THE JAZZ SINGER

                                  BY

                          SAMSON RAPHAELSON
           (Based on his story, “The Day of Atonement,” in
               _Everybody’s Magazine_, January, 1922.)

                               NEW YORK
                              BRENTANO’S
                              PUBLISHERS

                         Copyright, 1925, by
                          SAMSON RAPHAELSON

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.

              _Printed in the United States of America_

                                  To

                             Albert Lewis

     _A gentleman from the East Side and a scholar from Broadway_




                              _FOREWORD_


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.

                                             Samson Raphaelson.




                              _PREFACE_


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 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.

                                             Samson Raphaelson.

New York, October, 1925.




                         _CAST OF CHARACTERS_

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.

  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 JAZZ SINGER




                         _SYNOPSIS OF SCENES_


  ACT I—_The home of the Cantor on the East Side. The_ 14_th of
    August, afternoon._

  ACT II

    SCENE 1—_About a month later. Back-stage at the Fulton Theatre,
      New York._

    SCENE 2—_A few minutes later. Jack’s dressing room._

  ACT III—_Same as Act I. A few hours later._




                               ACT ONE

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 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._

MOEY _is singing._

                                CANTOR

[_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?

                                 MOEY

It means, “I, my prayer.”

                                CANTOR

And what means “Lecho Adoshem”?

                                 MOEY

That means, “To you, O God.”

                                CANTOR

Good! And what does it mean, “Ais Rutzon Elohim”?

                                 MOEY

“When you are ready, O God.”

                                CANTOR

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

                                 MOEY

 [_Hesitates_]. I don’t know what that means.

                                CANTOR

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.

                                 MOEY

Why did Jakie run away from home?

                                CANTOR

[_Pause_]. Who said.... Where did you heard that?

                                 MOEY

Gee, everybody knows that ... all the boys in the choir....

                                CANTOR

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

                                 MOEY

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

                                CANTOR

You shouldn’t speak from supper, Moey, when we are speaking from God.

                                 MOEY

Can I help it? I’m hungry.

                                CANTOR

[_Craftily_]. In the kitchen we got nice cookies.

                                 MOEY

Cookies? What kind?

                                CANTOR

With raisins in them.

                                 MOEY

Oh, I like them. Can I have some?

                                CANTOR

Certainly, my child, but sing first.

[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 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._]

                                CANTOR

Ain’t that beautiful, Sara?

                                 SARA

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

                                 MOEY

You bet I am. Can I have some of your raisin cookies, Mrs. Rabinowitz?

                                 SARA

Raisin cookies?

                                CANTOR

I promised Moey he could have some if he sang nice.

                                 SARA

They ain’t ready yet.

                                CANTOR

Well, you come back in an hour, Moey. Then they’ll be ready.

                                 SARA

Yes, go my child. I’ll keep a whole lot of cookies warm for you.

                                 MOEY

[_Takes prayer boot_]. Thank you, Mrs. Rabinowitz.

                                 SARA

You’re welcome. Give my love to your mama.

                                 MOEY

[_Moves to door_]. Thank you. Goodbye. I won’t eat much at home. [_He
goes._]

                                CANTOR

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.

                                 SARA

[_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.

                                CANTOR

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

                                 SARA

I heard you from the kitchen—you spoke it yourself to Moey.

                                CANTOR

Well, Moey and me—we was singing and—well, I made a mistake.

                                 SARA

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

                                CANTOR

It’s so long since I found a boy with a voice like Moey.... I forgot
myself.

                                 SARA

Our Jakie had a voice even more beautifuller—even before he ran away—

                                CANTOR

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.

                                 SARA

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....

                                CANTOR

I don’t want to know from his letters.

                                 SARA

But he’s got a good steady job. In Chicago.

                                CANTOR

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 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?

                                 SARA

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

                                CANTOR

And you think I don’t! Please, don’t speak no more.

                                 SARA

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

                                CANTOR

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

                                 SARA

Please, Yosele, you shouldn’t excite yourself.

                                CANTOR

[_Mutters_]. The memory of that boy is shortening my life.

                                 SARA

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.

                                CANTOR

[_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._]

                                 SARA

[_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.

                               YUDELSON

[_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!

                                 SARA

Mr. Yudelson!

                               YUDELSON

Well, it’s the Cantor’s birthday, so—

                                 SARA

Sh! It’s a surprise. The Cantor is asleep.

                               YUDELSON

[_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!”

                                 SARA

A praying shawl! How did you know about the birthday?

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 SARA

[_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._]

                               YUDELSON

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.

                                 SARA

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

                               YUDELSON

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.

                                 SARA

[_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._]

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 SARA

[_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!

                               YUDELSON

Did I told you what the Gershons are bringing the Cantor?

                                 SARA

The Gershons?

                               YUDELSON

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—

                                 SARA

A hand painting?

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 SARA

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

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 SARA

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

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 SARA

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.

                               YUDELSON

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.

                                 SARA

Maybe the Cantor wouldn’t like it.

                               YUDELSON

Come on, go ahead!

                                 SARA

No, I can’t do it.

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 SARA

You shouldn’t open it—it’s on the top shelf. [_Points._]

                               YUDELSON

[_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._]

                                 SARA

If it’s bad news I don’t want to hear it. [_Pause._] It’s bad news?

                               YUDELSON

[_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.

                                 SARA

[_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._]

                               YUDELSON

[_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.

                                 SARA

Does he say what kind of a job?

                               YUDELSON

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._]

                               YUDELSON

Come in.

                               CLARENCE

[_Enters. He is a youth of about 21 and is impressively clad in a
tight fitting, double-breasted blue 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!

                               YUDELSON

Hello, Clarence!

                               CLARENCE

[_Bowing to_ MRS. RABINOWITZ]. Hello, Mrs. Rabinowitz.

                               YUDELSON

Say, what’s the matter? Ain’t you studying in City College this
afternoon?

                               CLARENCE

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

                               YUDELSON

Ssh! The Cantor’s asleep. It’s a surprise.

                               CLARENCE

[_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.]

                               YUDELSON

Amen, amen, amen, amen!

                                 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?

                               CLARENCE

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!_]

                                 SARA

A praying shawl!

                               YUDELSON

A praying shawl! Must have been a sale some place!

                                 SARA

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._]

                                CANTOR

Yudelson.

                               YUDELSON

Good evening, Cantor.

                                CANTOR

Mr. Kahn.

                               CLARENCE

Good evening, Cantor!

                                CANTOR

Well, you came to see me?

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

                               YUDELSON

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

[_They go out with ludicrous haste._]

                                CANTOR

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

                                 SARA

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

                                CANTOR

What will I know at supper?

                                 SARA

Well, we’re going to have turkey ... and wine—

                                CANTOR

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._]

                                 SARA

[_With blissful secretiveness_]. Maybe! [_Then she surrenders, her face
aglow._] Don’t you know what day it is today?

                                CANTOR

Thursday. What kind holiday is it?

                                 SARA

Guess.

                                CANTOR

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

                                 SARA

[_Kissing him_]. It’s today your birthday, Yosele! the 14th day from
August!

                                CANTOR

[_Surprised_]. My birthday?

                                 SARA

Sure!

                                CANTOR

[_Absently_]. How old am I?

                                 SARA

You’re sixty years old today.

                                CANTOR

Ts—ts—ts—sixty years old. It couldn’t be!

                                 SARA

[_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!

                                CANTOR

Old friends is a good thing.

                                 SARA

And what do you think? They brought you a beautiful praying shawl.

                                CANTOR

Who?

                                 SARA

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.

                                CANTOR

That’s nice, the boys should remember.

                                 SARA

[_Shows shawls_]. This one is Clarence’s, and this one from Mr.
Yudelson.

                                CANTOR

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

                                 SARA

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

                                CANTOR

You don’t have to.

                                 SARA

Well, the true is, I did. But I have to change it.

                                CANTOR

Why?

                                 SARA

Would you believe it—I got you a praying shawl, too!

[_They laugh and embrace._]

                                CANTOR

Now we’ve got enough praying shawls for twenty years.

                                 SARA

You should wear them in good health, mine _teure_.

                                CANTOR

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

                                 SARA

Where are you going, Yosele?

                                CANTOR

I’m going to the synagogue.

                                 SARA

Don’t stay long—everything is on the stove. Supper will soon be ready.

                                CANTOR

[_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 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._]

                                 JACK

Mama! Mama! [_He kisses her._]

                                 SARA

Jakie, Jakie! My baby! My darling!

                                 JACK

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

                                 SARA

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

                                 JACK

I just got off the train.

                                 SARA

And the first thing you came to your mama!

                                 JACK

Who else?

                                 SARA

You’ll stay and have supper?... Hello, Jakie, how are you!

                                 JACK

Say, Mama, did you miss me?

                                 SARA

Such a question to ask your mama!

                                 JACK

How is papa?

                                 SARA

[_Sighs_]. Oh, he will be glad to see you.

                                 JACK

How does he feel?

                                 SARA

Healthy, thank God. Jakie, you’ll live here with us, no?

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

[_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 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._]

                                 JACK

Here, what are you doing?

                                 SARA

I want to put this in your room.

                                 JACK

Don’t make yourself a baggage man, Mama.

                                 SARA

I want to put everything away so you’ll know where they are.

                                 JACK

If you put them away, Mama, I won’t know where anything is.

                                 SARA

[_Quaintly_]. Well, I want to see what you got.

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

Wrapper?

                                 JACK

Yeh, a wrapper for a gentleman.

                                 SARA

[_Takes out leather case_]. Oh, what a big pocketbook!

                                 JACK

That’s a picture.

                                 SARA

A picture from you?

                                 JACK

No—I know how I look. What do I want of my picture?

                                 SARA

[_Opening it_]. Who is this?

                                 JACK

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._]

                                 SARA

It’s a beautiful girl.... She lives in that house?

                                 JACK

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

                                 SARA

It’s a big house, Jakie, for only one girl. She’s got a husband, no?

                                 JACK

Not yet, Mama. Look at these shirts. They’re silk!

                                 SARA

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

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

_Ain’t_ that a shame! Such a nice girl, too! And who lives in this
house?

                                 JACK

The dog!

                                 SARA

That’s a nice house.

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

[_Closes her eyes._] How can I count if I don’t say anything?

                                 JACK

[_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!

                                 SARA

[_Looks at brooch_]. Diamonds! with stones in it!

                                 JACK

Sure—certainly!

                                 SARA

Real diamonds?

                                 JACK

If they’re not, Mama, somebody played me a dirty trick.

                                 SARA

Jakie, where did you get so much money?

                                 JACK

Don’t worry about money, Ma. I got lots more where that came from.

                                 SARA

[_Worried_]. You didn’t do any wrong, did you, Jakie?

                                 JACK

No, Mama.

                                 SARA

But what kind job could a young boy have that he should have so much
money?

                                 JACK

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

                                 SARA

[_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?...

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

Jakie, you don’t get the headaches any more?

                                 JACK

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 to picture above phonograph._] Didn’t there used
to be a picture of me there?

                                 SARA

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

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

[_Joins him_]. Sure, it’s in the same place, Jakie.

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

I’ll never forget how much it cost to fix it.

                                 JACK

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

                                 SARA

Yes, Jakie.

                                 JACK

[_Turns to phonograph_]. This is nice, Mama. Does it play, too?

                                 SARA

Sure it plays. It played last week.

                                 JACK

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?

                                 SARA

Red Hot Mama, what’s that?

                                 JACK

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

                                 SARA

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

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

Go on, Jakie, I wouldn’t do that!

                                 JACK

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

                                 SARA

I don’t know. We pay every month.

                                 JACK

Then you’ve got an upright! Let’s go and see. [_They go out together._]

[_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 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—_]

                                 SARA

No, no, Jakie! You shouldn’t sing like that! It is wrong!

                                 JACK

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.

                                CANTOR

[_Slowly_]. What are you doing in this house?

                                 JACK

What am I doing? Didn’t you expect me? I wrote you I was coming.

                                 SARA

He said, “Hello, Papa.” It’s your son, Jakie.

                                CANTOR

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

                                 JACK

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.

                                CANTOR

For five years you didn’t need your papa. You don’t need him now.

                                 SARA

Yosele, please!

                                CANTOR

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.

                                 SARA

No, Yosele. It was my fault. I wanted he should see the new piano.

                                 JACK

[_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....

                                CANTOR

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
synagogue and the next minute singing in the street. You’re the same
now.

                                 JACK

[_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._]

                      “Nothing ever hurries me,
                       Nothing ever worries me,
                            Easy come,
                            Easy go,
                       It’s all the same to me!”

I just got them mixed, Papa—See?

[_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, is
fluttering between_ JACK _and his father. She is too excited to know
what she is saying._]

                                 SARA

Jakie, where did you learn to sing like that?

                                 JACK

[_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.

                                CANTOR

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

                                 SARA

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.

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

We are glad, Jakie. I’m so happy. I’m crying with happiness.

                                 JACK

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!

                                 SARA

[_Pleading_]. Look, Yosele.

                                CANTOR

[_Looks straight ahead. His voice is numb_]. Thank you.

                                 SARA

[_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.

                                 JACK

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.

[_The CANTOR does not move._]

                                 SARA

[_At a loss for something to say_]. Tom Brady?

                                 JACK

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

                                CANTOR

[_Slowly turning to_ JACK]. The stage? What do you mean, the stage?
Theatre? Are you in the theatre business?

                                 JACK

Sure, Papa. I’m an actor. Jack Robin—that’s me.

                                CANTOR

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!

                                 JACK

What’s wrong with being an actor? I meet nice people—I make good money.

                                CANTOR

[_Furiously_]. Money, money, money! Pickpockets make money, too!

                                 JACK

Aw, don’t say that—don’t talk like that.

                                 SARA

Yosele, please!

                                CANTOR

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.

                                 SARA

[_Almost hysterically_]. Where are you going to act, Jakie? Downtown
here?

                                 JACK

No, Mama. I’m going to act uptown. In English.

                                CANTOR

What kind English acting are you doing uptown?

                                 JACK

[_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.

                                 SARA

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._]

                                 JACK

Now, please, Mama, he doesn’t want to see that.

                                CANTOR

I’m asking you—what kind English acting you are doing uptown?

                                 SARA

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

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

See, Yosele, he didn’t forget he’s a son from a Cantor.

                                CANTOR

WHAT KIND ENGLISH ACTING ARE YOU DOING UPTOWN?

                                 JACK

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—

                                CANTOR

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 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?

                                 JACK

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

                                CANTOR

[_Fearfully_]. What kind singing?

                                 JACK

Didn’t you hear me? I sing jazz songs. Ragtime.

                                CANTOR

[_Stunned_]. Mama, did you heard what he said?

                                 SARA

Jakie, you are fooling!

                                 JACK

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.

                                CANTOR

A joke maker! A jazz singer! Oh, my God in Heaven! Does it mean nothing
that Rabinowitz is 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.

                                 JACK

[_Hopelessly_]. All right, all right. [_Moves to settee, begins to pack
his bag._]

                                 SARA

Jakie, tell him you are sorry. Tell him you are ashamed.

                                 JACK

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.

                                CANTOR

I don’t want to share anything with you! Go back to your sidewalks!

                                 JACK

[_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 mama—my papa—the synagogue,—and now my work in the
theatre.

                                CANTOR

Don’t you mention the word synagogue in this house again!

                                 SARA

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

                                CANTOR

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._]

                                 SARA

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.

                                 JACK

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 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._]

                                 SARA

[_Touches_ CANTOR _on shoulder_]. He’s gone, Yosele. Our Jakie is gone.

                                CANTOR

[_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!

                                 SARA

[_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!

                                CANTOR

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

                                 SARA

[_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?

                                CANTOR

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

                                 SARA

[_Proudly_]. Ain’t it you are mine man—my Cantor?

                                CANTOR

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._]

                                 SARA

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._]




                               ACT TWO


                              _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
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._

                                 LEE

That’s all right! Is everybody concerned in the Dixie scene here?

                                 GENE

Everybody concerned in the Dixie scene stand by.

                                 LEE

[_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.

                                CARTER

[_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?”

                              DETECTIVE

“That’s right, chief.”

                                CARTER

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

                                 GENE

[_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!”

                                 MARY

[_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.”

                                 GENE

“Did you know that Gus is a bootlegger?”

                                 MARY

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

                                 GENE

“Where is Gus the porter? Has any one seen him? Where can he be?”

                              MISS GLYNN

“Look! Here he comes now.”

[_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._]

                                 ALL

“Ah”!

                                 LEE

Where is Jack?... Robin! That’s your cue. Come on!

[_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._]

                                 JACK

Spade—spade—spade! You lose! [_Now he hastens to the center of the
scene. With an apologetic word to_ MR. LEE _he turns to his
script._] Now, where are we?

                                 GENE

“Gus, where’ve you been?”

                                 JACK

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

                                CARTER

“What’s so wonderful about that?”

                                 JACK

“You go home and try it!”

                                CARTER

That’s the cue for my Poppy number, isn’t it, Mr. Lee?

                                 LEE

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

                                CARTER

Now, Mr. Lee, that’s the best number I got. That’s where I do my
specialty.

                                 JACK

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

                                 LEE

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

                                 JACK

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._]

  “Home pa-hals, home pa-hals,
   Sad was the day when I blundered away
   From my Home pals;
   Wan-dered—
   Squ-handered—
   My mammy’s lo-hove without any ru-heason or ru-hyme
   To have
   A wo-hunderful time....”

[LEE _blows his whistle and stops the singing._]

                                 LEE

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.

                                 MARY

That’ll be wonderful, Jack.

                                 JACK

[_Not quite casually_]. Do you think so?

                                 MARY

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

                                 LEE

Let me see it, Mary.

                                 MARY

All right. [_She goes._]

                                CARTER

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

                                 LEE

Well, Carter, what’s on your mind? Make it snappy.

                                CARTER

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?

                                 JACK

[_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.

                                 LEE

What’s the matter, Jack, losing your nerve?

                                 JACK

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

                                 LEE

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

                                 JACK

I think it’s great, Mr. Lee, but—

                                 LEE

[_Interrupts brusquely_]. All right, then. [_Turns to_ GENE.] Gene,
tell O’Hara to send that little Glynn girl here at once.

                                 GENE

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._]

                                CARTER

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

                                 JACK

[_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.

                                CARTER

Debutt?

                                 JACK

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._]

                              MISS GLYNN

Mr. Lee, did you want me?

                                 LEE

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?

                              MISS GLYNN

[_Trembling_]. Yes, sir.

                                 LEE

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?

                              MISS GLYNN

N—no—B—but I thought—

                                 LEE

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

                                 JACK

[_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!

                                 LEE

Well, I’ll be damned!

                                 JACK

[_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._]

                                 LEE

You better not let Miss Dale catch you doing favors for little girls.

[JACK _grins and strolls across the stage, watching the electrician who
is playing with lighting effects._]

                                 MARY

[_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—

                                JIMMY

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

                                 LEE

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.

                                 MARY

Is Randy still bothering you about Jack?

                                 LEE

Yes. The last time he was down he wanted me to let Jack go.

                                 MARY

Why?

                                 LEE

You.

                                 MARY

I don’t understand.

                                 LEE

He’s jealous.

                                 MARY

But he hasn’t even met Jack. He didn’t say anything to me about it.

                                 LEE

Of course he wouldn’t—to you.

                                 MARY

That’s perfectly childish of him.

                                 LEE

[_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._]

                                 MARY

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

                                 JACK

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.

                                 MARY

Is there anything wrong, Jack? Is something worrying you?

                                 JACK

You’re worrying me.

                                 MARY

I?

                                 JACK

[_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 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.

                                 MARY

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.

                                 JACK

[_Slowly_]. Not everybody. I know somebody who won’t be proud of me.

                                 MARY

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

                                 JACK

Well, I—I quarreled with them.

                                 MARY

Where are they?

                                 JACK

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

                                 MARY

I’m sorry.

                                 JACK

[_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....

                                 MARY

Well, I guess a lot of stage people have the same sort of problem you
have.

                                 JACK

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.

                                 MARY

Oh, my dear, serious young man, there’s nothing terrible in that.

                                 JACK

You don’t know my father and mother, Mary.

                                 MARY

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.

                                 JACK

Well, my father ain’t ever going to brag about me, I can tell you that!

[_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 snappily dressed,
about 30. The two of them bring back the speed and exuberance of the
theatre._]

                                 LEE

Here they are! Jack, you know Franklyn Forbes, our publicity man?

                                 JACK

How are you, Mr. Forbes?

                                 LEE

Franklyn wants to do a story on you in a hurry.

                                FORBES

First of all, I want to get the story of your life.

                                 JACK

[_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.

                                 LEE

Come on, Jack. Franklyn’s in a hurry.

                                FORBES

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

                                 JACK

What has the story of my life got to do with the way I put over a jazz
song?

                                 MARY

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.

                                FORBES

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

                                 JACK

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

                                 LEE

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

                                 JACK

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.

                                FORBES

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—

                                 JACK

I—I don’t think that East Side stuff is so good.

                                FORBES

I do. It always makes fine human interest material.

                                 JACK

[_Obstinately_]. Well, I don’t think so.

                                 LEE

We can’t waste any more time on this. Write anything you want to,
Franklyn.

                                 JACK

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?

                                 LEE

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

                                 MARY

I’ll tell it to you, Franklyn. I was playing in Chicago—

                                FORBES

[_Takes out pad and pencil, sits at table_]. You were playing in
Chicago?

                                 MARY

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.

                                 JACK

This won’t be any good either—

                                 LEE

Why?

                                 JACK

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!”

                                FORBES

What movie house was it, Miss Dale?

                                 MARY

I don’t know. What house was it, Jack?

                                 JACK

Oh, a funny little place under an elevated station—called The Happy
Hour.

                                FORBES

What were you doing there?

                                 JACK

I was looking at Mary.

                                 MARY

Jack was standing in a spotlight—dressed in _such_ clothes....

                                 JACK

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

                                 MARY

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.

                                 JACK

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

                                 MARY

Well, you know the rest, Franklyn.

                                FORBES

[_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._]

                                 LEE

Come on, Jack. We’ve got a lot of work to do.

                                 JACK

Mary, do you want to come along with us?

                                 MARY

I’d love to, Jack, but I have to telephone Dad.

                                 LEE

Give my regards to your father, Mary.

                                 MARY

Thanks, I will. [_She goes._]

                                 JACK

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—”....

                                 GENE

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

                                 JACK

That funny suit for the last act with the little hat?

                                 GENE

Yes.

                                 JACK

I want to see that. [_To_ LEE.] Excuse me.

[_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
breeding—a man whose only weakness, perhaps, is that he does not know
what he wants and is not intently concerned with finding out._]

                                 LEE

Hello, Randy.

                               DILLINGS

Hello, Harry.

                                 LEE

Come to see the rehearsal?

                               DILLINGS

No, I came to see you. Can we go to your office?

                                 LEE

The office is full of people. We can talk here. What’s on your mind?

                               DILLINGS

This jazz singer of yours, Jack Robin, and Mary’s interest in him.

                                 LEE

I thought we settled that a month ago.

                               DILLINGS

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

                                 LEE

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—

                               DILLINGS

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....

                                 LEE

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.

                               DILLINGS

[_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.

                                 LEE

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

                               DILLINGS

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

                                 LEE

[_Pause_]. Yes, I am.

                               DILLINGS

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

                                 LEE

Yes, but—

                               DILLINGS

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.

                                 LEE

[_He has made a decision; calls suddenly_]. Gene!

                                 GENE

[_Enters_]. Yes, sir?

                                 LEE

Get Miss Dale.

[GENE _goes._]

                               DILLINGS

Here! I won’t have any of that. No scenes, please.

                                 LEE

[_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.

                               DILLINGS

I won’t have Mary Dale brought into this discussion.

                                 LEE

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

                                 MARY

[_Enters_]. Hello, Randolph.

                               DILLINGS

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

                                 LEE

[_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.

                                 MARY

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

                               DILLINGS

[_Furious_]. See here, Harry, this isn’t the sort of thing—

                                 LEE

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

                                 MARY

Except what?

                               DILLINGS

Really, this is becoming intolerable. I’m going.

                                 MARY

[_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.

                                 LEE

[_With a hearty sigh of relief_]. Exactly!

                                 MARY

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

                               DILLINGS

I’m sorry this has happened.

                                 MARY

Harry, does this mean that you’re going to be in a terrible fix for
money?

                                 LEE

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.

                                 MARY

Harry—you’re a darling.

                                 LEE

No—just a business man.

[JACK _is heard singing and talking off-stage._]

                                 MARY

There’s Jack now. Do you want to meet him? Jack! Yoo-hoo!

                               DILLINGS

No.

[_But_ JACK _is already entering—in comedy costume._]

                                 JACK

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.

                                 MARY

Jack, I want you to meet Mr. Randolph Dillings. Randy, this is Mr. Jack
Robin.

                                 JACK

[_Cordially_]. How are you, Mr. Dillings?

                               DILLINGS

[_Coldly_]. How do you do?

[_There is a pause._]

                                 JACK

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, 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.

                                 MARY

[_Mischievously_]. Yes, Jack, it is a beautiful day.

                                 JACK

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....

                               DILLINGS

[_To_ MARY]. Well, I must be going. Goodbye, Mary.

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

                                 LEE

Will I see you again, Randy?

                               DILLINGS

I’m sorry—I’m afraid I won’t have time to see you again, Harry.

                                 LEE

[_Also snubbed_]. Very well. [_He goes._]

                                 MARY

Goodbye, Randy.... I know you don’t mean to be like this.

[DILLINGS _pauses a second, then he bows stiffly, turns, and, ignoring_
JACK, _goes. After he has passed,_ JACK _in solemn mockery tips his
hat._]

                                 JACK

[_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.

                                 MARY

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

                                 JACK

Is he in the show business?

                                 MARY

He was.

                                 JACK

Smart enough to get out, huh?... He’s stuck on you, ain’t he?

                                 MARY

We were engaged once.

                                 JACK

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.

                                 MARY

Do you think so?

                                 JACK

[_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.

[JIMMY _enters._]

                                JIMMY

Mr. Robin.

                                 JACK

That guy picks the darndest time to come in!

                                JIMMY

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?

                                 JACK

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

[JIMMY _goes._]

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 JACK

My Mama? What’s the matter with Mama?

                               YUDELSON

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.

                                 JACK

[_Looks around, sees_ MARY]. Oh, Mary ... I I want you to meet Mr.
Yudelson. This is Miss Mary Dale.

                                 MARY

How do you do?

                               YUDELSON

How do you do. [_Looks at_ JACK _as he shakes her hand._] A pleasure!

                                 JACK

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.

                               YUDELSON

Cantor Rabinowitz and me, we are like this. [_Puts two fingers
together._]

                                 JACK

[_There is a pause._ YUDELSON _has revealed significant detail._ MARY’s
_involuntary expression of surprise 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.

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 MARY

[_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.

                               YUDELSON

By me it’s all right, too!

[MARY _goes._]

                                 JACK

[_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?

                               YUDELSON

Jakie, I came to tell you your papa is sick.

                                 JACK

[_Site up straight_]. What’s the matter with him? Has he got a good
doctor?

                               YUDELSON

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.

                                 JACK

Me to sing? My God, Yudelson, he kicked me out of the house only a
month ago.

                               YUDELSON

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.

                                 JACK

But, Yudelson, I can’t do it!

                               YUDELSON

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 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—

                                 JACK

But, Yudelson, this show opens tonight!

                               YUDELSON

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?

                                 JACK

[_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....

                                 LEE

[_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.

                                 JACK

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—

                                 LEE

East Side?

                                 JACK

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—

                                 LEE

My dear boy, it’s out of the question.

                                 JACK

Mr. Lee, isn’t there any possible chance?

                               YUDELSON

Only tonight and tomorrow until it gets dark.

                                 LEE

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....

                                 GENE

[_Appears left_]. Say, chief—

                                 LEE

What is it?

                                 GENE

The fire underwriters are here.

                                 LEE

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._]

                               YUDELSON

That’s your boss?

                                 JACK

[_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....

                               YUDELSON

[_Impressed, the business man in him responding_]. Is _that_ so!

                                 JACK

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

_Is_ that so?

                                 JACK

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?

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 JACK

Levy—that’s the Sexton, isn’t it? I’ll bet he’s got a fine voice.

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 JACK

Yes, try to explain to them, Yudelson.

                               YUDELSON

You’re sure you can’t come?

                                 JACK

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

                               YUDELSON

[_Shrugs shoulders_]. All right, Jakie. Well, goodbye. Leshono Tovo
Tikosamu.

                                 JACK

Thank you. Happy New Year to you, too.

                               YUDELSON

Look! He remembers! [_He goes._]

                                 GENE

[_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._]

                                 LEE

Well, Jack, that old boy from the East Side has gone, eh?

                                 JACK

[_Barely raising his head_]. Yes, he’s gone.

                                 LEE

[_Goes over to_ JACK]. Talked him out of it, did you?

                                 JACK

[_Slowly_]. Yes, I talked him out of it.

                                 LEE

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

                                 JACK

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

                                 LEE

What’s that, Jack?

                                 JACK

[_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._]

                               CURTAIN




                               SCENE 2

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._

                                 JACK

Come in.

[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._]

                                 MARY

Hello.

                                 JACK

Hello.

                                 MARY

Well?

                                 JACK

Well, what?

                                 MARY

Haven’t you anything to say about my costume?

                                 JACK

Oh ... it’s nice ... very nice....

                                 MARY

What enthusiasm!

[_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.]

                                 JACK

Gee, Mary, I’ve got other things besides costumes on my mind.

                                 MARY

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

                                 JACK

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

                                 MARY

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.

                                 JACK

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

                                 MARY

Tell me about it. Maybe I can help.

                                 JACK

No, if I told you about it, you’d hate me, too.

                                 MARY

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?

                                 JACK

Sure, didn’t you know that? I’m crazy about you....

                                 MARY

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....

                                 JACK

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._]

                                 MARY

You don’t have to worry about Randolph. I’m not like him.

                                 JACK

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.

                                 MARY

[_Slowly_]. Then why did you say you loved me?

                                 JACK

[_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!

                                 MARY

[_Quaintly_]. Say it again!

                                 JACK

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

                                 MARY

You’ve simply got to forget.... Let’s just talk about you and me.

                                 JACK

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....

                                 MARY

What did you tell Mr. Yudelson?

                                 JACK

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.

                                 MARY

[_Gravely_]. I am glad you said that, Jack.

                                 JACK

Glad?

                                 MARY

Yes, my dear. You’ve got to think only of your work.

                                 JACK

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.

                                 MARY

Would you?

                                 JACK

I think I would.

                                 MARY

Then why didn’t you go with Yudelson?

                                 JACK

[_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!...

                                 MARY

[_Understandingly_]. My dear, I think I realize what you’re going
through.

                                 JACK

No you don’t.... [_Intently._] Mary, my father is sick because of me.

                                 MARY

[_Quickly_]. Nonsense.

                                 JACK

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

                                 MARY

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

                                 JACK

No. [_Pause._]

                                 MARY

Don’t you care about your career on the stage?

                                 JACK

[_Passionately_]. It’s the only thing in the world for me.

                                 MARY

The only thing?

                                 JACK

Yes, the only thing.

                                 MARY

[_Slowly_]. More than me, Jack?

                                 JACK

More than you.

                                 MARY

[_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....

                                 JACK

[_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.

                                 GENE

[_Enters_]. Time you’re ready for your first number, Mr. Robin.

                                 JACK

I’m almost ready now, Gene.

                                 GENE

All right, Mr. Robin. [_He goes._]

                                 JACK

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?

                                 MARY

Ostrich?

                                 JACK

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.

                                JIMMY

[_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.

                                 JACK

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

                                JIMMY

There’s somebody with him—a lady.

                                 JACK

A lady?

                                 MARY

I’ll go, Jack. [_She starts._ JACK _stops her._]

                                 JACK

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 from the trip, and numb
with the emotions with which she is stricken._] Mama!

                                 SARA

Jakie, this ain’t you....

                               YUDELSON

It’s a nigger!

                                 JACK

[_In sudden agony_]. Yudelson, didn’t you tell my mama?

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 SARA

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

                                 JACK

Mama, sit down, please.

[_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._]

                                 SARA

[_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 voice was so low, I could hardly hear him—“maybe Jakie
will sing tonight in the synagogue....”

                                 JACK

[_Strangely touched_]. He really said that, Mama?

                                 SARA

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.

                                 JACK

[_Despairingly, head sunk on his chest_]. Mama, I can’t. I can’t do it!

                                 SARA

[_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.

                                 JACK

[_Bends over her hands_]. I know, Mama. I know.

                                 GENE

[_Enters._] Your specialty’ll be on in a minute, Mr. Robin.

                                 JACK

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

                                 MARY

I’ll go out and see if I can’t hold them for a moment. [_She hastens
out._]

                                 SARA

[_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.

                                 JACK

[_His voice almost breaking_]. I believe you, mama! I believe you!

                                 GENE

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

                                 JACK

[_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....

                                 GENE

[_With irritated finality_]. There’s your introduction, Mr. Robin! [_He
goes._]

                                 JACK

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.

                                 GENE

[_Enters again_]. Mr. Robin, they’ll blame me for this!

                                 JACK

Yes, yes, I’m coming. Mama—Yudelson—wait! Please!

[_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 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._]

                               YUDELSON

[_Crosses to the door, listens_]. That’s Jakie.

[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._]

                                 SARA

That ain’t my Jakie! That ain’t my boy!... I’m going home!

[_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—_

  _“I’ve had my fling,
    And it don’t mean a thing—”_

_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:_

_“I take off my hat to you,_ Jack_!”_

_“You certainly can put over a song!”_

_“Oh, Mr. Robin, it was wonderful!”_

_“It was grand, Mr. Robin—just grand!”_

_“You won’t need a press agent after tonight, old fellow!”_

_“It was just gorgeous—simply gorgeous!”_

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._]

                                 LEE

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!

[JACK _is alone on the stage. He sinks into a chair as the curtain
falls._]




                              ACT THREE

SCENE: _Same as Act I._

TIME: _About an hour and a half after Act II._

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._

                                 LEVY

Where is Mr. Yudelson?

                                 MOEY

He went with Mrs. Rabinowitz to take the Cantor to the hospital.

                                 LEVY

Is he coming back here?

                                 MOEY

Sure he’s coming back. He told me to wait here and he’d give me a dime.

                                 LEVY

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._]

                                 SARA

[_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._]

                               YUDELSON

Did anybody come, Moey?

                                 MOEY

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

                               YUDELSON

Did you tell them—

                                 MOEY

Yeh, I told them you were taking the Cantor to a hospital.

                               YUDELSON

Did they said anything about Jakie?

                                 MARY

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.

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 MOEY

[_Takes nickel_]. You promised me a dime.

                               YUDELSON

[_Takes it back_]. That’s right. I’ll give you later!

[MOEY _goes, saying “Aw!”_]

                                DOCTOR

Here, drink some of this. You’ll feel much better.

                                 SARA

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

                                DOCTOR

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

                                 SARA

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?

                                DOCTOR

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.

                                 SARA

Doctor, tell me the true. The Cantor, he’s dying?

                                DOCTOR

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

                               YUDELSON

Yes, drink, drink. [_She obeys._]

                                DOCTOR

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.

                               YUDELSON

I did that already.

[_The doctor goes into_ SARA’s _room. A knock, and_ CLARENCE KAHN
_enters._]

                               CLARENCE

[_He is excited_]. Mr. Yudelson! I don’t know what to do with the choir!

                               YUDELSON

What’s the matter now?

                               CLARENCE

They don’t want to sing tonight.

                               YUDELSON

They don’t want to sing?

                               CLARENCE

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.

                               YUDELSON

[_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.

                               CLARENCE

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

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 LEVY

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

                               YUDELSON

[_Coldly_]. Nu, Mr. Levy—?

                                 LEVY

[_Smugly_]. I must get from you official the order I should sing
tonight.

                               YUDELSON

[_Brusquely_]. Oh no, I couldn’t give you yet.

                                 LEVY

If you couldn’t give me, who could?

                               YUDELSON

_I_ could give you, but I couldn’t give you yet.

                                 LEVY

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

                               CLARENCE

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

                               YUDELSON

I told you, I couldn’t give you yet. In half an hour I’ll know.

                                 LEVY

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?

                               YUDELSON

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!

                                 LEVY

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

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 LEVY

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

[_The first of the three to recover_]. Jakie!

                                 JACK

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

                               YUDELSON

[_Triumphantly_]. A praying shawl and a skull cap! Jakie is going to
sing!

                               CLARENCE

Jack is going to sing! [_He rushes out with the news._]

                               YUDELSON

Levy, get a praying shawl and a skull cap, quick!

                                 LEVY

Where could I find—

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 LEVY

[_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._]

                               YUDELSON

[_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?

                                 JACK

To see my father.

                               YUDELSON

He ain’t there. [JACK _stops._] We just took him to the hospital.

                                 JACK

[_Dazed_]. Hospital?

                               YUDELSON

Yes. Gouverneur Hospital. [_Pause._]

                                 JACK

Where’s Mama?

                               YUDELSON

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._]

                                 SARA

[_Can be heard, her voice throbbing_]. Jakie here? [_She enters._] I
knew you was coming, Jakie. I knew 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....

                                 JACK

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

                                DOCTOR

How do you do, Jakie.

                                 JACK

[_Slowly_]. Is my father ... worse?

                                 SARA

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.

                                 JACK

I’ll go with you, if you don’t think it’ll do any harm.

                                DOCTOR

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....

                                 SARA

[_Sudden fear in her voice_]. Jakie—you’re going to sing, ain’t you?

                                 JACK

Yes, Mama.

                                 SARA

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

                                DOCTOR

No! That’s impossible, Mrs. Rabinowitz. [_He is moving toward the
door._]

                                 SARA

Doctor, remember to tell him everything.

                                DOCTOR

Yes.

                                 SARA

Tell him Jakie came right away.

                                DOCTOR

Yes, yes.

                                 SARA

Tell him Jakie looks beautiful!

                                DOCTOR

I’ll tell him.

                                 SARA

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.

                                DOCTOR

I’ll tell him, Mrs. Rabinowitz.

                                 SARA

Don’t forget!

                                DOCTOR

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._]

                                 JACK

The doctor said you must eat, Mama.

                                 SARA

Sure I’ll eat. And you, too. I made ready such a lot to eat before
fasting.

                                 JACK

I don’t want anything, Mama.

                                 SARA

Never mind, I’ll make you anyway a cup of tea. [_She goes into the
kitchen._]

                               YUDELSON

You see, she’s a new person already.

                                 JACK

[_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....

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 JACK

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

                               YUDELSON

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

                                 JACK

I’m finished.

                               YUDELSON

Jakie, don’t worry. You can always have a job in my store.

                                 JACK

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

                               YUDELSON

[_Moves to the door_]. I’ll get him, Jakie.

                                 JACK

Is the choir ready for a quick rehearsal?

                               YUDELSON

Everything is ready.

                                 JACK

I want to go over at least Kol Nidre once.

                               YUDELSON

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._]

                                 JACK

Mr. Lee!

                                 LEE

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?

                                 JACK

I’d rather cut off my right arm than do this to you.

                                 LEE

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

                                 JACK

I know it.

                                 LEE

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....

                                 JACK

[_Dully_]. I know it, Mr. Lee. I don’t want any mercy. [_Sinks into the
settee._]

                                 LEE

[_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....

                                 JACK

He couldn’t understand any more than you can understand.

                                 LEE

Why _are_ you doing this?

                                 JACK

I don’t know.... I’m doing it.... Isn’t that enough?

                                 LEE

Well, I’ll _tell_ you why you’re doing it—

                                 JACK

Don’t give me any more analysis. It gives me a headache.

                                 LEE

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

                                 JACK

Lawyers?

                                 LEE

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....

                                 JACK

When you hired me, did you have to ask the stockholders?

                                 LEE

No.

                                 JACK

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.

                                 LEE

[_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, Jack, but you have it in your hands either to make or
break me.

                                 JACK

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

                                 LEE

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.

                                 JACK

Why can’t you postpone the opening of the show?

                                 LEE

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.

                                 JACK

Why don’t you get another theatre?

                                 LEE

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!

                                 JACK

You’re hard.

                                 LEE

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

                                 JACK

[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—

                                 LEE

Giving her up?

                                 JACK

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?

                                 LEE

[_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....

                                 JACK

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.

                                 SARA

[_Enters from the kitchen_]. Jakie, I got ready for you a cup of tea.

                                 JACK

Not now, Mama.

[_There is a pause as he and_ SARA _regard each other._]

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

                                 LEE

How do you do.

                                 SARA

I’m pleased to meet you.

                                 JACK

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

                                 LEE

Do you mind if I use your telephone?

                                 SARA

Go ahead—use all you want.

                                 LEE

Thank you. [_Goes to phone._] Circle 13876....

                                 SARA

You are Jakie’s boss?

                                 LEE

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._]

                                 SARA

You know Jakie’s papa is sick?

                                 LEE

Yes. I know.

                                 SARA

[_Slowly_]. You got a papa?

                                 LEE

[_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.

                                 SARA

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

                                 LEE

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

                                 SARA

That’s what Jakie is doing ... his duty.

                                 LEE

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.

                                 SARA

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?

                                 LEE

Pardon me. [_At phone._] Yes? Gene?

                                 SARA

I got to go to the kitchen. I forgot to light my candles. [_She goes._]

                                 LEE

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?

                                 MARY

Gene told me I’d find you here.

                                 LEE

[_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.

                                 MARY

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

                                 LEE

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.”

                                 MARY

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

                                 LEE

You didn’t talk to him. I did.

                                 MARY

[_Frightened_]. You talked to Jack? What did he say?

                                 LEE

He’s going to stay down here.

                                 MARY

For good?

                                 LEE

How should I know?

                                 MARY

[_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.

                                 LEE

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

                                 MARY

Where is he? I’ve got to talk to him.

                                 LEE

What do you want to do with him?

                                 MARY

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

                                 LEE

[_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.

                                 MARY

[_Sits, her voice deepens_]. Harry, have you met his mother?

                                 LEE

Yes.

                                 MARY

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?

                                 SARA

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

                                 MARY

Where is Jack, Mrs. Rabinowitz? I’d like to see him.

                                 SARA

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.

                                 LEE

Miss Dale wants to talk to Jack.

                                 SARA

[_Stops, looks at_ LEE]. Miss Dale is from you a friend?

                                 MARY

I’m a very good friend of Mr. Lee’s.

                                 SARA

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

                                 MARY

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.

                                 SARA

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.

                                 MARY

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.

                                 SARA

You found him?

                                 MARY

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.

                                 LEE

[_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?

                                 SARA

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

                                 LEE

Mary, did he ever attend a synagogue during the time you have known him?

                                 MARY

No.

                                 LEE

Mrs. Rabinowitz, he ran away from all this, [_Indicates the room_]
didn’t he?

                                 SARA

[_Slowly_]. Why are you asking me like this questions?

                                 LEE

[_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.”

                                 SARA

[_In a faint voice_]. No, no. You are telling me lies!

                                 MARY

[Moved]. Harry—let’s go—can’t you see you are hurting—

                                 LEE

[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_].

                                 JACK

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!

                                 MARY

Yes, Jack.

                                 JACK

[_Simply_]. I’m glad.

                                 SARA

Jakie.

                                 JACK

Yes.

                                 SARA

I want to ask you something....

                                 JACK

Yes, Mama.

                                 SARA

I want you should tell me the truth.

                                 JACK

Yes, Mama.

                                 SARA

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?

                                 JACK

[_Turning upon_ MARY _and_ LEE]. What are you people doing here—what
are you trying to do to me?

                                 MARY

We’re here for your sake, Jack.

                                 JACK

Did _you_ put this into my mother’s head?

                                 LEE

I did, Jack.

                                 MARY

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 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—

                                 JACK

[_Turns on her with an effort_]. Mama, get ready. We’ll be late.

                                 LEE

[_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?_

                                 MARY

Jack—this afternoon, when you were talking to me, you told me—you said—

                                 SARA

Jakie—did you _want_ to come?

                                 JACK

[_Sinks into chair. He is defeated_]. No.

                                 SARA

[_Leans over him_]. And yet you came ... you came home ... and you was
singing with the choir....

                                 JACK

Yes, I came home....

[_There is a silence_].

                                 SARA

[_Her voice sings a hymn of sacrifice_]. It’s enough. I didn’t know
until today how different your life is 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....

                                 JACK

[_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!”...

                                 LEE

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

                                 SARA

[_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—

                                 MARY

[_Moves over_]. Shall I?

                                 SARA

[_Giving her the phone_]. Thank you.

                                 MARY

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._]

                                 SARA

[_Apathetically_]. It’s from the Cantor?

                                 MARY

Yes.

                                 SARA

He’s all right? He needs me?

                                 MARY

No, he doesn’t need you. He’s—all right.

                                 SARA

I bet he wants something to eat, don’t he?

                                 MARY

No—he’s not hungry—at all.

                                 SARA

Then he’s resting?

                                 MARY

Yes—he’s resting.

                                 SARA

Thank you.

                                 JACK

[_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?

                                 MARY

[_Slowly_]. He just ... died.

                                 JACK

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!

                                 SARA

[_Unbelieving joy in her voice_]. Jakie!

                                 JACK

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._]

                                 SARA

[_Tears in her eyes_]. Jakie!

                                 JACK

[_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.

                                 SARA

[_As she goes_]. Your papa will be so happy! He will be so happy....
[JACK _closes the door. There is a pause._]

                                 MARY

Jack—isn’t there anything you want me to do?

                                 JACK

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._]

                                 LEE

There goes your blackface comedian.

                                 MARY

[_Passionately_]. Do you think that boy will be a Cantor all his life?

                                 LEE

That boy’s career on the stage is ended. He’ll never come back.

                                 MARY

He’s _got_ to come back.

                                 LEE

[_Shrugs his shoulders_]. Well, I’m going. Better hurry, Mary.

                                 MARY

[_Suddenly stops him_]. Wait—

                                 LEE

What is that?

                                 MARY

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.

                                 LEE

[_Slowly_]. I hope so.

[_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._]

                               CURTAIN




Transcriber’s Notes:


  Text Notes:

  1. Italicized text is indicated with leading and trailing
     underscores. (_)

  2. 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.

  3. Some text was silently italicized for consistency with other text.

  4. 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 numbers from original printed book):

  Page 63
    The title text “SCENE 1” added.