following morning in a great fur coat and dungarees and
at once proceeded to call and write (typing the letters her-
self until all hours) others in the theatrical community for
support In the months following, I do not recall her ever
declining any request for aid, no matter what the hour or
inconvenience. The immediate result of her efforts was a
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 179
meeting scheduled for the foflowing Friday, after show-
time, at the Perrys' home.
On the morning of Tuesday, October 20th, Lorraine
Hansberry first lost her sight, then went into convulsions:
the disease had entered her brain. At midafternoon she
lapsed into coma and the doctors informed us it was now
only a matter of hours at best. We released: the news for
the first time that she was critically ill; there was no longer
any point in holding it back. My brother stepped in to take
my place in the 'round-the-clock battle of the phones at the
office. But she was tough it is not rhetoric to speak of
Lorraine Hansberry's commitment to life; even then, out
of the depth of whatever will survived in the darkness that
enveloped her, how she clung to it!
Can a person in coma register the world outside? Not
once but many times in the next four days I repeated to her
the words of a letter from a stranger whom I was later to
meet, a young theatre-goer named Howard Bennett, that
had arrived at the Longacre that morning. It read in part:
... I would like to thank you for writing Sidney Bru-
stein. You have written a beautiful a painfully beautiful
work of art. Please, if Sidney fails, please keep writing
... I don't know why or how it missed being received
as one of the modern theatre's greatest achievements. . . .
Fof my own part, let me tell you that I felt everything
that was happening on stage yesterday ... I believed in
everyone, and I hurt and I saw the beauty in each. Tliank
you! I hope you will be able to keep carrying a message of
hope till the last day of your life. With Sidney you helped
and touched me as I do not expect to be moved again in
the theatre.
Again and again I told Lorraine she would have to get
better, come back, write again, that there were too many
people like this depending on her. Later, when I asked her
whether she had heard, she said yes though I am still
not certain of it and do not suppose it really matters now.
180 THE SIGN IN
Wednesday night we had visitors: William Gibson,
whose musical adaptation of Golden Boy had opened the
night before, and his wife, Margaret. Bill had met Lorraine
only on several occasions over the years, yet there was a
warm affection between them she respected his Miracle
Worker, and she often remarked on one particularly help-
ful suggestion he had made when Raisin was trying out in
New Haven. That night was the first opportunity the Gib-
sons had had to see the new play and they came back
to the hospital, late in the night, and he stood for a long
time, this tall and somewhat Lincolnesque man, crying by
her bed. Afterward, a letter appeared in the Sunday Times
which, in addition to hailing the play, posed a more gen-
eral question:
To the Editor:
It is one of the vexing facts of our theatre that as audi-
ence we have so little sense of its cultural continuity.
At this writing a play by Lorraine Hansberry ... is
struggling to keep open at the Longacre quite as though
Miss Hansberry had never in her life written a line to in-
terest anyone. How can it be that, of the hundreds of
thousands who roared with pleasure and wept tears at her
Raisin in the Sun, so few have the intellectual appetancy
to hear what her mind has been at work on since? . . .
... Is it a compliment to our culture that one season a
writer can be voted best playwright of the year, and an-
other season be ignored like a novice?
William Gibson
Stockbridge, Mass.
By Thursday the doctors gave up predicting: Lorraine
Hansberry had quite confounded their charts. And then,
beginning on Friday, she returned gradually to life slow-
ly at first, unable to speak, hardly able to move, but then
growing a bit stronger each day, as first sight returned and
partial movement, then comprehension and speech, until
finally weeks later she could eat a little again and con-
verse and even be helped out of bed to sit up in a chair.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 181
There remained some partial loss f memory, and aphasia:
the mind functioning clearly but not always able to deliver
the right words. But in her last months Lorraine was able
to follow with considerable relish the events occurring out-
side.
At the Friday night meeting at the Perrys* on October
23rd, I was thus able to announce a turn for the better
and from that point on no further reference was made to
the matter of her health in the course of our campaign,
For if the play were worth saving, it had to be saved on
its own account and not that of its author and indeed,
most of those who became involved afterward did not know
of her condition, or else assumed she was recuperating,
since the malignant nature of her illness had never been
revealed.
The most lasting impression that night was not made by
any of the theatre folk present. These tended to varying
degrees of pessimism not about the play but about the
state of our theatre and the resultant implausibility of the
effort: it had been tried and failed too many times before;
we might eke out a few weeks at most, but "you can't buck
the gods of the box-office . . * give up while you're ahead
or else why not try to move the thing oS-Broadway?"
The off-Broadway "alternative/* which Lillian Hellman
had put forward earlier and which Shelley Winters echoed,
is without doubt the most frequent one heard whenever a
serious play is in trouble, reflecting as it does the despair
most of our serious artists feel about survival on Broad-
way. But it also tends to be defeatist and divisive, since
on examination it proves to be not an alternative at all:
the move is not possible, and never has been, for a dozen
practical reasons, not the least of which are the union re-
quirements (which will not be waived) for a six months'
lapse before any play can be reopened off-Broadway at
less than Broadway salaries, that is.
182 THE SIGN IN
It was easier, too, to go off on tangents, to discuss, with
delightfully interlarded anecdotes, all matter of related as-
pects publicity columnists, etc. constructive in them-
selves but beside the immediate point: survival. It remained
for a tall young Negro in overalls, who had seen his first
play not one year before, to set a different tone for us all.
Louisiana-born Jerome Smith is a CORE field organizer
who, at twenty-five, had been jailed, beaten and run out
of more towns, from one end of the South to the other,
than even the theatrical mind can comfortably imagine. He
had come to this meeting because he happened to be in
New York at the time and because he knew Lorraine and
had seen her play. He spoke softly and haltingly now of the
particular relationship between them, and the room fell
silent: "Two years ago, I first met Lorraine Hansberry
like many of the young people of the movement, I had
come to enlist her support." In a few meetings, he said,
she had become one of the "important influences in my
life, opening up for me books of all kinds" and ideas
that went beyond the particular parochialisms of the im-
mediate struggle. She had helped to organize a great pub-
lic meeting in Croton-on-Hudson, New York, which she
chaired and at which he spoke. The funds collected there
had purchased the station-wagon in which the three civil
rights workers, Michael Schwerner, Andrew Goodman and
James Chaney, were driving at the time of their abduction
and murder. Then, with a groping eloquence new to many
in the room, Jerome Smith spoke of a "commitment be-
yond race , . . the need to reach out and touch each other
. * . without which civil rights in themselves don't mean
a thing" and it was this, he said, which spoke to him
through this play about a Jewish 'intellectual in Greenwich
Village "as through few other experiences in my life.'*
There was silence for a moment, and after that the dis-
cussion was brief, sober and to the point.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 183
The following week's New York Times carried an ad,
signed and paid for by most of those in the room. Titled
"An Open Letter: First-Rate Theatre Belongs on Broad-
way," it read in part:
The news that Lorraine Hansberry's The Sign in Sidney
Brustein's Window faces closing should disturb all who
love the theatre.
Miss Hansberry's new play is a work of distinction. It
contains the humor and insight we associate with the finest
traditions of our stage, and it is written with profound re-
spect for the human condition.
The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window is concerned
with the turbulent life of our times. It is, in turn, powerful,
tender, moving and hilarious.
Whether it survives or closes will be determined this
week. . . . We the undersigned, who believe in it enough
to pay for this ad, urge you to see it now.
The signatories of this first ad were James Baldwin,
Paddy Chayefsky, Sammy Davis, Ossie Davis, Ruby Dee,
William Gibson, E. Y. Harburg, Julie Harris, Lillian Hell-
man, Sidney Kingsley, Viveca Lindfors, Frank and Elea-
nor Perry, Arthur Penn and Shelley Winters. They were
joined in subsequent similar ads by Alan Alda, Steve Al-
len, Kaye Ballard, Anne Bancroft, Theodore Bikel, Mar-
lon Brando, Mel Brooks, Frank Corsaio, Tamara Daykar-
hanova, Keir Dullea, Arthur Godfrey, June Havoc, Lucille
Lortel, Bill Manhoff, Claudia McNeil, Kay Medford, Mike
Nichols, Patrick O'Neal, Robert Preston, Lloyd Richards,
Diana Sands, Herman Shumlin, Kim Stanley, Joseph Stein,
Charles Strouse, George Tabori and Teresa Wright
Meanwhile things began to happen quite independently
of our efforts and, as a matter of fact, from this point on
we were never able to catch up. The play was finding its
own voice, generating its own appeal, and the response was
rather like the bursting of a dam.
The very day that first ad was going to press we received
184 THE SIGN IN
a call from Elaine Thompson, the advertising agency. An-
other producer, one of the most distinguished in the busi-
ness, with a track record running back a generation and
with The Deputy currently on the boards, had seen the
play and, without any knowledge of our ad, had written
one of his own which he wanted to pay for and run if
that was all right with us. (It was.)
A FINE PLAY! A MOVING PLAY! A POWERFUL PLAY is on the
stage of the Longacre Theatre ... it is maybe even a
great play. It is sharply witty, beautifully acted and bril-
liantly illuminated by the author's close touch with today,
with now. In these days when "to care" is the verb that
must govern us, such a play is an exciting, enjoyable ex-
perience.
HERMAN SHUMLIN
P.S. I would have been proud to produce it myself.
Other noteworthy ads in the weeks that followed carried
a note from Steve Allen:
THIS WONDERFUL, WARM, FUNNY PLAY made me laugh
and cry and whistle and stomp. It should run for years.
It must! See it! It's the kind of tough, gutsy yet tender
drama that the theatre needs.
And there was one ad excerpted from a radio broadcast
which merged Arthur Godfrey's great personal enthusiasm
with his account of an audience which "just went wild with
applause and enthusiasm; people were crying Bravos all
over the place. If we can just get [the play] through these
holidays, then I think it will settle down to a long run and
well it should."
Wednesday, November 4th, was a most unusual mati-
nee, with some fifty ministers and rabbis invited by Rev-
erend Donald Harrington, of the Community Church, and
Reverend Eugene Callendar, Moderator of the Presbytery
of New York in attendance. "At the final curtain," as
one paper reported it, "the mystified audience was invited
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 185
to remain . . . and share in one of those rare moments in
theatre when actors don their street clothes, sit before the
proscenium and talk with the people out front." The cast
was joined by Sidney Kingsley, Herman Shumlin, Shelley
Winters, Viveca Lindfors and James Baldwin. Mr. Shum-
lin spoke of the "six men" (critics) who require that a play
be perfect: "We must change whatever it is in our social
fabric which makes the production of thoughtful plays,
serious plays, difficult/* He pointed to periods in history
when, he said, the theatre was emptied of everything but
farces, and then theatre died: "What is needed is the reali-
zation that there will be no musicals, no farces, if there
are no serious plays. There will be no theatre."
The others on stage delivered what were to us, by now,
familiar appreciations of the play. And then, one by one,
ministers and rabbis arose to discuss its impact upon and
meaning for them. Rev. John Garcia Gensel of Advent
Lutheran Church had been to see Brustein three times
and was planning to come yet again. That afternoon he had
brought his sixteen-year-old daughter: "If I am to preach
about life if she is to learn about life, about the evil, the
corruption, the fallibility with which she will have to con-
tend then let it be in this context!" Rev. Howard Moody,
of Greenwich Village's Judson Memorial Church, called the
play a "more moving portrayal of deep moral and spirit-
ual problems than all the mawkish sentimentality of our
religious dramas and far too many of our sermons/* But
it was the son of a Baptist minister, once "called" as a
preacher himself, but long since departed from the faith,
who touched the spiritual essence of that meeting.
James Baldwin had cut short Ms work on a movie sce-
nario on the West Coast in response to our appeal. He ar-
rived late, clambered up over the footlights, and standing
there, a short, slight figure in chukka boots, described, with
the frankness for which he is famous, his own negative
reaction to the play on first reading an early draft, and
186 THE SIGN IN
his "troubling ambivalence'* after seeing it ". . . until,
that is, I realized just what about it was making me so un-
comfortable." He continued: "It was the particular quality
of commitment in this play. Sidney Brustein believes things
that I, that most of us, believed a long time ago ... in
the thirties . . . only Sidney still believes them. And now
the poor bastard is a set-up to have his head busted in for
it in the third act he would have to. ... I was shocked
and believe me" he smiled and his eyes crinkled in a
great grin "I am one individual I really thought was al-
most beyond shocking at my own discomfiture ... at
the degree we have, all of us, permitted ourselves to retreat
from what we once were . . . at the distance one decade,
the era of McCarthy, has driven between us and our own
ability to commit ourselves as Sidney is committed." This
play was an experience, he concluded, "that caused me
to examine more deeply into myself and my own motives
than any other in a long, long time. If it cannot survive,
then we are in trouble . . , because it is about nothing
less than our responsibility to ourselves and to each other."
Out of this meeting came a statement drawn and signed
by the clergy in attendance:
The Sign in Sidney Brustein 9 s Window presents almost
too poignantly the whole range of the dilemmas and con-
fusion of contemporary man. If it does not contain the
answer it presents the challenge. Organized religion cannot
ignore this cry for help as well as hope, and it will have to
respond with more than a reiteration of time-worn plati-
tudes. . . .
The statement thanked the author for her "humane, wise
and deeply perceptive challenge" and on subsequent week-
ends Sidney Brustein was the subject of not a few sermons.
It now became possible to introduce certain of Lor-
raine's revisions which there had not been time to incor-
porate prior to the opening. These were not so extensive
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 187
as has since been supposed. They involved about ten min-
utes at most a cut of three pages of quite extraneous dia-
logue at the very beginning, which I had foolishly resisted
earlier; some minor cuts; and the transposition into Act I
of a speech from the omitted Act II, Scene I, which clari-
fied Iris' character. But they did tighten and speed the ac-
tion somewhat, and on this basis we invited the critics back
for a second viewing, and one of them actually availed him-
self of the opportunity.
Norman Nadel of the New York World Telegram and
Sun had written by far the most negative of the original
daily reviews. It was headlined " 'THE SIGN' is MUCH TOO
SORDID" and had concluded: "I think an audience is will-
ing to forgive most on-stage sin and in this play it ranges
from plain and fancy lying through plain and fancy illicit
sex, including voyeurism. But when the sin becomes oppres-
sive ... it cancels out caring for the people involved. This
play sinks under its own sordid substance."
The new review took a quite different tone and in the
light of the original is worth quoting at length:
Nothing in this world remains the same, with the possi-
ble exception of faith, nowhere is this better illustrated
than in the living theatre. For evidence, turn to the crea-
tion, metamorphosis and rebirth of Lorraine Hansberry's
new play. . . .
After filling in the background to the new changes, Mr.
Nadel said he was "glad" to report that "the play has dis-
covered its own eloquence":
The first act ... is [now] a spirited, and even quite
tender exposition of a troubled, though not entirely hope-
less marriage. . . . Before, it sweated social conscious-
ness. Now, the shrewdly worded truths come forth with
far less conspicuous labor. The new spontaneity and conr
ciseness of that first act are worth their weight in gold
. . . which could mean box-office gold as the word gets
around.
188 THE SIGN IN
And the improvement in the first act is most significant;
it tends to clarify and coordinate all that follows. . . .
Gabriel Dell as Brustein, Rita Moreno as his wife, Alice
Ghostley as the suburban sister, and all the cast have en-
riched and enlivened their roles.
I wasn't alone in my reaction last night. The audience
embraced this play, laughed at it, and understood why
everyone on stage felt and behaved as he did. The changes
are working, and the play has found its voice.
Perhaps it was the tightening to which Mr* Nadel referred.
Perhaps it was the greater security the actors had achieved
in an additional two weeks on stage. Perhaps it was a differ-
ent frame of mind or as I believe the greater perspective
a second viewing allowed. But, in any event, in the long an-
nals of the daily review 1 , a reassessment of this kind is al-
most unique.
One rainy Sunday I received a message from the answer-
ing service that "a Mr. John Brynn" had left a number.
"John Brynn" turned out to be the John Braine, the cele-
brated British novelist, who was passing through town on
a lecture tour and had happened into the play the night
before. Late that Sunday night we talked into the early
hours at Downey's. The author of A Room at the Top had
known nothing of the play, our battle, or indeed its author
(other than that she had written A Raisin in the Sun) , only
that it was one of the few plays for which you could buy a
Saturday-night ticket For a "long dreadful moment at the
end of the play," as he said, he had feared that she was
"giving in" and would come up with no more than the
despair that is the fashion in England almost as much as in
our own country. "But no she had gone out facing the
guns" as he had hoped she would. His reactions were pub-
lished as a personal communication in the Village Voice.
They comprise the foreword to this volume.
The events which in rapid succession followed my meet-
ing with Braine were initiated at a midnight session at the
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 189
home of Anne Bancroft and Mel Brooks, which was strik-
ingly and sympathetically reported by the not infre-
quently acerbic Lillian Ross in The New Yorker. Titled
"Strategy Meeting," her piece began:
Five beautiful movie and stage actresses, one librettist
of a current hit musical, one composer of another current
hit musical, one writer of a new hit comedy, one busy and
flourishing writer-comedian, and two young producers of
an economically foundering play got together on a recent
Saturday for a midnight meeting to work out some strategy
for keeping the young producers' play running. . . .
They were all serious, determined, and ready to fight,
and were all concentrating on the play, The Sign in Sidney
Brusteiris Window, by Lorraine Hansberry.
Miss Ross quickly revealed that, in addition to Miss Ban-
croft, the actresses at the meeting were Viveca Lindfors, and
Diana Sands (then appearing in The Owl and the Pussy-
cat) , who had first been seen on Broadway as Beneatha in
Raisin, and our costars, Rita Moreno and Alice Ghostley.*
The librettist was Joseph Stein (Fiddler on the Roof), the
composer Charles Strouse (Golden Boy), the writer Bill
Manhoff (The Owl and the Pussycat) , and the writer-come-
dian Mel Brooks, our host. The meeting was typical of
many in numerous living rooms in the last months of 1964,
and out of it came, among other things, a noteworthy letter
by Miss Bancroft and Mr. Brooks an invitation to a spe-
cial Sunday matinee performance for the theatrical com-
munity. It was addressed "To Our Friends in the Theatre,**
and was posted on the backstage bulletin boards of all
theatres. It opened:
* These two, together with Gabriel Dell and our entire cast,
were in fact the unsung heroes of the whole drama, performing
not only on stage but off yet seldom even knowing for certain
whether or not they would be in or out of a job the next week.
(Miss Ghostley's brilliant performance as Mavis was ultimately
to win her the Tony Award for "Best Supporting Actress," 1964-
1965.)
790 THE SIGN IN
The show must go on ... my show, baby, not yours!
This is the selfish truth as we in show business too often
have come to know it But once in a blue moon, a phe-
nomenon occurs. Actors, directors, producers, play-
wrights, gently lay aside their megalomania and join hands
in a common cause. . . *
Last week we saw that play. We had joined the cause
originally out of respect for Lorraine Hansberry, but on
the way to the theatre we secretly figured it was a bomb.
It must be a bomb; Kerr didn't rave, Chapman didn't like
it, and Hadassah hadn't bought a single theatre party.
Actually we went more out of obligation than anticipa-
tion.
We were shocked.
It was a wonderful play/
We laughed, we cried, we thought. In our opinion . . .
Brustein ... is a more mature and compelling work
than Miss Hansberry's award-winning A Raisin in the Sun.
If there is in you one single filament* of curiosity that
glows to know what is happening in our theatre today,
see it! Now!
The "selfish truth** of which the writers spoke was cer-
tainly not in evidence, or in >any event predominant, in
some circles along Broadway as the year 1964 drew toward
a close. In the closing moments of Sidney Brustein there
is a line to the effect that "people want to be better than
they are," and in a small corner of our lives one might have
thought the line was coming to life. There is traditionally,
of course, a goodly amount of "sentiment" in show busi-
ness a performer falls ill for a performance and a dozen
stars come forward to leap into his shoes but this is good
for one night, perhaps, and a headline next morning; a
movement sustained as this one became can only be under-
stood as the expression of something deeper. Again and
again on radio or TV, a star would spend more time talk-
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 191
ing about the Sign in our window than his own show
(half the time we would not even know he was scheduled
the report would filter back later) . A Kay Medford would
suddenly show up with $100 for an ad, or Teresa Wright
would appear and spend days on the phone calling friends
"just to see it" June Havoc devoted her entire television
show to it one night, and "the Randi Show" turned over
five hours on WOR-Radio, from midnight til dawn, to it.
The actors in our own company petitioned the union to
permit pay cuts and even the traditionally inexorable Shu-
bert Office took a fraction less in rental each week than our
contract provided. The cast of The Subject Was Roses, with
the cooperation of the author, Frank Gilroy, and the pro-
ducers, started curtain speeches to tell the audience about
"the 'other' drama worth seeing in town." And soon Sammy
Davis, too, was stopping the applause at the Majestic each
night to urge a trip to the Longacre, Other shows Any
Wednesday, How To Succeed in Business stuffed flyers
in their programs*
The momentum was not limited to theatre folk. Most sig-
nificantly, it embraced the audience itself. People would
troop backstage every night to ask what could they do, how
could they help. Volunteer workers flooded the office, cap-
tained by Judy Hankin, Marguerite Kisseloff and Jean Lind-
gren. Student contingents arrived from outlying colleges
and others distributed flyers nightly in Shubert Alley. Larry
Butler, a part-time usher and candy-hawker, delivered mes-
sages. Mary Ann Mantell, who owns Caedmon Records,
taped interviews for radio. Herb Saltzman, marketing di-
rector for RKO-General, placed them, and, with Bea Wil-
son, a public relations expert, and Merle Debuskey, the
show's ever-willing but overworked press agent who had
never seen anything like this concentrated on the mass
media generally. Novelist John O. Killens, his wife Grace
and members of the Harlem Writers Guild sent out mail-
ings in the thousands.
192 THE SIGN IN
Charles Belous, Deputy County Attorney of Nassau
County, who many years before had been a leader of the
La Guardia-Fusion movement, saw in the play a "great
new affirmation" of independent reform city politics and
circularized former leaders of the party Newbold Morris,
Charles McGoIdrick for support. Three hundred women
met with Viveca Lindfors in Wantagh, Long Island, to con-
sider "the crisis on Broadway" and to garner support. A
nursery school director in Great Neck personally called and
channelled some four hundred souls to the box office. Peo-
ple called friends. Friends called other friends. And at least
one party Bell Telephone showed a profit on the show.
A minister at one after-curtain discussion summed it up:
this was "living theatre, as significant as anything occurring
onstage . * . for audiences were reaching out of beyond
their own lives to become involved again, committed, en-
gaged to something larger . . * which can only make us
all the larger for it." Irish audiences at the Abbey Theatre
in another era might show their passion by rioting; here in-
volvement took another, far less dramatic form, but in its
own small way it was no less real.
For all this momentum, however, we still were not out of
the woods. The Sign hung, but precariously. Each week at-
tendance continued to grow not overwhelmingly, but ap-
preciably and on one matinee day I remember rushing
over to the theatre to see a line actually formed halfway
down the block. Thanksgiving climaxed our best week yet:
we actually broke even. But ahead lay the economic "deep
freeze" that comes before Christmas, traditionally the the-
atre's worst time of the year. These are the doldrum days
given over to Christmas shopping and close budgeting in
anticipation of the big splurge to come; the nights when all
along Broadway you get the feeling that nine million New
Yorkers blithely got up that morning and decided, in con-
cert, "Tonight I am not going to a show!" Attendance at
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 795
all shows plummets, and only the big ones those sold out
well in advance by mail and theatre party, or cushioned
with a substantial reserve can survive.
It was with these things in mind, weighing the facts and
deciding, for once, to be "realistic," that we agreed we
would finally have to close. Unless somehow an additional
five to ten thousand dollars could be scared up in loans to
meet our anticipated deficit by now we had run out of
names to call and a frantic week on the phones had not
turned up any new ones Sunday matinee, November 29th,
would bring down the curtain.
Only because we had gone so far already that there was
nothing to lose we would "go down fighting." That last
performance would be followed by a public "open hearing*'
right in the theatre. A telegram, drafted at 4 A.M. at the
Brooks' home and signed by 28 of those who had sponsored
our ads, was dispatched to Governor Rockefeller, Mayor
Wagner, Senators Javits and Kennedy, and Roger L.
Stevens, head of the President's Commission on the Arts:
Undersigned urgently request your attendance next
Sunday, Longacre Theatre, open hearing re: Sidney Bru-
stein and crisis in our theatre.
After endless talk, theatre community now beginning to
act. We can no longer permit our finest plays to die. Have
joined hands to save a play. We are making it our focus
because what threatens it threatens the heart of American
Theatre. If plays of such quality, humor, wisdom cannot
survive in nation's cultural center, then all of us must
seriously question our future in theatre.
Today only 27 shows running on Broadway. Only five
dramas and of these, three have posted closing notices. If
theatre continues to shrink, what happens to New York
business, hotels, restaurants, trade? What else draws mil-
lions here?
It is time cultural and governmental leaders joined
forces on behalf American theatre as they have other
vital issues. . . . Your presence and participation will un-
194 THE SIGN IN
derline for all the crucial importance of maintaining first-
rate theatre.
The "crisis" to which this telegram referred was in no
sense an exaggeration* The three dramas that closed that
weekend were The Physicists by Friedrich Duerrenmatt,
one of the giants of the modern stage, after successive tri-
umphs throughout Europe and in England (three weeks
on Broadway) ; Poor Bitos by Jean Anouilh, a great suc-
cess in London (three weeks on Broadway); and Rolf
Hochhuth's The Deputy, the only one of the three to enjoy
a substantial (though not entirely financially successful)
run. Sidney Brustein was to be number four leaving only
The Subject Was Roses which, with "rave" reviews, a tena-
cious effort, a cast of three and an exceedingly low break-
even point, had managed to last. (The following week Stow
Dance on the Killing Ground, by William Hanley, opened
to raves; it survived for 88 performances.)
That Sunday morning I awoke, for the first time that I
can recall in all the weeks before or after, with the physical
feeling of defeat in the pit of my stomach. This was really
it: we had run out of miracles. We had tried but failed
and to know you have tried may distract the mind, but it
does not lessen the fact of failure. A telegram that morning
from Senator and Mrs. Javits "regretfully" expressed great
respect for the play (which they had seen) and admiration
for our effort but they would be unable to attend. Another
from Governor Rockefeller wished us success: "I share
your concern for the future of the theatre and applaud the
initiative the theatre community itself is now taking" but
also declined. A third from Senator Kennedy, which he
subsequently permitted us to use as an ad "I urge all
friends of the theatre to come to the aid of this play. I
earnestly hope that contributions from them will preserve
this play for the public and for us all" brought the same
news of commitment elsewhere. The press, which was by
now somewhat bored with the whole affair, generally indi-
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 195
cated their disinclination to turn out on a Sunday. Only
the artists, the audience and Robert Dowling, the Mayor's
cultural emissary, would be present.
Nonetheless, at 5 : 30, when the curtain came down, Ossie
Davis playwright, actor and always one of the theatre's
most public-spirited citizens stepped forward in the midst
of an, as usual, sustained ovation, to open the hearing. He
spoke briefly, then introduced me, indicating that the crisis
in the theatre was "too general an abstraction: let us first
devote a moment to the crisis at hand*" What followed is
perhaps best described in the report carried the next morn-
ing by Newsday, one of the few papers present:
New York In a highly improbably but dramatically
superb performance yesterday, the audience at the Long-
acre Theatre took to the stage to save the play.
. . . When the final curtain fell yesterday, co-producer
Robert Nemiroff . . [announced] sorrowfully, "You
have been present at the final performance of The Sign
in Sidney Brustein's Window . . . unless something hap-
pens this afternoon."
The theatre buzzed with excitement . . .
"If there is an individual that has the means to help,"
Nemiroff said, "we'll take a minute or two. . ." And he
waited. No big voice spoke up but someone suggested a
collection. Nemiroff hesitated. Another audience voice
spoke: '*. . . We want to save this thing. We want to give
money. Take it . . .** But Davis said no, if not enough
was collected, how would it be returned?
Yet the more we onstage said no, that it could not be done,
that this was "commercial theatre," where you cannot take
up collections, it just isn't done and that it could not help
anyway because too much was needed the more the audi-
ence, one person after another standing up in his seat, ar-
gued back until, finally in effect, they had shouted us down
and it was agreed that we would accept loans. By now there
was bedlam in the house but this was a "mob scene* 7 un-
196 THE SIGN IN
like any other, as the audience rose from their seats, found
their own leaders and literally took charge formed lines,
marched down the aisles and up onto the stage itself . . .
while Ossie Davis read out the names and amounts and I
sat down some say, collapsed on the Brustein staircase,
looking on for the next hour in bemused, if gratified, won-
der. Newsday concluded:
... A collection desk was set up on stage, in the mid-
dle of the set of Sidney Brustein's living room. As the
audience filed forward, actress Madeline Sherwood . . .
shouted from the stage: 'This is the most exciting thing
Fve seen in New York."
After an accountant was found in the audience, tabula-
tion began. It totalled exactly $5,000, with $2,500 being
given by one anonymous individual. Nemiroff, standing
with his cast, actress Anne Bancroft, and Davis, seemed
overcome as he announced the play would continue.
That "anonymous individual" was the Mayor's representa-
tive, Mr. Dowling, acting as a private citizen on behalf of
his own firm. After this, what?
We tried to express the gratitude and the jubilation we
felt in our next ad, and it was even possible now to look
at the lighter side:
WE HAVE TRIED REPEATEDLY TO CLOSE THE SHOW, AND
THEY JUST WON'T LET US!
We have tried again and again and again but every
time a Shelley Winters, a Herman Shumlin, an Anne Ban-
croft, three Pulitzer Prize playwrights, or fifty ministers
and rabbis in concert say, "You must be out of your mind
it's a great show! You can't close it!"
Last Sunday we tried again. We announced this had
been the last performance. The audience shouted us down
. . * [and] raised their own $5,000 to continue the show
another week.
There must be something there. Not just that The Sign
in Sidney Brustein's Window is "important," "the most
talked about play of the year," or one of the only two
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 797
dramas to survive this season. But that people seem to
love this play. . . .
Next Sunday we will try again to close the show. So if
you want to be sure to see it, you will have to catch it this
week. On the other hand, you'll be taking a chance: in this
business there are no guarantees and, who knows, we
may never succeed in closing it
As a matter of fact, we now discovered to our amazement
that we had entered the charmed circle: the New York
Daily News 9 "golden dozen" Sidney Brustein was one
of the longest running shows of the year on Broadway!
(Look down, ye gods, and weep.)
In this fashion we survived the pre-Christmas lull . * *
and staggered forward to the next crisis, which was already
prefigured, as described in a column by Dorothy Kilgallen:
The entire company of The Sign in Sidney Brustein's
Window, still bravely trying to keep the play running, is
campaigning to raise another $5,000. An anonymous
friend has agreed to donate that amount if only they can
match it, and that would mean they could move to an-
other theatre. Box office receipts have been going up, in
spite of the usual pre-Christmas slump, but they have to
vacate the Longacre Theatre next week, no matter how
good business gets and they have no money to move. . . *
Since late October another show had been booked into the
Longacre, its tenure to begin just before the twelve days of
Christmas the best time of the year. The simple act of dis-
membering and moving a set from one Broadway theatre to
another would cost us $7,000, plus a new marquee, new
posters, new signs, publicity but there is no point in fur-
ther painful detail here. Necessity simply produced a new
set of heroes: Mr. and Mrs. Stan Frank, Richard Rodgers,
Abe Weisburd, Gardner Cowles, Imre Rosenthal, Alan Jay
Lerner. On Tuesday, December 22nd, our Sign hung in *
new window.
198 THE SIGN IN
The curtain rose at Henry Miller's Theatre to a jam-
packed house and came down to a thunderous standing
ovation. And two days later, on Christmas Eve, we were
able at last, and publicly to express some measure of
what we had felt and experienced. In appropriately seasonal
type our ad was headlined: "AND A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO
ALL OUR FRIENDS who have made it a happy Christmas for
us." There followed simply a list of names. Many have
figured already in the telling of this story. Others I have
neglected to mention thus far: Charles Taubman, Art
D'Lugoff, Jane Lander, Renee Kaplan, Joel Dein, Albert
Maher, Marcia Schlather, Peter Mumford, Lillian Gruber,
Abbot Simon, Bev Landau, Mrs. Burton Lane, Stephen
Silverman, Cora Weiss, Mr. and Mrs. William vanden
Heuvels, Theodora Peck, Ruth Nichols, Fran Bennett,
Clarence and Ann Jones, Fran Damon, Maurice Gruber,
and still others, whose omission must be forgiven me, in
immeasurable ways made our continuance possible.
It was not that the appearance of each new friend could
be said to have "saved the show" (although in more than
one instance that was precisely the case). It was that with-
out them all together The Sign in Sidney Brusteirfs
Window could never have persisted. For each, at some cru-
cial moment when spirits were lowest, had come forward
to -provide whatever spark, or inspiration, or money was
needed until another could step into the breach and carry
on from there.
Not closing, however, did not mean successfully running.
Sidney Brustein, in its first run, was not a financial success
ever. The balcony and mezzanine might be sold out, as
frequently they were now, but on Broadway it is the 500-
odd orchestra seats ($6.90 weekdays, $7.50 weekends)
that count and it was precisely here that we were the
weakest. There was good reason for this. The brokers, busi-
ness firms, theatre party agents, who together account for
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 199
the bulk of these seats, cannot, as noted earlier, afford to
take chances on anything less than a hit. But to be a "hit" in
New York you have got to act like a hit. And to act like a
hit you must hold the price line, make no concessions, ad-
vertise freely that you are a hit (our budget did not even
permit us to appear in the alphabetical listings of some
papers, and consequently readers assumed we were closed)
and have what it takes to back up the claim. You have to
place your tickets on sale far in advance which means not
having to depend on a maximum sale in the current week
and know that you will be there when the date comes round.
To sell a theatre party, for example, you must guarantee
the agent's commission on the promised date (it is still pain-
ful to recall how many parties we had, literally, to turn down
for just this reason!). And above all, you have to be sold
out when somebody calls or comes to the window or else
why should they bother to buy in advance? The show that
depends on its nightly sale is not only not a hit it cannot
become one.
Also, "there was that about our entire effort which, mea-
sured strictly in terms of box-office return, was psycho-
logically self-defeating. In The New Yorker we might be
"the talk of the town" and indeed, from what I am told,
there were not a few homes that winter in which eyes turned
first to the morning headlines over coffee, and then directly
to the theatrical page for our latest ad, or adventure. But to
be too much talked about is not an unmixed blessing. In the
theatre as in any other business there is no greater virtue
than in a certain amount of safe nan-distinction. It is the
better part of valor to be part of the crowd and there is
nothing so reassuring to the buyer as a good conservative
old-fashioned hit; if he doesn't have the greatest evening
in the world, at least it won't be the worst
To appeal for help from the stage is thus automatically to
reduce your natural appeal; it may carry you through the
200 THE SIGN IN
week but it could cost you the month. It may generate in-
tensity of support but, by the same token, vitiate numbers.
It is to sacrifice long-run possibility for short-run necessity.
For we do not go to plays as a duty or to help others, but to
enjoy ourselves. And the bolder the campaign, the more
precedents overturned, the more some proclaim the values
of a play the more suspect it must seem to others; not
entertainment but a "cause," edifying perhaps and "good
for the soul" but who wants to spend a night out on his
soul?
Nor is there anything mystifying or especially guarded or
secret about this knowledge: all that it takes to act upon it is
money. If at any one moment we had had the money
enough money to proclaim Sidney Brustein a hit and act
like a hit, to be less newsworthy and more safely, securely,
conservative there is little doubt in my mind, to judge
from the nightly response of those who did see the show and
kept it running week after week, that in short order Sidney
Brustein would have become just that
Whether financial success is the only, or the main, cri-
terion of success is another matter, of course, although more
and more in our theatre we have come to act and think as if
it were. In the introduction to his collected essays, Lies
Like Truth, Harold Clurman draws a careful distinction:
"What must be sharply emphasized ... is that excellence
and box-office success or profit are separate things, and
must never be equated or interrelated in our thoughts/*
Noting, however, that Elia Kazan, his onetime co-worker,
was quoted in The New York Times, as saying, "I equate
good plays with successful plays," Clurman offers a further
comment, to which we had more than one occasion to
refer in this period:
If this is taken literally, we are preparing for the burial
of our theatre as an institution devoted to significant ex-
pression. Contrary to popular legend, the plays of Ibsen,
Shaw, Chekhov were not immediately successful in their
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 201
own countries in their own day ... in fact, I doubt
whether, except for certain off-Broadway productions,
Chekhov has even actually made money in America. Is
he therefore a bad playwright?
Box-office success, which nobody in the theatre of
any country at any time has ever been averse to, is con-
tingent on a number of factors of which only a few are
related to the intrinsic merit of the plays presented.
Most of us admired Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman
(directed by Kazan), but its profits were not nearly so
great as those of Tea and Sympathy (Kazan's, too) or
The Bad Seed. Are success and excellence then commen-
surate? ... is The Threepenny Opera, a dismal flop in
New York in the early thirties, less valuable a musical
than Happy Hunting!
On Broadway today the simple fact is that the play that
does not make money is a "failure/' Not just a financial
failure but an unmodified failure one that requires no
further qualification. Sidney Brustein played to 80,000
people more than if it had run two years off-Broadway;
more than saw ''Mourning Becomes Electra" or "The Ice-
man Cometh" on Broadway, or Juno and the Paycock in
Dublin or New York; more perhaps than saw Hamlet in
Shakespeare's London. But in the parlance of Broadway,
not just of accountants in the minds of serious theatre
people and even many artists themselves and in the press
80,000 people do not an audience make. As one reporter
lamented, with no irony intended, there was "no public'*
for the play.
As it was, between 7:45 and 8:30 each night we might do
one of the busiest window sales in town and indeed be-
tween those hours on a Saturd / night we more than once
racked up $3,000 but this very fact was our undoing; it
left us totally to the caprice of the elements and the mood
of the hour. No one was committed in advance. A simple
shower or snowstorm could throw us deeper in debt An
202 THE SIGN IN
extended weekend blizzard could wipe us out as indeed
one finally did.
For Christmas, 1964, I bought Lorraine a necklace of
delicate gold and amber; of the kind that in years past would
have set off the dark coals of her eyes and magnificently
the brown richness of her skin. Yet seeing it, she was sud-
denly distressed: "Do you really think so? Oh God, if it
could only be true that I could wear it!" But she was too
wise to play the game of deception and she often talked now
of "something horrible'* that she felt was going to happen,
Lorraine Hansberry was never so enamored of life that
she would clutch it at any price. But neither for one mo-
ment was she one to let it go gently, or gracefully, or with
anything less than protest unremitting. What was happening
to her I can only describe as indecent, unjust, infuriatingly
beyond reason, knowing even as I write that the very words
have no relevance one cannot expect justice or reason of
a universe where these are only glorious concepts the living
impose as Lorraine always insisted. She would have none
of the platitudes that might soften her own strong sense of
truth or provide easy cover for others. I spent New Year's
Eve by her bed and at midnight toasted a "Happy New
Year." She made a face harsh with annoyance, and dis-
missed this utterly, wanting to know what was "happy"
about it? She was not reconciled.
On the morning of January 12th, she was, I am told,
smiling and talkative and then, at about 8:30, she grew
suddenly weaker and lapsed into unconsciousness. Just be-
fore 9:00 I received the phone call that Lorraine Hans-
berry was no more.
After that it might perhaps have been possible with a
new sustained effort to raise the curtain on her play again,
but for the moment the heart had gone out of us. "That is
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 203
the first thing . . . to let ourselves feel again. . . . Then
tomorrow, we shall make something strong of this
sorrow. . . ."
Five years before, at the turn of the decade, a young and
healthy Lorraine Hansberry, who had just been awarded the
greatest honor our theatre can bestow, had been asked by
Mademoiselle magazine what she wished for the New Year
and the coming decade. She had wished for peace in the
world; for plenty for all the people of these United States;
for an end to racism, and "a new spirit ... in the ranks of
Negro Leadership. . . ." Her article had concluded with a
wish for the arts:
In the next ten years I hope that serious American art
will rediscover the world around it, that our finest painters
and writers will dismiss the vogue of unmodified despair in
order to pick up the heritage of a nobler art. In spite of
some awe-inspiring talents involved in recent writing, the
appointment of sinister universality to Ego in settings of
timeless torture has been a virtual abdication of the mean-
ing of history, which has been resplendent with what may
most certainly be called progress. I hope American cre-
ative artists will look again and see that Ego, like every-
thing else, exists in time and context, and that the results
of the lives of Abraham Lincoln and Adolf Hitler are
hardly comparable, regardless of the common properties
of that abstraction, the Ego. Nor is this a call, Heaven
forbid, to happy endings or cliches of affirmation. For the
supreme test of technical skill and creative imagination is
the depth of art it requires to render the infinite varieties
of the human spirit which invariably hangs between
despair and joy.
Sidney Brustein was that kind of play. The degree to
which it succeeded I leave to the reader; but its author was
never one to lay down prescriptions she did not herself
strive to fulfill. The lines I treasure most from it are the ones
which precede this story. They will be inscribed on the
204 THE SIGN IN
author's tombstone in Croton-on-Hudson. They are the es-
sence of her work, her life, and for three months they in-
truded themselves upon, became part of the lives of a great
many others who came to "care," if not "about it all," then
at least about something more than they had perhaps per-
mitted themselves to care about for some time*
It wasn't much: for one hundred and one performances
we had joined to keep a Sign in a window. But before it
came down, The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window had
been recognized by thousands for the play it is. As I write
that Sign is going up in other windows across the country.
And in the years to come it will hang in windows all over
the world. But for me, as I suspect for not a few others, it
will always hang there at the Longacre Theatre, where, with
her own penetrating eyes, Lorraine Hansberry first saw it
raised. For there, in spite of ourselves and all our vaunted
sophistication, for one brief moment she had helped us
each to become what she always was "an insurgent
again."
April, 1965
***
POSTSCRIPT
Within a month of its closing, the Sign was hanging
again: this second time in a New York suburb, Mineola,
Long Island, where in an experimental week a bold
stroke by producer Laurence Feldman it proved a near
sellout It played to more people than had ever seen it
in a week on Broadway. It was booked for a Theatre
Guild national subscription tour. "It seems incredible that
Sidney Brustein did not find a large and loving audience
in its Broadway run" wrote the Los Angeles Timesf
Cecil Smith, when the play opened at the Huntington
Hartford "f or here is a play so rich and warm and funny
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 205
and vital and varied, so beautifully written and won-
drously performed, that it is worth a carload of slick little
Broadway hits." Sidney Brustein had engendered requests
for production in a dozen countries on five continents,
from Australia to Yugoslavia. Its place was secure; it
was on its way.
THE SIGN IN SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW was first pre-
sented by Burt C. D'Lugoff, Robert Nemiroff and J. L Jahre
at the Longacre Theatre, New York City, N+Y., on October
15, 1964, -with the following cast:
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN Gabriel Dell
ALTON SCALES Ben Aliza
IRIS PARODUS BRUSTEIN Rita Moreno
WALLY O'HARA Frank Schofield
MAX Dolph Sweet
MAVIS PARODUS BRYSON Alice Ghostley
DAVID RAGIN John Alderman
GLORIA PARODUS Cynthia O'Neal
DETECTIVE Josip Elic
Directed by Peter Kass
Scenery by Jack Blackman
Lighting by Jules Fisher
Costumes by Fred Voelpel
"The Wally O'Hara Campaign Song" by Ernie Sheldon
Production Associate: Alan Heyman
Associate to the Producers: Beverly Landau
207
SYNOPSIS OF SCENES
The action of the play takes place in the BRUSTEIN apart-
ment and adjoining courtyard, in Greenwich Village, New
York City.
Act I
Scene One: Time: This very present Early evening, the
late spring.
Scene Two: Dusk. The following week.
Act II
Scene One: Just before daybreak. The following day.
Scene Two: Evening. Late summer.
Scene Three: Election Night. Early fall.
Act III
Scene One: Several hours later.
Scene Two: Early the next morning.
209
ACT I
SCENE ONE
The setting is Greenwich Village, New York City the
preferred habitat of many who fancy revolt, or at least, de-
tachment from the social order *hat surrounds us.
At the rear are all the recognizable sight symbols of the
great city. They are, however, in the murk of distance and
dominated by a proscenium foreground which is made up
of jutting facades. These are the representative bits and
pieces of architecture which seem almost inevitably to set
the character of those communities where the arts and bo-
hernia try to reside in isolation before the fact of their
presence tends to attract those others who wish to be in
bohemia if not of it and whose presence, in turn, para-
doxically tends to drive the rents beyond the reach of the
former. Tenements of commonplace and unglamorized
misery huddle together with cherished relics of the begin-
ning days of a civilization; the priceless and the unworthy
leaning indiscriminately together in both arty pretentious-
ness and genuine picturesque assertiveness.
Thus, here is a renovation of a "Dutch farmhouse?';
there, a stable reputed to have, housed some early gov-
ernor's horses; and here the baroque chambers of some
211
2/2 THE SIGN IN
famed and eccentric actor. And leading off, one or two
narrow and twisty little streets with squared-off panes of
glass that do, in midwinter, with their frosted corners, ac-
tually succeed in reminding of Dickensian London. The
studio apartment of the BRUSTEINS, at left, is the ground
floor of a converted brownstone, which like a few other
brownstones in the Village has an old-fashioned, wrought-
iron outside staircase arching over a tiny patio where city-
type vegetation miraculously and doggedly grows. Beneath
the staircase landing is the BRUSTEINS' private entrance.
Nearby, downstage right, is a tree.
In the cut-away interior of the apartment the walls are
painted, after the current fashion in this district, the starkest
white. To arrest the eye because those who live here think
much of such things the colors which have been set against
it are soft yellows and warm browns and, strikingly, touches
of orange, vivid sharp orange, and that lovely blue asso-
ciated with Navajo culture. We can see at once that the
people who live here would not, even if they did have a
great deal of money which they certainly do not spend it
on expensive furnishings. They prefer by pocket book and
taste to the point of snobbery, perhaps to scrounge
about the Salvation Army bargain outlets; almost never the
"Early American" shops which are largely if not entirely
priced for the tourist trade. In any case, a few years ago
most things would have been discernably "do-it-yourself
modern in these rooms; but that mood is past now and
there is not a single sling chair or low, sharply angled table.
"Country things" have come with all their knocked-about
air and utilitarian comfort. But there remain, still, crafted
ceramic pots of massive rhododendrons in various corners
and, everywhere, stacks of last year's magazines and a
goodly number of newspapers. The result is that while it
is not a dirty place clutter amounts almost to a motif.
Prints range through reproductions of both the most ob-
scure and the most celebrated art of human history, and
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 275
these, without exception, are superbly and fittingly framed.
And there is a sole expensive item: a well-arranged hi-
fidelity unit, and, therefore, whole walls of long-playing
records, and not one of them at an angle. Fighting them
for supremacy of the walls, however, are hundreds and
hundreds of books. And on one wall SIDNEY'S banjo.
In fine, it is to the eye and spirit an attractive place. Its
carelessness does not make it less so. And, indeed, one
might lounge here more easily than in some other contem-
porary rooms and, perhaps, think more easily. Upstage
center is the bedroom door. To its right, the bathroom.
Downstage left is part of the kitchen area, which disappears
offstage. And, dominating all, upstage left, the large irregu-
larly shaped bay window, angled out from the building wall
in a skylight effect, in which will presently hang the Sign
in SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'J window.
Time: This very present. Early evening, the late spring.
At rise: SIDNEY BRUSTEIN and ALTON SCALES enter, each
burdened down with armloads, two or three each, of those
wire racks of glasses such as are found in restaurants. They
are heavy and the two men have carried them several
blocks. They are very much out of breath and speak halt-
ingly as they struggle with the loads. SIDNEY BRUSTEIN is in
his late thirties and inclined to no category of dress whatso-
ever that is to say, unlike his associates, who tend to the
toggle-coated, woven, mustardy, corduroy appearance of the
post-war generation of intellectuals in Europe and Amer-
ica. This has escaped SIDNEY: he wears white dress shirts
as often as not, usually for some reason or other open at the
cuffs but not rolled; old college shoes; and whichever pair
of trousers he has happened to put on with whichever jacket
he has happened to reach for that morning; and they will be
more likely mismated suit parts than sports outfits. It is not
an affectation; he does not care. He is of medium build,
vague carriage, tending >to shuffle a bit, except when in a fit
214 THE SIGN IN
of excitement. And his eyes are wider and more childish
than the sort generally associated with the romance of the
intellectual. His sole attractive feature perhaps is a mat of
tight willful dark curls atop his head. He does not wear
glasses. ALTON SCALES is a youth of about twenty-seven or
so; lithe, dark, with close-cropped hair. Unlike his friend,
he is dressed in the mustard, corduroy and sweatered man-
ner of his milieu.
SIDNEY Never mind the kid's mother, for Christ's sake.
And never mind the "great swelling crests of water" in
his girPs eyes. Don't bleed it. Write it like you figure we
already care without you sending up organ music. Fol-
low?
(He puts down his load and fumbles for his key;
ALTON leans against the staircase railing)
ALTON (Stiffly) I hear what you are saying.
SIDNEY But compassion is consuming your heart and you
want us to know it, don't you? The old uptown sob sister
credo: "In the beginning was the tear/'
(He picks up the glasses and they go into the apart-
ment. As the lights come up on the interior, SIDNEY
deposits his load on the living-room floor)
ALTON He may die. Mrs. Peretti said Sal could still die.
(He racks his glasses up on top of SIDNEY'S and
reels away with fatigue to the couch, where he
drops down, spent)
SIDNEY (Snatches out the page of newspaper copy to which
he has been referring) And this is going to save him?
He needs this? Look, baby, from now on, when we write,
let's forget we absolutely love mankind. Don't venerate,
don't celebrate, don't hallow what you take to be (Fac-
ing out to the audience with a bit of a smile) the human
spirit. Keep your conscience to yourself. Readers don't
want it they feel pretty damn sure that they can't afford
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 2/5
it. That's why Harvey had to unload the paper. And that's
why I am now the proud owner, editor, publisher, guid-
ing light. (With a flourish, returning the copy to ALTON)
Presume no commitment, disavow all engagement, mock
all great expectations. (His eyes are now only for the au~
dience; scanning our reaction with a wet-lipped savor-
ing) And above all else, avoid the impulse to correct: all
movements, causes, clubs and anti-clubs. It's the only
form of compassion left. (He lights a cigarette and wan-
ders back to the glasses, where he suddenly confronts
them with a mock funereal gravity, to the point of making
the sign of the cross) So there they are: the last re-
mains of the Silver Dagger.
ALTON You're better off. What the hell did you know
about running a night club, man?
SIDNEY It wasn't supposed to be a night club.
ALTON That's right. It wasn't a night club and it wasn't a
coffee house or anything else that anybody ever heard of.
SIDNEY I thought it was something people wanted. A place
to listen to good folk music. Without hoked-up come-
ons. (Puzzled, rubbing his face) I thought there'd be
an audience for it. For people like myself. There gotta be
people like me somewhere, don't thef e?
ALTON There are. And they don't go to night spots of
whatever kind just like you don't
SIDNEY (Moving toward the glasses again) You know
what those glasses really are, Alt? They're a testament
to the release of Manny. He's free, now, my brother
Manny. Free of Sidney. Finally. Let's drink to it. Drink
to Manny's absolution.
(He crosses downstage left to the counter. It is a
combination bar and kitchen surface, on either side
of which stand two unfinished wooden stools)
276 THE SIGN IN
ALTON Bourbon for me.
SIDNEY You can have vodka with ice or vodka without
ice. (Pouring) Good old absolved Manny. (Crossing
with a glass for ALTON and then turning and saluting the
racks of glasses once again) The day he put up the
money for the Silver Dagger he sat there with "End of
Obligation" written all over him. An expression on his
face which read: "This thing will be a failure. But hav-
ing done this I will have done all I can for Sidney. After
that I can call it quits in good conscience. You can do
so much and then well, that's it." So here's to you,
Manny, you Prince of Philistines. Sidney the Kook has
set you free! To hell with that. (He puts down his glass,
abruptly hauls out a huge pad of tracing paper and a big
marking crayon, and sits down at his drafting table,
which is framed by the window; it is angled almost hori-
zontally to serve as his desk) Let's talk about the paper.
( With broad strokes he marks off apportionments of
space on the sheets)
ALTON (Idle curiosity that is not so idle) Ahh Sid-
ney . . . Does Iris know you've bought and I use the
term loosely the paper yet?
SIDNEY No,
ALTON Well, don't you think she oughta know?
SIDNEY Yes, Til tell her.
ALTON When? It's been two weeks already.
SIDNEY (Trapped, therefore evasively) When I get a
chance, I'll tell her.
ALTON She's going to have a lot of opinions about it
SIDNEY She always has opinions. If I paid them any atten-
tion I'd never accomplish anything. (He looks back to
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 217
his sheets) You know what? I think I'd like to try the
next issue in reverse. You know, white on black. What* s
with this black on white jazz all the time? People get in
ruts.
(IRIS, his wife, enters with an armful of groceries.
She has not yet reached thirty, is of ordinary pretti-
ness of the sort one does not notice at a distance;
but she is quick with a gamin vivacity that charms
utterly the moment she speaks or one looks in her
very large eyes. And true to a great number of the
girls of the locale, she possesses vast quantities of
long, long hair, presently done up in a French twist.
It is dark brown. Life has already made IRIS too
nervous and slightly inclined to hunch. But what-
ever her accomplishments on stage, she is an actress,
given to playful mimicry, and, at least with SIDNEY,
she feels free to play this to the hilt. Between
them, though this is not at all their actual relation-
ship in years, there is more than a little of the ado-
lescent girl showing off for father, seeking his ap-
proval, testing the limits of his knowledge and
authority; and, especially of late, more than a little
chafing at the bonds. He has been her lover, father,
universe, god. But the man has ieet of clay and,
coupled with increasing dissatisfaction with her own
state, there is the insistent, though as yet unidenti-
fied, need to break free. The tension between them
bubbles freely to the surface; yet, save in their
sharpest exchanges, there is still the element of
banter and fun. At the click of the lock, SIDNEY
thrusts his pad aside. She crosses to the bar, nod-
ding to ALTON; stops momentarily at the glasses;
throws a look at SIDNEY; deposits her groceries;
stops again at the glasses; and takes off the raincoat
she is wearing to reveal one of those hideous yel-
218 THE SIGN IN
low and white uniforms of the kind that are in-
variably inflicted on counter -waitresses in lunch*
eonettes)
IRIS (From the glasses to SIDNEY) I don't want them in
my living room.
SIDNEY Where else can I put them?
IRIS We're not going to have the residue of all your fail-
ures in the living room.
SIDNEY Look. Don't start. It's all over. Isn't that enough?
(He crosses to the phonograph and puts a record
on)
ALTON I just remembered a very pressing engagement
someplace.
SIDNEY ("Don't desert me") Where?
ALTON I don't know, I'll think of it later.
(He exits)
IRIS It was all over before it started, if you ask me. (SID-
NEY does not rise to this; she goes into the kitchen. The
music comes up. It is a white blues out of the South-
land; a lyrical lament -whose melody probably started
somewhere in the British Isles more than one century
ago and has crossed the ocean to be touched by the throb
of black folk blues and then, finally, by the soul of back-
country crackers. It is, in a word, old, haunting, Amer-
ican, and infinitely beautiful; and, mingled with the voice
of Joan Baez, it is a statement which does not allow em-
barrassment for its soaring and curiously ascendant mel-
ancholy. SIDNEY busies himself at the drawing board,
with an occasional side glance toward mis. The song,
"Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You' 9 dominates utterly. Sud-
denly nas changes the subject) Ben Asch was in for
lunch.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 219
SIDNEY So?
IRIS (Turns off the phonograph) He said they're doing a
tent production of South Pacific out on the island this
summer. Casting now* And guess who's doing it? Harry
Maxton! Sidney, Harry Maxton. Remember, he loved
me when I read for him that time!
(She is up and at the mirror whipping through a jew
of the hand gestures which signified "Happy Talk"
in the original production. Her husband looks up at
this for a few seconds, sobers, and looks away)
"Happy talk, keep talkin' happy talk
Talk about things you like to do . . ."
(Wheeling and facing him exuberantly)
Remember he really flipped for my Liat!
SIDNEY And he hired somebody else. And you know per-
fectly well you won't show up for the audition.
(He is immediately sorry)
mis (Frozen in the Liat pose) You rotten, cruel, sadistic,
self-satisfying son of a bitch!
(She exits into the bedroom)
SIDNEY I'm sorry. I don't know why I do that
IRIS Then why don't you find out and give us both a
break?
(He fans that away dispiritedly)
SIDNEY Does Steiner really tell you to go around drum*
ming up business for him like that?
IRIS I have not mentioned Dr. Steiner. And I am not
going to! I am not ever going to mention Dr. Steiner in
this house again. Or my analysis. You don't understand
it. You can't
SIDNEY and IRIS (Together, he wearily with her) "Unless
you've been through it yourself!"
220 THE SIGN IN
IRIS (Re-entering from bedroom. She has changed into tight
high-water pants and a sweater) That happens to be
true!
SIDNEY Iris, honey, you've been in analysis for two years
and the only difference is that before you used to cry all
the time and now you scream before you cry.
IRIS You don't get better overnight, Sidney, but it is help-
ing me! Do you think that I would have been able to say
the things I just said if I weren't going through a tre-
mendous change?
SIDNEY (Genuinely) What things?
IRIS I just called you a sadistic, self-satisfying, cruel son
of a bitch to your face instead of just thinking it Don't
you remember when I couldn't say things like that? Just
think them and feel them but not say them?
SIDNEY Which amounts to you paying that quack twenty
dollars a session to teach you how to swear! Lots of luckl
IRIS That's not thepoint!
SIDNEY I'm sorry. Swear out loud.
nus (Through her teeth) For someone who thinks that
they are the great intellect of all times, the top-heaviest
son of a bitch that ever lived
SIDNEY (Dryly) Another step toward mental health
IRIS For someone who thinks that they've got the most
open mind that was ever opened you are the most nar-
row-minded, provincial
SIDNEY "insular and parochial "*
IRIS insular and parochial bastard alive! And I'll tell
you this: I may be whacked up, sweetie, but I really
would hate to see the inside of your stomach. Oh-ho, I
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 227
really would! St. John of the Twelve Agonies, 111 tell you.
SIDNEY I am not agonized.
IRIS Everyone is agonized!
SIDNEY How do you know this, Iris?
IRIS Everyone knows it, Der (She hesitates and mispro-
nounces it) Angst is Everywhere. And I'll tell you this
if I had all your hostilities
SIDNEY Look, Iris, three years ago you practically tore up
our marriage looking for a sex problem, because one fine
day you decided we had to have one. We even invented
one for six months because you knew we had to have one
because everybody did. Well, I promise you this time
we are not going to embark on the search for my (Cor-
recting her) Angst/
IRIS (Darkly. Sitting beside him on couch and teasing) I
happen to know some things about you in bed that you
don't know.
SIDNEY (False and weary patience but reaching out for
her: he loves this girl) Then tell me about them so we
can discuss them.
IRIS (An air of the holy) Oh no/ No siree. Get thyself
to a professional. You're not going to catch me engaging
in parlor analysis!
SIDNEY There was no psychiatric mystery about it! It was
almost purely technical. There were just some things in
bed I wished you wouldn't do (Huskily) and some I
wished you would.
(He holds her in his arms)
IRIS (In the sway of the moment) That just shows you:
nothing about sex is just technical, (Sitting up) And, I
notice, I'm not the one around here with an ulcer. And
222 THE SIGN IN
I must say that for a contented man, who just happens
to have an ulcer, you drink one hell of a lot!
SIDNEY It's my ulcer! Moreover, I remember a time when,
between the agonized and the contented, there was a
whole spectrum of humanity.
IRIS (Rather by rote) Basically you are an ambivalent
personality. You can't admit to disorder of any sort be-
cause that symbolizes weakness to you, and you can't
admit to health either because you associate that with
superficiality . .
SIDNEY Oh shut the hell up! I can't stand it when you're
on this jag!
(Reaching for her again: this precious foolishness is
all a game he dearly loves)
IRIS (Shouting) Then why didn't you marry somebody
you did like to talk to then!
(It hangs a second, is absorbed with minor melan-
choly by the husband, who, to rise above it, offers a
parodied Elizabethan flourish)
SIDNEY Because (Lifting a drink like Cyrano) "what
did please the morning's academic ear did seem indeed
(Bringing the hand down defeatedly) to repel the
evening's sensuous touch. Think this poor poet not cruel
to say it; but (Concluding the flourish) gentle Sid,
be but a mortal thing."
IRIS (Feminine cruelty) Awwww, is that what you told
poor Evie when she proposed?
SIDNEY She didn't propose. Cut it out
IRIS You once told me she did.
SIDNEY Bedroom boasts. You don't pretend to believe
mine and I won't pretend to believe yours. (Holding her;
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 225
in a quieter tone) What you were supposed to say was,
"In such regard and diluted esteem doth my master hold
his own sweet Iris "
IRIS (Looking up) I don't know the piece. What is it?
SIDNEY (Dully, staring off) Nothing.
IRIS What?
SIDNEY Plutarch or some damn body! What difference
does it make what it's from?
nas Well, whatever it's from, it said that you really do
think I'm stupid!
SIDNEY (Hardly to her at all) "My pardon on it, I will
get me gone." (A pause, then to her) It said: I love you.
It said I do not counsel reason or quarrel with my na-
ture. It said, girl, that I love my wife. Curious thing.
(Stops her lips with a kiss)
IRIS Meaning frivolous mind and all.
SIDNEY You make a silly fishwif e. Stop it
IRIS Can't I say any thing?
SIDNEY Not in this mood, it's driving me crazy!
(He gets up agitatedly and goes to the window and
looks out at the street)
nas (Resolute anger) And one thing is clear: You prefer
picking at me to talking to me.
SIDNEY (Shouting) I do not! And tell that Steiner to take
his love-hate obsession and shove it!
IRIS It is not something you can know about, Sid. I am
talking about unconscious motivation,
SIDNEY If it is all that "un" then you don't know about it
either!
224 THE SIGN IN
IRIS (Puzzled; caught) I meant "sub." A subconscious
motivation.
IRIS (Sore spot) Sidney, why can't you understand about
to go to the audition.
nas (Sore spot)* Sidney, why can't you understand about
the blocks that people have?
SIDNEY (Seated at his drawing board) I do understand
about them and I know that if they are nurtured enough
they get bigger and bigger and bigger.
nas (In kind, through her teeth) All right, so I haven't
worked out my life so good. Have you? Or are those
glasses there a mere mirage I see before me?
SIDNEY Aw, what do you know about it?
nas (Undulating away with triumph) I know that there
is no great wisdom in opening a folk-singing establish-
ment where there are something like twenty of such es-
tablishments in a radius of four blocks square. I know
that, darling-pie! And what the hell did you know about
running a night club anyway?
(She crosses into the bathroom to brush her teeth)
SIDNEY (Painfully: old refrain, lost cause) It wasn't sup-
posed to be a night club. (A beat) It would have done
okay if Bruno had done a better job on the publicity.
nas (Closes the bathroom door, and comes back) He
thought he should be paid.
SIDNEY I offered him a quarter of the place!
nas Who wants a quarter of a nonprofit night dub?
SIDNEY It wasn't a night club!
IRIS And what are you going to do with all those glasses?
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 225
SIDNEY How do I know right now? There have to be other
enterprises that need a hundred and fifty sturdy restau-
rant glasses, don't there?
nas When they audit the place they're going to think it's
awfully funny that there're no glasses. What are you
going to say happened to them?
SIDNEY How come I should know what happened to them?
Why should I know every little detail- Maybe some-
body broke in and took them or something.
IRIS Auditors like to know about the details, Sid. They
specialize in the details.
SIDNEY And what are you worrying about that for? You
oughta be glad I at least salvaged something out of it
that I had the get-up to go over there and get something
out of there before they audit. Why can't you ever look at
things that way? From the point of view of the things I
do that have foresight. How come you gotta play wife-
harpie all the time?
(nas tws back the tracing paper on SIDNEY'S
board to reveal the masthead on -which he had been
working)
nas (Picking it up) So now what? You're going to be an
artist? This is aw-ful.
(A fit of appropriate giggling)
SIDNEY It's not supposed to be a drawing. If s the layout
for the
(He halts, not having meant to get into this just
this way)
IRIS (Already expecting almost anything) For the what,
Sidney?
SIDNEY (He exhales heavily) Harvey Wyatt met some
chick
226 THE SIGN IN
IRIS Yes, and
SIDNEY he decided to go live in Majorca. I mean for-
get the whole scene and just like that go live in Ma-
jorca . . .
nus (Sitting, one hand over her lips) Oh, my God, no
. . . Sidney no.
SIDNEY (Shrugging) So he had to unload the paper.
nas No. God, don't let it be true. Unload it on whom?
Oh, Sidney, you haven't . . . ?
SIDNEY I know it's hard for you, Iris. To understand
what I'm all about
IRIS (Slumping where she is) I don't believe this. I don't
believe that you could come out of of that (Gestur-
ing to the glasses) and get into this. Aside from anything
else at the moment, what did you conceivably tell Harvey
that you were going to pay him?
SIDNEY We made an arrangement Don't worry about it.
IRIS What kind of arrangement, Sidney?
SIDNEY An arrangement. Thaf s all. I know what I ar-
ranged. I tell you, don't worry about it, that's all.
IRIS Where in the name of God are you going to get the
money to pay for a newspaper?
SIDNEY It's a small newspaper. A weekly.
IRIS Sidney, you can't afford a yearly leaflet!
SIDNEY (Quietly) Why isn't it ever enough for me to tell
you that I know what I'm doing? The money was not the
important part of the deal one way or the other. This is a
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 227
real rich babe Harvey's hooked up with so he's not wor-
ried about the money. Just yet.
IRIS And when he is ? Where are you going to get it?
That's what little old Iris is standing here with her bare-
faced everyday-self wondering about.
SIDNEY I'll raise it. That's all. I'll raise it. Period. Didn't
I raise it for the Silver Dagger? Well, I'll raise it for this.
In order to do things you have to do things. That's all.
(During the above WALLY O'HARA and ALTON
SCALES have approached; the former is a conven-
tionally dressed man, in his early forties, with rust-
colored thinning hair; he carries several cardboard
placards. For a moment the two stand in animated
conversation, as if planning their next move. Now
ALTON beats on the door. IRIS throws up her hands
in disgust and admits them)
ALTON (Kissing her broadly. Gesturing toward WALLY)
Hey, look who I ran into.
WALLY (Shows a campaign poster to SID and IRIS. It reads:
VOTE O'HARA FOR REFORM) Hey, Sid.
SIDNEY (Standing stock-still, resolutely) The answer is
no.
ALTON (Yelling at him) Don't be a clown! At least hear
what the man has to say!
WALLY Iris.
(He kisses her. She goes into the kitchen to make a
salad)
SIDNEY I know what he has to say and I don't want to
hear it. I'm out of it. Period. My little artsy-craftsy news-
paper is going to stay clear of politics. Any kind of poll-
228 THE SIGN IN
tics. Politics are for people who have those kinds of
interests, that's all. I don't happen to have them any
more.
WALLY (As if he expected that; making himself comfort-
able) Yes, I know. You've made yourself clear in the
past: "Politics are a blight on the natural spirit of man.
Politics are a cancer of the soul. Politics are dirty, fetid,
compromise-ridden exercises in futility." Et cetera, et
cetera, et cetera. (Wandering over to the glass racks and
picking up a glass) A bunch of big drinkers here? (Pour-
ing a drink, then turning a knowing, skilled gaze on the
editor) Nonetheless, Sidney I've finally faced up to
something that you've got to face up to; there is work to
be done and someone has got to do it. Now, Fm taking
time out from a busy law practice which is just beginning
to build. Fm sticking my neck out to run, and all I'm ask-
ing from you is a little legwork, and the endorsement of
what I take it is now your paper.
SIDNEY Not even for you, Wally. My readers can do as
they please. In my paper no endorsements. And no
editorials.
ALTON (To WALLY, agitatedly) You see! There it is, man!
We are confronted with the great disease of the modern
bourgeois intellectual: ostrich-ism. I've been watching it
happen to this one; the great sad withdrawal from the
affairs of men. (With bitter facetiousness, pounding his
breast he pins up the poster on the bookshelves) It
sort of gets me, here.
SIDNEY Alton, do you know that it is an absolute fact
that the one infallible way that one can always, and 1
mean always, tell an ex-Communist from ordinary human
beings is by the sheer volume of his use of the word
bourgeois?
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 229
ALTON And do you know how one can always, infallibly,
no matter what, tell a card-carrying phony? By the mi*
nuteness of the pretext on which he will manage to
change the subject, if the subject is even remotely im-
portant
WALLY (Laughing smoothly) Why do you boys hang out
together?
SIDNEY (Turning in kind on ALTON) Yes, I suppose I
have lost the pretensions of the campus revolutionary,
Alton. I do admit that I no longer have the energy, the
purity or the comprehension to "save the world/*
(Takes down WALLY'S poster. Looking at them with an
internalized smile working the corners of his mouth)
As a matter of fact, to get real big about it, I no longer
even believe that spring must necessarily come at all.
Or, that if it does, that it will bring forth Anything more
poetic or insurgent than (With a flourish) the win-
ter's dormant ulcers.
WALLY (Getting up, crossing to SIDNEY. There is a per-
vasive assurance about him) We're not talking about
the world, we're talking about this community. It's like
getting on the wagon, the way they tell you in the AA:
Don't think about all the drinks you've got to give up,
just concentrate on the next one. That's the trick, Sid.
Don't think about the ailing world for the time being,
just think about your own little ailing neighborhood,
that's the point.
SIDNEY (Wandering away from him) That's very im-
pressive. (Hands the poster back to WALLY) But the
truth of the matter is, dear friends, I am afraid that I
have experienced the death of the exclamation point
It has died in me. I no longer want to exhort anybody
about anything. It's the final end of boyhood. (Grinning
230 THE SIGN IN
wryly at his friends) Now, I admit that this is something
that doesn't happen to everyone. Take old Alton here:
one long exclamation point!
ALTON (Loftily) Capitulation has one smell, one shape,
one sound.
SIDNEY (In kind) Look, I'm not a neophyte. You wanna
see my scrapbooks? Since I was eighteen I've belonged to
every committee To Save, To Abolish, Prohibit, Pre-
serve, Reserve and Conserve that ever was. And the re-
sult (With an almost rollicking flippancy) is that the
mere thought of a "movement" to do anything chills my
bones. I simply can no longer bear the spectacle of the
hatchetry of power-driven insurgents trying at all costs
to gain control (The coup de grace) of the refresh-
ment committee!
(He crosses into the bathroom for a bottle of pills)
WALLY (Smiling easily) I told you: Think only of not
taking the next drink.
SIDNEY (Crossing back to the drawing board to take his
pill with a drink) You mean diddle around with ithe
little things since we can't do anything about the big
ones? Like the fact that I was born of a father who was
maimed in one war, did some fighting of my own in an-
other and have survived into the clear and present danger
of a third? Forget about all that jazz, huh, and worry
about reforms in the traffic court or something?
WALLY (Putting his drink down, with vigor) Christ, man,
this is the second largest narcotics drop in the city, the
outpost of every racket known to man! The syndicate
thinks it owns this neighborhood, and there sits the
regular machine
SIDNEY You kid yourself if you want to, Wally. Do things
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 231
if it makes you happy. Just don't bug me about it. Iris,
beer!
IRIS (Coming out from the kitchen) All I've got to say,
Sidney, is just mean what you say, that's all, just mean
what you say.
WALLY (Strictly in jest) All of which goes to prove that a
woman's place is in the oven.
ALTON (Mugging) With the door closed.
WALLY I'm wondering, Sidney. In the clear and present
danger
(The phone is ringing)
nas Jesus, that'll be Mavis. I don't feel like Mavis tonight
Sid, you get it.
SIDNEY I never feel like Mavis. You get it. (Iris goes to
answer) That Mavis, boy I still swear she is something
Sinclair Lewis made up which has escaped the book!
(Looking at ALTON soberly) Speaking of Iris' sisters, I
gather you've been seeing a lot of Gloria when she's in
town.
(IRIS at the phone, throws a swift pregnant glance
at her husband)
ALTON (Mugging heavily and smacking his Ups)
Yeaaahhhh.
SIDNEY Yeah, well, take it from me and beware of the
daughters of the House of Atreus.
(nas looks daggers)
ALTON (Glibly, unaware of the by-play) Til take my
chances. (To WALLY) You should see this one, man!
( Waving his fingers for the heat)
232 THE SIGN IN
WALLY (Smiling) I'd like to. (Back to the attack) Sid-
ney, if you can't function
ALTON Only there's no point in your meeting her now,
man. Like / have come into her vision and I am filling
it out entirely!
WALLY So where is this perfection? Why doesn't she
drop by and help restore Sidney's vision?
IRIS (Cutting in, one hand cupping the receiver) She's in
Los Angeles. Travels a lot. She's a high-fashion model.
(ALTON passes a photo of GLORIA to SID and WALLY) I
am listening to you, love. I don't care, Mav, that's all.
Good-bye! (As she hangs up the phone and wanders
back to a position near her husband) Poor old Mavis.
But you've got to admit that she doesn't give up. She's
been trying to civilize me for years. Now she's got some
dress for me.
SIDNEY Dear old Mav, Mother of the Philistines. My
brother is the Prince, but your sister is the Mother of
them all!
(He suddenly pulls the pins out of his wife's hair,
causing it to fall down all over her. She is infuriated
by this habit of his)
IRIS Oh, damn it, Sid! Don't start that, I'm telling you!
I mean it!
ALTON (To WALLY) If he had his way he'd have her
running barefoot in a gingham dress with all that hair
flying around. (To SIDNEY) What are you, some kind
of arrested rustic?
WALLY Tve often wondered how such a "nice middle-
class Jewish boy" got so hung up on such a tired old
Anglo-Saxon myth.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 233
SIDNEY (Western drawl) I reckon my particular Jewish
psyche was less discriminating than most.
WALLY (Pressing forward) Sidney, if you can't function
in one little community, then how
SIDNEY (Escaping again) Hey, honey, you know what I
feel like? I am suddenly suffering from an all-consuming
desire to take my books, my cameras, my records, and
my wife and go
IRIS, ALTON and WALLY (Together, in unison) up to
the woods!
(She, without appreciation, starts working at her
hair, trying to get it back up)
SIDNEY (Painfully) Yes. And stay . . . (Pulling her head
back hard and looking into her eyes) Forever.
(She sighs)
ALTON (To WALLY) Man, you see what we are up against
here? This clown is not only committed to the symbolic
mountain tops. He goes in for the whole real live physical
thing.
SIDNEY (Changing the subject; to ALTON) By the way,
I made an appointment with Mickey Dafoe for you. He
expects you in his office at noon. Wear n tie and your
best Establishment Ass-kissing Manner or something so
you won't make him nervous.
ALTON What do you mean you made an appointment for
me? For what? What do I want to see Mickey Dafoe for?
SIDNEY Gotta be you. Nobody else to go.
ALTON Well, there's not me, I have nothing to say to
people like Mickey Dafoe,
SIDNEY You're rigjit, you're wrong for it Absolutely the
wrong man to send The Trade and Commerce Associa-
234 THE SIGN IN
tion is only responsible for like half of the advertising in
the paper. We need somebody (Moving "aimlessly
toward WALLY so that at the last word they are face to
face. WALLY is already shaking his head "no") smoo-
ooooth.
WALLY Don't look at me.
SIDNEY Why not, you fat cat you ?
WALLY What makes you think you can always ask, ask,
ask for things, Sid and never give?
SIDNEY (Throwing up his hands) Because before I am
through my little artsy-craftsy newspaper i n going
IRIS Oh, Sidney, newspaper, newspaper, newspaper! How
long do you think that you're going to have a newspaper!
(She disappears into the bedroom, putting her hair
up)
ALTON What's the matter with her lately?
SIDNEY (A shrug) Who knows? Maybe she's changing
life.
WALLY Come on, it's the Greek in her. You should know
that The triumph of the innate tragedy in her soui.
SIDNEY (This entire exchange is for IRIS to hear) She's
only half Greek, so she should be only half tragic. Hey,
Iris, when you come back out, turn up just one side of
your face.
nus Boy, are you fellows fun-nee!
(A wild cackle of sardonic laughter)
WALLY Hey, what is the other half?
SIDNEY Irish 'n' Cherokee. I'm married to the only Greco-
Gaelic-Indian hillbilly in captivity. If one can reaJly think
of Iris as being in captivity , . . Do your dance, honey.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 255
(She snakes out promptly, hissing, in the dance steps of
the Greek Miserlou which turns into a jig and then into
the usual stereotyped notion of some Indian war dance,
concluding with a Marilyn Monroe freeze. Then she
backs out) I taught her everything she knows! You
should hear my mother on Iris. (The inevitable) "Not
that I have anything against the goyim, Sidney, she's a
nice girl, but the rice is too greasy. And lamb fat? For
the stomach? With hominy grits? Like a lump it sits."
WALLY (Nodding toward where IRIS is) Any shows com-
ing up?
SIDNEY (Softly, hand up to discourage the subject) Don't
bring it up.
ALTON (Who has been flipping the pages of a book on the
coffee table in front of him) One of your troubles is,
Sid, that you admire the wrong parts of Thoreau.
SIDNEY (Who is deep in the chair; his back to ALTON, hand
behind his head) How do you know what parts of
Thoreau I do or don't admire?
ALTON You mark passages (He promptly starts to read
aloud, while roaming the room, meaning in the begin-
ning to inflict the facetious taunt on it, trilling his r's,
but ultimately finding some difficulty in it, perhaps as the
words have appeal even to him. As he reads we are aware
of certain familiar colorings and inflections in his speech
though we cannot presently place them) "... In the
coldest and bleakest places, the warmest charities still
maintain a foothold. A cold and searching wind drives
away all contagion, and nothing can withstand it but
what has virtue in it. Whatever we meet in cold and bleak
places, as the tops of mountains " See! Always looking
for them mountain tops! ". . we respect for a sort of
235 THE SIGN IN
sturdy innocence. ... It is invigorating to breathe the
cleansed air . . and we fain would stay out long and
late, that the gales may sigh through us, too, as through
the lifeless trees, and fit us for the winter: as if we
hoped so to borrow some pure and steadfast virtue which
will stead us in all seasons."
(SIDNEY takes the book from him thoughtfully and a
little defiantly, snaps it shut and returns it to its
place on the shelf, then sits looking off. IRIS reap-
pears in the bedroom doorway)
WALLY AH right how's about the rest of Thoreau, Sid-
ney boy? How's about the Thoreau of sublime social con-
sciousness, the Thoreau who was standing in jail one day
when that holy of holies, Mr, Ralph Waldo Emerson,
comes strolling by and asks, "Well, Henry, what are you
doing in there?" And Thoreau, who was "in there" for
protesting the evils of his day, looked out at him and
said "The question is, Ralph, what are you doing
{New England old-timer inflection) out thay-ah?"
(IRIS knowing SIDNEY only too well and sensing the
drift, starts humming "The Battle Hymn of the
Republic" as she crosses into the kitchen)
SIDNEY Cut it out.
(IRIS enters with salad bowl and stands slicing
vegetables at counter)
ALTON (Coolly plunging in for the kill) Why, Sid? She's
right . . . Wally, stop that foolishness! Cool it, man.
You're "venerating"! You're "celebrating the human
spirit"! Your "conscience is showing"! Don't you know,
Wally, "Readers (Indicating IRIS) don't want it." The
great untutored public (Indicating the window) doesn't
want it And what's more, the exhausted insurgent ^
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 237
(Indicating SIDNEY) cannot afford it. 'S no use, Wally:
the man's in mourning for his boyhood. Let's go before
he sells you one hundred and fifty restaurant glasses.
(He gets up)
SIDNEY (Stung) Well, hooray the hell for you! . . . John
the Baptist! (He throws himself onto his knees and with
outstretched arms offers a slow and very precise salaam)
God bless your Saviour-type soul!
(Hands fluttering holy-roller style, he begins a wail-
ing chant, which peters out as ALTON stands over
him, relentless)
ALTON Look out, man, you're getting overinvolved. Too
emotional; you might shed a tear. After all, what is it?
Only one kid. One lousy junkie, all of seventeen. (Bru-
tally offhand) What'd he do, sweep for you at the Silver
Dagger, whatever his name is?
SIDNEY (Softly) Sal Peretti . . .
ALTON Oh yeah Sal Peretti.
SIDNEY I did what I could
IRIS (Furious, pleading to hold back the inevitable) Sid-
ney, you gave him a job-r-you can't be responsible for
every strange kid that walks in off the street!
SIDNEY I tried to help.
ALTON Let's go, Wally, we're wasting time.
(Pulling WALLY after him)
WALLY (At the door) I'm counting on you, Sid.
SIDNEY Don't.
(They exit. There is a long, pregnant beat as SIDNEY
stands looking after them. IRIS'S eyes are immedi-
238 THE SIGN IN
ately riveted to him from the counter, where she
continues slicing salad and they do not leave him,
not for one instant, for the balance of the scene.
SIDNEY stirs, wanders deep in thought about the
room, back and forth, round and about. He takes
up the poster, puts it on the coffee table, sits look-
ing at it. He flops on the couch. Sits up. Flops
back down again, looking off unseeing, then sits
up and at last turns tentatively to IRIS)
IRIS {as their eyes meet) Sidney, I swear to heaven
I'll poison you!
Blackout
SCENE Two
Time: Dusk. The following week. In the darkness before
the lights come up, once again the quarrelsome voices are
heard.
MAX (Round, juicy, gravel-voiced) Sca-rrew Michel-
angelo! You and Michelangelo all the time! Christ! Not
again . . .
ALTON Yes, again. The larger statement has to say it all
(The lights come up. ALTON and MAX are in the
apartment* The latter's free-form paintings, laid out
for inspection about the place, have inspired the
present violent discussion. MAX is by all odds an
original: middle-aged, gravel-voiced, squat, his salt-
and-pepper short hair brushed dead forward; he
wears sandals, stained jeans, a black turtleneck and
a pained expression)
MAX Your main trouble is that you are a literalist. You
were born a literalist and you will die a literalist.
ALTON And all I am saying is that decay is not the deepest
damn thing going, you know? It's sick so, like, it's sup-
posed to be profound? Too easy, baby. Death is too
damn easy. Chaos is easier. And when you pretend that
that is the scale of existence
MAX {Gesture of the streets) Go the hell away, Alton.
You don't know a damn thing except poster art
ALTON What old poster art! Is Leonardo poster art?
MAX {Slamming down something with outrage) I knew
it, here we go again: back to the frigging Renaissance!
(SIDNEY enters carrying a large banner)
239
240 THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY I got it.
ALTON Great. Let's put it up, I've already got the nails in.
(SIDNEY flings one end to ALTON and they hold it,
for a moment unfurled. It reads:
CLEAN UP COMMUNITY POLITICS
Wipe Out Bossism
VOTE REFORM
(They stride to the window where f presently, it
hangs, face out to the street)
SIDNEY All right, let's go to work. (He sits at his board,
ALTON at his side. MAX sits benignly apart: the "man of
the hour" awaiting the call) Now, with a new masthead,
the front page will stay pretty much as it is. Page two,
some jumps and lesser items . . , page three, inter-
views, you know. Page four, letters to the editor and some
weekly artwork.
ALTON (Winks the victor) And the editorials.
SIDNEY (Toss-off who ever denied it? Then laughs)
And the editorials. Five and six: theatre, dance and
movie reviews. By the way, I want to get rid of Dan Wal-
lace and get Paul Russo. He's good.
ALTON If you like obscurity, he's the best
SIDNEY Sure, Russo gets a little fuzzy, but you've got to
admit the man knows films. (As if this were somehow
relevant) He's a very gentle man- Do you know he
wanders around with little bits and pieces of paper in his
pocket on which he writes down every single thing that
moves him, good or bad, in a day?
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 241
ALTON And at the end of the week he puts them in a hat
and stirs them and that's his movie review for the week!
SIDNEY Oh, Alton, knock off! Where's the masthead,
Max?
(MAX rises and crosses ceremoniously with his port-
folio; he opens it and places the masthead before
them. Then, with a flourish, he flips off the tracing
paper to unveil it, and stands back)
MAX (Modestly) Here. It's a rough idea, you know.
(SIDNEY and ALTON squint at it hard, look at each
other, puzzled; the two turn it sidewise and upside
down. MAX restores it rightside up. The two squint
again. Finally, ALTON points to the bottom of the
page)
SIDNEY Three-point type for the nameplate of a news-
paper? At the bottom of the page? Who's going to see it?
MAX (Columbus Incarnate, Galileo, Copernicus, the Wright
Brothers and Frank Lloyd, in one) That's the whole
point. You put it far right and low on the big field and
the eye has to follow. (Processor to slow pupil, guides
their eyes down and around the page -with a finger. The
other two men are silent; MAX is offended and starts to
gather his things)
SIDNEY Max, I like it it just occurred to me I like it!
MAX (Petulant, undeterred) Look, I thought it was .some-
thing different, something fresh.
(He starts out)
SIDNEY But, Max
MAX It's always that way. You revolutionaries are all the
same. You start out ML of fire and end up full of ...
shit!
(He stamps out the door. SIDNEY rises to follow)
242 THE SIGN IN
ALTON Oh, Sidney! I'm telling you, it looks like a bunch
of art majors from Music and Art designed that page.
SIDNEY Alton, will you please! (Follows MAX out takes
the masthead from MAX, studies it) Max, you've done it
again!
MAX (One more moment of immovable glory; then relents)
As a matter of fact, Sid, let's change it every week. (SID-
NEY and MAX re-enter and cross to the board) You know,
a different type Old English, Gothic, Bodoni. However
we feel the day we're making it up.
SIDNEY Max you're so creative!
MAX And in a different place! Locate it on a different place
on the sheet every week!
ALTON (Suddenly shouting) It's a newspaper! It's a god-
damned newspaper not an avant-garde toy!
MAX He doesn't change, does he? You know, once you've
had that Marxist monkey on your back you're hooked for
life. To Alton a newspaper's not an aesthetic adven-
ture, it's (He tightens his jace and balls his fist in a
mock-serious gesture) a weapon! (Carried away by his
idea, he leaps on the couch with an imaginary banner
and sings)
" Tis the final conflict
Let each stand in his place
The Internationale "
ALTON Aw, go to hell.
MAX (Sings) "Unites the human race!"
(IRIS enters and halts at the sight. She is in her
uniform, carrying paella in a brown paper bag)
IRIS (Violent jacetiousness) Well, company. And who
have I invited to supper tonight?
(She has their attention at last)
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 243
ALTON Paella?
(She nods "yes," with eyes closed, knowing that he
mil stay now. He puts his hand in the air to deliber-
ately affect the class-room mannerism of a small
child)
IRIS Max?
MAX (Still on the couch) Paella. Like crazy. (Rubbing his
head, stomach and consulting his watch, genuinely con*
fUcted) But the problem is ... there's this chick I was
supposed to have met in the Black Knight Jesus, an
hour ago . . .
SIDNEY There it is: the primeval decision, food or sex.
(MAX closes his eyes to imagine a little of each pre-
sumably, caught in the pose of the true primitive)
ALTON (Going and leaning under MAX more or less to study
the decision) And let us watch primitive man decide
(MAX opens his eyes, steps down from the couch
and begins to gather up his things in order to make
the prior date. IRIS exits into the bedroom)
ALTON The loins triumph! See, Max, you're not a true
primitive or you would have put food first! You only
paint like a savage. (Pursuing MAX to the door) And
where the hell did you get that outfit, man? You look just
like a put-up job for Lrf^-Magazine-Visits-the-Left-
Bank-and-all. Where's your goatee?
MAX (Staring him down a squekh) That's the differ-
ence between me and you, Alton: I have finally become a
truly free man. I have even stopped worrying about not
trying to look like a nonconformist not nonconforming.
Dig?
(He exits, giving ALTON one last baby chuck on the
chin. IRIS re-enters from bedroom in jeans and a
sweater, with mail)
244 THE SIGN IN
IRIS Hey, I got a letter from Gloria.
ALTON How is life in the pancake world, Iris, my light?
IRIS (Reading her mail) Be still, I gotta read my mail,
(ALTON takes the banjo down, crosses to the rocker, be-
gins to pick the banjo . . . IRIS looks up from the letter
slowly, with astonishment and many confusions in her
-face) Why, Alton Scales . . . Gloria says that you asked
her to marry you.
ALTON (Affecting the bashful teenager) Yup.
SIDNEY (Looks up at him and then at his wife, and then
back to his friend) Are you for real?
ALTON (Ibid.) Yup.
SIDNEY You're that gone on her?
ALTON (Sudden lover's hoarse sincerity) In fact, I figure
that if that babe doesn't hurry up and get herself back
here like I could flip.
SIDNEY 111 be damned. (To his wife) You never know.
IRIS (In astonishment) You never know.
SIDNEY What did she say: "yes" or "no"?
ALTON She didn't. She said she'd think about it while she
was away (Strumming out an accompaniment on the
banjo for emphasis) and like I have been living with
tension for two weeks! (Abruptly, his strum breaks into
"The Midnight Special!" and he sings. After a few lines
he stops. As the silence dawns on him tensely) What's
the matter? (The other two avoid replying in an awk-
ward moment of misunderstood discomfort. SIDNEY re-
concentrates on his board; IRIS just sits, not knowing
what to say. ALTON, tightly, with mounting anger, speaks
directly to SIDNEY, crossing to him and standing fully in
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 245
-front of him; angrily) I said what's the matter, god-
damnit! Come on, let's have it out, my little gray friends!
This is like the moment of truth, old babies! Yeah, come
on! Let's get to the nitty gritty, as it were! Let's blast all
the crap away
IRIS Oh, Alton!
SIDNEY (Simply) Why don't you take that damn tree off
your shoulder, Alton? Frankly, it's embarrassing.
(They glare at one another; ALTON softens to a dif-
ferent kind of embarrassment)
ALTON Well, don't expect me to apologize . . - I have a
right to think anything I want. In this world. Even of you
Sid
SIDNEY There are some misunderstandings that cost more
than others, Alton.
mis Besides, the point is well for crying out loud
who'd expect that you two? Well, you know what I
mean: You're so Paul P. Proletarian and all, and she's
the Living Spirit of Madison Avenue.
ALTON Well, hell, opposites attract and all, to coin a
phrase. Besides, like (Slowly, real slow) I dig her!
SIDNEY (With great sobriety) That much?
ALTON (A lover) That much!
SIDNEY (Russian accent) Another bolshevik bites the
dust
IRIS (Her eyes on him intently) And thaf s all that we
have to say about it, isn't it, Sidney?
SIDNEY (Considering swiftly and accepting this judgment)
That's all.
nas Where's my Variety?
246 THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY (Back with his board) Under the apples.
IRIS (A long afterthought') And I don't like that expres-
sion, come to think of it
SIDNEY What expression?
IRIS (Shaking her finger, not serious) About biting the
dust. I know where that came from. And on behalf of
my Cherokee grandfather, I protest.
ALTON I got your point, so knock it off.
nas (Turning on him) You knock it off, sometimes,
Alton! It's a bore. You and the causes all the time. It's
phony as hell!
ALTON (Sharply, back at her) I was born with this cause,
IRIS That's what I mean! Fun with illusion and reality:
white boy playing black boy all the time.
ALTON I am a black boy, I didn't make up the game, and
as long as a lot of people think there is something wrong
with the fact that I am a Negro I am going to make a
point out of being one. Follow!
nas (Pragmatic bohemia) But that's what makes it so
phony. The country is full of people who dropped it
when they could what makes you so ever-loving dif-
ferent?
ALTON It's something you either understand or don't un-
derstand.
(He shrugs)
IRIS Well, I guess everybody has to do something with
their guilts.
ALTON (Flaring) Guilt's got nothing to do 'with it . ,
SIDNEY Come on, this is a stupid conversation. Be a
Martian if you wanna.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 247
IRIS (Settling down with her Variety. Whistling it out)
Heroes, heroes, everywhere and not a battle won!
(ALTON rises, abruptly quickly crosses to the door)
Alton?
ALTON (Turning at the door gruff, indirect apology)
I'm going out for some wine for my contribution to the
feed. Want something? Cigarettes?
SIDNEY (Grinning) Nope.
ALTON How about you, Laughing Tomahawk?
(He exits)
IRIS Flowers. For the table. (Follows him out the door
calls after him) If you're going to be a brother-in-law you
should try to get in with me. I know plenty about being a
sister-in-law. Bring me flowers every day . . . (At the top
of her lungs) Lumumba. (She ducks as the paperback he
has been reading comes crashing against the door frame.
She comes back in, closing the door. At once to her hus-
band, sharply, wife-ishly) You just keep your mouth
shut about Gloria, you hear!
SIDNEY Did I say anything?
nas No, but you sat there looking like death. Let them
work it out, see! Let them work it out. Keep your mouth
off it, Fm telling you.
SIDNEY (Almost screaming, as the point has been made)
Did I say anything, did I say anything, shrew?
IRIS (Turning back to her paper) No, but I know you
the world's biggest busybody. (SIDNEY rises, crosses,
hands her the new masthead and, like the cat that
swallowed the canary, unveils it with the same proud
flourish as MAX. IRIS sits blankly, squints, looks at SID-
NEY, turns it sidewise and upside down; finally he rights
248 THE SIGN IN
it and guides her eye in almost exact repetition of the
prior sequence) You keeping it a secret? Looks arty.
SIDNEY (Furious) All right so it looks arty. What does
that mean, do you know?
IRIS Do I know what?
SIDNEY Do you know what "arty'* means? Or is it just
some little capsule phrase thrown out to try to diminish
me, since you have nothing genuinely analytical or even
observant to say?
(He is staring at her hard, angrily)
IRIS I wasn't trying to be analytical. I was saying what I
thought, which is that it looks arty.
SIDNEY You mean that it looks different from other publi-
cations.
IRIS No, I mean it looks different from other publications
in a self-conscious sort of way. Arty.
SIDNEY Iris, where did you get the idea you know enough
about these things to pass judgment on them?
IRIS From the same place you got the idea that you were
an editor.
SIDNEY Which happens at least to be more reasonable
than the idea that you are anybody's actress.
IRIS (Putting down her paper, slowly, hurtfully) Why
don't you just hit me with your fists sometimes, Sid.
(Exits into the bathroom. Sobs are heard)
SIDNEY I didn't mean that, baby. Come on. Do South
Pacific. I'll hold the book for you.
nas No.
(More sobs)
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 249
SIDNEY Iris, honey, come on.
(He opens the door she pulls it shut. After a mo-
ment he tries again and she, clutching the inner
knob, is tugged half into the room)
IRIS (Flaring irrationally, crossing out and down) Why
should I go through all of that to read for something that
I know I won't get in the first place. They don't want
actresses, they just want easy lays, that's all. (Snarling)
That Harry Maxton, please! He's the biggest lech of
them all. You want to know something, you really want
to hear something I hope will burn your little ears off?
That's why I didn't get the part before. I said "no"!
(SIDNEY has halted and is standing, half turned from
her, letting it pour out of her as he has many, many
times before)
SIDNEY (Turning quietly, almost gently) Iris, everybody
knows that Harry Maxton is one of the most famous fags
in America.
IRIS All right, then. So everything goes with him! He just
puts on the fag bit to cover up what he really is
SIDNEY (With proper incredulity) You mean a lech?
IRIS (With a wild, cornered gesture) Sure, that's how
twisted up they are in show business, you just don't
know!
SIDNEY (Helplessly) Even in show business that twisted
they're not. And making up sordid excuses to yourself is
not the solution to your problem, so come off it!
nus Leave me alone, Sidney. I don't want the part.
(She has curled into a tight sulking ball)
SIDNEY (Continuing on, getting the book and then crossing
back to her and kneeling in front of her) Oh, Iris, Iris,
250 THE SIGN IN
Iris . . . (He puts his head wearily on her knee) I want
to help . . . so much . . . I'm on your side.
IRIS I just don't have it. They say if you really have it
you stick with it no matter what and that that you'll
do anything
SIDNEY That is one of the great romantic and cruel ideas
of our civilization* A lot of people "have it" and they
just get trampled to death by the mob trying to get up the
same mountain.
IRIS Oh please, Sidney, don't start blaming everything
on society. Sooner or later a person learns to hold him-
self accountable that's what maturity is. If I haven't
learned anything else in analysis I've sure learned that.
SIDNEY Thank you, Dr. Steincr! Look, Iris, the world's
finest swimmer cannot swim the Atlantic Ocean even
if analysis does prove it was his mother's fault!
IRIS That's not an analogy. Nobody can swim the Atlantic
Ocean but some people do make it in the theatre. (She
smiles at him and puts her hand on his head and he
settles at her feet) You make the lousiest analogies. Just
like you can't add. I couldn't believe that at first.
SIDNEY What?
IRIS About your arithmetic. When I first met you I
thought you were putting me on. You know, anybody
all that brilliant who couldn't add. God, at home almost
nobody could read but everybody could add. (Looking
at him and playing with his hair a little) What's seven
and seven ?
SIDNEY Fourteen, naturally.
IRIS (Quickly ) And fourteen and fourteen?
SIDNEY (Hesitates. She giggles and he nestles playfully
against her legs) Twenty-eight,
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 257
IRIS And twenty-eight and twenty-eight?
SIDNEY (Abruptly lost) Oh, c'mon. That's calculus . . .
(Both laugh; he comes into her arms)
IRIS You don't know what it's like though (She is look-
ing off, moving her fingers through his hair) God, to
walk through those agency doors . . . There's always
some gal sitting on the other side, at a desk, you know,
with a stack of pictures practically up to the ceiling in
front of her. And they're always sort of bored, you know.
Even the polite ones, the nice ones, I mean, they can't
help it. They've seen five million and two like you and
by the time you come. through that door they are bored.
And when you get past them, into the waiting room,
there they are the five million and two sitting there,
waiting to be seen, and they look scared and mean and
as competitive as you do. And so you all sit there, and
you don't know anything: how you look, how you feel,
anything. And least of all do you know how they want
you to read. And when you get inside, you know less.
There are just those faces, Christ, half the time you al-
most wish that someone would make a pass or something;
you could deal with that, you know that's from life.
You can deal with that and take your chances, but that al-
most never happens, at least not to me. All I ever see are
those blank director-producer-writer faces just staring
at you like a piece of unfinished wood, waiting for you
to show them something that will excite them, get them
to arguing about you . . . And you just stand there
knowing that you can't, no matter what, do it the way
you did it at home in front of the mirror, the brilliant
imaginative way you did it the night before. No matter
what All you can think is: What the heE am I doing
standing here in front of these strangers, reading these
silly words and jumping around for that fairy like some
kind of nut . . . ? (Looking up at him) Sidney, I wish
252 THE SIGN IN
I had it in me to be tougher. (Gently) Like like
Gloria, I guess.
SIDNEY Gloria wasn't tough enough, but let's not get into
that.
IRIS No, let's not! Anyhow, this is all a waste of time. You
know and I know that I will never show up for that audi-
tion. I just don't want to see those faces again Jesus,
do I ever feel twenty-nine!
SIDNEY Take down your hair for me, Iris . . ,
IRIS (Hoarsely, but not angrily) Christ, you're still so
hooked on my hair . . . (Laughter through tears) It's
spooky to be loved for your hair, don't you know that?
SIDNEY Take down your hair . . . (He reaches up behind
and pulls the pins and it falls and there really is a great
deal of it which almost covers her. Then he gets up and
crosses to the phonograph, puts on a record and turns
and waits; in a second or two a stinging mountain banjo
hoe-down cuts into the silence. It swells and races:
louder, swifter, filling room and theatre, this untamed
music of the Bluegrass; in all the world there is none
more vibrant) Dance for me, Iris Parodus . , . Come
down out of the hills and dance for me, Mountain GirL
IRIS (Lifting up her eyes to him from behind the hair) I
just don't feel Appalachian tonight, Sid. It just won't
work tonight (They look at one another a long mo-
ment. The music continues. During the above, MAVIS
BRYSON, IRIS' older sister, has crossed to the door. She is
a heavier, red-headed version of IRIS, more uptown and
fashionable. She knocks and IRIS gets up and opens the
door then, as swiftly, shuts and bars it with her out-
stretched body. Meaning the dress box which her sister
is carrying:) I don't want it, I don't need it and I won't
take it.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 255
MAVIS Just try it on. That's all I ask. (IRIS reluctantly
opens the door to admit her) Hello, Sid, darling.
SIDNEY Hello, Mav.
MAVIS (Blithely opens the box) Could you conceivably
have the hootenanny at another time?
(She turns off the phonograph)
IRIS We don't go to cocktail parties, Mavis. At least the
kind where you dress like that, I want to tell you from
the top, Mavis. This is not a good time. I am in no mood
for the big sister-little sister hassle today that's all
(MAVIS crosses and maternally stops IRIS' mouth in
mid-speech with one hand)
MAVIS Just slip it on; I had it taken up for you. You'll
look stunning in it. (Confidentially, as she zips and but-
tons) What's that awful sign? Iris, it looks so vulgar to
have writing in your window. (IRIS points to SID as the
culprit) What have you heard from Gloria?
IRIS Not a word.
MAVIS Here, let me smooth it down on you. Now, really,
I can't tell a thing with those sticking out. (IRIS pulls up
her jeans as far as possible under the dress) It's stun-
ning! (As, in fact, it is, because, whatever else, MAVIS'
taste is simple and elegant and the dress will be hand-
some on IRIS) Now, all you'll need for Easter is a new
pair of sneakers.
SIDNEY (Appreciatively) You're coming along, Mavis.,
you're coming along. How about a drink?
(He goes to the bar)
MAVIS You know, you're drinking a lot lately, Sidney,
(To IRIS) I thought you always said that the Jews didn't
drink.
254 THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY (Crossing from the bar) Mavis, I'm assimilated!
MAVIS Where was Gloria when you heard from her?
IRIS Miami Beach, (Then, angry with herself) And you're
turning into a pure sneak when it comes to digging.
MAVIS And you weren't going to tell me. (To SIDNEY)
Why can't she tell me? Miami Beach, my God! (A beat)
Is she^-?
IRIS Of course she is, what do you think!
MAVIS (Covering her eyes) The poor baby. All I can think
of is that I am so glad Papa didn't live to
IRIS Look, Mavis, don't start. I just don't want the Gloria
problem tonight. No matter what else she is living her
life and we are living ours. (A beat) So to speak.
(She exits into the bedroom)
MAVIS Is she coming any time soon?
nas She didn't say.
(She enters again)
MAVIS When?
IRIS Why can't you leave it alone, Mav? She won't see
you when she does come. I guess she just can't take all
those lectures any more.
MAVIS And you don't lecture her do you?
nas (Pouring a drink) Mavis, if you weren't the world's
greatest living anti-Semite you really should have mar-
ried Sidney so that the two of you could have minded
the world's business together. Jees!
MAVIS That's not funny and I am not, for the four thou-
sandth time, on anti-Semite. (Swiftly) You don't think
that about me, do you, Sid? Why?
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 255
nas Now, come on: you nearly had a heart attack when
we got married. In fact, that's when you went into
analysis. Now either you were madly in love with me or
you hate the Jews pick!
MAVIS (Glaring at her) Sometimes, Iris . . . (A beat)
Did she say if she needs anything?
IRIS Now, what could she need? She's the successful one.
As a matter of fact (Winks) I plan to put the old touch
on her when she comes back.
MAVIS Iris, you've gotten to be just plain dirty-minded.
IRIS Look, I happen to have a sister who is a fancy call
girl, a big-time, high-fashion whore. And I say so what?
She's racking up thousands of tax-free dollars a year and
it's her life so who's to say?
(Having done with responsibility, she shrugs with
confidence)
MAVIS (Plaintively) It's your baby sister how can you
talk like that?
nas Look, Mav, you're all hung up in the puritan ethic
and all. That's not my problem.
MAVIS (Gazing at her) Is anything?
nas Frankly, it's an anti-sex society
SIDNEY (Exploding: enough is enough) Oh, shut up! I
can't stand it when you start prattling every lame-brained
libertarian slogan that comes along, without knowing
what the hell you're talking about.
nas (With great indignation) I am entitled to my opin-
ion, Sid-nee!
SIDNEY (Riding over her) You are not! Not so long as
your opinion is based on stylish ignorance!
256 THE SIGN IN
IRIS Oh shut up, Sidney. On this subject you are the last
of the Victorians.
SIDNEY Not at all. You give old Victoria too much credit.
If there was anything Victorians believed in it was that
there was a place for the whore in society. The Victor-
ians, sweet, were not against "sin," they were opposed to
its visibility.
IRIS Afl I know is this is an anti-sex soci
SIDNEY Look, Iris love (He grabs his head with frustra-
tion, wanting to make himself understood) how can I put
it to you, in front of Mavis, so that you get it? (MAVIS
rolls her eyes offendedly) Victoria is dead so like it's
just not that hard to have it, if you know what I mean,
with your own girl friend. Dig? The guys running to the
call girls are not pushing the sex revolution you think you
are cheer-leading they are indulging in a medieval no-
tion of its disrespectability! Aside from which, there
ought to be some human relationships on which com-
merce cannot put its grisly paws, doncha think?
MAVIS The things you think you have to talk about!
IRIS Who cares? My whole point is that I just don't care.
MAVIS Sidney, Gloria is a very sick girl. She's not bad.
She's very, very sick.
IRIS Well, she's in analysis, for crying out loud! (Both
turn and look at her, MAVIS blankly, SIDNEY triumphant)
Well, she says he's helping her ...
SIDNEY (Eyeing MAVIS; to IRIS cat and mouse) Oh, Iris,
why don't you tell her the new development?
MAVIS (To SIDNEY) What?
IBIS (To SIDNEY) Fat mouth.
MAVIS ( Wheeling to her sister) What ?
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 257
IRIS (To MAVIS, after another beat) There's somebody we
know who wants to marry her.
MAVIS (Closing her eyes and leaning back as if some par-
ticular prayer has been answered at exactly this moment)
Praise his name! (Opening her eyes) Who? (Anxiously
to SIDNEY) One of your friends? (He nods "yes" To
IRIS) What does he do?
SIDNEY (Almost laughing) Well, as a matter of fact, he
works in a bookstore.
MAVIS In a what?
SIDNEY He works in a bookstore. Part time. (Almost
breaking up now) And as a matter of fact he used to be
a Communist (His sister-in-law just stares at him with
an open mouth and then looks to her sister; she then
exhales a breath to demonstrate she feels that anything
is possible here) But it's all right, Mav. He's strictly an
NMSH-type Red.
MAVIS What kind is that?
SIDNEY (Mugging) "No-more-since-Hungary."
MAVIS Does he know what ah . . .
SIDNEY Does he know what Gloria does for a living? No.
She told him the model bit.
MAVIS (Hopefully) Listen, people like that, I mean Com-
munists and things they're supposed to be very radical
. . . about things . . . well . . . (Pathetically) Well, aren't
they?
SIDNEY Who can say? There's "people like that'* and
"people like that."
MAVIS Is he good-looking? What about Gloria? What does
she . . . ?
255 THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY (Deliberately playing it) Uh, Mavis
MAVIS I knew this nightmare would have to end ... It
was just something that happened. It's the way the world
is ...
SIDNEY He's also a Negro one, Mavis.
MAVIS . . . these days. People don't know what to do
with (Deep, guttural) A Negro what ?
SIDNEY (Still deliberately) A Negro Communist. That is
to say, that he's not a Communist any more but he's
still a Negro.
MAVIS (Looking from one to the other in open-mouthed
silence) Are you (A beat, as she turns her head back
and forth again) Are you (Finally, composing herself,
she crosses to SIDNEY) sitting there talking about ... a
colored boy?
SIDNEY (Rapidly, wagging his finger) 1964, Mavis, 1964!
"Uncommitted Nations," "Free World!" Don't say it,
honey, don't say it! We'll think you're not chic!
MAVIS I don't think you're funny worth a damn! (Looking
from one to the other) What do you think Gloria is? I
(The question hangs} If this is your idea of some kind of
bohemian joke I just don't think it's cute or clever or
anything. I would rather see her
SIDNEY (Finishing it for her) go on shacking up with
any poor sick bastard in the world with a hundred bucks
for a convention weekend!
(They glare at one another)
MAVIS Well now, listen, there are other men in the world!
The last time I looked around me there were still some
white men left in this world. Some fine ordinary up-
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 259
standing plain decent very white men who were still
looking to marry very white women . . .
(During the above DAVID RAGIN has descended the
stairway from his apartment overhead; now he
pushes open the door and saunters in. An intense,
slim, studied young man, of the latest fashionably
casual dress and style, his mannerisms intend to
suggest the entirely unmannered but by choice. He
is not in the least "swish")
nas Why hello, David, this is my sister, Mrs. Brysoru
MAVIS How do you do.
(He sits)
nas (Facetiously, to him) I wouldn't bother, but she is
from uptown where people knock on doors and all that
jazz.
DAVID (He ignores MAVIS completely wearily) You have
any paper?
nas The desk in the bedroom. (DAVID exits into the bed-
room) David is a playwright who lives upstairs. And we
are the government and we subsidize him.
(MAVIS nods and turns to SIDNEY)
MAVIS Well, he's sort of cute. Is he married?
SIDNEY (Simply) David's gay. (MAVIS doesn't get it)
Queer. (Still doesn't) Homosexual. (Gets it, drawing
back) Utterly.
MAVIS Oh. (Afterthought) Well, maybe she would want
a rest . . . (DAVID re-enters, crosses to the bar for a drink.
MAVIS gathers up her things) Well, I should get on. I've
got to meet Fred. Did I tell you the news, Iris? Fred's
been put in charge of the Folk River Dam Project. Now,
what do you thinV of that?
(SIDNEY is struck by this)
260 THE SIGN IN
IRIS I think we are a talented family, obviously. Success in
whatever we put our (Holding to outrage the sister)
hands to.
MAVIS Iris, not in front of people.
nas David isn't people. He's a writer. And he worships
prostitutes. He says they are the only real women the
core of life, as it were. Don't you, David?
MAVIS The only thing about your flippancies, Iris, is that
they don't solve any problems.
SIDNEY (Who has remained preoccupied by the earlier re-
mark} So old Fred is really doing all right for himself,
huh?
(IRIS lifts her eyes at this knowingly)
IRIS Look out, Mavis, you're about to be tapped
SIDNEY You!
MAVIS (Pleasantly) Now Sidney, you know Fred won't
invest in a night club.
nas The night club is dead. Long live the newspaper.
SIDNEY (To IRIS) It wasn't a night club.
MAVIS A newspaper? (Great intake of breath and, imme-
diately, maternal exhalation) Oh, Sidney, Sidney, Sid-
ney! You're thirty-seven years old. When are you going
to grow up. (Shaking her head) A newspaper.
SIDNEY (Tightly) And what would a really "grown-up
man" be doing with himself in your enlightened opin-
ion, Mavis?
MAVIS Well, now, I know for a fact that your brother
Manny has offered any number of times to get you a
place in his firm. You're very lucky to have a brother in
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 261
that kind of position, Sidney. A man like Fred had to do
it all the hard way. I mean the hard way.
SIDNEY And what will happen, Mavis, if I try, knowing
better before I even open my mouth, to explain to you
that I consider my brother Manny a failure? I consider
Fred a failure. I consider them to be men who accepted
the alternatives that circumscribed them when they were
born. I don't! I have a different set of alternatives alter-
natives that I create! I either want to run my newspaper
or or go be an ambulance driver in Angola. I do not,
for any reason, want to become part of Emmanuel Bru-
stein, Inc.
MAVIS (Blinking, having heard nothing after "Angola?')
Be an ambulance driver where, dear?
IRIS But, Sidney, you can hardly drive . . .
SIDNEY Oh, forget it!
IRIS (Hands on hips to DAVID) Talk about bad Hem-
ingway.
MAVIS Well, I really must go. (To her sister, softly) You
will let me know when Gloria is coming?
IRIS (A great sigh) Mavis sooner or later you are going
to have to learn that Gloria is living her life and doesn't
want you to play Mama. Live and let live, that's all
MAVIS That's just a shoddy little way of trying to avoid
responsibility in the world.
SIDNEY Mavis please go. It makes me nervous to be on
your side! (Bellowing)
MAVIS (To DAVID, as she pulls on her gloves) What are
you writing, young man?
DAVID Nothing you'd be interested in.
262 THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY Go on and tell her about your play, David. There
is nothing else she can hear that's shocking today.
DAVID Cool it, Sidney.
SIDNEY David is engaged in the supreme effort of trying to
wrest the theatre from the stranglehold of Ibsenesque
naturalism, are you not, David? (DAVID just stares indif-
ferently at both of them. He is above, he feels, such
repartee) As a matter of fact he has a play in production
right now.
MAVIS Oh, how nice! Is there something in it for Iris?
IRIS You're not supposed to do that, Mavis.
SIDNEY Besides, there are only two characters in David's
play and they are both male and married to each other
and the entire action takes place in a refrigerator.
MAVIS (Eyeing DAVID coolly and edging off a little) I see.
DAVID / didn't try to tell you what it was about. (He has
wandered to the sign. He studies it and turns to SIDNEY,
shaking his head) And what have you got against the
"machine" this week?
SIDNEY Didn't you ever read Huckleberry Finn, David?
DOS (Setting out the supper dishes; indicating her husband)
He's Huck this week.
SIDNEY (Shouting: raspy-voiced, affecting Hal Holbrook
affecting the garrulous old man of conscience) And
therefore "continually v happy"! It's a machine, David!
With a boss! A highly entrenched boss. Don't believe in
bosses. Believe in independent men, like old Huckle-
berry!
DAVID (Shaking his head) That's what I thought Sidney,
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 265
don't you know yet "the good guys" and "the bad guys"
went out with World War Two?
MAVIS Well, sure. When you come right down to it, one
politician is just like another.
SIDNEY (Rocking with his hands in prayerful fashion)
And a new religion is upon the West and it has only one
hymn: (Intoning a mock Mass) "We are all guilty . . .
Father Camus, we are all guilty . . . Ipso facto, all guilt is
equal . . . Therefore we shall in clear conscience abstain
from the social act ... and even the social thought . . ."
DAVID (Glaring at him) Go ahead: kid it. It's easier to
kid it than face the pain in it.
SIDNEY (Possessed by an all-consuming vision of the om-
nipotent catchword) Ah, "Pain!" "Pain" in recognizing
those dark tunnels which lead back to our primate souls,
groveling about (He rises to a half -stoop, arms dan-
gling; and ape-like throughout this speech, he crosses to,
and up onto, the coffee table and then the sofa) in caves
of sloth. The savage soul of man from whence sprang,
in the first place, the Lord of the Flies, Beelzebub him-
self! (Rather shouting) Man, dark gutted creature of
ancestral (Leaping over the back of the sofa and lifting
his hands in Bela Lugosi style) cannibalism and myster-
ious all-consuming eeevil! Ahhhhhh. (Through the bars
of the rocking chair he snarls and claws at all of them
to burlesque this philosophy) Yahhhhl The Shadow
knows.
MAVIS I just said to Fred this morning: "Say what you
like, it's always something different down at Iris and
Sid's."
DAVID (A little roused finally) Well, what is the virtue of
getting one boss out and putting another one in?
264 THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY The virtue the virtue, my dear boy, if you will
pardon the rhetoric, is to participate in some expression
of the people about the way things are, that's all
DAVID (Waving around, with derision) Well, hel-lo, out
there! (He shakes his head) Well, that's what comes
from reading too much Shaw.
SIDNEY (Angry) Yah, well. Speaking of the drama,
David, what is your play about?
DAVID You read it. You tell me.
SIDNEY No, you tell me.
DAVID It's not for me to say.
SIDNEY (For him) ". . . each person will get from it what
he brings to it?" Right?
DAVID (As befits the present circumstance) To be real
simple-minded about it yes.
SIDNEY Then tell me this: What makes you the artist and
the audience the consumer if they have to write your play
for you?
DAVID I know what it's about. (SIDNEY merely looks at
him querulously) I told you, my plays have to speak
for themselves.
SIDNEY But tp -whom? For "whom? For whom are they
written, and, above all, why are they written?
DAVID (Getting up; his host is beyond beUef) You hate
my kind of writing because it goes beyond the walls of
Ibsen's prisons and Shaw's lectures that's your prob-
lem, Sid.
MAVIS (Who has been turning from one to the other
throughout, fascinated, incredulous, and trying all the
-while to get a word in edgewise herself) I just don't
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 265
know whatever happened to simple people with simple
problems in literature.
SIDNEY (Riding right over her. To DAVID, grandiosely)
Oh come now, don't just choose the members of my
team that you feel are most vulnerable. Go for my stars,
too, David. Or are you afraid to tackle the masks of
Euripedes and the shadows and hymns of Shakespeare?
(They are almost toe to toe)
DAVID Are you retreating from Ibsen and Shaw?
SIDNEY Not on your life! But are you retreating before
Euripedes and Shakespeare!
IRIS I get so tired of this endless chess game!
DAVID (Heading for the door) All I can say is that I write
because I have to and what I have to. You don't know
anything about it. Whatever you think of it, Sidney, I
write. I squefcze out my own juices and offer them up.
I may be afraid, but 7 write. (ALTON re-enters -with pa-
per bags and the flowers) Well, Dr. Castro, I presume.
ALTON (In kind) Jean Genet, as I live and breathe.
(They shake hands)
SIDNEY (Taking the beer) Did you bottle it yourself?
IRIS (Taking her flowers, and exchanging glances with her
husband about what they are setting up) David, are
you going to stay to eat?
DAVID Why not?
IRIS (As they sit down to eat) Mav?
MAVIS No dear! I've got to meet Fred.
(Reluctantly; her matchmaker eyes have not left
ALTON since his entrance)
266 THE SIGN IN
IRIS Alton, I'd like you to meet my sister Mavis. Mavis,
this is Alton Scales.
MAVIS How do you do.
ALTON How do you do.
(As he crosses, she stands admiring him)
MAVIS (To SIDNEY) Is he married?
SIDNEY No.
MAVIS He isn't ^\M\ (Meaning homosexual)
SIDNEY We're not sure yet!
MAVIS (A trill in her voice) Good night, Mr. Scales.
ALTON Good night
SIDNEY (With deliberate casualness) Oh, Mavis, this is
the chap we were just telling you about. (She looks
blank) From the bookstore.
(There is silence; all except DAVID know the mean-
ing of the moment for MAVIS. They variously con-
centrate on the food and exchange superior and
rather childish glances; letting her live through the
moment of discomfort. She turns slowly around to
face the youth again. It is a contemporary confron-
tation for which nothing in her life has prepared
her. There is silence and much deliberate chewing
and eye-rolling. For his part, ALTON is prepared
for virtually anything to smile and kiss and be
kissed, to scream or be screamed at, or to be struck
and strike back. He is silent. Presently, this wom-
an of conformist helplessness does the only thing
she can, under these circumstances, she gags on her
words so that they are hardly audible and repeats
what she has already said)
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 267
MAVIS Oh. How do you do.
ALTON (Raising his eyes evenly) How do you do,
(He turns and reaches for the food. MAVIS stands
thoughtfully, watching this table in bohemia, the
random art of the setting: a huge leafy salad, a bot-
tle of wine, some candles, thick European bread; a
portrait of diners who would sit down together only
here: the taciturn young homosexual, the young
Negro who is to be a kinsman, her sister, hair
down, seemingly at home h$re; her brother-in-law,
who presides)
SIDNEY (Swiftly, with open-hearted malice as she heads for
the door) Well, Alton, now you have met Mavis.
There she is: the Bulwark of the Republic. The Mother
Middleclass itself standing there revealed in all its tow-
ering courage. (There are snickers of delight from the
diners; he has even perhaps lifted his wine glass to her
for these insults. Dismissal) Mavis, go or stay but
we're eating. (Slapping at ALTON'S paws) One to a man.
One to a man!
(MAVIS halts and turns to face them)
MAVIS (She is silent so long that they look up at her, still
with varying degrees of amusement; then ) I am
standing here and I am thinking: how smug it is in bo-
hemia. I was taugjit to believe that (Near tears) crea-
tivity and great intelligence ought to make one expansive
and understanding. That if ordinary people, among
whom I have the sense at least to count myself, could
not expect understanding from artists and whatever it
is that you are, Sidney then where indeed might we
look for it at all in this quite dreadful world. (She al-
most starts out, but thinks of the cap) Since you have all
so busily got rid of God for us.
(She turns and exits)
268 THE SIGN IN
IRIS (At once, unaffected by this eloquence, although SID-
NEY is somewhat) So (Knocking him in the ribs)
put that in your pipe and smoke it, old dear!
DAVID (Also unaffected) Some day I really must look
into what it is that makes the majority so oppressively
defensive under certain circumstances.
ALTON (The most affected) Oh quit it!
DAVID (Turning on him) And now the gentle heart of the
oppressed will also admonish us.
ALTON Turn off, Fag Face!
DAVID (Glaring at him) Isn't it marvelous, some people
have their Altons and some have their Davids. You
should be grateful to the Davids of the world, Alton: we
at least provide a distraction from the cross you so nobly
and (Bitterly) so deliberately bear.
(ALTON jumps up and heads for the door)
BUS Where are you going ?
ALTON I'm sony if it makes me unsophisticated in your
eyes; but after a while, hanging out with queers gets on
my nerves!
(ALTON slams out of the house. DAVID puts down
his fork slowly and sits quietly. IRIS notices and
suddenly reaches out and touches him gently on the
hand)
IRIS Eat your supper, David. Alton's a big kid. You
know.
DAVID (Turning his eyes on her slowly, steadily. A trap,
casually) You accept queers, don't you, Iris . . . ?
IRIS (An innocent shrug) Sure.
DAVID Yes, because you accept anything. But I am not
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 269
anything. I hope he never has to explore the why of his
discomfort.
SIDNEY (Winding up big) Oh no- ... Come on, David!
Don't start that jazz with me tonight. Is that the best
you can do? I mean it! Is that really it? Anybody who
attacks one is one? Can it, boy!
mis (A whine) Sidney. Can't you be still sometimes . . . ?
SIDNEY (Raising his hand in a definite "stop" sign) Oh
no! I mean it. I have had it with that bit. I am bored with
the syndrome.
IRIS Who cares!
SIDNEY (Shouting at IRIS) Is that all you can ever say?
Who cares, who cares? Let the damn bomb fall, if some-
body wants to drop it, 'tis the last days of Rome, so re-
joice ye Romans and swill ye these last sick hours away!
Well, I admit it: I care! I care about it all. It takes too
much energy not to care. Yesterday I counted twenty-six
gray hairs in the top of my head all from trying not to
care. And you, David, you have now written fourteen
plays about not caring, about the isolation of the soul of
man, the alienation of the human spirit, the desolation of
all love, all possible communication. When what you
really want to say is that you are ravaged by a society
that will not sanctify your particular sexuality!
DAVID It seems to have conveniently escaped your atten-
tion that / am the insulted party here.
SIDNEY If somebody insultt you sock 'em in the jaw.
If you don't like the sex laws, attack 'em, I thinV they're
silly. You wanna get up a petition? I'll sign one. Love
little fishes if you want But, David, please get over the
notion that your particular "thing" is something that
only the deepest, saddest, the most nobly tortured can
270 THE SIGN IN
know about. It ain't (Spearing into the salad) it's just
one kind of sex that's all. And, in my opinion (Re-
volving his fork) the universe turns regardless.
(DAVID looks at him for a long time, and then goes
to the door)
IRIS (Going after DAVID) What's the matter with every-
body? David, come on, eat your supper.
DAVID If you don't mind, I really can't stand the proud
sociological oversimplifications which are beginning to
abound (He nods to the sign in the window) in this
house. I would rather eat alone.
(He exits abruptly)
IRIS (Closing the door) Well, that was some dinner party,
thank you. What's with you lately, Sidney? Why do you
have to pick at everybody? Where did you get the idea it
was up to you to improve everybody? Leave people the
hell alone!
SIDNEY (In a fierce mood) I don't try to improve people.
Or, at least, you can't tell it by you.
BUS (Properly hurt) All right, Sid, one of these days
you've got to decide who you want Margaret Mead or
Barbry Allen! I won't play both! As a matter of fact
it's getting pretty clear that I've got to decide too. ( Un-
der her breath, to herself) God, have I got to decide!
SIDNEY The least excuse and you haul up the old self-
pitying introspection bit.
Bis (Through her teeth) What makes you think anybody
can live with your insults?
SIDNEY The world needs insults!
IMS (The last straw) Sweet Heaven.
(She starts to clear the table)
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 277
SIDNEY (Turning and noticing her exasperation with him)
I'm sorry. (He moves to help; she rejects this. Several
beats) There's a rally. You wanna go?
IRIS I told you, don't expect me to get involved with that
stufi!
SIDNEY All rigftt, all right. You wanna go over to the
Black Knight and have a couple of beers?
nus No, I don't want to go over to the Black Knight and
have a couple of beers.
SIDNEY Well then, suppose you just come up with some-
thing, anything that you would like to do. It will be your
first achievement in this entire marriage.
IRIS What does it do for you, Sid? Picking at me like that
Look, why don't you just go to your rally? And leave
poor old Iris alone.
(She turns on the phonograph)
SIDNEY (Grabs his jacket and heads for the door; then
halts, hand on the knob, flings his jacket to the floor
helpless. More to himself than her:) Leave "poor old
Iris alone" and watch her turn quietly and willingly
into a vegetable.
(IRIS sits on the window seat, looking off, into the
street as a haunting guitar cuts the silence)
IRIS (Softly, fighting back tears) It's getting different,
Sidney, our fighting. Something's either gone out of it
or come into it. I don't know which. But it's something
that keeps me from wanting to make up with you a few
hours later. That's bad, isn't it?
SIDNEY Yeah, that's bad.
(He turns and looks at his wife; she is crying then
picks up his jacket and starts out)
272 THE SIGN IN
nas (Crying out) Then let's put up a fight for it, Sidney!
I mean it let's fight like hell for it.
(He halts at the outer staircase and stands clutch-
ing the rail and looking back toward the room
where his wife sits looking after him, as the light
jades on all but the two of them and the voice of
Joan Baez, singing "All My Trials/' fills the dark-
ening stage)
Curtain
ACT II
SCENE ONE
Time: Just before daybreak. The following day.
At rise: Only the faint light of pre-dawn illumines the
outside staircase landing over the BRUSTEIN doorway; here
SIDNEY lies, on his back, arms underhead, one leg doubled
up and the other resting on his knee. New York at this hour
is a world known to few of its inhabitants, and the silence
of the great sleeping city is only accentuated by its few
familiar sounds: the occasional moan of a foghorn on the
Hudson or, now and then, the whirr of tires or clatter of
a milk truck. The apartment is dark.
Presently SIDNEY sits up, picks up his banjo and, legs
dangling over the patio, begins to pick it. The melody seems
surely drawn from that other world which ever beckons
him, a wistful, throbbing mountain blues. As he plays the
lighting shifts magically, and nonreaUstically, to create
the mountain of his dreams. Gone is even the distant fog-
horn; he is no longer in the city. After several phrases of
this, the music soars and quickens into a vibrant, stinging
hoedown and the iRis-of-his-Mind appears, barefooted, with
flowing hair and mountain dress, and mounts the steps. She
273
274 THE SIGN IN
embraces him and then, as by the lore of hill people, is
possessed by these rhythms, and dances in the shadows
before him. The dance is a moving montage of all the
bits and pieces of dance Americana: the dip for the oyster,
the grand right and left. SIDNEY'S banjo drives her on until
both these spirits are exhausted and the mountain nymph
gives him a final kiss and flees. He sits on, spent, plucks idly
at the instrument. Now a light appears in the apartment's
bedroom doorway and his wife enters through it, belting her
robe, yawning, rubbing her eyes.
nas Sid ? (He does not reply or even hear her) Sidney?
(She switches on the lamp. For a moment stands blankly,
then goes to the door and leans out} What are you
doing up there? You'll wake the neighbors.
SIDNEY (In the same unbroken reverie) They can't hear
me, Iris.
nas (At the foot of the steps) Oh, Sidney, you're a nut
Cmon down, I'll make you some coffee.
(She fishes out her cigarettes and lights one)
SIDNEY (Shakes his head) Listen! Do you hear the brook?
There is nothing like clear brook water atdaybreak. And
when you drink, it gives back your own image.
IRIS (Charmed in spite of herself) You'll catch cold, Sid-
ney. It's too early for games. Come to bed.
SIDNEY No, Iris. Come up. (She does, as he speaks; and,
finally, kneels beside him) Look at the pines look at
the goddamn pines. You can taste and feel the scent of
them. And if you look down, down through the mist, you
will make out the thin line of dawn far distant. There's
not another soul for miles, and if you listen, really listen
you might almost hear yourself think.
IMS (Surveying the realm, gently laughing) This is some
mountain.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 275
SIDNEY (Playful proprietary pride) It's a small mountain
but it's ours.
IRIS Sidney . . . how much is fourteen and fourteen?
(She smiles and touches his face and, for the mo-
ment, enters fully into his dream)
SIDNEY (Fondling her hair) "Nymph in ... all ...
my Orisons remembered."
nus (Looking up at him thoughtfully) It really gets to
you, doesn't it? Being here. You really are happy? You'd
like to live right here, in the woods, wouldn't you?
SIDNEY Yes. Yes. I would.
IRIS And you're afraid to ask me to do something like
that, aren't you? (No answer) Afraid I'll look around at
the woods and the brook and say, "Here? Live?" (They
both laugh at her mugging of her own attitude) And the
worst of it is you'd be right. I would say exactly that. I
wouldn't want to live here. (Drooping her head a bit)
I'm sorry. The truth is that I am cold and bored. I feel
like watching television. I feel like having a swinging ar-
gument. I feel like sitting in a stupid movie or, or even a
night club, a real stupid night club with dirty jokes and
bad dancers. (Looking at him) I've changed on you,
haven't I, Sid? This particular mountain girl has been
turning into an urban wastelander. (Rather sweetly, still
looking at him) Sorry. (Several beats, she has been
thinking of this) Most of all, I hate my hair. (A beat)
The things you don't know about me! (A little laugh)
Did you know, for instance, that you're the reason I
wear it like this in the first place? (Shaking her head with
the little laugh again) There's a different style of "man
trap" in every kind of woman. When I first came here,
you know, I was working, dancing in this funny little old
nothing of a sawed-off club, you know. And like I
276 THE SIGN IN
thought that the men who came there were not the ones
that I came to the (Charade-style quote marks) big city
to meet. I mean they were the kind that you could
meet back home. So one of the girls who worked there
and knew all the this-and-that listened to me and she
said, "Well, honey, if that's what you're looking for,
you've gotta go down to the Black Knight Tavern and
sit." (Smiling) "Let your hair grow and go down to the
Black Knight Tavern." Sounds like a folk song. Well,
anyhow, the fourth time I went there, remember, it was
about to ... here. (Marking off the shorter place)
And there you were, just like that, sitting in that corner
booth with (Remembering) Marty and Alt, wasn't it?
Yes, it was Marty and Alt. And there you were sitting
there, "holding forth." And I said to m'self : There's the
one. After that I started eating vitamins to make m'hair
grow faster. (He laughs a soft, delighted "Oh, Iris!")
So, s'help me! It's true! This same girl who told me
everything, she got these vitamins for me too. And,
well something worked.
SIDNEY I'm charmed.
IRIS Women are a mess, aren't they? I mean they get these
fantastic IDEAS about things, I mean life and all, when
they're like three, you know. And nothing, I mean noth-
ing gets it out of you. When I got off that train from
Trenersville ten years ago I knew one thing in this world:
I wanted to meet men who were as as different from
Papa as as possible.
SIDNEY (Taking her hand) Listen, Iris. Listen to the
woods. Let's go for a walk.
IRIS (Huddling close) It's too cold. And dark. And the
woods frighten me.
SIDNEY All right then, let's just go into the cabin and I'll
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 277
make us a bang-up fire and some of the hottest coffee
ever brewed. (She just looks at him) You just want to
go back to the city, don't you?
IRIS Yes.
SIDNEY You really hate it here in the woods?
IRIS Yes. (The tears come; tears of frustration, as she
does not know exactly why. Gesturing around) I was
born in country like this, you know, the real thing. I mean
you didn't drive out anywhere to sort of see it. You just
sat down on the back porch and there it was. Something
to run from; something to get the hell away from as
fast as you could. All of us felt like that, me, Mav
Gloria.
SIDNEY Then you've always hated coming up here. I
didn't know that.
IRIS (Sort of a painful whine born of the effort to really
make him finally understand) No, I didn't always hate
it ... the first couple of years I just wanted to do
what you wanted to do, be where you were you know,
sort of wild and romantic the way it was supposed to
be (A great burst of frustration) I mean, I thought it
was going to be different. Papa was so crude and stupid
. . . You know, I never heard my father make an ab-
stract thought in his life; and, well, he had plenty of
time to think, if you know what I mean. Didn't work
that steady. And each of us; I think we've sort of grown
up wanting some part of Papa that we thought was the
thing missing in him. I wanted somebody who could,
well, think; Mavis wanted somebody steady and ordi-
nary. And Gloria, well, you know rich men. Lots of
them. (Lifting up her hand anticipating) I know you're
going to tell me that's parlor analysis, and it is, but
275 THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY I'm not saying anything, Iris. I'm listening. I really
am. I am listening to you.
nas And now something is happening to me, changing
me. Since we've been married. Sometimes, Sidney, I
think if if I hear any more talk from Alton and Max
and David and you 111 shrivel up and die from it.
You know what I want, Sidney? I am twenty-nine and
I want to begin to know that when I die more than ten
or a hundred people will know the difference. I want to
make it, Sid. Whatever that means and however it means
it: That's what I want. (He is nodding; he genuinely un-
derstands and is deeply pained by it) Anyhow, what does
it do for you, Sid? To come up here and talk to your
what do you call them
SIDNEY (Smilingly) My trolls.
IRIS Yeah. 'Cause I tried having a few words with *em and
like what they had to say to me was nothing.
SIDNEY (Looking around) Coining here makes me be-
lieve that the planet is mine again. In the primeval sense.
Man and earth and earth and man and all that. You
know. That we have just been born, the earth and me,
and are just starting out. There is no pollution, no hurt;
just me and this ball of minerals and gases suddenly shot
together out of the cosmos.
IRIS (Looking at him, head tilted puppy style, mouth ajar)
Jeees.
SIDNEY I love you very much.
(They are quiet; he leans over gently and kisses
her. After a long beat:)
nas Take me back to the city, please, Sid.
(He gets up and puts his banjo over his shoulder
and takes her hand and they start down the steps
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 279
-while at the same time the magic that is SIDNEY'S
World jades and the lighting returns to normal. A
passing truck guns its motor and day breaks on the
city)
IRIS {At the foot of the steps. Remembering) Sidney, it's
Tuesday: you've got to move the carl
{They start to go in)
Dimout
SCENE Two
Time: Early evening in late summer.
In the darkness and in sharp contrast to the prior mood
: soundtruck loudspeaker blares out the buoyant, bois-
terous strains of "The Watty O'Hara Campaign Song"
sung by a folk group to the accompaniment of booming
guitars and the occasional cheers and comments of the
crowd, which joins in on the chorus.
THE WALLY O'HARA CAMPAIGN SONG
Sing out the old, sing in the new,
It's your ballot and it's got a lot of work to do;
Sing out the old, sing in the new,
Wally O'Hara is the man for you!
CHORUS Wally O'Hara, Wally O'Hara
Wally O'Hara is the man for you!
Sweep out the old, sweep in the new,
We've got a lot of sweeping to do;
Sweep out the old, sweep in the new,
Wally O'Hara is the man for you!
CHORUS (Repeats)
Who knows the people, every one?
(Wally! Wally!)
Who knows the job that must be done?
(Wally! Wally!)
Who.is the man to beat the machine?
Who'll clean up this district and keep it clean?
( Wally !Wal-ly O'Hara!)
280
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 281
Vote out the old, vote in the new,
It's your ballot and it's got a lot of work to do;
Vote out the old, vote in (he new,
Wally O'Hara is the man for you!
CHORUS (Repeats}
The song is not performed for its own sake, but rather
as it might be by local talent from a touring vehicle in the
campaign's heat; and, inevitably too, the speaker system is
overworked, with resultant static and crackle from time to
time. Still, what is lacking in polish is more than made up
in fervor, and the tone is festive. The song should not be
heard in its entirety, but gained in and out as indicated at
appropriate moments. As the lights come up SIDNEY and
WALLY come on from the right in animated conversation.
Each carries an armload of leaflets, and SIDNEY, a rolled-up
flag. WALLY has his free arm about SIDNEY'S shoulder and
is agitated, moist-eyed. SIDNEY is more bemused. The
soundtruck music moves off in the distance.
WALLY (With self-absorbed wonder) No, Sid, I mean it.
You can feel it in the air. There's a difference this time, a
rumbling in the streets. My God, did you see the recep-
tion we got on Christopher Street? I tell you we really
have underestimated the whole thing. (Looking out at
the audience) I mean it, we are going to win. Sidney,
baby, we are going to win this thing, / am going to win!
(He slaps SIDNEY on the back, crosses and exits
with the flag)
SIDNEY (With disbelieving eyes. To the audience) It's a
disease. We are at that point in a campaign which ushers
in the dementia of the dark horse. Now comes the delu-
sion, as ancient as elections themselves, which takes over
the soul of the candidate. There is nothing to be done
about it: it is in the nature of the type. He really thinks
he is going to win. (Whistling the campaign song, he
282 THE SIGN IN
balances his leaflets in the doorway and fishes for his keys
as DAVID enters, reading a newspaper and carrying a
batch of others. To DAVID) So?
DAVID (Dryly, as if above self-appreciation) "A complete
unqualified hit."
(He hands SIDNEY the paper)
SIDNEY I'll be damned. Well, congratulations. Come on,
I'll give you a drink.
(They enter)
nas (Menacingly, from the bedroom) Sid? Did you say
it was all right for Alton to leave the loudspeaker system
in the bathtub?
SIDNEY That clown. (The phone rings. He picks it up)
No, no, no ... (Finding it on a wall map of the Vil-
lage) You're in the Eighth Election District. (He hangs
up)
IRIS (Over part of the above in a tizzy) And who gave
this number as the canvassing headquarters? (Shouting)
I haven't been off the phone all afternoon!
SIDNEY (To IRIS, changing the subject) Did you see the
reviews? We don't have to put on any more. We know a
celebrity.
DAVID Will you cut it out.
SIDNEY Just listen (He reads aloud) **. . . Mr. Ragin
has found a device which transcends language itself. In
his work all fagade fades, all panaceas dissolve, and the
ultimate questions are finally asked of existence it-
self . . ." (The obvious joke on himself) See. Just like I
always said. (SIDNEY gives him his drink. They toast.
SIDNEY looks about the room for something. Then to
IRIS, ever so sweetly, afraid of rousing the dead) Oh,
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 255
Iris, did they leave the mailing piece? We've got all those
envelopes to stuff.
nas (Shrieking, a veritable avenging Fury by now) Sid-
ney, if you don't get that trash out of here today, I'm go-
ing to burn the apartment down!!!
(SIDNEY finds the enclosures, stacks them on the
table and begins stuffing envelopes, whistling as he
does all but ignoring DAVID)
DAVID By your recent antics I take it you believe there is
something to be accomplished by all this? Presumably for
the good?
SIDNEY (Not taking the bait, gaily) C'mon, David. There
is work to be done. Lend a hand. (The phone rings. He
answers) Yes? No, it's not a mistake . . . Fourth Street
does cross Eleventh Street.
(He hangs up, goes back to work)
DAVID (Studying him as a specimen) Well, I don't attack
you for it. I know it is something most men, even think-
ing men, resist long after they know better.
SIDNEY (Between envelopes, not even raising his eyes)
You mean that Zarathustra has spoken and God is
dead?
DAVID Yes.
SIDNEY "Progress" is an illusion and the only reality is
nothing?
DAVID You surprise me. Can one debate it?
SIDNEY (Finally sitting back for this; he feels himself in fine
fettle) One can observe that it is the debate which is,
for all human purposes, beside the point. The debate
which is absurd. The "why" of why we are here is an in-
trigue for adolescents; the "how" is what must command
284 THE SIGN IN
the living. Which is why I have lately become an in-
surgent again.
(Back to work. The phone rings again and this
time IRIS comes shrieking out of the bedroom: one
more call and she will burn the apartment down!
She wears the dress MAVIS bought)
IRIS Sid-nee (Noticing DAVID for the first time) David
(Genuinely) My God, those reviews! It's marvelous.
How do you feel?
SIDNEY (On the phone) You don't say? Right . . . right
... right.
DAVID (To IRIS. Embarrassed by her display) Please.
Well, I've got to go to work.
IRIS Work? Already? Aren't you just going to bask awhile
or something?
DAVID (Sadly) Doing what? See you.
(Exits)
SIDNEY (Hangs up) You know what, the craziest thing is
happening to Wally . . . that clown is actually 04$ the
fact of MAVIS' dress dawns on him) Well, get you!
IRIS I look pretty all right in this huh, Sid?
SIDNEY Sure, if you like the type. I like you in other things
better.
IRIS I know. I'm going out tonight, Sidney.
SIDNEY Yeah? Where? (Not thinking about that too
much) You know not one, not one of the entire collection
I've surrounded myself with . * .
IRIS I talked to Lucille Terry tqjday. She's having a cock-
tail party.
SIDNEY Lucille Terry? Lucille Terry! Where in the name
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 285
of God did she pop up from? I didn't know that you still
saw each other.
IRIS We haven't in years. But, you know, just like that
people suddenly call each other up. So just like that she
called me up last week about this party she was having.
SIDNEY (His hand on the phone; he couldn't care less)
How is Lucy? Lemme see now, gotta call Mickey
Dafoe, put on the old Establishment voice. "Hello, Mr.
Dafoe, well, how are you, sir " Fix me a drink, why
doncha, honey?
IRIS (Crossing to the pantry; in a muted voice) Lucy
didn't call me, Sid. I called her.
SIDNEY (Still thinking more about the call he has to make)
Yeah? You know I really hate to give fuel to Alton's nar-
row view of the world, but there is turning out to be a
surprising amount of validity to his notions of base and
superstructure. Two banks, a restaurant and three real
estate firms have already canceled ads since we've come
out for Wally . . .
IRIS (Disinterested, bringing him his drink) Oh, really
(The phone rings) Interesting.
SIDNEY (Picking it up) Yes, Renee . . . She says what? . . .
Sure, O'Hara could be an Italian name ... Or his
mother's Italian. (Hangs up, to IRIS) Well, she could be,
(Noticing her standing there, finally just looking at him
quietly) Aw, I'm sorry, honey, I really am, but I just
don't feel like going to any party tonight. Especially the
uptown scene. Not tonight. (He is taking the entire situa-
tion lightly) Tell Lucy we love her but no.
IRIS (Starkly, staring down at him) I wasn't asking you to
come with me, Sidney.
(He drinks, slowly absorbs this last remark and, for
286 THE SIGN IN
the first time, reacts with some sense of the porten-
tousness of the moment)
SIDNEY Oh?
nas That's sort of the point I I am going alone.
SIDNEY Oh. (They are both quiet; neither looking at the
other; the awkwardness shouts) Well, hell, so you're go-
ing to a party. Great You should do things alone some-
times. Everybody should. What are we acting so funny
about it for?
nas Because we know it isn't just a party. It's the fact that
I want to go. That I called Lucy.
SIDNEY (Very worried) Well, don't worry about it It's
okay. Just have a nice time, that's all.
IRIS (Sadly) Would you would you like me to make you
some supper before I go?
SIDNEY (Rising and crossing away not to face her) Uh
no. No. Thanks. Wally and I are due on MacDougal
Street in an hour. We'll go out with the kids after or
something.
IRIS You could have them here. There's there's a lot of
stuff in the box and plenty of beer.
SIDNEY (Getting it fully) Is there?
IRIS Yes. I'm sorry, Sid.
SIDNEY You're planning on being late, aren't you?
IRIS I think it'll be kind of late.
SIDNEY (Finally) Who's going to be at this party, Iris?
IRIS How do I know who's going to be there? Lucy's
friends.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 257
SIDNEY Lucy's friends. The "would-be" set, as I recall it
IRIS Huh?
SIDNEY The "would-be 5 * set, would-be actresses, would-
be producers. The would-bes tend to collect around Lucy
a lot.
IRIS Some of her friends are pretty successful.
SIDNEY Like Ben Asch?
(She wheels and they exchange a violent conversa-
tion without words)
IRIS (Getting into her shoes) Look, Sid; let's make an
agreement based on the recognition of reality. The reality
being that the big thaw has set in with us and that we
don't know what that means yet. So let's make some real
civilized kind of agreement that until well until we
know just what we feel, I mean about everything let's
not ask each other a whole lot of slimy questions.
SIDNEY I'll ask all the slimy questions I want! Listen,
Iris, have you been seeing this clown or something?
IRIS Only once after the time I told you.
SIDNEY Once is all it takes.
nas He thinks he can help me.
SIDNEY Do what?
IRIS Break in, that's what!
SIDNEY Then why didn't he see us?
IRIS I don't know, Sidney. I guess he was under the im-
pression that I was a big girl now.
SIDNEY I'll bet!
288 THE SIGN IN
nus But none of this is the main point, Sid. The main
point is that I feel I want to do something else with my
life. Other than
SIDNEY Other than what?
IRIS Other than this. Other than conversation about the
Reformation; other than conversations about Albert
Camus. Other than scraping together enough pancake
money to study with every has-been actor who's teaching
now because he can't work any more. There has to be
another way.
SIDNEY From the has-beens to the would-bes. I'll admit
there is a progression there!
nus Ben knows some extremely influential people. Peo-
ple who have been around people who do the things
they mean to do.
SIDNEY Where?
IRIS In the theatre and in politics too! Especially in poli-
tics. People who are not just talkers but doers. Who
do not take on a newspaper they cannot even afford and
run it into the ground for a hopeless campaign. And for
what? For Wally? If even half of what they say about
Wally is true
SIDNEY Oh? And just what do "they'* say?
(He waits, knowing as he does, there is nothing
she can say)
IRIS (Trapped) Well, I don't know about any of this, but
Lucy thinks
SIDNEY (Holding up one hand; the issue is closed) Right
the first time, Iris! You don't know.
IRIS Sidney, this is not the Silver Dagger you're getting
into. These people are sharks.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 289
SIDNEY (With finality; father knows best) Look, Iris, Til
make a deal with you: You let me fight City Hall and I'll
stay out of Shubert Alley.
IRIS (Quietly; she has had it) All right, Sidney.
SIDNEY And stop ducking the main point: What is this
glorious doer Ben Asch going to do for you?
IRIS As a matter of fact he's already got me some work.
SIDNEY Oh why haven't you mentioned it? What show?
IRIS (Defensively) It isn't exactly a show but it is act-
ing. Sprt of. (He stares at her) It's a TV commercial . . .
SIDNEY (Laughing) Oh, Iris, Iris.
IRIS (Hotly) Oh, aren't we better than everybody, Sidney
Brustein! Aren't we above it! Well, I have news: If he
gets me that job, I am going to take it. And when I'm
doing it Til know that it beats hell out of slinging hash
while I wait for "pure art" to come along.
SIDNEY Iris, it's not just what you're getting into it's
how. You've got no business hanging out with Lucy
and that crowd. How can it be that after five years of life
with me you don't know better than this?
(He has taken hold of her)
IRIS (Exploding, near tears) I have learned a lot after five
years of life with you, Sidney! When I met you I thought
Kant was a stilted way of saying cannot; I thought
Puccini was a kind of spaghetti; I thought the louder an
actor yelled and fell out on the floor the greater he was.
But you taught me to look deeper and harder. At every-
thing: from Japanese painting to acting. Including, Sid-
ney, my own acting. Thanks to you, I now know some-
thing I wouldn't have learned if it hadn't been for you.
The fact ... the fact that I am probably the world's
290 THE SIGN IN
lousiest actress . . . (He releases her) So, there it is,
the trouble with looking at ourselves honestly, Sidney,
is that we come up with the truth. And, baby, the truth
is a bitch.
(Iris goes out the door)
SIDNEY (Going after her) Iris, Iris, just listen
nus (Facing him. Resolutely; she mil not be stopped)
All I know is that, from now on, I just want something
to happen in my life. I don't much care what. Just
something.
SIDNEY I just want you to know that whatever hap-
pens you've been one of the few things in my life that
made me happy.
IRIS (An anguished voice for both of them) Oh, Sid,
"happy." (She reaches up, to touch his face a moment)
Whoever started that anyhow? What little bastard was
it? Teaching little kids there was such a thing?
(She exits. SIDNEY goes back inside, sits, goes to
the drawing board, then leaves that and picks up
his banjo and then, with resolution, steps to the
door and throws it open)
SIDNEY Hey David . . . David! Can you come down a
sec
(But DAVID is right there, on his way out rather
sheepish, more boyish, genuine than in his prior
scenes)
DAVID (A grin) Oh, you caught me. Waaaal, I decided
to go out after all. Maybe I owe myself, under the cir-
cumstances, at least one night off. (He continues, halts,
comes back. SIDNEY hardly hears him; he is thinking'
of something intently) I'll tell you the truth . . . It it
seemed emptier than usual up there. I swore I wouldn't,
you know (Embarrassed at the humanity of his present
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 291
feelings) sort of go out and strut around . . . But by
God, it's almost like I have to. Do you know what I
mean? I mean (He laughs freely and drops his hands)
I mean I feel pretty good.
SIDNEY (Half steering, half pushing him inside) Well, why
not! Who wouldn't? . . . C'mon in a sec ...
DAVID (Suddenly, not aware that he is mainly talking to
himself under the circumstances) Don't make fun of
me, Sidney! The truth is, today is not yesterday. Nothing
could have made me believe this yesterday But I am
somebody else today. Inside. It's in my rooms upstairs,
it's in my coat . . . it's in my skin. Christ, Sid (Pure
unadulterated wonder) I'm famous. (A grin) I have
to go outside and find out what it's like to wear it in the
streets. (Sobering) As if I can't guess. Everybody will
just be more self-conscious, phonier than they would
have been yesterday. Just because my picture was in the
papers. It's crazy. The phone keeps on ringing. For years
I made fun of people who had unlisted numbers. First
thing Monday I'll have to get one. (Final smile)
G'night, Sid.
SIDNEY No, wait a minute. Please. I'd like to talk to you.
You want a drink?
DAVID What do you want, Sidney? I'm in a huny!
SIDNEY (Not looking at him) Hey David . . . it's as
good as on, isn't it?
DAVID (Turning) What ?
SIDNEY (A little madly) Your next play. It's as good as
on isn't it? Every producer in town will be looking for
it, won't they?
DAVID (Annoyed to talk about this; a modest person in the
true sense) Well ... my agent said there've been some
292 THE SIGN IN
calls already (A sigh about producers) First you can't
get into their offices
SIDNEY You're very talented, David.
DAVID I have to go.
(He turns on his heels to leave)
SIDNEY No. Look, remember we went once, together, to
see that thing that Iris was in a couple of years ago?
DAVID Yes?
SIDNEY Well, you thought she was pretty good. Even
better than I thought she was, didn't you? You said so.
DAVID Those were my polite years. When I still cared
what people thought about me.
SIDNEY No, come on, you said that you thought what she
did was pretty good.
DAVID When she just danced. When she spoke, when she
had lines, it was horrible.
SIDNEY Well, now, not horrible. Just average.
DAVID What do you want, Sidney?
SIDNEY She's a hung-up kid, David. She needs something
to happen for her, before she gets all turned around
sideways.
DAVID (Unrelentingly) What is it that you want, Sidney?
SIDNEY (Sitting and turning away from the other man)
Write her into your play, David. Something for her.
Something simple that she can do. With dancing.
DAVID (Absorbing it; pressing his lips together with sadness
and pulling his collar up about his ears) I have to go
now, Sid.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 293
SIDNEY It wouldn't have to be a big part, for Christ's sake!
Look, she needs something to happen for her, don't you
understand?
DAVID You solve your marriage problems any way you
have to, Sidney, I won't judge you, but don't bring them
to me.
SIDNEY I'll do the review
(Catching DAVID in the door, SIDNEY stops himself,
amazed at the thought)
DAVID (Turning slowly back to him) What did you say?
(SIDNEY is quiet, knowing the enormity of his error)
Okay, I'll pretend I never heard you. I am going out
now, Sidney, I don't need to experience the other part
of this scene. The recovery of Morality and all that
That's wptown drama. I can't stand those. I'll go and
let you have this one all by yourself.
(He starts out again, fast. SIDNEY grabs him)
SIDNEY What's so awful about it? Can't you write about
more than two characters at a time? How could it hurt?
DAVID Just in case you don't understand me at all, Sidney,
I'll tell you something. Prostitutes interest me clinically;
I've not the least intention of ever becoming one. (Cross-
ing close to SIDNEY so that they are face to face) Now
I'U tell you something else. Look into this cynic's eyes,
.Sidney. Go ahead, look! And finally understand what
these pools of implacable cynicism stand for! It's in-
tegrity, Sidney.
SIDNEY (In profound humiliation) Don't feel so holy
about it, David. I asked and you refused. Let's forget it.
It was such a little such a tiny little act on the part of
a slightly desperate man.
DAVID Such a tiny little corruption. Not three people in
the whole world would ever really care whether or not
296 THE SIGN IN
WALLY Where's your medicine? I'll get it for you.
SIDNEY In the bathroom. The brown bottle. (Bitterly)
They're tranquilizers.
WALLY (Reading from the bottle) Says you're supposed
to take one every morning. Didn't you take it?
SIDNEY. No.
WALLY Why not?
SIDNEY Because I hate them.
WALLY Don't be such a nut. You should take tbem. It
keeps you from getting upset about every little thing.
That's the point of them.
(He hands the pills to SIDNEY, who is sitting in
the rocker)
SIDNEY (Turning his head slowly to his friend) "Every
little thing," huh, Wally? (Reaching out and taking the
pill and the water and setting them carefully in front of
him on the table) Yes, by all means hand me the chloro-
form of my passions; the sweetening of my conscience;
the balm of my glands. (Lifting the pills like Poor
Yorick's skull) Oh blessed age! That has provided that
I need never live again in the full temper of my rage.
(Rising and crossing to drawing board, he picks up a
yardstick, which, in his hand, becomes the "sword" of the
speech) In the ancient times, the good men among my
ancestors, when they heard of evil, strapped a sword
to their loins and strode into the desert; and .when they
found it, they cut it down or were cut down and
bloodied the earth with purifying death. But how does
one confront these thousand nameless faceless vapors
that are the evil of our time? Could a sword pierce it?
(Turning his eyes to WALLY) Look at me, Wally . . .
Wrath has become a poisoned gastric juice in the in-
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 297
testine. One does not smite evil any more: one holds
one's gut, thus and takes a pill. (As he rises suddenly
to full Jovian stance) Oh, but to take up the sword of
the Maccabees again! (He closes down from the mighty
gesture and sets down the "sword/' then turns and lamely
takes his pill and water) L'chaim!
Quick jadeout
Curtain
SCENE THREE
Time: Election night. Early jail.
In the darkness, the sounds of a not-too-far-distant vi&
tory celebration are heard: shouting, cheers and jubilation,
the indistinct electronic mumble of a loudspeaker, and "The
Watty O'Hara Campaign Song 9 ' not sung this time by a
few, but taken over by the whole crowd. Now and then a
distinct shout "Wally!" or "O'Hara" can be heard to cut
through.
At rise: SIDNEY enters, in this spirit, and fumbles for hi$
key in the entrance. The phone rings within. He leaves the
door ajar as he crosses to the phone, snatching up glass and
bottle en route. The sound dims somewhat but continues
under.
SIDNEY (Sheer exhilaration; he is heady with victory, not
drink) Oh waaal, hello, dere, Mr. Dafoe! (Fumbling
with phone and bottle) Oh, I'm right here. Right here!
. . , Yes, yes . . . well, as I'm sure you can understand,
we're in no mood to backtrack on anything today, Mr,
Dafoe . . . Yes, by God, I am being smug, Mr. Dafoe!
Wouldn't you be ... Don't you realize what happened?
Of all the crazy, impossible, illogical . . . Well, it did
happen. We dead have in fact awakened, Mr. Dafoe! All
right then, I will speak to you when I am sober. (He
hangs up and takes the first drink. ALTON has entered
during the above and has stood quietly with his back to
the door waiting for SIDNEY to finish. SIDNEY sees him
but not his expression) Alton, old baby, do you know
the main trouble with us believers in this world? We
don't believe! I didn't believe that what happened today
could happen in a million years. That we would win,
298
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 299
That little old ladies and big tough truck drivers and
little skinny Madison Avenue ad men would all get up
today and go out and wipe out the Big Boss in one fell
stroke! Can you believe it? (He sits and savors the
wonder, shaking his head back and forth, then drinks
again) You know what? We don't know anything about
the human race, that's what. Not a damn thing when
you come down to it. (Suddenly thinking of a good taunt
victim) Where's that David? (Gets up and goes outside.
The cheers and sound come up) Where is that sad-eyed
little bastard today? Twenty years of political history
overturned and he goes into hiding. (Shouting up) Hey,
Strindberg! Where are you? What are you avoiding the
partisans for today, huh?
ALTON (Dully) Leave him alone.
SIDNEY Leave him alone? I am going to make that sopho-
moric little elf eat his nineteenth-century profundities
with a spoon! Do you know what we proved today,
Alton? Do you realize what we proved? We proved that
what the people need, what they want, is alternatives.
Give them alternatives and all the dull stupid negative
old shibboleths go up in smoke. Poof! (ALTON is out of
it; standing forlornly in a concentration of his own, not
listening, not hearing) Look, Alt, do you know how old
the world is? Not very damn old. Why, the whole frig-
ging planetary system is only five billion years old. By
eternity's measure perhaps one day and one night! Do
you get me? . . . And, look, it was only twenty-five
million years ago that primitive apes were strolling
around at a half stoop, you know what I mean, Alt.
And they were apes, not men, apes. Just apes. (Just a
touch of liquor's fire as well as his own) By God, this
is beautiful! Lucidity is positively flowing over me like
the sweet oils of Persia! Apes! And between them and
us came all the sub boys: Java, Peking, Neanderthal
300 THE SIGN IN
Man and then finally, a long, long time after, finally:
Cro Magnon Man. A mere, a lousy, a nothing of a teensy
little thirty thousand years ago. Alton, he's a baby! He's
an infant!
ALTON (Lifting bleary eyes wearily) Who, Sidney?
SIDNEY Man! The human race! Yesterday he made a
wheel, and fire, so today we're all demanding to know
why he hasn't made universal beauty and wisdom and
truth too! (Slumping down, spent) A few thousand lousy
years he's had to figure out a calendar, and how to make
the corn grow; a few lousy years to figure out every-
thing. And we give 'im hoQ..(Lifting his eyes with plain-
tive joy) All he needs is a little more time . . . and he'll
be all right, doncha think, Alt? Time and alternatives,
like today? Maybe maybe we could get through the
whole thing then. You think? (Noting the other's face
finally, which is just staring at him) Were you pulling
for the other side or something? (Then rising and laugh-
ing and, lifting up his glass, singing Higgins' song from
My Fair Lady) "I said to him we did it, we did it!"
(Then) What the hell is the matter with you?
ALTON (His eyes trained on SIDNEY) Is it true, Sid?
SIDNEY (Knowing at once) Is what true ?
ALTON (Rising) We've hung out together a long time;
don't crap around. Is it true? Is it true she's a hooker?
And you were going to let me marry her? (SIDNEY says
nothing; he sits, exhaling a great troubled sigh) Why
didn't you tell me?
SIDNEY (Staring at the floor) It wasn't my place to do so.
It was for Gloria to tell you. People change. She'll
change. She needs someone. Just don't make me sick
today, Alton. Just don't act like a fraternity boy meeting
his own girl under the lamppost.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 301
ALTON How would you act? (They stare at one another}
When you go into the mines, Sid, you get coal in your
skin; if you're a fisherman, you reek of fish! ... She
doesn't know how to love any more, it's all a perform-
ance. It has to be.
SIDNEY (Avoiding a direct reply) If you could understand
it, there is a great compliment to you in how I treated
this, Alt. The compliment that I thought you would be
man enough to absorb, and help Gloria like you wanted
to help the rest of the world once. (ALTON just laughs)
ALTON Talk to me man to man today, Sidney: Would you
marry her?
SIDNEY Alton, for Christ's sake! You were a revolution-
ary! Doesn't that stand for anything any more? It is one
thing to take bread to the Bowery and another to eat it
with them!
ALTON Would you marry her?
SIDNEY If I loved her ... I don't know how to say it to
you except that if I loved her . . .
ALTON (Screaming) Don't you know some of the things
these girls have to do?
SIDNEY All right, I know. You are afire with all the
images; every faceless man in the universe has become
ALTON Someone who has coupled with my love . . . used
her like ... an ... inanimate object ... a thing, an
instrument ... a commodity . . .
SIDNEY (With supreme compassion for all) In an effort
to assuage something of his own pathetic needs, Alton . . .
ALTON A commodity! (Looking up at SIDNEY) Don't you
understand, Sidney? (Rubbing his head) Man, like 1
am spawned from commodities . . . and their purchasers.
302 THE SIGN IN
Don't you know this? I am running from being a com-
modity. How do you think I got the color I am, Sidney?
Haven't you ever thought about it? I got this color from
my grandmother being used as a commodity, man. The
buying and the selling in this country began with me.
Jesus, help me.
SIDNEY All right.
ALTON You don't understand . . . My father, you know,
he was a railroad porter . . . who wiped up spit and
semen, carried drinks and white man's secrets for thirty
years . . . When the bell rang in the night he put on that
white coat and his smile and went shuffling through the
corridors with his tray and his whisk broom ... his paper
bags and his smile to wherever the white men were ring-
ing . . . for thirty years. And my mother ... she was a
domestic. She always had, Mama did ... bits of this
and bits of that from the pantry of "Miss Lady," you
know . . . some given, some stolen . . . And she would
always bring this booty home and sit it all out on the
kitchen table . . . So's we could all look at it ... And my
father ... all the time he would stand there and look
at it and walk away. And then one night, he had some
kind of fit, and he just reached out and knocked all that
stuff, the jelly, and the piece of ham; the broken lamp
and the sweater for me and the two little vases ... He
just knocked it all on the floor and stood there scream-
ing with the tears running down his face ... "I ain't going
to have the white man's leavings in my house, no mo'!
I ain't going to have his throw-away ... no mo'! . . ."
And Mama, she just stood there with her lips pursed
together and when he went to bed she just picked it all
up, whatever hadn't been ruined or smashed, and washed
it off and brushed it off and put it in the closet . . . and
we ate it and used it ... because we had to survive, and
she didn't have room for my father's pride ... I don't
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 303
want white man's leavings, Sidney. I couldn't marry her.
(Getting up, and taking out a piece of paper) I wrote
her a note.
SIDNEY Aren't you even going to see her? (ALTON drops
his head) And if she was a black woman? (It hangs)
That's racism, Alt.
ALTON I know it (Touching his head) here!
SIDNEY (Sadly, looking at him) But "A star has risen
over Africa "
ALTON (Looking back at him) Yes.
SIDNEY Over Harlem . . . over the South Side . . .
ALTON Yes.
SIDNEY The new Zionism is raging . . . (ALTON hands
him the note, turns) Aren't you even going to see her?
ALTON (From the door, in anguish) No. I don't ever
want to see her.
(He runs off. SIDNEY follows him out)
SIDNEY You are afraid that you would forgive her! And
you don't want to do that, do you?
(Stands looking after him as the sounds of the vic-
tory celebration not the song now, but the loud-
speaker and crowd envelop him. Presently MAVIS
enters)
MAVIS Sidney Brustein!
(Arms outstretched, coming to him fast, sincerely
impressed and overwhelmed. She steers him into
the apartment, the closing door shuts out the
sound)
MAVIS Who'd of ever thought it! Fitst thing when Fred
saw the paper this afternoon, he called me from the office
304 THE SIGN IN
and said, "Mav, that brother-in-law of yours is some
kind of political genius!" He's so excited. Why, he said
that everybody is talking about you and the paper and
Wally OUara. He said that it even went out on the
national news. (She has hugged and kissed him through
most of this) Let's have a drink together, Sidney. I don't
know how to tell you how proud I am. I just thought
it was another one of those things that you are always
doing like with the night club (Correcting herself)
I know, it wasn't a night club and all. Where is every-
one? ... I thought this place would be you know
SIDNEY (Fixing her a drink) "jumping." I wasn't the
candidate, Mav. Iris hasn't come in yet. Sometimes she
stops off for the groceries . . .
MAVIS Groceries! Aren't you kids going out and cele-
brate? Honest to God, you're so strange You don't
even look happy.
SIDNEY Oh, I'm happy . . . It's kind of freakish though,
you know, that we won. We never dreamed we would.
(To himself, with wonder) We never dreamed we would.
MAVIS (Takes a check out of her bag and puts it in SIDNEY'S
shirt pocket) Here's a little present, for the paper.
(Noting his astonishment) From Fred, let's say. No,
don't talk about it. Don't say a word. There it is. That's
all.
SIDNEY (Looking at it) This is a lot of money, ft honey.
MAVIS (Drinking) I said let's not mention it and I mean
it. When I that is when Fred decided that he would
give it to you we agreed that we didn't want any chance
whatsoever to feel good and gooey and Real Big about
it. So put it away.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 305
SIDNEY (Looking at her, touched) Well, thank you
(With great ostentation, this error} Oh, I mean, Fred
for it.
MAVIS (Warmly') Shut up. (Looking at him, the liquor
warming and peeing her) I'm glad to have a chance to
talk with you, Sidney. Alone. We've never really talked
I know that you don't like me
SIDNEY (Because that remark must embarrass anyone)
Mavis
MAVIS No, it's all right I know it. You know it. When
you come down to it, what is there to like? Isn't it funny
how different sisters can be?
SIDNEY Yes, different. All of us. Everything.
MAVIS Yeeesss, don't I know it. I was trying to explain
that to Fred the other day. (A little laugh) I don't mean
I was trying to "explain" it ... That sounds so funny:
Fred isn't a stupid man, as we all know but sometimes.
Sometimes I get to thinking that certain kind of way.
The way, you know, that you do (With her hands.
a circle, and aptly, the universe) of a whole
SIDNEY In abstractions.
MAVIS That's right. You won't believe it but I enjoy
it when a person can say something so that it embraces
a lot, so that it's in in
SIDNEY (Staring at her) Concepts.
MAVIS Yes. I enjoy it. I've enjoyed the conversations
I've heard down here. And, Sidney, I've understood
some of them*
(There is a curious, believable and quite charming
defiance in this announcement)
SIDNEY Good for you, Mavis. Good for you.
306 THE SIGN IN
MAVIS (Oddly) But we get stuck, you know.
SIDNEY Hmmm?
MAVIS Some of us, we get stuck, in (Stiltedly) the orig-
inal stimuli. Some of us never have a chance, you know >
SIDNEY (Nodding wearily, not wishing to hear this saga
again) I know
MAVIS Like Papa he was such a dreamer. You know,
sort of backwoods poet, kind of a cross between Willy
Loman and Daniel Boone. He loved just sitting and
thinking
SIDNEY (Looking at her, stunned) Didn't you and Iris
have the same father?
MAVIS Of course we had the same father! What do you
think I'm talking about?
SIDNEY Rashomon what else?
MAVIS He was a very wonderful man, very wonderful.
And (hat's the joke on me I thought, I thought I was
marrying someone like Papa when I married Fred. Can
you imagine Fred!
SIDNEY You mean you wanted him to be like your father?
MAVIS Yes . . . and that's the way I thought Fred was, in
those days. He seemed poetic when he was young. Do
you know that Fred used to drive in forty miles from
Ellensville to see me when we were courting? Forty
miles and then back forty, and in the world's worst car*
That's what he was like then. Like Papa. (A little high)
Papa usd to read the classics to us, you know, Greek
tragedy. Sometimes in Greek.
SIDNEY (Wide-eyed) You are pulling my leg.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 307
MAVIS (Surprised) Why? Oh, he didn't really know cto-
sical Greek, Sidney. Just everyday Greek from his folks,
but that made it interesting ... we used to do little pro-
ductions in our living room. He would always let me be
Medea, because he said I was strong (She rises and bel-
lows forth in robust, dramatic and effective Greek the
following, enriching it with not badly conceived if stagey
classical stance and gesture) 'O TTOVOS pc IKPIKVKX.UVCI faro
oAcs TIS jj&pt<s Kai TTOIOS pTroptl vd TO d/w^crjST/TTfcn;. *AAAa Ser
xdfyKav aKopa oXa. No/xtfr> OX L - (Then in English, the first
line or so, rather rattled off) "On all sides sorrow pens
me in. Who can gainsay this? But all is not yet lost!
Think not so. Still there are troubles in store for the new
bride and for her bridegroom " Well, he thought 1
was good.
SIDNEY Mavis, I don't know you.
MAVIS The ham part, I know. (A little laugh) I know all
the parts and all the strophes. Sure, Papa was some-
thing! He was a man of great, great imagination. That's
why he changed our name. It was plain old everyday
Parodopoulos, you know
SIDNEY No, I didn't know.
MAVIS But Papa wanted something, you know, symbolic.
So he changed it to Parodus. You know what the paro-
dus is in the development of Greek tragedy.
SIDNEY Ah ... no.
MAVIS (Proudly) Sidney! Shame on you! The parodus is
the chorus! And you know no matter what is happen-
ing in the main action of the play the chorus is always
there, commenting, watching. He said that we were like
that, the family, at the edge of life not changing any-
thing. Just watching and being.
308 THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY (Struck) I see.
MAVIS That was Papa, dramatic as hell. (Drinking her
drink) I loved him very much. (A beat) And Fred's no
Papa.
SIDNEY If s been one big disappointment, your marriage?
MAVIS (Dully) Not for a minute. I knew by the time that
Fred and I got married that he wasn't the Fred he seemed
to be. I knew what I was marrying and I was right. Solid
as a rock. Hah! (Abruptly) We haven't touched each
other more than twice since little Harry was born and
that* s ... oh, six years now, isn't it? Harry will be six
next month.
SIDNEY Ah by whose
MAVIS design? Who knows? It just happens. (Waving
her hand) He doesn't suffer. He's got a girl.
SIDNEY (Gutturally) Fred?
MAVIS (Looking at him) Fred. (Shaking her head)
Sometimes I think you kids down here believe your own
notions of what the rest of the human race is like. There
are no squares, Sidney. Believe me when I tell you,
everybody is his own hipster. Sure, for years now. Same
girl, I'll say that for old Fred. I've met her.
SIDNEY (He would genuinely like to seem blasS but he
can't; he is truly astonished) You have ?
MAVIS (All with bitter restraint) Oh sure. I went there.
He has her all set up. Nothing fancy; Fred's strictly a
family man, he puts the main money in the main place,
our Fred. But decent, you know, respectable building,
family people a nice place for a single girl (The
ultimate bitterness) with a kid. (He absorbs this with
a silent start but knows to say nothing) He's just a year
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 309
younger than Harry. I saw him too. (Now she is crying;
SIDNEY is helpless in the face of this) You do find out.
And I did the usual: I hired a sordid little man to find
out for sure. He did. And so, one day, I did what a wom-
an has to do: I went to see. Not the spooky thing, 1
didn't want to come in on them together or any of that
junk. I know what a man and a woman do; I just wanted
to meet her. So I got in a cab, got out, rang a bell and
there she was. Nothing like expected! Not a chorine or
something as you always think, even with Fred in my
mind I had decided it would be some cheap mess; but
no, there's this sandy-haired kid standing in pedal push-
ers and an apron, pregnant as all get-out. So I said I rang
the wrong bell. And I went back, once, several months
later to see the baby. In the park. I had to see the baby*
I didn't tell Fred about my knowing until after I saw
the baby. And then, after that we went through the usual
waltz . . * Divorce talk, all of it, you know.
SIDNEY And then you decided against it
MAVIS Of course I decided against it. A divorce? For
what? Because a marriage was violated? Ha! We*ve got
three boys and their father is devoted to them; I guess
he's devoted to all four of his boys. And what would I
do? There was no rush years ago at home to marry Mavis
Parodus; there was just Fred then. In this world there
are two kinds of loneliness and it is given to each of us
to pick. I picked. And, let's face it, / cannot type.
SIDNEY (Quietly shaking his head) But you want only
simple people and simple problems in literature . .
MAVIS Sure, isn't life enough?
SIDNEY Does Iris know any of this?
MAVIS What would I tell her for? Listen, we all play our
roles. (Long beat) Well, one thing is sure. I do not need
310 THE SIGN IN
another drop to drink. (Fixing herself, compact in hand)
So how is my cream-colored brother-in-law-to-be?
SIDNEY He's not going to be.
MAVIS Well, thank God for something. She broke it off,
huh?
SIDNEY (Looking up, absorbing the assumption) Yes . . *
I guess so.
MAVIS (Blithe ignorance again) It had to be. Look, the
world's not ready. It just isn't. He seemed like a nice boy
and all that, but it's just not possible. I mean in this
world, you know. You have to think about children,
you know. I knew Gloria would snap out of it. Why
would she want to get into something like that? I mean
he's very light, but (Halting) Fm not fooling you,
am I?
SIDNEY No.
MAVIS I can't help it, Sid. It's the way I feel. You can't
expect people to change that fast.
(She gets up to go)
SIDNEY (Gently, more with wonder than assertion) Mavis,
the world is about to crack right down the middle. We've
gotta change or fall in the crack.
MAVIS (Not angrily) Well, I think we are back to our-
selves and you are probably starting to insult me again. I
knew I was going to tell you about it though, Sid one
of these days. I always knew that. Since I first saw you I
knew those eyes could find a place for anybody's tale.
Don't talk to Iris about it .... I know I don't have to ask
it of you, but all the same. Don't, huh? She's a kid,
Sidney. She doesn't know what she's all about yet. She
will, she'll get herself together one of these days. (Patting
his cheek) And so will you. (Looking at him) Gee,
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 311
we're proud of you, Sid. I told Fred, "Say what you will,
but the Jews have get-up!"
SIDNEY (In that kind of mood) Say what you will.
MAVIS Now, there was nothing wrong with that, was
there?
SIDNEY (Smiling) Well, let's say there isn't. Today. (A
beat. She opens the door and -we hear again the sounds
of the rally) Mavis, what do you do ... I mean . . . ?
MAVIS To make up for Fred, you mean? (As he follows
her out, by the stairs) I take care of my boys. I shop and
I worry about my sisters. It's a life.
SIDNEY (A beat. Gently, lifting his fists to the gods above;
it is for their ears only) "Witness you ever-burning
lights above!" (Then to her) You're tough, Mavis
Parodus.
(Kisses her and, because she does have depth,
MAVIS says nothing at all as she walks off. SIDNEY
goes back in, pours a drink and stands looking
out his window at the celebration. After a while IRIS
enters. She looks completely different: she has been
costumed somewhere in those precincts of the city
where expressions of the couturier's need for yearly
change of radical fashion are most evident. Her
hair has been cut and teased to a stiff sculpture and
tinted an entirely unnatural metallic yellow. She
carries two shopping bags. SIDNEY is at the window
and does not immediately see her)
nus Well, congratulations, Sid.
SIDNEY Your sister was here.
nus Oh? Which one?
SIDNEY What do yoii mean, which one?
372 THE SIGN IN
IRIS Gloria is due. I didn't get a chance to tell you, but
she is in town and she's coming by tonight.
(IRIS goes into the bedroom)
SIDNEY Oh, my God, that's all I need.
nus Since when aren't you glad to see Gloria?
SIDNEY I'm always glad to see Gloria . . . Oh, never mind.
IRIS (Emerges with a traveling case) What did Mavis
want?
SIDNEY Nothing. Just to talk. We talked.
(He turns and rather freezes at the change in her
but not for comedy)
IRIS I know. It looks pretty different. I won't ask if you
like it. (He is speechless and says nothing, at all, merely
stares as if he never really has seen her before. Brazen-
ing it out) I got the job. Just like that (A snap) they
send you out to get fixed. (She is putting on a new pair
of shoes) Everything but the shoes. They say it's gauche
to walk out of a store in a pair of shoes you've just
bought. At least that's what poor people say. I guess
nothing is gauche if you're rich enough. (Wise after-
thought) Long enough. Please don't stare at me like
that, Sid. And let's don't discuss it
SIDNEY (With thoughtfulness) Why did you always tell
me all those stories about your father, Iris?
IRIS (Looking up) You and Mavis had yourselves a tea!
little old heart-to-heart, didn't you? What's the world
coming to?
SIDNEY Why did you make him out to be some kind of
dull-witted nothing? What was the point of it?
IRIS (Irritably, swiftly, falsely) Oh, why do you believe
Mavis? She has some kind of transference about Papa*
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 313
It's very complicated. When she talks about Papa she's
really talking about this uncle of ours who
SIDNEY (Knowing that she is going into a long involved lie)
Never mind, Iris. It doesn't matter,
IRIS (Sincerely) I guess I just tried to live up to your
fantasy about me. All of it. People do that
SIDNEY Let's not talk about that
IRIS You did a terrific job on the election. You must feel
good.
SIDNEY (Vaguely) Yes, I feel good. (A beat) Mavis said
she thought we'd be going out to celebrate. You haven't
told her anything then?
IRIS No ... who waqts to hear all the wailing?
SIDNEY (Looking at her, slowly, with emphasis) I have a
feeling she'd survive it,
IRIS Mavis' idea of marriage is something you do at
twenty and it stays that way no matter what. Every-
thing else shocks.
SIDNEY Sure. Dullsville. (Several beats; as he studies her
and the things she has brought in) What do you do? On
the (Gestures "television") thing. I don't even know
what the hell it is that you're actually (He holds this
word for a fraction longer than ordinary meaning would
dictate. She has not missed this and so signifies by a Hit
of brow without, however, comment) selling.
IRIS Home permanents.
SIDNEY (Random gesture, not entirely innocent, circular
waving of the hand) Is that what uh they've used
on you?
IRIS (Determined not to let him provoke her) Don't be
314 THE SIGN IN
funny. This head has been in and out of all the booths in
Mr. Lionel's for the last two and one half hours.
SIDNEY But that's not what you are going to tell the
people, is it? I mean you're not going to tell them that
you got your (He reads from the label of a large,
golden, elegantly lettered box} Golden Girl Curl by
sitting in Mr. Lionel's for several hours, are you?
IRIS No, Sid, that certainly is not what I am going to tell
them. I am going (Getting up and advancing on the
Golden Curl sample) to tell all the little housewifies that
I just rolled it up on Golden Girl Curl . . . (Before us,
she assumes the manner of TV mannequins, holding up
the box, with the slightest edge of hysteria just beneath
the surface of her kidding) and rollers, using my magic
Golden Girl Curl Box to hold everything just so ...
which you understand, is one of the main features of
Golden Girl Curl Home Permanent.
SIDNEY The box it comes in.
IRIS (With genuine loathing for the whole nonsense, enun-
ciating with contempt) Yes! the box it comes in! (She
opens it the bottom falls out and so do the rollers.
Hurling it to the floor) Which also does not work!
(Wheeling, crying, shrieking) It's a job, Sidney! They
do not pay you one hundred dollars an hour for hauling
hamburgers at Hamlines. They do pay it for pretending
that there is some difference between Golden Girl Curl
and Wonder Curl, or between Wonder Curl and Home
Penna Pearl, so what the hell do you want from me!
SIDNEY It doesn't work . . .
IRIS (Precisely now in the manner of a defensive child) It
does work. It does work enough to justify it. They just
send you to the hairdressers to play safe. They have to
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 375
have everything just so when they tape things for tele-
vision, Sidney. You don't realize how expensive it is to
tape something. All those lights and cameras and tech-
nicians . . , they can't have your hair falling down from
some . . . (Swiping at Golden Girl Curl again) crappy
old home permanent just when they're ready to shoot . . .
SIDNEY (Getting up and going to her and taking her in his
arms) What' s the matter, baby, what's happening to
you? What's it all about ? What is it you're going after
now? What is it that's got you all turned around? Where
do you think it's heading you?
IRIS (In his arms entirely, sobbing out rapidly and inco-
herently virtually all of the irrelevant parts of her prob-
lem) Nothing . . . will put a curl in your hair . . . like
this but , . . heat . . . But it works some, Sid, I did try
it ... Do you think the FTC would let them just put
anything ... on the ak ... like that . . . ?
SIDNEY Baby
IRIS (Shrieking as the old comforting relationship threat-
ens again) I DON'T WANT TO PLAY APPALA-
CHIAN ANY MORE!
SIDNEY All right, honey, but there's no reason to get all
tied up in new games ... Iris ...
IRIS (Shaking her head violently) You don't understand,
you still don't understand. I am not the same ... I am
different . . .
SIDNEY (Laughing, with wonder) Dear, sweet God . . .
I've been living with a little girl ... Iris, you really are
a child.
IRIS (Raising her face at that) Sidney . . . One of us here
is a child and it's not me ... I've found out plenty about
316 THE SIGN IN
the world in the last few weeks, and it's nothing like
you or Papa want it to be ... It's not! It's not . . .
There are things talked about . . . laughed about while
you stand there framed by that sign . . . that make me
wonder how I ever thought you knew anything about
this world at all ... This world, Sidney! It's so dirty.
SIDNEY (Rising now and crossing to her again) And what
I am trying to tell you, little girl, is that you are learning
the cynicism bit at the wrong time in our lives . . . (He is
gesturing toward the sign in the window. The crowd out-
side is heard again, muffled cheers and the Campaign
Song) We won something today, Iris. Not too much . . .
just a little tiny part of the world turned right side up ...
Just listen . . .
IRIS (The final outpouring) Sidney! Stop it! I can't stand
it! You haven't won anything, Sid, they're all the same
people! (The revelation does not penetrate) Don't you
hear me? I tried to tell you . . . They own Wally . . . The
people you've been fighting . . . Own him completely:
the house he lives in, the clothes on his back, the tooth-
paste he uses. They own him, utterly, completely, en-
tirely . . . (Dragging him to the window) There it is,
Sid, the real world! Do you hear it? The world you say
was just turned right side up!
(A helpless hysterical gesture of flinging it at him)
SIDNEY (Frantically, shaking his head "no" but his eyes
saying "yes") What kind of psychotic filth is this?
IRIS It is filth. You don't know what filth, you can't im-
agine what filth! But it's not psychotic. Oh, Jesus, it's not
even obscure ... I have met people who didn't believe
that you didn't know this ... Jesus, Sid! I tried to tell
you. Look, you can count on it, in a few months he'll be
having press conferences to explain how the pinkos and
the bohemians duped him in the first place and how he
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 377
has found his way back to the "tried and true leadership"
of the . . . "mother party"! (She starts out, walking very
much like the dead, picking up her bags. As she opens
the door, the triumphant sounds of the crowd fill the
room) I would stay with you awhile now , . . if it would
help anything. But it wouldn't. (Turning, weeping free-
ly*) I'll send for my things some time this week. Tell
Gloria I'll phone her later. (Then, suddenly) For God's
sake, Sidney, take dowtt that sign! It's like spit in your
facet
(She exits. He reaches up and clutches the sign for
a long moment, the tension mounting within him
but then releases it. Very much like a blind man, he
moves to the drawing board, where his hand takes
up the yardstick the "sword of his ancestors"
which he holds aloft before him, saluting a foe that
cannot be cut down . . . then lets it slip through his
fingers. The sign pulses with a life of its own; the
roar of the crowd grows louder; SIDNEY snaps the
yardstick in half)
Curtain
ACT III
SCENE ONE
Time: Several hours later.
At rise: There is darkened gloom and quiet in the room
and the place is a mess. SIDNEY is stretched out under the
coffee table, in considerable pain; one hand clutches at a
center spot in his lower chest. An open whiskey bottle and
glass are near. In rough spasms, he harshly hums an old
Yiddish melody, "Rozhankis Mit Mandlen."
Presently, his sister-in-law GLORIA appears at the door,
carrying a small valise. She is about 26, as lovely as we have
heard, but with surprising, fresh-faced, wholesome, "all-
American" looks. She has a gleaming, casual, almost col-
legiate long bob, and the clothes are of that kind of lively
smartness rather than dark elegance. With her valise she
reminds one of a coed home for the weekend and no other
thing. She knocks at the door; finally tries it and comes in.
GLORIA (Quizzically looking about in the shadows) Sid-
ney? Sidney?
{She turns on a lamp)
318
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 319
SIDNEY (Roaring drunk, as it were) Stop it ... Let there
be darkness! . . . Let the tides of night fall upon us arid
envelop us and protect us from the light . . Shut it out,
shut out the light . . . How do you like them apples,
Goethe, old baby? Let there be darkness, I say! Out, I
say! (Then, recognizing her) Gloria!
GLORIA (Laughing) You're a nut!
SIDNEY Gloria! (She picks him up drags him to couch)
GLORIA Where's Iris?
SIDNEY (Singing "The Fireship" in reply: it is a song about
a prostitute)
"She had a bright and roving eye-eye!
And her hair hung down in ring-el-ets!"
(He folds over and rather gags with pcdn)
"A nice girl, a proper girl, but one
of the roving kind!"
GLORIA You're having an attack aren't you?
(Thinks of it, then crosses to the refrigerator and
gets a container of milk)
SIDNEY I'm all right!
(Sings from the prone position)
"Her hair hung down in ring-el-ets!"
(Sitting up suddenly)
No, that's not the one.
(Lifts his head like a howling dog and sings starkly
"Come All Ye Fair and Tender Ladies")
"If I'da known before I started
I never would have courted none
I'da locked my heart in a box of golden
and fastened it up with a silver pin/*
GLORIA (Offering the milk) Come on, Sidney, you're not
all that drunk. Cmon, drink this.
SIDNEY (Drinks, expecting liquor spits out the milk)
520 THE SIGN IN
"Oh don't you remember the days of our courtin'
When your head lay upon my breast "
GLORIA What's going on, Sidney?
SIDNEY (Opening his eyes) Can it be that the fall of man
has entirely escaped even your notice?
GLORIA What do you mean?
SIDNEY All all that sweat; all that up-all-night; all that,
you should excuse the allusion (Hissing out the word)
Passion. All for a mere flunky of Power. (Gaily) Who
cares anyhow? The world likes itself just fine the way it
is, so don't pick at it. That's all you gotta know about
anything: Don't pick at it! (He has crossed on these lines
to the door; he opens it and bellows up) Hey, Orpheus,
come on down: Fm ready to cross over the Styx. (He
turns around and mugs heavily at GLORIA) Get it: Fm
just going to hell with myself!
(He slaps his thigh burlesquing that kind of humor
thickly)
GLORIA You need looking aften Where is Iris?
SIDNEY Who? Oh, Iris. My wife. Who the hell knows.
(Wandering around) She was one of the lesser goddesses
anyhow. A kind of "girl Friday for Zeus," as they put
it in Time magazine. (Posing) Lookit me, who am I?
(Stands on the couch in Zeus pose; GLORIA can only
laugh now) Come on, who am I? Fll give you a hint: I'm
not Apollo. In fact, I am not a god. (As Jimmy Durante
would say it) Ignore my stately bearing for the time
being and look in my eyes, and you will see there un-
mistakable mortality. (Collapses again) Here I am,
Modern Man: flat on my back with an oozing intestine,
a bit of a tear frozen in the corner of my eye, a glass
of booze which will saturate without alleviating . . . and
not the dimmest notion of what it is all about. (He
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 321
drinks and sits up) And my wife has run off to capture
lightning bolts for Zeus. On account of he pays well and
you get to meet all the up and coming young gods and
things.
DAVID (Entering, coolly) Well, I see I have entered in a
large moment.
SIDNEY David, my boy! (Throws the bottle) The only
man I happen to know personally who is unafraid of the
dark. Have a drink.
DAVID You're drunk and silly and I have a guest
(He starts out)
SIDNEY Well, bring her excuse me him down and well
have a happening or something.
DAVID We're already having one, thank you,
SIDNEY (Grabbing hold of him) All that motion, all that
urgency ... for nothing. That's the whole show, isn't it?
A great plain where neither the wind blows, nor the rain
falls, nor anything else happens. Really happens, I mean.
Besides our arriving there and one day leaving again . . .
That's what your plays are about, aren't they?
DAVID Yes, I suppose so*
SIDNEY Billy said it better than you thougjh: "... a tale
told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying noth-
ing." Billy said everything better.
DAVID I won't argue. What's happened?
SIDNEY Nothing . . . everything . . . And I won't argue
with you any more either, David. You're right about
everything.
DAVID Well, at least you are learning.
SIDNEY Oh yes, and to laugh! Finally. At the colossal ab-
522 THE SIGN IN
surdity. It's the only refuge, the only cove of endurance.
To accept it all and offer back only a cold . . . shadowless
stream of laughter. (Does a vaudeville turn and strikes
another especially ludicrous pose. Sings)
"Oh, we're lost out here in the stars!"
(Turning, as if seeing her for the first time) Gloria!
(He holds out his arms to her. She goes to him and
they embrace; there is a quite genuine affection
between these two. He holds her rather desperately
and, inadvertently, hurts her)
SIDNEY What's the matter?
GLORIA (Covering quickly) Some bruises. It's all right.
Are you all right?
(SIDNEY grabs his mouth; starts for the bathroom
with great dignity which he cannot sustain; he
breaks and runs in, closing door behind him. She
notes DAVID fully for the first time)
GLORIA And you must be
DAVID David Ragin. Hi.
GLORIA (With recognition) From upstairs. Hi. I'm
DAVID Gloria. The sister who "travels a lot." (As she
clearly reacts to his emphasis) Oh, it's all right. I prac-
tically live here and it's, like, all in the family, no secrets.
I do naughty things with boys only so relax.
GLORIA You're very free with personal information.
DAVID (Blithely) Isn't it the great tradition for writers
and whores to share the world's truths?
GLORIA (Spinning with astonishment and fury) Listen, I
don't like your language or you.
DAVID Tm sorry. I didn't know it would upset you.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 323
GLORIA Weren't you leaving?
DAVID I said I was sorry. And I almost never apologize
to anyone. I apologized to you because I respect you.
GLORIA I said, weren't you leaving?
DAVID Look it's okay with me. Relax. Tm writing about
a girl like you. I cut away all the hypoc
GLORIA Look, little boy (Sudden strong, throaty tones)
I've never met you before, but I have met them like you
a hundred times and I know everything you are about to
say; because it's been asked and written four thousand
times . . . anything I would tell you, you would believe it
and put it down and feel like you'd been close to some-
thing old and deep and wise. Any bunch of lies I would
make up. Well, these are not office hours. Now get the
hell out of here!
(Rising, she winces and catches her side)
DAVID What's hurting you?
GLORIA (In apparent physical pain) Please be some kind
of gentleman if you think you can swing it and go away.
DAVID (Looking at her hard) You really don't like your
life?!
GLORIA (Her head back, her eyes closed) The things peo-
ple think in this world !
DAVID Can I get you something?
GLORIA Just go away!
(He exits. SIDNEY re-enters, his head and shirt
doused with water, affecting sobriety to little avail.
He looks a state, crosses to GLORIA at the bar, carry-
ing one shoe)
SIDNEY (At the bottle) Want a drink? Oh, I always forget
about you and your face, the tissues and alL
324 THE SIGN IN
GLORIA It's all right I'm learning to like it. (Slapping
playfully at the underchin and cheeks) Let the damn
tissues fall! (Looking up at Mm, softly) I've quit, Sid.
Really quit.
SIDNEY (Changing the subject) How did you hurt your-
self?
GLORIA I didn't. That's the result of an evening spent with
six and one half feet of psycho. I happen to have a predi
What do you call it?
SIDNEY Predilection?
GLORIA Predilection for psychos and vice cops, it's quite
amazing! To the point where some of the girls tease me
about it. This last one . . . I think he was trying to kill
me. It was his thing . . . you know, violence. (Looking
around) When's Iris coming? She must be working hard,
this place is a wreck!
SIDNEY She'll be along.
GLORIA (Grinning) Hey Sid, lookit me! (Holding up
the glass triumphantly) Whiskey. I've joined the human
race. No more goofball pills I'm kicking everything.
(She makes a comic face and their glasses clink) I did
the whole gooey farewell bit with some of the kids.
Adios, Muchachas! I'm going to marry him. Yes, I mean
after we talk about it. I wouldn't unless I told him. I
know girls who've done that. Doesn't work out. Never
works out. You run into people. They make up all kinds
of nutty things, but it doesn't work out. I'm going to sit
down and say (A swinging recitation brimming over
with confidence to conceal terror below: rehearsed too
many times to perfection because she knows it won't
work. The voice is bright with an assurance the eyes
deny) "I was a nineteen-year-old package 'of fluff from
Trenersville, Nowhere, and I met this nothing who took
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 525
one look at this baby face of mine and said, 'Honey,
there's a whole special market for you. Slink is on the
way out; all-American wholesomeness is the rage.
You've got it made! You'll be part of the aristocracy
of the profession!' Which is true. Only it's the profession
they don't exactly describe. After that you develop your
own rationales to make it all right to yourself: a) It's
old as time anyhow; (They clink glasses loudly and
laugh) b) (Hand on heart for God and country) It's
a service to society; (They clink again) and c) The real
prostitutes are everybody else; especially housewives
and career girls. (Again they howl) We trade those
gems back and forth for hours. Nobody believes it, but
it helps on the bad days. And, sweetie, there are a lot
of bad days.
SIDNEY Gloria no matter what happens, honey, you've
got to stick to that.
GLORIA (Glass poised in midair, she lowers it slowly)
Okay, Sid, what is it a letter or a phonograph record
with violins?
SIDNEY Gloria
GLORIA (Supreme effort at self-control: to both steel herself
for and hold off the inevitable) I was on this date
once, Sid. He had a book of reproductions by Goya. And
there was this one an etching, I think. Have you ever
seen it? There's this woman, a Spanish peasant woman
and she's standing like this reaching out. And what
she's reaching for are the teeth of a dead man. A man
who'd, been hanged. And she is rigid with revulsion,
but she wants his teeth, because it said in the book that
in those days people thought that the teeth of the dead
were good luck. Can you imagine that? The things
people think they have to do? To survive? Some day
I'm going to buy that print. It's all about my life ...
326 THE SIGN IN
SIDNEY He loves you, honey. He loves you terribly . . .
GLORIA (Tough, hoarse urgency: she is ready for it now)
Come on, Sidney! (SIDNEY hands her the letter. There is
presently in the silence only the single hurt outcry of any
small creature of the forest, mortally struck. She
crumples the letter in her hand. He crosses to her swiftly,
tries to comfort her in his arms; she throws back a girlish
head and emits now a cry deep, guttural and as primeval
as the forest) Men! Oh God, men!
SIDNEY (Pouring a drink fast and trying to push it on her)
Come on drink this for me
GLORIA Get that trash out of my face, Sidney. Get it
away (She knocks it away and rises; he tries to block
this, but the inner sense of futility makes it a half-hearted
effort) Where's my handbag! Get out of my way, Sidney.
Come on, who needs this world the way it is! (Pulling
free with a mighty jerk) Let go! (She gets the bag and
downs the pills, calming long before the effect, simply
because she knows that they are inside) You see, no fuss,
no muss . . . Drugs are the coming thing, Sid. Do you
keep up with all the writings on mescalin and all? I find it
fascinating . . . (She lies down on the sofa. Her reversion
is progressive; she is pushing hard for it; not letting the
pills do it. Now she is drinking also) Ha you want to
hear something! I was going to marry that vanilla dinge!
Do you know what some of the other girls do they go
off and they sleep with a colored boy and J mean any
colored boy so long as he is black because they figure
that is the one bastard who can't look down on them five
seconds after it's over! And I was going to marry one!
SIDNEY (Crossing to GLORIA) Maybe he'll change his
mind. He was sort of in a state of shock about it. I mean,
try to understand, it's very complicated about Alton
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 327
GLORIA Oh, so he's in a state of shock! Oh Jesus, that yel-
low-faced bastard! He's shocked. Look, Sid, I'll bet you
two to one that at this instant he is lying dead drunk in
the arms of the blondest or blackest two-bit hooker in
town. Nursing his shock! Telling his tale of woe! His
tale! She'll be telling it somewhere by morning to the
girls and roaring with laughter . . . Like I'm doing. Aw,
what the hell am I carrying on for it wouldn't have
worked. And besides, the life beats the hell out of that
nine-to-five jazz. (Suddenly a violent sob) Sidney! What
happened to my life! (He tries to go to her; she holds
out a hand to stay him) I'll be twenty-six this winter and
I have tried to kill myself three times since I was twenty-
three ... I was always awkward . . . But I'll make it
Or maybe a looney trick will be thorough some night
(Sitting up) Well . . . that's enough gloom and doom,
everybody! Come on, Sidney brother, cheer up. (She.
rumples his hair, nuzzles playfully in a desperate effort
at gaiety and release) After all, how many things could
a nice normal healthy American girl kick all at one
time the racket and the pills? And take on integration,
too? Teh! Teh! (Weaving toward the phonograph) Let's
have some music. And none of that creepy stuff my
creepy father used to play. (She puts on a record some
very modern jazz; it throbs low and warm and intense)
Yeah . . . that's good. I have to have music ... it helps
to close things out. It envelops you. (She beckons and
SIDNEY moves into her arms; they begin to dance in a
tight embrace, he in a bemused and delicious half-stupor;
she as if, in the mere physical body contact, she were
clinging to life. Now the denaturalization of these mo-
ments begins to heighten as per their state. A light,
deathly blue, of great transparency, settles slowly and
as imperceptibly as possible; it gives way to a hot and
sensual fuchsia. The music follows suit the more fa-
miliar jazz sounds going even beyond their own defini-
328 THE SIGN IN
tions. When each speaks it is stiffly and unnaturally, inr
toned with a heightened, fragmented delivery beyond
sense or sequence, as if lucidity no longer required logic.
An absurdist orgy is being created in front of us a dis-
integration of reality to parallel the disintegration in
SIDNEY'S world.)
GLORIA (As in a trance) Things as they are are as they are
and have been and will be that way because they got
that way because things were as they were in the first
place.
(DAVID re-enters and slowly descends the stairs,
glancing behind him several times. He stops half-
way down to light a cigarette and stands in sil-
houette thoughtfully smoking, while the dialogue
continues)
SIDNEY "Society is based on complicity in the common
crime . . ." (DAVp continues down and stands just in-
side the door, watching GLORIA and SIDNEY as the sensual
heat mounts between them) ". * . We all suffer from
the murder of the primal father who kept all the females
for himself and drove the sons away. So we murdered
him and, cannibals that we are, ate him."
DAVID Sidney, you've finally joined the human race! Wel-
come to the club.
SIDNEY (To DAVID) We are all guilty.
DAVID (Approaching them) Therefore all guilt is equal.
GLORIA Therefore none are innocent.
SIDNEY, DAVID and GLORIA (Together) Therefore
SIDNEY (Inspired) None are guilty. (He breaks from
GLORIA. Facing audience, assumes his own parodied ver-
sion of classic Hindu dance pose: standing on one foot,
knee bent, the other up at right angles, toes turned out;
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 329
one hand to chest in lotus position, the other at top of
head, fingers pointing to sky; head moving from side to
side. Deadpan) Any two of anything is totalitarian.
(The beat picks up, he turns back and the three
dance their own versions of the Frug, Watusi, Twist,
etc. GLORIA weaves from one to the other, but they
do not dance together: they face each other, but
each is locked in the vacant isolation of a separate,
world, from which he speaks)
GLORIA It is right and natural for the individual to be
primarily concerned with himself.
DAVID He must be dedicated to his own interests.
SIDNEY There is a revolution in this idea.
SIDNEY, DAVID, GLORIA (Together) Therefore
SIDNEY I shall make myself a magazine and build it like
a brothel. The bricks wfll be old-fashioned: lovely bodies
made dirty by the way I present them.
DAVID But the mortar will be new: made of Great Names.
SIDNEY So I will offer Rosemarie and Maryanne simply
doing the splits
DAVID But leavened with Socrates on Punishment and
William L. Shirer on the Blitz.
GLORIA Oh, you'll show the boys Lucy Jones upside
down
SIDNEY But only when she's back to back with a treatise
on the excavation of an Etruscan town!
DAVID If 11 be a hell of a clever switch
SIDNEY But IH prove I'm right by growing rich!
SIDNEY, DAVID, GLORIA (They sing in unison)
"Ohhhhhhhhh
This is the way the cheese will rot!
330 THE SIGN IN
The cheese will rot! The cheese will rot!
Oh this is the way the cheese will rot!
All on a Sunday morning!
(SIDNEY moves away to lie down on the couch as
DAVID melts into GLORIA'S beckoning arms and they
dance as did she and SIDNEY earlier)
GLORIA Whaddaya do if your own father calls you a tramp
... on his deathbed . . . huh? Whaddaya do?
SIDNEY (On his back, rousing, with a flourish) You only
think that flowers are fragrant. 'Tis an illusion!
DAVID Trying to live with your father's values can kill you.
Ask me, I know.
GLORIA No, Sweetie, living without your father's values
can kill you. Ask me, I know.
SIDNEY (Sits up, cross-legged, Zen Buddhist fashion. Pan-
tomimes) Take a needle thus (from lapel. Large ges-
ture) , peer through the eye. As much as you can see
will be a part of the world. But it will be a true part, will
it not? Therefore, set down what you have seen and call
it the truth; if anyone argues with you, explain to the
fool that it is harder to look through a needle than to
look around one. (He flops back)
DAVID Any profession of concern with decency is the most
indecent of all human affectations.
SIDNEY (Sits boh upright. Declaiming) To be or not
to be! (A great pause, he sears us with his eyes and
falls back) Well, better leave that one alone!
SIDNEY, GLORIA and DAVID (Singing in disjointed unison)
"Oh, who's afraid of Absurdity! Absurdity! Ab-
surdity!
Who's afraid of Absurdity!
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 331
Not we, not we, not we!"
(As SIDNEY dozes off on the sofa, GLORIA stop&
DAVID with a long wet kiss, then steps back. DAVID
is a little shaken. The music comes to an abrupt
halt.)
GLORIA Where's the music . . . ? What happened to t&a
music?
DAVID Don't let's stop! . . . It was mah-velous. We were
so completely outside of ourselves,
GLORIA (Crossing 'to the phonograph as the surreal fuchsia
light fades back to white moonlight. Drinking) Sure*
baby, a drunk, a hophead and a sick little boy could con-
jure up the Last Supper if they wanted. (She turns it on
and crosses to the bar. Sits and drinks. The music throbs
softly)
DAVID (Following her. As much disengaged from her as
she is from him. With wistful melancholy) No, listen.
All your life you want certain things and when you try
to trace them back with the finger of your mind to where
you believe you first started to want them, there is noth-
ing but a haze ... I was seven. So was Nelson. We
were both exactly seven. We used to make a great deal
out of that* We used to play all day in my yard. He had
fine golden hair and a thin delicate profile (He traces
her mouth with the fingers of one hand, touches her
hair) and Mother always said: "Nelson is a real aristo-
crat." Then, just like that, one summer his family moved
to Florence, Italy. Because that is the sort of thing that
aristocrats do when they feel like it. And I never saw
him again.
GLORIA (Nodding up and down drunkenly) And you've
been looking for him ever since.
332 THE SIGN IN
DAVID He never came back.
GLORIA And now . . .
DAVID There is a beautiful burnished golden boy very
much like Nelson sitting on a chair upstairs. He is from
one of the oldest, finest families in New England. He is
exquisite. But great damage has been done to him
GLORIA (For this girl there are no surprises left) He re-
quires ... the presence of a woman . . . Not just any girl,
but someone young, enough, fresh enough, in certain
light, to make hi think it is somebody of his own
class
DAVID Yes. But there is nothing to do. Apparently ft
is merely a matter of watching.
GLORIA (Raising her eyes pathetically) And you're a
friend of Sidney's . . *
DAVID It* s not for me. Perhaps you can understand: If he
asked for the snows of the Himalayas tonight, I would
try to get it for him. I thought you might know of such
things.
GLORIA (Agonized) Oh ... I know of such things!
DAVID Will you come up ?
GLORIA (A beat. Not really to him) Sure . . . why not?
DAVID It's apartment three-R
(He goes out and up. GLORIA stands for a long mo-
ment, looking after him, then crosses quickly to
the phonograph, which she turns up louder, as if to
drown out some voice that speaks only to her, tUl
the persistent lonely chaos of the music fills the
room. She tries to dance a little, that doesn't work;
she downs more goofball pills with liquor. Then,
snapping her fingers and undulating a little to the
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 333
rhythms in the room, with a fixed smile, she goes
out. But as she mounts the third step, she freezes
in the grip of a physical revulsion she can no longer
contain then suddenly whirls)
GLORIA (Her words are a single guttural cry of pain) Sick
people belong in hospitals!!! (For a long moment her
eyes dart frantically and she whimpers, trapped, seeking
refuge. There is none. At last she looks at the bottle of
pills in her hand, walks slowly back and stands, spent,
in the doorway. Then, resolutely:) Papa I am better
than this! Now will you forgive me ?
(She crosses to the bathroom, clutching the bottle,
halts, terrified at the unseen presence there, turns
away; but then, with a final lift of her head, she
enters and closes the door. The phone begins to
ring as the lights slowly dim. SIDNEY sleeps on)
Dimout
SCENE Two
Time: Early the next morning.
At rise: There is now a stark, businesslike and cold at-
mosphere in the apartment, as opposed to the tone of the
last scene. It is just after dawn; in the course of this scene
the blue-gray of the hour slowly lifts, until, at the end, the
sun breaks full. A DETECTIVE, with pad, routinely questions
IRIS, who sits in the rocker facing front; slumped, in her
coat, hands in pockets, eyes red and staring off at nothing
in particular. For its part, the sign seems more naked now,
more assertive, more dominating and, for all of its un-
noticed presence, necessary. The bathroom door stands
ajar.
DETECTIVE Age of the deceased?
IRIS Twenty-six.
DETECTIVE Your relationship?
IRIS My sister,
DETECTIVE Occupation? (SIDNEY enters, in his coat,
stands in the door for a moment, as if the mere fact of
the apartment oppresses him. IRIS says nothing. The
DETECTIVE coughs, tries again, anxious to get it over)
Occupation of the deceased?
SIDNEY Like, she was a member of the chorus.
DETECTIVE Chorus girl
(He starts to write that; IRIS looks up but says
nothing)
SIDNEY No no, she was a model*
334
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 335
DETECTIVE (Putting his book away) All right. You know
there's gonna be an inquest
(IRIS offers no response. SIDNEY finally nods. The
DETECTIVE exits)
SIDNEY I got them a cab. When they got home, Fred said,
he'd call the doctor and have Mavis sedated. (Paces agi-
tatedly. Halting and looking at her) You should let it
come, honey . . . Cry. It's worse if you do what you're
doing . . . (He spots GLORIA'S headband on the floor,
where she had dropped it; he picks it up, stands looking
at the bathroom, then turns away with a face contorted
to face his wife. A long beat. Then helplessly) You
want a cup of tea or something? (IRIS gives a quick,
tight, little shake of her head "no" WALLY appears at
the door, knocks, though it is ajar. He comes in, hat in
hand, face cut with concern. SIDNEY just looks at him.
A beat. Then grandly) I see, Wally: the drama has come
of age! The deus ex machina no longer comes floating
in with its heavenly resolution or dissolution it mere-
ly comes walking through the door like a man.
WALLY (To IRIS) I heard about your sister. (Awkward-
ly, sincerely) There's never anything to say, is there?
But if there's anything I can do. (IRIS does not respond
in any way. To SIDNEY softly) She's in bad shape, Sid-
ney. Why don't you call a doctor?
SIDNEY (With an effort at restraint) What do you want
here, Wally?
WALLY I know, Sidney, you think I'm the prince of all the
bastards
SIDNEY No, as a matter of fact, it's been my opinion for
some time now that the merely ambitious have enjoyed
too much stature through the centuries: I think you're a
rather rank-and-file bastard.
336 THE SIGN IN
WALLY {With a half smile) It feels good, doesn't it, Sid?
It must feel good: to be able to judge! One good betrayal
vindicates all our own crimes, doesn't it? Well, I'm going
to tell you something I learned a long time ago
SIDNEY (Swiftly, angrily, as if by rote) "If you want to
survive you've got to swing the way the world swings!'*
WALLY It's true. You either negotiate or get out of the
race. Face up, Sid or is that too hard for you? that
I'm the same man I was a year ago. Two months ago.
Last week. And I still believe I am making my contribu-
tion to changing things but I happen to know that in
order to get anything done, anything at all in this world,
baby, you've got to know where the power is. That's
the way it's always been and that's the way it always
will be.
SIDNEY How do you know?
WALLY (As if there is no end to the innocence in this
house) Baby I am of this world; it's something you
know.
SIDNEY (Fingering GLORIA'S purse; a private irony) And
besides (Softly) "all the real prostitutes are everybody
else."
WALLY (Ready for him) Name calling is the last refuge
of ineffectuals. You rage and I function. Study that
sometimes, Sid. (Crossing to the window) Look, you
know that stop sign that the housewives have been trying
to get at Macklin and Warren Streets? With the baby-
carriage demonstrations and the petitions and all? Well,
they'll get their stop sign now. /'// get it for them. But
not as some wide-eyed reformer. And better garbage
collection and the new playground and a lot of other
things too.
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 337
SIDNEY (Half smile) And the narcotic traffic? What
about that?
WALLY (A quick hand-waving) That's more complicated.
There's more involved. You don't go jumping into things.
SIDNEY (Instinctively, swiftly) I see: We can go on step-
ping over the bodies of the junkies but the trains will
run on time!
(He clicks his heels and throws off the Fascist
salute smartly)
WALLY (Throwing his head back, just a little) As a mat-
ter of fact, I knew it would be like this. That you would
be standing there with that exact expression on your face,
smoking a cigarette . . . filled with all the simple self-
righteousness of bleeding innocence again betrayed.
Well, I've only got this to say about it, Sid
SIDNEY (Suddenly, without warning the confrontation.
The real one) They're after my paper now, aren't they,
Watty?
WALLY (Thrown; he would have preferred this on his own
ground) You don't understand. They don't want any-
thing . , . Look, I told them not to expect to buy you,
Sid. (The latter smiles and nods his head throughout)
I've made them understand that . . . Nothing changes.
You go on exactly as before, that's all.
SIDNEY Ah! I see: you mean covering the art shows,
doing charming little photographic essays of the snow
on our quaint little streets,
WALLY Yes!
SIDNEY And leave the world to you?
WALLY I didn't do you in, Sid. You did yourself in and
there ought to be a lesson in it for you: stay up in the
338 THE SIGN IN
mountains with your banjos and your books where you
belong.
SIDNEY But should I persist?
WALLY Sidney, I am talking to you as a friend . . .
SIDNEY Should I persist?
WALLY (Had not wanted to say it like this) Then the
paper won't last six months.
SIDNEY (With wonder genuine wonder) Watty, don't
you know what kind of a house you've walked into?
Didn't it hit you in the face? Didn't death breathe on you
as you came through the door? What's the matter with .
you, man? While I lay stoned on that couch, a girl who
tried to accept everything that you stand for died in that
bathroom today. Do you think I haven't learned anything
in the last few hours? The slogans of capitulation can
kill! Every time we say "live and let live" death tri-
umphs!
WALLY Sidney, what is it that you're trying to say?
SIDNEY That I am going to fight you, Wally. That you
have forced me to take a position. Finally the one
thing I never wanted to do. Just not being for you is not
enough. Since that girl died (To IRIS) I'm sorry, honey,
but I have to since that girl died I have been forced
to learn I have to be against you. And, Wally, I'm against
you I swear it to you and your machine. And what
you have to worry about is the fact that some of us will
be back out in those streets today. Only this time
thanks to you we shall be more seasoned, more cynical,
tougher, harder to fool and therefore, less likely to
quit.
WALLY (The genuine passion of the compromised) Sid-
ney, you reek of innocence!
SIDNEY BRUSTEIN'S WINDOW 359
IRIS (Suddenly, turning) The question is, Wally, what is
it you reek of?
SIDNEY (To WALLY, but the words are intended for IRIS)
I'll tell you what he reeks of: He reeks of accommoda-
tion. He reeks of collusion. He reeks of collaboration
with Power and the tools of Power . . . (To WALLY)
Don't you understand, man? Too much has happened
to me! I love my wife I want her back. I loved my
sister-in-law. I want to see her alive. I I love you I
should like to see you redeemed. But in the context in
which we presently stand here I doubt any of this is
possible. That which warped and distorted all of us is
(Suddenly lifting his hands as if this were literally true)
all around; it is in this very air! This world this swirling,
seething madness which you ask us to accept, to help
maintain has done this . . . maimed my friends . . .
emptied these rooms and my very bed. And now it has
taken my sister. This world! Therefore, to live, to breathe
I shall have to fight it!
WALLY (Picking up his hat shaking his head) That's
asking for it, Sidney . . .
SIDNEY Then that should be the first thing I tell my read-
ers while I still can.
WALLY (Gesturing incredulously to IRIS, as if to an aUy)
Am I really supposed to believe this ? (IRIS slowly
nods "yes" then shrugs with innocence: What can she
do with SIDNEY? WALLY turns back with genuine won-
der) You really are a fool.
SIDNEY Always have been. (His eyes find his wife's) A
fool who believes that death is waste and love is sweet
and that the earth turns and men change every day and
that rivers run and that people wanna be better than they
are and that flowers smell good and that I hurt terribly
