The Jazz Singer, by Samson Raphaelson—A Project Gutenberg eBook

All rights, including stage, motion picture, and amateur production, are reserved. No performance or public reading may be given without the written consent of the author, or his recognized agents. Application should be made to the author, in care of his publishers.

I wish to express my gratitude to Albert Lewis, who directed and produced “The Jazz Singer” and who, in the long hours of many days and nights, gave values to the play and stage wisdom to me which I hope never to forget; to Stuart Sherman, who encouraged me when my faith lagged; and to the members of the cast, especially George Jessel and Sam Jaffe, for the many happy touches they have contributed.

American life, in this year 1925, consists essentially of surfaces. You may point out New England communities and say here is depth, and I will answer, true, but New England is dead so far as the America of now is concerned. You may show me an integrity in the West where a century ago pioneers came, and I will answer, that integrity resides with the elders and not with the mightier young ones. He who wishes to picture today’s America must do it kaleidoscopically; he must show you a vivid contrast of surfaces, raucous, sentimental, egoistical, vulgar, ineffably busy—surfaces whirling in a dance which sometimes is a dance to Aphrodite and more frequently a dance to Jehovah.

In seeking a symbol of the vital chaos of America’s soul, I find no more adequate one than jazz. Here you have the rhythm of frenzy staggering against a symphonic background—a background composed of lewdness, heart’s delight, soul-racked madness, monumental boldness, exquisite humility, but principally prayer.

I hear jazz, and I am given a vision of cathedrals and temples collapsing and, silhouetted against the setting sun, a solitary figure, a lost soul, dancing grotesquely on the ruins.... Thus do I see the jazz singer.

Jazz is prayer. It is too passionate to be anything else. It is prayer distorted, sick, unconscious of its destination. The singer of jazz is what Matthew[10] Arnold said of the Jew, “lost between two worlds, one dead, the other powerless to be born.” In this, my first play, I have tried to crystallize the ironic truth that one of the Americas of 1925—that one which packs to overflowing our cabarets, musical revues and dance halls—is praying with a fervor as intense as that of the America which goes sedately to church and synagogue. The jazz American is different from the dancing dervish, from the Zulu medicine man, from the negro evangelist only in that he doesn’t know he is praying.

I have used a Jewish youth as my protagonist because the Jews are determining the nature and scope of jazz more than any other race—more than the negroes, from whom they have stolen jazz and given it a new color and meaning. Jazz is Irving Berlin, Al Jolson, George Gershwin, Sophie Tucker. These are Jews with their roots in the synagogue. And these are expressing in evangelical terms the nature of our chaos today.

You find the soul of a people in the songs they sing. You find the meaning of the songs in the souls of the minstrels who create and interpret them. In “The Jazz Singer” I have attempted an exploration of the soul of one of these minstrels.

Cast of characters in the first production of “The Jazz Singer,” by Lewis and Gordon in association with Sam H. Harris at the Fulton Theatre, New York City, Sept. 15, 1925.

ACT I—The home of the Cantor on the East Side. The 14th of August, afternoon.

Scene: It is the flat of Cantor Rabinowitz in the heart of the East Side of New York. We see a rather large living room with a curious mixture of furniture and crockery. The Cantor lives in better style than most of his neighbors. The furniture is massive, elaborate, of fine wood, the kind of furniture a wealthy Jew in Russia would be likely to have. Everywhere there are shelves loaded with bric-a-brac—china, glassware and silver.

There are two windows through which can be seen the stained glass windows of the synagogue next door. There is a phonograph, a sideboard, a settee, a bookcase, a Morris chair. On the wall are pictures, including one of an old-fashioned Russian Jew, one of the Cantor, one cheap chromo showing some kittens, and the framed citizen papers of the Cantor.

At rise: Before the curtain rises we hear a boyish treble sweetly singing an old Hebrew cantor tune. As the curtain rises, we see little Moey and the Cantor seated at the table. The Cantor is a lean man of medium height. He has a neatly trimmed, grayish beard and is wearing a skull-cap. His face is wrinkled, gentle, austere. He is a holy man among a humane[18] people—and all which that implies. He knows the ways of kindliness, but the spirit in him is stern with following the God of Vengeance for sixty years.

[Stops him]. No, no, no! Didn’t I tell you how you should sing it? Sing it with a sigh. Do you understand, my child? With a sigh! You are praying to God. Nu, try it again. [Moey tries again, and again is stopped by Cantor.] No—do you understand what it means, them words you are singing? What does “Vaanee Sefeelosee” mean?

That’s right. You’re a smart boy, Moey. Now what does it mean “Berov Chasdecho Aneni Be-emes Yishecho”?

Is that nice? A smart boy like you what has the most beautiful voice in the choir? You will never learn to sing until you know what the words mean. Now, listen, Moey. This is what it means. “I offer my prayer to you, when you are ready, O God, with your multitudes of benedictions—answer me, O God, with truth, and help me.” Sing it again, Moey. [Moey begins to sing again. The Cantor rises, impatiently. He is irritated with Moey, yet he has forgotten the child. He speaks more to himself than to Moey.] No, no! Oh, I wish I had my Jakie here. He could show you how to sing it. The words he understood even when he was a little boy smaller than you. And a voice he had like an angel.

Sometimes little boys know too much, Moey. Sometimes little boys think they know more than their papas.

[Rises]. I’m hungry. Can I go home now, Cantor? My mama told me to come home early tonight for supper.

[Moey picks up the prayer book and sings the melody conscientiously and beautifully. He sings it straight through to the end. There is a quality of plaintiveness in this rendition which pleases the Cantor. As Moey is singing, Sara enters from the kitchen, a small brass chopping bowl in her hand. She pauses until the boy finishes. Sara is a small woman, thin, tense, with large, vivid[21] black eyes and gray hair parted neatly and drawn back in a knot. She wears an apron over a black and white dotted voile dress. The Cantor speaks with delight.]

It’s very nice the way you sing, Moey. I’m going to tell your mama what a good boy you are.

He’s a willing boy, Sara, and it’s a pleasure to hear him singing in the choir. And his papa, peace be with him, was a rabbi. Maybe from Moey I can make yet a Cantor.... Yes.... [Sits.] From him I will make a great Cantor.

[Casually, with a prosaic little sigh]. It seems like yesterday our Jakie was standing the same way—a little boy—a darling—and you was learning him to sing.

Sara, I asked you a thousand times, don’t speak his name in my house. You know what it does to me.

A mistake? A papa should speak from his only son one time in five years—that’s a mistake?

Sara, please—it ain’t good that we should think too much about that boy. He didn’t think of us.... God knows if he’s maybe now in jail or not.

How can you speak like this from your only child? I tell you he’s a good boy and he ain’t in jail. In the last letter he wrote, he said....

What’s the matter with you today? Maybe you could forget what he done. I can’t.... [Until now the mood has been conversational, although strong emotions have been strumming underneath. Now the Cantor rises, and his voice betrays the intensity of his feeling.] The Day of Atonement.... A crowded synagogue.... So proud we was! Why not? Everybody[24] waiting to hear the Cantor’s son sing. And where was he?... You said he would come back. It’s already five years now.... Where is he?

I can’t help it the way I talk, Yosele. I feel lonely every day for our Jakie.

All right, all right. I won’t speak no more.... But he’s got a steady job. He’s making money.

[Bitterly]. Money! Money! That’s all they know. A little less money and more God would be better.

Don’t speak like that. Go lay down a little bit. You’ll feel better. Take a rest. [Cantor rises wearily, obediently.] Please don’t be mad, Yosele. I won’t talk no more of Jakie. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.

[Pats her on the shoulder]. All right, all right. I’ll go in now and lay down for a while, and maybe then I’ll feel better. [At the door, with an attempt at his normal sweetness.] Don’t forget, you promised nice cookies for Moey. [He goes.]

[Moves toward the sideboard, when the telephone rings. She turns and moves toward the telephone saying “Hello” just before she reaches it. Then she picks up the receiver]. Hello ... who?... Oh, Mr. Adler. How do you do, Mr. Adler.... Yes, this is the Cantor’s wife.... How did you know it’s the Cantor’s birthday?... No, he don’t know it himself. We are making him a surprise! Oh, thank you, Mr. Adler. You should have the same!... The Cantor will be happy to know you remembered him.... Thank you.... Goodbye. [She hangs up the receiver. There is a knock on the door.] Come in.

[Comes in carrying a jug of wine, a praying shawl, a roast turkey wrapped in a napkin. Yudelson is a jeweler—an old friend of the family. He is about forty, has a small, close-cropped beard, and is seasonably dressed in a white linen suit and a Panama hat. He is hearty, good-natured, eager to please, but not exactly a subtle person.] Hello, hello, hello! Congratulations! Good luck!

[Lowers his voice]. Oh, a surprise!... So I says to myself, “Yudelson,” I says, “what should I give the Cantor that would be nicer than a roast turkey, a gallon of wine which my wife, Olov Hasholem, she made it five years before she died, and a genu-ine woolen praying shawl!”

How did I know! What’s the matter with you, am I crazy? The whole East Side remembers it.

[Takes turkey and wine into kitchen]. Sometimes I myself don’t remember. I ain’t a young woman no more, Mr. Yudelson. I got so much to do, I don’t realize that one day is Monday and all of a sudden it’s Friday and I have to prepare for the Sabbath. I’m surprised that I myself should remember the Cantor’s birthday. [She folds the praying shawl and puts it away.]

You think only downtown knows about it? Uptown knows about it too. Mr. Hymie Goldstein—if he’s worth a nickel, he’s worth a hundred thousand dollars, all in first mortgages too!—he came in my store today and he bought a gold watch. A new one. For cash. He bought it for the Cantor a present—I should live so! He’s coming here tonight.

[Pleased]. It’s nice he should remember the Cantor.... Lawyer Adler just telephoned me on the telephone. He’s coming too tonight.

Lawyer Adler! He’s already one of the big ones on Wall Street. Maybe you can get him he should fix us a new balcony for the synagogue.

[Moving about the house, getting dinner ready]. From Lawyer Adler we could get anything. The Cantor loves him and he loves the Cantor. They knew each other twenty years ago. What am I talking? It’s thirty years if it’s a day. The way time flies! It seems like yesterday I was a girl. [She goes out to get table cloth.]

I bet you the Cantor don’t even know it’s his birthday. [He sits down at table.]

[Enters with table cloth]. He never knows. Tell him this year, tell him last year, he don’t remember. But when it comes, and I remember—[She raises Yudelson’s hand as she spreads the cloth.] and his friends remember—oh, he loves it, believe me!

You remember all the pictures which are hanging in the Committee Room of the synagogue—the pictures of the Cantor’s father and grandfather for four generations? Well, the Gershons made a hand painting from all the pictures—

Yes, sir—with a fancy sign. It says on the sign: “Five Generations of Great Cantors, and the Fifth Is the Best.”

[Slowly]. Five generations of great Cantors.... That will make him think of Jakie.

That’s right.... Would you believe it—even now I’m afraid to speak to the Cantor about Jakie....[29] Oh, it’s too bad. It’s too bad Jakie can’t be here today, friends with his papa—to celebrate the birthday.

[Pause]. You know, a letter came last week. I think it’s from Jakie, because the Cantor didn’t want to open it.

A letter from Jakie? Nu, you didn’t heard from him for a long time.... Why don’t you open it?

I am afraid. I couldn’t tell you why, but I got a feeling in my heart that in the letter it wouldn’t be good news. And it’s the Cantor’s birthday.

Don’t be foolish, Mrs. Rabinowitz. I’ll bet you it’s A Number 1 good news. Give me the letter. I’ll read it.

Mrs. Rabinowitz—on my responsibility I’ll open it. Tell me, where is the letter?

[Goes to sideboard]. I’ve opened already a thousand letters in my life. [Takes letters, looks at them.] No—that’s from the gas company.... This must be from Jakie. [Opens it quickly.] You think I should open it?—Well, all right. [He begins reading, mumbling to himself. Sara sits at table, Yudelson standing.]

[To himself, painstakingly]. “Chicago, August 2nd. My dear mother: I am well and hope to hear the same from you.” [To Sara.] He says he is well, and give God to hear the same from you! [Mumbles to himself again.] “I am coming to New York.” [To Sara.] He says he is coming to New York. [To himself.] “On the fourteenth.” [To Sara.] On the fourteenth he’ll be here.

[Gets up excitedly and takes letter from Yudelson]. The fourteenth?—That’s today! Nu, what else? [Eagerly, with trembling hands she gives him back the letter.]

[Sits at table]. “My dear Mother—” No, I read this already. “I am earning a great deal of money.” [To Sara.] He says he is making plenty money. [Mumbles.] “And I am getting a fine position.” [To Sara.] He says he is getting a good job.

No, no.... “I send my love to you and to papa.” [To Sara.] He sends his love to you and papa.... [To himself.] “And the minute I arrive in the city,—” [To Sara.] And the minute he comes to the city, he says—[Looking at letter.] And the minute he comes to the city, he says—he says—“I will see you.” [To Sara.] He will see you! [To himself.] “From your son, who wishes you the best of everything, Jakie.” [To Sara.] From your son what wishes you what you wish yourself, Jakie! See, I knew it was good news. Wasn’t you foolish not to open it?

[There is a knock on door. Sara hides letter in her bosom, crosses to settee and sits. Yudelson goes to door.]

[Enters. He is a youth of about 21 and is impressively clad in a tight fitting, double-breasted blue[32] coat, a pair of voluminous linen knickers, gaudy golf socks and loud sport shoes. He, as well as Yudelson, keeps his hat on, as is customary in orthodox households]. Hello, Mr. Yudelson!

I took the afternoon off. It’s the Cantor’s birthday, so I called a meeting of the choir—

[In a lowered voice]. And we all contributed toward a little gift. Mrs. Rabinowitz, will you present this to the Cantor with our best wishes for his continued happiness, peace, prosperity, longevity and the consistent and increasing use of his magnificent vocal cords! [Hands a package to Sara.]

[Rises, takes package]. Thank you, Clarence. The present I’ll give him, but all them words I can never say.... I don’t like to open the bundle, Clarence. Tell me, what is the present?

I’ll show you, Mrs. Rabinowitz. [Takes package, opens it on the table.] According to our financial status, this is the most appropriate symbol of our esteem I could find. There you are! [It is a praying shawl!]

That’s very nice, Clarence. It was smart you should think of a praying shawl. [Cantor is heard humming off stage.] Ssh! I think the Cantor is coming. [Sara quickly takes the shawl and hides it somewhere on the sideboard. Clarence and Yudelson nervously move toward the door as the Cantor enters.]

[They are confused, embarrassed, and fidget as they maneuver closer to the door.]

Well, you see, we was speaking of Clarence’s graduation, and—and—we just dropped in to say goodbye!

[Looks around, surprised]. Well, what’s the matter with them? What’s happening today, Sara? Why did they came?

Well, they—they came—You’ll soon find out, Yosele. Supper will be ready—then you’ll know.

Turkey! Today? It’s only Thursday. Not even Sabbath evening. What kind business is turkey in the middle of the week?... You are expecting company? [He pinches her cheek.]

[With blissful secretiveness]. Maybe! [Then she surrenders, her face aglow.] Don’t you know what day it is today?

Now, Sara, stop fooling with me. Soon Moey is coming back, and I want to practice with him a little bit more. Tell me.

[Kisses him again.] Yes, it is. And you should live, mine teure, to be a hundred and sixty and not miss one day in the synagogue! The turkey what I told you, that’s a present from Mr. Yudelson. And the jug of wine he brought! We’re making for you a surprise!

Both of them! Mr. Yudelson.... [She crosses to the sideboard, gets the shawls and shows him.] And Clarence—he brought you a present from the whole choir.

Yudelson’s jewelry business must be making lots money, he should be able to give such nice presents.

[There is a pause. Then, wistfully]. Yosele—I—I didn’t get you no present this year.

Well, I’ll go out for a little while. [Exits, puts on hat, changes coat. Enters, humming.]

[Goes to table, gets book]. That’s fine, Sara.... I will wear the one you gave me and we’ll save the others! [Kisses mazuzah and goes.]

[Sara listens, to be sure she hears his steps as he goes. Then she takes the letter from her bosom and kisses it. She reaches for a vase on a high shelf. From this vase she brings out a packet of letters bound with a ribbon. She unties the ribbon, places this last letter with the rest, ties it again and replaces the vase on the top shelf. As she is doing this a hand-organ is heard out in the street. It gradually gets louder. Sara moves to the sideboard, gets some pennies out of a glass, wraps the pennies in a piece of newspaper and raises the window. She throws the pennies out. The hand-organ stops, doubtless as its owner picks up the pennies, and then starts playing again. Sara goes into the kitchen. The stage is empty, with no sound but the gradually diminishing music of the hand-organ. There is a knock on the door, another knock, and then Jack enters. He is short, slender, dark. He is fashionably dressed in a well-fitting gray suit, a straw hat rakishly on his head. He carries a large pig-skin English bag and a stick. An engaging combination[39] of wistfulness and impudence is a note of his personality as he looks about him carefully and, seeing no one, pauses, back to audience, to study the living room in the house from which he ran away five years ago. Then he crosses to the settee, where he rests his hand-bag. He places his hat and stick in a corner, moves over to the mirror and straightens his tie. As he turns, Sara enters from the kitchen. There is a dead silence as mother and son face each other. Then, thrilled, they suddenly meet in the middle of the room in one another’s arms. The following dialogue comes swiftly, quiveringly, tearful in its gladness.]

[Steps back—leads her to chair]. My, my, mama! Gee, it’s good to see you, Ma. You look wonderful.

[Sinks down in chair]. That I should live to see my Jakie again!... When did you come?

I’d love to, Ma, but I can’t. I wired for a room at the hotel. I have to see some people uptown on business.

[Rises]. Don’t be foolish. For business you can go uptown, and for eating you can come here and eat your mama’s cooking, and here you can sleep. I got[41] your old bed just the way it was when you left and all your things is in your room the way you used to want them. [As she is saying this, Jack is patting her cheeks with his hand and interrupting her gaily, tenderly with “Yeh, yeh, Mama, yeh, yeh!” Sara moves to his suitcase.]

All right. I’ll open the bag for you. You see how hard it is to open, Ma? It’s an expensive bag. That’s genuine pigskin. Ah, there we are. [Brings out suit of pajamas.] See that? That’s pajamas. Two parts. In the winter you can wear them both. [Takes out dressing gown.] That’s a wrapper.

That’s a girl who did some wonderful things for me. How do you like such a tie, Mama? [He takes gaudy ties from suitcase.]

She lives there in the summer time. [Takes out military brushes. He wants to change the subject.] See, these are military brushes!

Only a big house and a dog she’s got? What does she do all the time in the big house?

She was born in the big house, Mama. Then she came to New York and studied for the opera. But you know how it is in the opera. If a girl don’t weigh more than two hundred pounds they don’t want her. Now she’s a big star in musical comedy.

It’s a nice dog! [Jack takes the picture from her and places it back in the bag.] Now, Mama, I got something that I brought home only for you. It’s a surprise. Close your eyes, Mama. Close your eyes and keep quiet and count.... Don’t say anything.

[Takes jewelry box out of his vest pocket and pins brooch on her dress. Kneels in front of her]. Count to yourself. One, two, three, four, five, six, ninety, a dollar ten, a dollar twenty. Stop when you get to three dollars.... Now, open your eyes and look downstairs and see what’s going on!

Don’t worry, it’s all right, Ma. I didn’t kill anybody, and I’m not selling real estate in Florida.

[There is a pause. Then she turns gravely to her son]. Jakie, tell me—why did you run away that time?... Why didn’t you tell us?...

We’ll talk about all that later, Ma.... I want to look over the old place, see what’s been going on for the last five years. My, but you’ve improved the old homestead! There it is; everything spick and span, eh? Just like it always was.

No, Mama, I feel fine. I must weigh at least eight hundred pounds. Oh, look, there’s Uncle Eli. [Points to picture.] He’s still mad! My, look at that vase. It’s grown up! I remember it when it was a little cup. And you’ve got a phonograph, too. I knew you were saving all those soap wrappers for something. Um—so many new things—Oh, oh, I see a change. [Points[46] to picture above phonograph.] Didn’t there used to be a picture of me there?

[Quickly]. Yes, Jakie—we don’t have it no more. It fell down and got broke—

Well, well, well. First it was me, and now it’s pussy-cats! [Moves to window.] But the synagogue—that’s still in the same place.

Do you know, Mama, it’s a funny thing. It looks so small to me now—and when I was away on the road it used to seem so large—especially the windows.... And now they look so small.... I remember that little window away up in the corner—see the little blue window? Hm—I’ll never forget, one day I was playing baseball. Hymie Cohen was pitching. I hit a ball—it was a home run—and psst! went that window away up in the corner.

Well, we won’t talk about that. Can you still hear the services when the window is open?

Well, well, let’s see what kind of records you have. Um—Il Trovatore, Pagliacci. You’re coming up in the world. Red Seal. That’s a buck and a half. You haven’t got “Red Hot Mama,” have you?

No home is complete without a red hot mama. If you had a piano in the house, I’d show you.

Sure, we’ve got a piano—since last year. Your papa uses it to teach the choir. It’s in the front room.

Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay! A piano! You’ve been holding out on me. What’s been going on for the last five years? The first thing you know, you’ll be going to afternoon teas and dancing the Charleston.

That’s the way they all start, Mama. What kind of a piano have you got—grand or upright?

[From offstage is heard the rippling of some chords on the piano. Then Jack’s voice breaks out in the words of “Red Hot Mama.” He sings it with that rich plaintiveness which, combined with syncopation, has become the convention for the rendition of jazz. Half-way through the chorus the center door opens and the Cantor enters. He stands rooted to the floor, outraged at the sounds he hears. He looks toward the door of the music room, then, as if afraid of what he might see there, moves back automatically, taking his hat off, leaving the skull-cap on his head. Then, beginning to realize that this blasphemous noise really is occurring in his own home, he slams his prayer book down on the table and moves toward the music room. Jack who has finished the chorus and is about to play it again, has yielded to his[49] mother’s audible shocked protests. They come out of the music room, not seeing the Cantor. Jack, who is facing his mother, walks out almost backward. Sara is saying—]

You’ll get used to it, Mama, and you’ll like it if you’ll learn the words. I know a million songs like that. [Then Jack turns, sees the Cantor, and suddenly the bravado, the glibness, the flippant smartness with which he has been buoying himself up, drop from him like a cloak. It is a feeble echo of the Jack we have seen who now addresses his father.] Well, well! Hello, Papa.

I didn’t even open your letter. Why did you come—to play loafer songs on my piano?

No—I came home, Papa—I came home because I’ve been away for five years, and I’ve made good, and I wanted to let you know about it.

You have no shame after what you did to us? You come into my house, you sit down by my piano, and you curse it with your dirty music from the sidewalks.

[Gently, with quiet dignity]. Wait a minute, Mama. I don’t think you know how I feel now, Papa. I thought about you a thousand times when I was away. The first place I came when I got off the train was home. I didn’t mean any harm when I played the piano. I just wanted to sing Mama a jazz song....

Jazz! A song of prayer wouldn’t come into your head, only jazz. Even when you was a little boy, I taught you to sing to please God, but you sang to please yourself. One minute you were singing in the[51] synagogue and the next minute singing in the street. You’re the same now.

[Eagerly. He does not realize how far from home he has traveled in five years. For this instant he really thinks that he understands what is hurting his father—that he can explain it in a few words]. You’re right, Papa. I am the same. You did teach me to sing songs of prayer. And I sang them here for you. But when I got out on the street with the other kids, I found myself singing the same songs they sang. And they’re very much alike,—our songs—and the street songs. Well, listen—[He sings “Ain Kelohenu,” a Hebrew prayer tune. He sings four bars of it, swiftly, with feeling. And then, suddenly, to exactly the same tune and with exactly the same plaintiveness but with a new rhythm and shaking his shoulders, he sings a popular song.]

[This does not have quite the effect which Jack innocently had hoped for. The Cantor, shocked, has sunk into the settee. Sara, frantic in her eagerness to avert the swiftly impending disaster,[52] is fluttering between Jack and his father. She is too excited to know what she is saying.]

[Not precisely a diplomat, strong in his own sense of righteousness]. Where did I learn to sing like that? From Papa—who else? He taught me to sing. You forget that I’m an American boy, and Papa is from the Old World. If he were born here, like I was, he would probably be singing jazz, too.

[Rising toweringly above Jack]. You shouldn’t speak like this from a Cantor—do you hear? God will punish you! He will take vengeance!

Look, Yosele, supper is ready, and our son is home. Come, we should eat and be happy now. Talking can be later. It’s your birthday. Jakie, it’s today your Papa is sixty years old.

Don’t I know it? The 14th of August—that’s why I’ve been so anxious to get home today. I’ve been picturing this home-coming for a long time. I figured now I’m doing all right, and it’s been a long time, so I’ll go home. I thought you’d be so glad to see me.

Yeh, and Papa, he’s happy, too. [He crosses to settee—gets package from bag.] To show you I haven’t forgotten, I brought you a birthday present, Papa. The finest praying shawl I could get. [Moves to table.] And I’ll make you a little speech like I did when I was a little boy. Many happy returns of the day, Cantor Rabinowitz!

[Eagerly]. Oh, Yosele, this is like I dreamed lots of times!... A praying shawl.... That’s just what your Papa needed!... This is a fine piece of goods, Jakie.

You bet it is. As soon as I found out that Tom Brady had imported these from Palestine, I said right away, I got to get one for my old man—my papa.

You never heard of Tom Brady? He makes the most beautiful costumes for the stage.

[Slowly turning to Jack]. The stage? What do you mean, the stage? Theatre? Are you in the theatre business?

An actor! An actor in the theatre! You tell this to me—who comes from a family of five great Cantors! And after all my plans that you should be a Cantor, too! And now you take this singing that is holy to me and make it common!

If there must be actors, let there be, but not a son of mine. Not a Rabinowitz! Their work has been laid out for them by God.

[Responding to his mother’s mute appeal]. Come on, Pa, let’s celebrate your birthday, and then some other time I’ll talk about my work.

Come, Yosele, look. See the diamonds what Jakie brought me. Ain’t that nice? For a mama diamonds, and for a papa a praying shawl. Yosele, he’s got in the satchel so many nice things. [She moves toward the bag.]

[Takes out prayer book]. Oh, see, Yosele! He’s still got his little ivory prayer book what you gave him when he was confirmed.

It’s a funny thing about that prayer book, Ma. When I was traveling on the road, I bet I left a million things behind, but I always carried that.

Papa, it’ll take some time to explain. It’s hard to tell you in a few words. Can’t we wait until after a while—

It ain’t hard I should tell you the work I’m doing. I sing to God. I pray. It ain’t hard to tell the kind work your mama is doing. She is a Cantor’s wife. She worships the Almighty. She knows the sorrows what has come to the descendants from Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, to the children of Israel. She is living to be a good wife of a Cantor.... Once she wanted to be a mother of a Cantor, too, but she found this[57] couldn’t be. It ain’t hard for us to tell you the kind of lives we are living. What kind of life are you living?

[Exasperated]. I told you. I’m an actor. I sing. Just like you sing. Only I sing in a theatre.

You’re right, Ma. I fool, too. I’m a comedian. I get all dressed up in funny clothes. I sing funny songs and make people laugh. They pay money to come and hear me. They’re going to pay big money soon. Right now, Mama, I’ve got a big job with one of the biggest producers in New York City, with a show called “The April Follies.” And if I make good, I’ll get a big salary, and you’ll be proud of me—you’ll see.

A joke maker! A jazz singer! Oh, my God in Heaven! Does it mean nothing that Rabinowitz is[58] the name of great Cantors? Does it mean nothing that there is a God?... You are no son of mine. I never want to see you again.

[Hopelessly]. All right, all right. [Moves to settee, begins to pack his bag.]

Ashamed—what have I got to be ashamed of? Shall I tell him I’m ashamed because I worked like a slave to get my big opportunity? Did I come home broke? Did I ask for anything? No. I came home because it looks like I’m going to be successful, and I wanted to share it with you.

[As he packs his bag]. All right, all right. You’re not giving me a chance, that’s all. Why do you think I came home? I came home because I want to have your love again—that’s why. I came home because I thought I could bring together all the things in my life that are dear to me, that made me happy from the time when I was a little kid till now—singing and playing in the streets—the East Side—shooting craps—baseball—my[59] mama—my papa—the synagogue,—and now my work in the theatre.

Yosele, couldn’t you listen to him? Couldn’t you see he is trying to tell you something?

To such words if I listen God will burn me with lightning. Better I should be dead than my son should holler unholy words in my ears! Get out! Out from my house! You loafer from the sidewalks! You tramp! You bum! You actor in a theatre!... You jazz singer! [He is seized by a fit of coughing, and he sinks into a chair. Sara hastens to his side.]

Jakie! The water! From the sideboard! [Jack goes quickly to sideboard, pours a glass of water and brings it over.] Yosele, you shouldn’t excite yourself so. Look, Jakie, see how white your Papa’s face is. [Takes glass of water from Jack.] Here, Yosele, drink it slow. Jakie, my son, come, tell him you are sorry. Tell him you are ashamed.

How can I, Mama? If I can’t be proud of being a jazz singer, then I can’t be proud of anything. It’s[60] all I’ve got, Mama, it’s all I am. [Gets hat, stick and bag, then pauses.] Well, there won’t be any more arguments around here on my account, I’ll tell you that. I was away for five years—I can stay away longer. I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel so bad, Papa. But you can make up your mind to this. I’m a young fellow, and I’m going to live my life in my own way. I’m not going to stay down here and sing prayers that don’t mean anything to me any more. Maybe I could do it when I was a kid, but I’m not going to do it now. I’m never going to do it. That’s all. [To Sara in lower voice.] Well, I’m going to the hotel. I’ll call you up as soon as I get settled. [Goes to door.] Goodbye, Mama. [Sara indicates Cantor sitting, broken, by the table.] Goodbye, Papa.... I’m very sorry—I’m very sorry that you just—don’t understand. [He goes.]

[Without moving, head sunk on chest]. Did you heard how he sang? The same sighs, the same tears I taught him in the synagogue—that I put in his voice he should sing to God—now he uses them to sing in his jazz music. [His hand on the table encounters the praying shawl which Jack brought.] A fine birthday present I got. My son brought it to me. A praying shawl from Palestine, from the dirty hands of a loafer.

[He rise.] Burn it! [He moves toward the settee.] Put it in the stove and burn it!

[Goes to him]. Oh, Yosele, you are breaking my heart when you speak like this! And I tried to be so happy on your birthday!

[Stares at her incredulously]. Happy—happy? You are happy? You look in my face and tell me happy you are?

[With a tragic attempt to smile]. Sure! Look at me, ain’t my face smiling? [Sits beside Cantor.] Why shouldn’t I be happy? Ain’t it today you are sixty years old?

[Doesn’t seem to hear; mutters]. A surprise—that’s a fine surprise I got....

Sara, my dear one, you are a good wife, and you were a good mother. You don’t deserve such a son.

[Faintly from the hallway is heard a boyish voice singing “Red Hot Mama.” Neither the Cantor nor Sara hear it as yet. Sara continues.]

All right, all right. Forget all your troubles tonight. Lawyer Adler from uptown—he is coming at eight o’clock. The Luryas and the Goldsteins are coming too,—with automobiles. Your birthday—

[The Cantor now hears the singing, which is coming closer. He raises his hand. His face is suddenly the face of a corpse, as the door opens and Moey enters, blithely singing, “Every time I look at you, I want to hotter Hot Tamales.” He sees the Cantor, stops his singing, says, “Good evening, Cantor,” and then moves—a well-fed little boy—to the chair by the table, as the curtain falls.]

SCENE 1

Scene 1: The stage of the Fulton Theatre, during the morning hours just preceding the afternoon dress rehearsal of “April Follies.”

At rise: The curtain rises on a disorderly stage where a song and comedy “number” is being rehearsed. We are looking at the stage from the back—that is, we see directly into the footlights and into an empty auditorium.

Stage hands are working, shifting scenery back and forth; electricians are placing lamps and experimenting with lighting effects. As the curtain rises we hear the banging of a piano. We see a chorus in practice clothes. We see Carter dancing.

In the back, at the footlights, Lee, the producer, sits in a tilted chair, a manuscript in his hand. Grouped between Lee and the chorus, on either side of Carter, are Gene, Miss Glynn, Mary Dale, Jimmy and another actor. Seated in the shadowy foreground, playing cards with a stage-hand, is Jack Robin.

Most of the action in this scene is paced very swiftly. It gives the effect of the hurried disorder which is characteristic of the eleventh hour of a theatrical production. The action is almost frantic—one[64] speech piles on top of another so that you can scarcely follow it. It is not necessary that you follow it. The picture is enough. It is only at certain moments—moments when the story of the play enters with its deeper note—that the action is slow, that characters begin to come into focus—such moments as when Jack and Mary are alone, when Jack is alone with Lee, etc.

[A tall, stout man, meticulously dressed. He has a black mustache—probably dyed—and scant, grayish hair on an impressive bald head. Adversity sent him to the theatre, where he made money. Money sent him to Europe, where he achieved good clothes and an air of distinction. He never allows his air of distinction to interfere with efficiency, however; and, on the other hand, no matter how intense the excitement and confusion of the rehearsal, he never takes his coat off. He rises]. Now, remember—this is the finale of the first act and I want lots of pep. Speak out so that everybody can hear you. This is the last time we do this scene before the Dress Rehearsal, so get it right. All ready? Let’s go.

[He is gray-haired. He has large, wistful, cynical eyes. He has a droll, rolling, weary mouth. Once he was a great comedian. Today, while still well-known, he is relying on formula—and is speeding, without realizing it, into oblivion. Reads from part]. “Mr. Carruthers, I’m from headquarters and I tell you that Gus, your colored porter, is none other than Dixie Dan, the Bootlegger.” [Turns to Detective. Speaks.] “Is that right?”

“And what’s more, he has been very disrespectful to your daughter, Gwendolyn.”

[He is the stage manager and one of the actors. He is a big, fat man in shirt sleeves, with the stub of a cigar in his mouth]. “Gwendolyn, come here!”

[She is bob-haired, slim and lovely. Five years ago she was a flapper. Four years ago she was a debutante. Three years ago she ran away and entered the chorus of the Metropolitan. Two years ago she had a minor rôle in musical comedy. Now she has the feminine lead. She is democratic, ironical, fastidious, informal, subtle and hearty]. “Yes, father.”

“Father, don’t believe a word he says. It’s too bad Mr. Gus isn’t here to defend himself.”

[In typical musical comedy fashion every one stagily steps one foot to the right and points with outstretched arm to the right. There is the typical musical comedy hush which announces the entrance of a principal.]

[There is a moment of confused silence and then Jack, coming out of his absorption in the card game, rises hastily, apologetically. He turns for a second to the stage-hand.]

Spade—spade—spade! You lose! [Now he hastens to the center of the scene. With an apologetic word[67] to Mr. Lee he turns to his script.] Now, where are we?

“I’ve been down to my father’s farm where we have a black hen that lays a white egg.”

No, Carter, I’ve changed my mind about that. I’ve decided to let Jack do that Poppy number in the second act.

Yes, Mr. Lee, I think you should let Carter keep that number. I’ve got enough to do now.

[Impatiently]. That’s all right, Jack. I know that. Why do you think I postponed the opening? In[68] order to give you more to do. You can carry this number, too. Now continue the scene and go right into the Dixie Number.

I’m sorry, Eddie.... Where were we? Oh, yes, sir. “I’m going down South again to the land of cotton and jasmine, where the watermelons grow, where I can be with my mammy. If you’ll all sit down, I’ll sing you a song all about it.”

[The girls all sink down in a wide semi-circle. The other principals back away. The piano beats out the “vamp.” Jack, his back to us, facing his own footlights, his shoulders shaking, his hat carelessly on the back of his head, goes into his jazz song. He does not do it earnestly, except for an occasional note on which he lingers with the easy assurance of the man who knows that when the time comes he will do it well. He sings.]

I’ve got an idea. We won’t use this stage again until the dress rehearsal. Gene, send the girls up on the roof. [In less time than it takes to tell, the chorus girls have been shooed off the stage. Carter and the rest move back to an obscure part of the stage. Lee brings Jack down where we can hear clearly what they say. Mary comes with them. During the following conversation a drop comes down. It is the back of a country scene—you gather from the lights which play around its translucent surfaces that it represents a wisteria-hung house front.] Now, Jack, there’s a big kick in the Mammy number. I want you to do it alone with no one on the stage. Just you and the spot light. Cut out the running around and put your heart into it. Give it all you’ve got. If you do it that way, you’ll be a knockout.

[To Lee]. Harry, they just brought my last act costume and it’s nothing like the sketch.

[He has been lingering, ill at ease and resentful, in the back]. Mr. Lee, I want to see you.

All right, I’ll make it snappy. What’s the big idea cutting my numbers down? Half the house tonight is going to be my personal friends. What do you think they’re going to say about your show tomorrow on Broadway?

[Comes between Lee and Carter. He is disturbed. Something is troubling him. It must be something more serious than his words reveal]. Mr. Lee, I think you ought to let Carter keep that Poppy number. He’s an old song-and-dance man and that’s more in his line.

It isn’t my nerve, Mr. Lee. It’s just the success of your show I’m thinking about.

Let me worry about the success of my show, Jack. Don’t you want the opportunity I’m giving you?

[Interrupts brusquely]. All right, then. [Turns to Gene.] Gene, tell O’Hara to send that little Glynn girl here at once.

Yes, sir. [He goes.] O’Hara, send that Glynn girl here. Mr. Lee wants to see her at once.

[Carter and Jack sit on trunk facing up stage. Gene returns, sits at table.]

[Mutters]. I haven’t had anything like this happen to me in over forty years. I’m going to quit.

[Pity for the old man swiftly welling up in him, yet realizing that nothing can be done, casts about for a jest with which to salve the other’s pain]. Look here, Eddie, you’re not going to quit on the night I’m making my debutt.

Well, if that ain’t right, you can sue me! Now listen, Eddie. You just wait until after the opening tonight and you’ll probably have all your numbers back and maybe some of mine. [He rises.] Come here, Eddie. I wrote a new scene for us.

[Carter, pathetically grateful for the respect and affection this implies, moves back, out of the scene, with Jack. Miss Glynn comes in. She is blond, pretty. She is in the rompers which chorus girls use as practice clothes. As she moves toward Mr. Lee she is obviously frightened.]

Yes, Miss Glynn. I’ve been watching your work in the finale this morning, and it’s very bad. Didn’t you tell me you were an experienced Spanish dancer when I hired you?

Well, you’re not. I don’t believe you ever had any stage experience in your life. You dance like a school girl. Now answer my question. Did you do any professional work before?

I don’t care what you thought. Did you or didn’t you tell me you were in the “Follies”?

[He has been listening to them while chatting with Carter, and now moves down]. Excuse me, Mr. Lee. Could I see you just a minute?... Don’t blame this kid. Anything she slipped over on you was my fault. She—well I saw her in the waiting room—and she looked kind of bashful, poor kid—so I told her to tell you she had been in the “Follies.” I know you and Ziegfeld aren’t talking, so you’d never find out!

[A master of the tempo of kidding, he moves hastily toward the stricken Miss Glynn and whispers to her. Her face lights up as she runs off the stage happily. Crescendo, Jack turns to Lee]. That’s all right, Mr. Lee. She forgives you! She isn’t mad at you at all! [Jack doubles up with a grimace of mock humility, and Lee succumbs. He laughs.]

[Jack grins and strolls across the stage, watching the electrician who is playing with lighting effects.]

[Comes in and goes to Lee by the table. She has a sheet of paper which she places before him]. Harry, here’s the sketch—

[Enters]. Mr. Lee, Mr. Randolph Dillings just phoned and told me to tell you he was coming here this afternoon.

Thank you, Jimmy. [Jimmy goes. Lee rises, and the act settles into a slower pace; for the “atmosphere” is over. Lee speaks half to himself.] That’s too bad.

[He has been half absorbed during this dialogue with papers on the table. He picks them up and mumbles]. Yes, I suppose it is. [He goes off.]

[Jack, who has been standing back-stage chatting with some girls, is now heard laughing and joking with them. They are called away and Jack comes down to Mary who is sitting on a trunk.]

Well, you seem to be happy, Jack. I was afraid you’d be nervous on your opening night.

Me happy? I feel like I’ve been elected mayor and can’t find the City Hall. Mary, if any one gave me an unkind look, I’d lie down on the floor and cry.

[Slowly]. I can’t get over the feeling that if I don’t make good tonight, you’re going to be the goat. You and Mr. Lee. You’ve done everything for me— the two of you. So far, I haven’t done a thing in return.... I ain’t even thinking about what it would[76] mean to me deep down here—[He touches his heart.]—if I flop. But then, that’s my business and nobody else’s.... The way things are now, though.... Gee, if I don’t make good with you—and with Lee—I’ll feel like hell.

Is that all that’s worrying you? Why, Jack, how silly you are! You’re going to be a sensational success, don’t you realize that? And everybody’s going to be proud of you.

[Intuitively]. You mean—your people?... I’ve often wondered why you never mentioned your people to me.

They’re far away. [He rises from trunk.] Oh, it’s no use to talk about it.

[Turns to her]. The point is, my people had other plans for me.... They—they’d sooner I was a criminal than be on the stage....

My father and mother are different. I’m the only son, and they ... had other ideas about me.... I ran away from home.... They don’t think I’ll ever be any good.

Jack, there’s nothing as selfish as the selfishness of parents. Do you think my people liked the idea of my being on the stage? Mother threatened to have a nervous collapse. Father was frantic. But I did what I wanted, and they both got over it. And now they brag about me to the rest of the family.

[There is a deepening cloud on his face as he moves away from Mary. He has almost forgotten the excitement of the dress rehearsal. Lee and Franklyn Forbes enter briskly. Forbes is[78] snappily dressed, about 30. The two of them bring back the speed and exuberance of the theatre.]

[Turns upon them in a curious mood—sardonic and humble, flippant and bitter]. Say I was born when I was very young. When I was a year old I sold newspapers. By the time I was two I owned the stand.

Stop your kidding, Mr. Robin. I can get some real stuff into the papers about the way you put over a jazz song.

Everything, Jack. If it’s the right kind of a story. [To Lee.] You know how Jack puts over a song. That intensity of his. Something like the intensity of Billy Sunday. It’s a new note.

Yes, and if I can weave a colorful life story behind it—based just a little on fact—

All right. I’ll tell you. Say that every morning at eight o’clock I take a bath in certified milk.

Don’t waste any time kidding, Jack. Give Franklyn a general outline of your life—where you were born, your parents, and so on.

I—I’m sorry, Mr. Lee, but I’m kinda sensitive about my childhood. Not that I’ve been in jail or anything like that. But why doesn’t Mr. Forbes fake a story—I don’t care what he says—it’ll be O. K. with me.

Fine! I think I’ll have the usual East Side back-ground—hanging around with the gang—singing waiter in a Bowery dive—pious old father—

Now, please.... I don’t want you to think I am swell-headed.... I appreciate the fact that you are all trying to help me. But look—isn’t there enough in that Chicago stuff without going back to my cradle days?

That’s not a bad idea. Franklyn, why don’t you use the story of how Miss Dale discovered Jack?

I had a half hour to kill one day, and I dropped into one of those West Madison Street movie houses, and there he was.

Because after the opening night I’ll probably go back to Chicago—by freight. And the old gang at the movie house will give me the laugh. They’ll say, “Here he is—the great Jack Robin from Broadway! Hurray! Catch a broom and sweep out the place!”

You ought to see the suit I had, Mr. Lee, for eighteen fifty, with nine pair of pants!

And he was singing, “Take Me Back to Tennessee.” I never heard jazz sung quite like that before. There was a tear in it. I came every day that week. Jack did all sorts of things, comic songs, Mammy songs, sold candy up and down the aisle, announced next week’s program—about fourteen times a day.

Yeh, and I checked baby carriages, too! I did everything in that joint except collect the money. They wouldn’t let me do that.

[Rises]. Thanks very much, Mr. Robin. You gave me more stuff for a good story than you thought you did. So long, Miss Dale. See you in your office, Mr. Lee. [He goes.]

Mr. Lee, I took the liberty of writing a new gag in. It’s a good hot weather gag I’m going to pull with Carter. I say to Carter, “Now that the days are getting longer, I’m going into the ice business, so that when it gets too hot to work I can sit down on my business, and—”....

[Enters]. Mr. Robin, that tailor just brought your suit. He wants you to try it on.

[He goes. Lee is at the table sorting out some manuscripts when Randolph Dillings enters. Dillings is about 30, well tailored, poised, healthy looking. He is clearly a person of wealth and[84] breeding—a man whose only weakness, perhaps, is that he does not know what he wants and is not intently concerned with finding out.]

I’m afraid we didn’t. I’ve been thinking it over, and I’ve decided to take my money out of your show.

I don’t get you, Randy. You know it isn’t very businesslike of you to come here at the last moment like this and—

This wasn’t a business arrangement in the first place—and you know it. I think you know that Mary and I were once engaged to be married. You must realize that the only reason I put my money into this show was to protect her interests. She means a great deal to me....

Her interests are the same today as they were a month ago. The fact that she has discovered Jack and made me engage him does not alter anything.

[Quietly, without malice]. Well, I’ve learned differently. The thing I was afraid of has happened. It was bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose—an attachment of this sort.... Now, I’m no stage-door Johnny. I have my limit, and I’ve reached it. Today I wash my hands of all responsibility for Mary’s career. Be a good fellow and don’t let’s argue the matter any more. Simply mail me a check today.

You’re not taking him seriously, are you? Why, he’s just a harmless kid—eager to get along—

[Patiently]. You’re taking him seriously enough to prefer him to my money, aren’t you?

And Mary is taking him seriously enough to risk the gossip of her friends, isn’t she?

I haven’t a thing against the boy. I wouldn’t know him if I saw him. But it’s clear he’s not Mary’s sort. And if she’s traveling in that direction, she’s going to travel without me.

[With grim, vulgar efficiency]. We’re going to have it out right now. I’m going to prove to you that Jack Robin doesn’t mean anything in Mary Dale’s life.

If I can prove to you that this boy doesn’t mean anything to Mary, will you leave things as they are?

[Nervously]. Hello, Mary. Just dropped in for a moment. I must be running along.

[A direct man if not a subtle one]. Just a moment, Mary. Randy here thinks you are seriously in love with Jack Robin, and because of that he’s taking his money out of this show.

You gentlemen take my breath away with your—shall I say, delicacy? It’s very sweet of you to discuss me so intimately.

The point is this—I told Randy that Jack doesn’t mean anything to you—except, of course—

[Half amused, half indignant]. Just a minute, Randy. I know you too well not to understand that you’re acting, as usual, on principle. And I know Harry too well to mind his blunt ways. Apparently what you both want me to say is that Jack Robin doesn’t mean anything at all to me and that I shan’t see him after this except as one sees a fellow performer.

Well, I can’t say it. I like Jack tremendously and expect to see more of him than ever.

I’m always in a terrible fix for money. But I’m going to put this show through with what I’ve got if it breaks me.

How do you like these clothes, Mr. Lee? Don’t you think I look just like a manager? How’s this “Between the Acts”? [Shows a huge comedy cigar.] Long acts.

Beautiful day for the opening of the new show, isn’t it? [There is a dead silence. It is not that Dillings wishes to snub Jack, but that he is furious and confused at the situation he has been forced into,[90] and he does not quite know what to say. Jack turns to Mary and murmurs out of the corner of his mouth.] What’s the matter with this guy? [Pause—to Dillings.] I say, it’s a beautiful day.

Thank God, THAT’S settled! [There is another silence, then Jack turns, good-humoredly, to Dillings. He is like a healthy puppy wishing to make friends.] I feel that I have known you a long time, Mr. Dillings. Mary has spoken of you very often and any friend of Mary’s is a friend of mine....

[Jack realizes clearly now that he has been snubbed. With a hurt expression he backs out of the scene and sits on the trunk.]

[Dillings pauses a second, then he bows stiffly, turns, and, ignoring Jack, goes. After he has passed, Jack in solemn mockery tips his hat.]

[To Mary]. That’s that Randolph Dillings, isn’t it? I don’t think he likes me. Maybe he thinks I wear these clothes on the street.

He’s an old friend of mine. Fearfully rich and awfully nice, but old-fashioned.

Yeh.... Any time you see a guy act like that, you know he’s in love. Well, there’s one thing I’ll say about him, he’s got good taste.

[Moves closer to Mary. She is still sitting on the trunk. All of the flippancy has left him. He is suddenly shy and very earnest]. Yeh.... You know, if I make one-half the hit tonight that Lee expects me to make—if I go over half as big as everybody thinks I will—do you know what I’d like to do? I’d like to come over close to you, like this, and tell you ... that I love you.

There’s a man out there asking for a Jakie Robin. His name is—[Reads from card.]—Yudelson, Dealer in Diamonds and Jewelry. Do you know who it is?

Yudelson? It can’t be. [Yudelson enters.] Well, well, well, Yudelson! What are you doing here?... He’s all right, Jimmy.

Well, well, Jakele, what a big boy you are! I never would have known you. What a trouble I had with[93] him! First I asked for Jakie Rabinowitz. I forgot your Mama told me to ask for Jakie Robin.

She’s all right. She told me to ask you—she asked I should say to you—[He is obviously uncomfortable in the presence of Mary.] I must see you in person.

[Looks around, sees Mary]. Oh, Mary ... I I want you to meet Mr. Yudelson. This is Miss Mary Dale.

Mr. Yudelson is an old friend of the family. He’s known me since I was so high. [Measures with hand.] He and my father are great friends.

[There is a pause. Yudelson has revealed significant detail. Mary’s involuntary expression of surprise[94] shows this. Jack, for an instant, is confused. Then, with pride in his voice]. Yeh, my Father is the finest Cantor on the East Side.

Did you never heard of Cantor Rabinowitz of the Orchard Street Synagogue? I’m surprised!

[The warm, friendly smile on her face is her answer—her fraternal declaration—to Yudelson and to Jack]. Well I’ll run along. See you later, Jack. Goodbye, Mr. Yudelson. It was a pleasure to have met you.

[His arm about Yudelson’s shoulder, they move over to the table. Yudelson sits in the chair and Jack lounges on the table leaning on his elbow]. Well, Yudelson, I’m glad to see you. Sit down. What brings you up in this neighborhood?

The best doctor in New York. Dr. O’Shaughnessy from the Rockenfeller Institute.... Jakie, my boy, tonight starts the Day of Atonement—Yom Kippur—and this is the first time in your papa’s life what he wouldn’t be able to sing in the synagogue on Yom Kippur. So we had a meeting from the committee, who should sing in his place. Well, I was speaking to your mama, and she thought it would be a beautiful surprise for your papa if you would do it.

Don’t be foolish, Jakie. How much times was you kicked out—one time? A son could be kicked out twenty times, and yet a son is a son. If your papa knew you was singing tonight, it would make him happy.

Nonsense. I was telling the committee—you know how it is a committee—they wanted Levy, the Shamus, should sing. But I’m the chairman, and they all owe me money, so when they voted it was the way your mama wanted. I told them, “Jakie, when he was a little boy and he sang in the choir, his papa learned[96] him all the words of all the prayers. And what a little boy learns he never forgets....” And even if maybe a few words you should forget, you can look in the prayer book. Jakie, you can do it! I got confidence in you! And your mama—she’ll be the happiest—

What’s the matter with you, Jakie? Ain’t I telling you your papa is sick and your mama is waiting I should give her an answer?

[Slowly]. Yudelson, the show business is different from anything else. The finest actors keep right on working, even if there’s a death in the family. The show must go on.... It’s like a religion.... It’s like soldiers in an army....

[Enters with Jimmy]. Now remember, Jimmy, I don’t want any strangers on the stage during dress rehearsal. [Jimmy goes.] Jack! I want to see you.

Excuse me, this is Mr. Lee—my boss. Mr. Lee—gee, I don’t know how I can explain this to you. Well—this is Mr. Yudelson, an old family friend. He just told me that my father, down on the East Side, is very sick—

I held out on you, Mr. Lee, because my father and I had quarreled. I thought he never wanted to see me again. It hurt me so much that I wanted to start fresh, live a new life.... But now I find I didn’t quite understand. My father is the Cantor of the Orchard Street Synagogue. Tonight is the eve of the Day of Atonement. He and my mother sent Mr. Yudelson to ask me to sing in my father’s place tonight. I know all the prayers—

No, absolutely not. Why you’re the whole show. I’ve staked everything on you.... Jack, I’m going to tell you something. I was an actor myself once. My mother died one afternoon, but I went on that night....

I’m coming. [To Jack, slowly, earnestly, in a lowered voice.] Something happened a while ago that puts me in a position where I’m depending on you more than you know. Now, talk him out of it. [He goes.]

[After a moment of thought]. Yes.... Yudelson, do you realize what an awful lot of money is tied up in this show? It costs thousands and thousands of dollars....

The scenery ... the costumes ... and all the actors.... Mr. Lee is responsible for everything—and he’s counting on me. You heard him—he’s staking everything on me.

Yudelson, you’re a business man ... now I ask you, how can I leave this show ... on a big opening night ... just because my mama and papa all of a sudden ... don’t you see?

Well, Jakie, if you can’t sing tonight, I’ll have to sit and listen to that voice from Levy’s.

Yeh, like a nanny goat! Nu, what can I do? I’ll explain to your mama the best way I can.

[With feeling]. You wouldn’t have to ask me twice. You know I’d come if I could.

[Off-stage]. Dress rehearsal just starting. Everybody concerned in the opening on stage!

[From off-stage come the bustling sounds of final preparations for the dress rehearsal. Jack is standing motionless where Yudelson left him. A brown velvet drop comes down. Jack is the figure of a tragic Pierrot as he stands against this simple background in his ludicrously wide comedy pants and his ludicrously short comedy coat.... He turns ... finds himself sitting on the trunk alone, heavy-hearted. Lee comes bustling in. He goes over to table, not seeing Jack. He is busy with a manuscript for a few seconds, then he feels Jack’s presence; looks up.]

I knew you could do it! You’re clever enough to get away with anything.... Just think of it, one more[101] rehearsal and then the big opening. Aren’t you thrilled? Tomorrow everybody will be talking about you.

[To himself, in barely audible tones]. This is the first time in his life he won’t be able to sing in the synagogue....

[He rises, with a visible effort to shake himself out of his mood. He turns to Lee and begins walking off with the manager]. Oh, yes, Mr. Lee. I’ll do the best I can tonight—I only hope I won’t disappoint you.

[The words are scarcely out of Jack’s mouth when music is heard blaring off-stage, and the lights black out.]

Scene 2: Jack’s dressing room a few minutes later. Jack enters looking very unhappy. Automatically he glances at himself in the mirror, takes off his tie, his coat, his trousers, revealing another pair underneath. Then he sits down before the mirror. There is a knock at the door.

[Mary enters. She is in pink costume. As she opens the door, music off-stage is heard. As the door closes the music is muted.]

[The dialogue that follows goes on while Jack is preparing his make-up. He moves about occasionally, going from his dressing table to the wash-basin, to the clothes closet. This movement and this general business of his hands give an air of casualness to the rendition of lines which are anything but casual in their meaning to Jack and to Mary.]

What is worrying you? That man who was here just now? [Jack nods.] What’s the matter with him?

Nothing the matter with him. He brought me some news about my father and mother.

Oh, it isn’t fair! It isn’t fair for him to disturb you when you are all keyed up before your opening tonight.... Oh, Jack—I just want to keep you away from everything—from everybody—until tonight is over.

You’ve got the right hunch all right. Mary, Yudelson told me things that are making me hate myself.

I don’t think anything could make me hate you, Jack.... [There is a pause. She leans back, pretends to be absorbed in the ruffles on her costume.] Did you mean it ... when you said you loved me?

No, I didn’t know it.... Jack, since you told me about your father I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t get you out of my mind. A son of a Cantor....

Maybe it’s better that you should get me out of your mind. Maybe it would be better if I got you out of my mind.... Since Yudelson was here, I got a different slant on everything.... Yudelson and me, Dillings and you.... We’re far apart. We’re worlds apart. [He is now standing by the wash-basin filing a small bowl of water, and he moves slowly back to the dressing table carefully balancing the water.]

Well, you’re certainly not like me.... I know what you’re figuring. I’m a rough diamond—you’ll get me and polish me. Well, it’ll never happen. I’m going to be what I am all my life. And you’re going to be what you are.

[Pause]. Do you really want to know? [Mary nods her head breathlessly.] Because I couldn’t help it. Love means marriage to me, and marriage means a home and kids.... I—I’d like to have a kid like you ... a little boy—but like you.... Gee, I’m crazy about you!

I ain’t going to say it no more ... because I’ve got no right to say it.... Yudelson came and told me—

I can’t forget what Yudelson said. He said my father is sick. Tonight is the eve of the Day of Atonement—the most solemn Jewish holy day of the year, the big day of every Cantor’s year. You know what a Cantor is? He’s the mouthpiece of the congregation. He sings to God. My mother sent Yudelson to ask me to sing in my father’s place. You don’t know what it means to them. For five generations the Rabinowitzes have been Cantors. The name Rabinowitz is like a trade mark on Orchard Street. No substitutes will do....

What could I tell him?... The most important part of the services will be starting just about the time I have to go on the stage tonight.... I told him no, that I wouldn’t miss this opening, not even for my father and mother.

I’ve tried so hard to do that, but ... Mary, here’s something I never told anybody in my life.... Sometimes when I’m alone—and I’m alone a lot more than you think—the old songs from the synagogue start wailing in my ears ... and I—I cry.... In that hall bedroom in Chicago, I used to get down on my knees in the dark and talk to God in Hebrew. I—bawled him out ... because he made me only half a Cantor—half a Cantor, and half a bum. [He begins to black up.] If I was all bum, I wouldn’t care. What does a bum care? But if I was all Cantor, I would be happy.

[As he blacks up]. Why? You know why—people like you—like Lee. I’ve got Broadway in my blood. There’s something sweet about the sound of the English language in my ears.... I want to be part of America. I want to take it in my arms.... Gee, I wish I could express myself!...

He said a month ago he never wanted to see me again. I can see him now, eating his heart out ever since.

[Gently]. What can you do about it? Go down on the East Side and be a Cantor the rest of your life?

[Swiftly, with feeling]. That’s what I’ve been waiting to find out. [Music begins again off-stage.] Oh, don’t you see, Jack—I don’t want you selfishly. I want to see you live your own life. If the thing you want most is to be a black-face minstrel, then don’t let anything stand in your way—not your parents—me—anything....

[He is finishing blacking up]. I guess you’ve got the right idea, Mary. You’re O. K. [There is a knock on the door.] Come in.

Hear that music? That’s that new fox-trot. [Hums, crosses stage and washes hands.] It’s a steal from something.... Mary, you know, if people only knew what it was to black up like this, I bet everybody would do it. What’s the name of that bird that puts his head in the ground and thinks he’s all covered up?

Well, I feel like him with this black on. It covers your face and hides everything.... You know, Mary, this would be a good job if I didn’t have to buy so much soap. [Crosses to make-up shelf. Another knock on the door.] Come in.

[Enters, leaving door wide open. Music swells until door closes]. That man, Mr. Robin, the one who was here a while ago—he’s back. He insists on seeing you at once.

[Visibly affected]. It’s Yudelson.... Tell him he’ll have to wait until after this number.

No, Mary. Stay here. [Jack moves swiftly in front of her. He has almost got to the door when Yudelson enters, followed by Sara. She has evidently come in great haste, for all she wears is a shawl over her house dress. She is almost exhausted[111] from the trip, and numb with the emotions with which she is stricken.] Mama!

I told her everything, the same way you told me, Jakie, but she made me I should bring her here.

[In a monotone]. Jakie, your papa is sick. He is laying in bed. His face is white....

[All this happens very quickly. And now Jack, for an instant, has forgotten everything except his mother’s presence. He places a chair for her and automatically sinks back in his chair, arms on knees, facing her.]

[Continues numbly, hardly seeing the youth in blackface]. All the time he is talking about you. His eyes is open like a baby’s eyes. His face is white like a yahrzeit candle. He was saying, “Sara,” he said—his[112] voice was so low, I could hardly hear him—“maybe Jakie will sing tonight in the synagogue....”

He said it—the way I’m sitting here this minute, he said it.... For five generations God always heard a Rabinowitz sing every Day of Atonement, every holy day, every Sabbath. God is used to it now.... Maybe your papa is dying. God will ask him, Is Jakie singing in the synagogue tonight? How can he say, No, he is singing in a theatre!... Oh, my son, my heart is breaking in pieces.... You got two hours before the sun goes out of the sky and it gets dark. Come with me home, Jakie.

[In a more intense monotone]. How can you say this to me, your mama?... When you was a little boy, we were so poor.... I slaved my fingers to the bone that there should be money to buy you nice things. My fingers, they used to bleed. Look at my hands, Jakie. It is still there the marks.

All right, Gene.... Mama, I haven’t time to tell you—I’ve got to go on! Yudelson ... Mary ... tell my mother....

[As if in a trance]. Your papa said, “Ask Jakie he should forgive me. He is doing things from sin, but he don’t mean it. In his heart he is a Rabinowitz”.... Jakie, the way I’m sitting here, before God I swear it—that is what he said.

[Enters again]. We’re waiting for you, Mr. Robin. We can’t hold it any longer.

[Frantic]. Yes, yes, I’m coming!... Mama, if you only knew how the manager is depending on me.... [Off-stage can be heard the introductory chords to a jazz song.] They’re going to make me a star, Mama....

[With irritated finality]. There’s your introduction, Mr. Robin! [He goes.]

Yes, yes! [He is now in full comedy costume and is kneeling before his mother.] Mama, there’s my introduction—wait here fifteen minutes—I haven’t got time to tell you.... Yudelson! Please talk to my mama.

[He goes. The door is open. We see the changing lights through the door. Yudelson gently forces Sara into a chair by the door as we hear Jack off-stage shouting the comedy lines of the beginning of the act.... “I’m going down South to the land of cotton and jasmine, where the watermelons grow, where I can be with my Mammy. If you’ll all sit down I’ll sing you a song all about it”....

Then the orchestra throbs into wailing, syncopating life, and Jack is heard, off-stage singing a verse and chorus of “Dixie Mammy.” His rendition is excellent jazz—that is, it has an evangelical[115] fervor, a fanatical frenzy; it wallows in plaintiveness and has moments of staggering dramatic intensity, despite the obvious shoddiness of the words and the music. We are listening to a Cantor in blackface, to a ritual supplication on the stage, to religion cheapened and intensified by the trappings of Broadway. He finishes his first chorus.]

[Jack is going into a complicated staccato “talking” dramatization of the last half of the chorus—something like this:

“I—want—you—to—understand....
That—it’s—my—mammy....
My—mammy—I—tell—you....
And—my—daddy....
You—bet....
Your—life....
It’s—my—mammy—and—daddy, I—tell—you....
I’m—going—back—
I’m—going—back—down—South—
Down—South,—I—tell—you....”

[Sara rises, a broken creature, her frail body barely able to carry her out. She moves out of the door, Yudelson following her, trying to detain her.]

[The stage is empty. We see the grotesque, elongated shadows of Sara and Yudelson against the multi-colored lights back-stage as they pass, evidently out of the theatre. We are hearing Jack’s last line of the song—

His voice breaks. He repeats in intensely personal agony, “It don’t mean a thing ... it don’t mean a thing—my God!—it don’t mean a....”

There is a sudden awkward silence—a silence of a fraction of a second; and then we hear, offstage, a surge of congratulations. We hear Carter’s voice, the voices of women, Gene’s voice. The next instant Jack is in the door-way. He sees that the dressing room is empty. He turns, helplessly looking about. He knows it is no use—that his mother has gone. He stands for a second brushing the eyes of his blacked up face with his white glove.

And then Carter, Gene, half a dozen chorus girls, and Forbes break in upon him. They are enthusiastic, excited, congratulatory. Their remarks tumble one on top of the other in a confusion of sound:

Lee plunges in and scatters them all, crying—“Get out for the next number!” ... and Lee and Jack are alone. Jack is standing, his back to Lee, his head bent.]

Jack, that was wonderful! Why, you actually cried! Say, do it that way tonight and you’ll be a knock-out. [Lee bolts out, calling as he goes.] All right, Gene! Ready for the next number!

At rise: Stage is empty. Since it is about six o’clock on a September day, the light is beginning to wane. Throughout this act, dark gradually creeps into the room, while outside the window a bar of sunset radiance deepens in contrast.

There is a knock on the door, and Levy, the Shamus, or Sexton, corner in. He looks about, opening one or two doors, and apparently he finds no one. He shrugs his shoulders, muttering and humming to himself, and is about to go out when Moey enters from the music room.

Well, you tell him I got to see him personal—it’s very important. I’ll be back. [Levy goes. Moey looks out of the window with the air of a conspirator, takes a cookie from his pocket, munches it, draws a lurid dime novel from another pocket and settles himself comfortably to read. The door opens and he hastily thrusts the dime novel under the table, jamming the rest of the cookie, evidently stolen from the kitchen, into his pocket.]

[Enters, followed by Dr. O’Shaughnessy and Yudelson. Her face is deadly pale and lined with suffering. She is so weary that she can hardly move. She says over and over again]. He didn’t want I should stay with him.... My Yosele didn’t want I should stay with him.

[The doctor helps her over to the settee; then he takes bottles from his medicine case and prepares a potion for her.]

Yeh, a lot of people. Gee, Mrs. Schultz from upstairs, and Mrs. Lefkowitch ... and a lot of people.

Yeh, they all asked about him, and if he’s coming to sing. And Mr. Levy was here three times. He said you should see him as soon as you came.

All right, Moey, you can go—you’re a good boy. Here is the nickel I promised you for minding the house.

He didn’t want I should stay with him. My Yosele didn’t want I should stay with him—

That’s very natural, Mrs. Rabinowitz—the Cantor is weak. He needs the quiet of a hospital.

Quiet he needs? You think he’s laying there in the hospital quiet? Why did I tell him Jakie ain’t coming? Why didn’t I tell him a lie?

Now, drink this. Then you must lie down for a half-hour. And then you simply must eat. You promised the Cantor you were going to attend the services, you know, and you must have some nourishment if you’re going to fast tonight and tomorrow.

[Pause]. I think, if we keep him very quiet, he’ll come through. He has a powerful constitution. Come now, Mrs. Rabinowitz, take this.

Now, let me help you into your room. Just lie down for a little while—[He takes her to door.] Stay here as long as you can, Mr. Yudelson. And keep the neighbors out.

They say Mr. Levy doesn’t know any of the Cantor’s tunes, that his voice is inadequate, and that he’d be better off singing alone than spoiling the services with a choir.

[Slowly]. They’re loafers, but they’re right.... What can I do? The members are paying a special assessment five dollars for the Day of Atonement singing.... If Levy sings, they’ll want we should give them the money back.

Have you tried my cousin, Avram Lipski? He came from Russia last week. He lives around the corner.

Why didn’t you speak from this before? Avram Lipski I know—at least a voice he’s got.

[Knocks and enters]. Aha! Mr. Yudelson! You’re just the man I was wanting to see!

What kind answer is this? It’s nearly dark, and you couldn’t give me official the appointment yet?

[Follows Levy]. Mr. Levy, several points of view must be taken into consideration. The choir must be considered, for instance.

In a half an hour it will be too late. I got to practise a little bit in advance with the choir, ain’t I?

In half an hour it’ll be too late? For thirty years you waited the Cantor should get sick, you can wait another half hour!

[Undaunted]. Brother Yudelson, you are the chairman from the Executive Committee, no?

Brother Levy, I am the chairman of the Executive Committee. Make yourself a tsimmes from it.

All right—all right. Then you are the chairman from the Executive Committee. So I want to ask you, who is the shamus of the Orchard Street Synagogue? Am I the shamus oder ain’t I the shamus?

[The argument has reached its vociferous height when suddenly the door is opened and Jack stands on the threshold. His appearance cuts the noise of the three men in the room as if with a knife. They stare at him open-mouthed. He is out of breath. He is a young man who has made a grave decision, and that decision has already given him a new dignity. In an instant, pale and quiet, he is by Yudelson’s side.]

Yudelson, get me a praying shawl, and see if you can find a plush skull cap like the Cantor’s, only a little smaller.

You’re the shamus, ain’t you? For a shamus it ain’t hard to find plenty praying shawls.

[Moves to the door, protestingly]. He’s going to sing? A young boy from Broadway! What does he know from Shool? The committee is making a big mistake—[He goes.]

[Calls after him]. I’ll speak from this at the next committee meeting. [Moves over to Jack, deep feeling in his voice.] Jakie, I’m so glad you came.... I’m so glad. [Jack moves to the Cantor’s room.] Where you going?

She’s inside. You stay here. I’ll call her. [He goes out, calling.] Mrs. Rabinowitz! Mrs. Rabinowitz! Jakie is here! Jakie is here! [He comes back.]

[Can be heard, her voice throbbing]. Jakie here? [She enters.] I knew you was coming, Jakie. I knew[128] you was coming! [She sinks on the settee and for the first time tears stream from her eyes.] Oh, my Jakie ... my darling ... I knew you was coming....

Mama, Mama.... I couldn’t stand it.... I had to come.... Yudelson told me about Papa—[Dr. O’Shaughnessy enters.] Hello, Dr. O’Shaughnessy.

Oh, Jakie, he’ll be better now—he’ll be better. The doctor will tell him. Doctor, please go right away and tell the Cantor Jakie is here.

Better not. It might excite him too much to see you. I’ll tell him. It’ll do him all the good in the world....

[In surging excitement]. Doctor, tell the Cantor Jakie is going to sing!... Couldn’t I please speak with him on the telephone?

Tell him Jakie is standing on pins and needles, so anxious he is to practise with the choir. Tell him Jakie ain’t even thinking from no theatre.

I won’t. And don’t you forget to eat and get a good night’s sleep. Goodbye. [He goes toward the door, stopping by Yudelson.] My telephone number’s on this card. I’ll be at the hospital. If you want me call me there. [The Doctor goes.]

[In a low tone]. Yudelson ... don’t tell Mama ... but I left without even seeing the boss. Just as soon as the dress rehearsal was finished, I told the stage manager I wasn’t going to show up.... Well—you were there. You know what I told you about the show....

[Impressed]. It’s a lot of money, and you’re throwing it away for your papa!

It isn’t the money, Yudelson. Mr. Lee believed in me, and I left him flat. [He sits wearily.]

Never mind. Never mind. Don’t worry from bosses. A papa is hard to find, but bosses there’s planty....

[Nervously drumming with his fingers]. Why doesn’t Levy show up with that praying shawl? Why does everybody take so long?

They’re standing all ready now waiting—I’ll bring your praying shawl and a skull cap. Everything will be all right. [Yudelson hastens out. Jack sits in silence for a moment; then, head in his hands, he begins humming to himself the plaintive, majestic cadences of Kol Nidre. He might be his own great grandfather in the Russian Ghetto hidden in some dark cellar praying to a forbidden God, as he sits there, weary, determined, humming a tune thousands of years old. He does not hear the repeated knocks on the door. Lee has opened the door and entered, and is half-way toward Jack before the boy sees him.]

I got your message. Gene gave me the address. [He crosses to Jack. They both are standing, tense.] Do you realize what you’re doing?

Forget me—think of yourself. You’re a young fellow. Tonight is the chance of a lifetime for you.

You may think in your heart you’ll succeed anyway. I know better.... If you don’t come through for me tonight, I could never bring myself to engage you again. Rumors will creep out on Broadway. Your name will be mud. Stage people have little sympathy for the sort of thing you’re planning to do tonight....

[Dully]. I know it, Mr. Lee. I don’t want any mercy. [Sinks into the settee.]

[Shifts his tactics]. How sick is your father?... Is he too sick to be talked to?... I should think he’d be proud of you when you tell him what a great opportunity you’re getting....

It’s going to give you a much greater headache when the lawyers get after you.

You know, my boy, you signed a pay-or-play contract. And you didn’t sign it with me as an individual. You signed it with a corporation of which I am the president. That corporation has stockholders. Those stockholders vote....

Then fire me without asking them.... [He rises, drops into chair by table.] And keep the lawyers away, Mr. Lee. I don’t know anything about law.

[Closes in on Jack]. Now listen. This afternoon I broke with my biggest backer on your account. And now my own money—every dollar I have on earth—is at stake.... I hate to bring in the personal element,[135] Jack, but you have it in your hands either to make or break me.

[Head sunk in his hands]. It’s your money against my father’s life, Mr. Lee. What can I do?

I’ll tell you what you can do. You have one hour to get back to the theatre and live up to your contract with me.

I postponed this show twice because of you. The owners of the theatre have a show of their own they want to bring in. They’ll jump at this opportunity to put me out.

At this time of the year? [With sudden furious indignation.] You’ve got a lot of nerve, asking me that! Nobody ever did that much for me, and I’ll be damned if I’ll do it for you!

You bet I’m hard. I’m in a hard business. It’s[136] like being in an army. The soft man gets licked. You’re soft—and you’re getting licked.

[Raises his head]. Soft, because I’m giving up the biggest night of my life to keep my mother’s heart from breaking? Soft, because I’m going to pray in a synagogue so that my father can be proud of his family name—so that my father may live?... You think it’s going to be easy for me to stand there singing stuff that doesn’t mean anything to me anymore and give up playing to a big Broadway opening night?... Soft because I’m giving up the only girl I ever loved—

Yes, giving her up. She’s like you. Hardened to the stage idea. She thinks I’m soft, too—sentimental. Don’t you think I went through hell before I came down here?

[Harshly]. You’re kidding yourself. You really want to sing in a Synagogue tonight. You’re getting a kick out of feeling like a martyr. I’ve seen this sort of thing before. First-rate people don’t pull it. If you were made of the stuff that succeeds, you, with your brains and personality, could have talked your father and your mother out of it....

What’s the use of words, Mr. Lee? My father’s religion is a stone wall, and so is your business. [Rises.] I took my chance.... Good-bye, Mr. Lee—I have to run along.

This is my mother, Mr. Lee. Mama, this is Mr. Lee, the producer of the show I was rehearsing with—my boss.

I’ve got to practise with the choir. I’ll be back. [He goes. There is a silence.]

Not any longer.... Hello. I want to talk to Gene. Mr. Lee. Tell him to call me here as soon as possible. This is Orchard 5374. [Hangs up phone.]

[Gently]. I had a father, and I had a mother, too. They both died while I was working. I was working for another man. I had to attend to my business, and I did.

Your papa and mama wouldn’t attend to their business if you should die, God forbid.

My father and mother were on the stage all their lives, and I know they were proud to have me stick to my duty.

I’m sorry, Mrs. Rabinowitz, if I don’t seem to sympathize. But my relations with your son are business relations. He owes me a great deal.

From business I don’t know. All I know is what is in my Jakie’s heart. In his heart is love for his God and for his papa, and he wants tonight to sing to God the way his papa learned him.... Don’t you know this?... You looked at Jakie. Couldn’t you see this in his eyes?

Gene, do everything just as I laid it out before I left. We positively open tonight. Let Carter do all Robin’s scenes and numbers. He’ll do until Valentine can get up in the part. Now connect me with the booking office. [There is a knock on the door.] Come in! [Mary enters.] Mary! How did you get down here?

[In phone]. Hello. Anthony?... Did you hear from the booking office?... No, I told you to tell them we will not postpone. Jack Robin suddenly taken ill. Carter will appear tonight.... Did you wire Todd Valentine?... Good. Stick to the figure I gave you, but if he’s obstinate, double it if you have to—but close it in tonight by wire. He can work in every number we’ve got.... Goodbye.... I’ll be back later.

Harry, aren’t you a bit hard on Jack? He doesn’t really want to do this, you know. He has to.

Oh, no. He doesn’t have to. That boy is sentimental about his mother and father. He’s willing to be a failure just to be able to say, “I did it for my parents.”

You’re just as big a baby as he is! Jack is crazy to make good for you. You ought to know that.

[Despairingly]. Sometimes, Harry, when I hear you big successful men in critical moments, I wonder how you ever got where you are. You know so little about why people do things. You ought to know, Harry, that Jack will be back in three days, ready to sing his heart out for you.

[Impressively]. You just take one look at that boy and you’ll change your mind.

I’ve got to bring him back to his senses. He must not stay down here. It would ruin his whole career.

[Thoughtfully]. You can’t do anything with him.... Maybe you can with his mother.... That’s why I stayed behind. I want to talk to her just once more.... I want to convince her that he belongs to us, and not down here.

She’s real.... That’s why it took me so long to make up my mind. And then I realized that if I could show her the truth—[Sara enters]. How do you do, Mrs. Rabinowitz?

Hello, lady. Your name I don’t know, so excited I was in the theatre. You came maybe you should hear Jakie sing tonight?

Right now you couldn’t see him. He’s in the synagogue. He’s practising with the choir. Open the window, and you could hear him just like you was sitting there.

If you are a good friend from him, then with Jakie you shouldn’t speak tonight.

I’m afraid you don’t understand. I’m a good friend of Mr. Lee’s, but I’m also a very good friend of Jack’s.

A good friend from Jakie’s would leave him alone tonight. I am Jakie’s mama. Did I made him he should eat? No.... He wants he should practise with the choir. So I let him go hungry. Sometimes love lets people go hungry.

I love Jack, too, Mrs. Rabinowitz—and that’s why I want him to go to the theatre tonight.... It’s his one great opportunity. [A pause.] You know, I found him.

I recognized his ability—I helped him to realize his own powers. [Tensely.] Oh, please, can’t you understand? I’m trying to do the one thing a woman can do for a man.

[He has come to a decision and now breaks in]. Mrs. Rabinowitz, let me ask you a question.... When was the last time that Jack attended a synagogue?

When he was confirmed. He was thirteen years old. He sang a solo in the choir. It was beautiful.

[Crescendo]. Because I want that boy to be true to himself. Do you suppose the Cantor would want Jack to sing unless he sings with the heart of a Jew? I know that boy. He’s saying to himself, “My career is gone. The girl I love is losing faith in me. I don’t want to sing this stuff that I don’t understand—to a God whose meaning I don’t get.” He’s saying to himself, “My mother will be heartbroken if I don’t do it. My father will die. That’s why I’ll do it.”

[Rising to his climax]. Supposing the Cantor could see into Jack’s heart? Do you know what he would see there? Jazz music, nigger music—if you want to call it that. Do you think that would make him happy?

[The door opens and Jack enters. The evening light has deepened. Jack’s face is white, his eyes burning black. There is a new quality in him; he has become fanatic].

Mama, you better get ready. [He sees no one, apparently, except his mother.] The services will begin soon. [Now he sees Mary. Carefully laying down the praying shawl and skull cap he brought with him, he turns to her. He speaks quietly.] You came!

Jakie, I want you to do only what is in your heart. Answer me: Are you singing tonight because you love me and your Papa and your God—because you want to be in the Synagogue on the Day of Atonement—or is your heart far away in theatres with jazz music?

[Turning upon Mary and Lee]. What are you people doing here—what are you trying to do to me?

So did I.... Oh, Jack—don’t you understand? I love you. I love you enough to be cruel to you for your sake. Oh, my dear, tell me that you are true to yourself, and I’ll go. I’ll go and I’ll come back to you. Tell me that you lied this afternoon when[147] you said that the only real thing in your life was your career—tell me that you lied every time you got up on the stage in that Madison Street movie house—

[Mercilessly]. All we want is the truth, Jack. When I came in here—when I talked to you, didn’t you want to come back with me? In your heart didn’t you want to come back?

[Leans over him]. And yet you came ... you came home ... and you was singing with the choir....

[Her voice sings a hymn of sacrifice]. It’s enough. I didn’t know until today how different your life is[148] from your papa’s, from mine. I didn’t understand that by you being a ragtime singer is like by your papa being a Cantor.... Jakie—do what is in your heart.... Always you can come back to me. I’m your mama.... But if you sing tonight and God ain’t in your heart, your Papa he’ll know.... All his life your papa loved God and the truth. Maybe if I tell your papa, he will understand....

[On the point of collapse. His voice is bitter, sardonic in defeat]. Me a Cantor.... Funny—that’s what it is—funny.... I was just rehearsing with the choir, and they were like strangers to me—the same little boys that I used to play with—and they were strangers to me!... Sure! I’m from uptown—Broadway.... Seemed like every one of them was pointing his finger at me and saying, “Jakie Rabinowitz, jazz singer! Jakie Rabinowitz, jazz singer!”...

[Very quietly, very tactfully]. We have exactly a half-hour to get to the theatre.

[Her great moment of sacrifice]. It’s all right, Jakie.... You can go.... [The telephone rings—she crosses to it.] Hello—what?... Who?... I can’t hear you.... What?... It’s a buzzing in my ears—I can’t—

Hello.... I’ll talk for Mrs. Rabinowitz.... Yes, she’s right here. I’ll take the message.... What is it?... Doctor O’Shaughnessy? Yes.... [Her back is to the audience but it is evident that what she hears is staggering. She gasps.] Yes—no—I’ll—I’ll tell—him.... Goodbye. [She hangs up phone.]

[Who has turned when Mary gasped]. Mama, you’d better get ready. We’ll be late. [Takes her to door and she goes into the kitchen for the candles. He turns swiftly to Mary, holding the kitchen door closed behind him. His voice is tense.] Is he ... worse?

Oh, my God! [Emotion has returned to him. He sobs.] He told me God would punish me! I thought I could get away from Cantors! Well, God showed me.... [His voice rises to a wail and then subsides.] The Day of Atonement!—I’ll say it’s the Day of Atonement. [Sara enters with lighted candles. Jack suddenly turns to her.] Mama! I’m going with you! I’m going to the synagogue!

I’m your son. I’m the son of my father. Mama, I’m a Cantor, see?... I’m Cantor Rabinowitz! God’s going to hear me sing Kol Nidre tonight! [He is strong in the power of his decision.]

[Moves with her to the door]. You go ahead, Mama. You have to go to the balcony. I’ll look for you there from the altar.

[As she goes]. Your papa will be so happy! He will be so happy.... [Jack closes the door. There is a pause.]

Just root for me ... to get over ... like you did before.... No—I’ll be all right here.... What a little boy learns, he never forgets.... Goodbye, Mary. [He puts on skull cap and shawl, kisses the mazuzah, and is gone.]

[Faintly, through the closed windows, the murmur of the voices of the Children of Israel in prayer can be heard in the darkening room. The stained glass windows of the synagogue next door are lighting up and throw a many-colored radiance into the room.]

They are praying.... I want you to listen.... [Lee comes over by Mary. They stand silhouetted against the evening sky, a profile of radiance shed on them from the glowing window of the synagogue.] You are going to hear a blackface comedian singing to his God.... [Now the choir can be heard in the noble strains of Kol Nidre. Lee and Mary stand motionless. Jack’s voice rises, pouring forth in a flood of prayer; it subsides; rises again. Here is something of the same quality that he put, earlier that afternoon, into his cheap Mammy song.] Don’t you see, Harry, it’s in his blood.... He’ll have to come back.

[The wailing sing-song of the congregation beats in like the sound of surf; the choir’s rich harmonies rise again to the climax of Kol Nidre; Jack’s voice, clear and passionate, poignantly tops them all as the curtain falls.]

Transcriber’s Notes.

Text notes:

For the HTML version, page numbers of the original printed text are displayed within braces to the side of the text.
In order to facilitate word wrapping, ellipses in the middle of a sentence have been replaced with a group of three periods. This group has a leading and, unless a comma is present, trailing blank space added. Ellipses at the end of a sentence do not have a leading blank space, but closing punctuation has been added if needed.
Some text was silently italicized for consistency with other text.
Except as mentioned above and in the Change List that follows, every effort has been made to replicate text as faithfully as possible, including non-standard or inconsistently applied punctuation, inconsistently hyphenated words, and other idiosyncrasies.

Change List:

Page 63
The title text “SCENE 1” added.

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Cantor Rabinowitz	Mr. Howard Lang
Moey	Mr. George Shafer
Sara Rabinowitz	Miss Dorothy Raymond
Yudelson	Mr. Sam Jaffe
Jack Robin	Mr. George Jessel
Clarence Kahn	Mr. Robert Russel
Gene	Mr. Ted Athey
Eddie Carter	Mr. Barney Fagan
Harry Lee	Mr. Arthur Stewart Hull
Mary Dale	Miss Phoebe Foster
Randolph Dillings	Mr. Robert Hudson
Miss Glynn	Miss Mildred Leaf
Franklyn Forbes	Mr. Paul Byron
A Stage Doorman—Jimmy	Mr. Tony Kennedy
Levy	Mr. Nat Freyer
Six Chorus Girls	Misses Mildred Jay, Ruth Holden, Eleanor Ryan, Mildred McDonough, Viola Thomas, Betty Wilton, Rita Crane
A Scene Shifter	Mr. Jack Hill
Doctor O’Shaughnessy	Mr. Tony Kennedy

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Jazz Singer

THE JAZZ SINGER

FOREWORD

PREFACE

CAST OF CHARACTERS

SYNOPSIS OF SCENES

ACT ONE

ACT TWO

SCENE 1

SCENE 2

ACT THREE

Transcriber’s Notes.

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