Evening star., 1940-01-07

CllC CIVIL Clllllk IL Was llCtlc ClllllS
called christmas Eve" and it didn't
really mean any harm. 1t wanted
to tell that life is good at heart and
that young girls have habit of be-
ing silly about it, They are afraid
and their fear invents torments for
them-such very painful things as
self-consciousness and shame of be-
ing alive. But life, as was said, is
good at heart, however it is other
wise, and when it comes close
enough for us to feel the breath Of
its mouth, then we are no longer
afraid of it,
In the pain of birth, life is closest,
and the most fearful, the least sensi-
tive must bow their heads before its
wonder and ask themselves: Why
should any one be ashamed of being
alive? No man who has ever been
where another is born can fail to
sense the awfulness of this daily
miracle.
This is the time, as you can tell
by turning to the front page of the
paper, when man has become
hated, hunted animal. Life is now
considered in certain high places as
less important than the bread it
takes to sustain it or even the metal
it takes to end it. That would make
it seem a proper time for DR.. Eek
STEMS play.
In writing his play, the doctor
made a few mistakes. In the first
place, he did not write his play very
well, and the second, third, fourth
and fifth places don't matter now.
So the local critics were unkind. AS
matter of fact, they were offensive.
Each tried to outdo the other In in
vective and each succeeded.
There was warning beforehand.
The audience stirred before the play
like an animal in the dark. It had
been curious at first and little ami
mated and sometimes bored and
sometimes amused. Then, as the
third act curtain rose and disclosed
that the baby had not been born
while everybody was out having
smoke during the intermission, but
was to be born on the stage, they
stiffened with offense. One could
feel it, a whole roomful of people go
ing stiff, bristling. For goodness
sake" said a woman near me. What
won't they think of next!" muttered
her companion.
In the early evening of the next
day, Broadway was at its best,
everything on tiptoe and lively with
expectancy. The doctor sat on the
stage in the emptied theater. AL
though this was only the other day,
he sat on chair that is now in the
warehouse and rested his elbows on
a table that is there also. At that
moment, the newspapers that had
blown up his play were yellowing
and dying on the newsstands. The
doctor couldn't take any comfort
from that. When one has seen his
child blown up by bomb, he finds
it hard to be glad that the bomb has
been blown up, too.
The doctor is small, frail man
with rather a birdlike face and he
stirred in his chair like an old bird.
He lifted his hand and let it drop
helplessly and said, Well" and
that's all he said. We talked Of
other things.
I saw another man this season, a
plump and sedate man, who knew
he had written a flop. walk plumply
and sedately away from it. He wore
white tie and the things that 60
with it, including a high hat and
his girl was SNOOPY with satin and
fur. They walked across the street
and down to the corner and into a
Coffee Pot. He told me he wanted
to get used to what lay ahead as
quickly as possible. He also said
he'd like to see people look at him
with something other than closed
eyes. The eyes in the Coffee Pot
were certainly popped open.
Another author of flop thought
up another way of finding out. He
invited all the critics to party
after they would finish their reviews
and he thought to tell by those who
stayed away just who didn't like the
play. Everybody stayed away.
A third author disappeared for
week. A fourth: who had already
received another commission to
write a musical comedy, was so
crushed she offered to change her
name.
While the doctor and I talked, .
small boy in the cast of the withered
play came out and stood around
shyly. He had had to have all his
hair shaved off in the interests Of
one of the plays jokes, and it was
certain he wouldn't forget the play
until next autumn. It will take at
(See WOLFERT, Page F-20