CLASS OF '29

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS

BY ORRIE LASHIN and MILO HASTINGS

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DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE, INC.

9 EAST 38TH STREET, NEW YORK CITY

CLASS OF '29

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS

BY ORRIE LASHIN AND MILO HASTINGS

DRAMATISTS
PLAY SERVICE
1937 INC.

COPYRIGHT, 1936, 1937, BY ORRIE LASHIN AND MILO HASTINGS

THE AMATEUR ACTING RIGHTS OF THIS PLAY ARE CONTROLLED EXCLUSIVELY BY THE DRAMATISTS PLAY SERVICE, INC., 9 EAST 38TH STREET, NEW YORK CITY, WITHOUT WHOSE PERMISSION IN WRITING NO PERFORMANCE OF IT MAY BE MADE.

ALL OTHER RIGHTS IN THIS PLAY, INCLUDING THOSE OF PROFESSIONAL PRODUCTION, RADIO BROADCASTING AND MOTION PICTURE RIGHTS, ARE CONTROLLED BY MAXIM LIEBER AT 545 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK, N. Y., TO WHOM ALL INQUIRIES SHOULD BE ADDRESSED.

Following is a copy of the program of the original production, in New York City, May 15, 1936:

The Popular Price Theatre

FEDERAL THEATRE WORKS PROGRESS ADMINISTRATION

PRESENTS

CLASS OF '29

A new play by

ORRIE LASHIN and MILO HASTINGS

staged by

LUCIUS MOORE COOK

Settings designed under the supervision of

TOM ADRIAN CRACRAFT

Entire production under the personal supervision of

EDWARD GOODMAN

CAST OF CHARACTERS

(in the order in which they speak)

ACT I

SCENE 1. A basement apartment on a Saturday afternoon about one o'clock, Fall, 1935.

SCENE 2. Stanley Prescott's office, later the same day.

ACT II

The same as ACT I, SCENE 1. About 6 P. M., Spring, 1936.

ACT III

The same. About 10 P. M.

This play can be produced without using Scene 2, Act I at all, and has been so produced by both Federal Theatres and nonprofessionals. This reduces the settings required to one. In case this scene is not played, then of course the characters Lucille Brown and Stanley Prescott are also omitted. The omission of this scene requires no alteration of the lines or action of any other part of the play.

DESCRIPTION OF CHARACTERS

KEN HOLDEN. A young man about 28 or 29, a graduate of Harvard. Trained as an architect. But unemployed since his graduation. He is in love with "Laura." But is very dispirited at his inability to obtain employment.

TIPPY SAYRE. About the same age as Ted. Also a graduate of Harvard. He also has been unable to find employment. But is a man of very happy-go-lucky type whom it is hard to dishearten. He is making a living by washing dogs.

TED BROOKS. Age 28. Also a Harvard graduate of the same class as the others and also unemployed since graduation. He comes of wealthy parents who lost their money in the market crash. And seems quite unable to find any work for which he is suited. And has no special training. He is being partly supported by Kate Allen who is in love with him.

MARTIN PETERSON. About the same age as the others, also a graduate of Harvard. He is an artist and is making a little money. He is also a very enthusiastic Communist.

KATE ALLEN. About the same age as the men. She is a graduate of Vassar, but although she is working she only earns a small salary, half of which she gives to Ted, with whom she is in love.

LAURA STEVENS. A pretty girl of about the same age as the others. A graduate of Vassar. She is in love with Ken Holden and is working at a salary of about $25 a week.

BISHOP HOLDEN. A bishop and typical gentleman of his calling. Ken Holden is his son.

LUCILLE BROWN.* A young girl. She is secretary to Stanley Prescott.

STANLEY PRESCOTT.* A successful American business man. Hard, conservative.

CASE WORKER. A middle-aged woman, working as a home relief investigator.

MRS. DONOVAN. A very flamboyant woman of middle age, fussy and silly type.

POLICEMAN. A typical New York policeman.

* NOTE: These characters are not in the play in case Scene 2, Act I, is omitted.

CLASS OF '29

ACT I

SCENE I: It is Saturday afternoon, about one o'clock.

The room is a large one in an old brown-stone house. The ceiling is high, the floor ancient. It serves for a sleeping as well as a living room. Off it at one end is a kitchen, at the other a small bedroom.

There is no woman's touch in the place, but in spite of its dilapidation there is a mellow and intellectual air--lent, perhaps, by the books and magazines that lie scattered about; some old college pennants on the wall; also both architectural drawings and original cartoons. There is a good architect's drawing board in use by a window and a rack containing many rolls of drawings and prints.

TED is sitting on the couch, reading an old book. He wears a once excellent but now threadbare suit.

TIPPY wears shabby old dressing gown, short. He has no trousers on. He is pressing his pants on an ironing board.

Each is silent and preoccupied, KEN makes a finishing touch with color brush, then turns his board down to a more vertical position and backs off, surveying his work.

KEN. Take a squint at that, Tippy.

[TIPPY carefully turns iron on end and steps over to look at drawing.]

TIPPY. H'm. Very charming. Very charming. If Comrade Stalin could see that he would order one for each member of his harem.

KEN. That's a bum joke. Not even Hearst has accused Stalin of irregularity in his private life.

TIPPY. Sorry. That comes of my not reading Hearst.

KEN. What's more, this drawing's not intended for the Soviets. It's distinctly American.

TIPPY. But Ken, they like it Americanskee. They approve of the way we do our living, if not of the way we get it.

KEN. They like our gadgets. The plans I sent to Moscow were all American inside. But the exteriors were different.

TIPPY. [Slaps him on shoulder and returns to pants pressing.] Well, keep at it, old man. All things come to those who work while they wait.

KEN. Work. I just do this to keep from going nuts.

TIPPY. O. K. Keep occupied. American recovery may yet prove speedier than Soviet red tape.

KEN. I've given up hope of hearing from Moscow. It's been five months ...

TIPPY. Make allowances for bureaucracy, Ken. They're in such a hurry over there they haven't time to do anything.

KEN. [Starts to remove drawing.] I don't want Martin to see this. He'd never forgive me if he knew I'd quit working on stuff for Russia.

TIPPY. Hi, Ted! Give a look on your fellow artist's work.

[KEN stands aside, TED rises politely, keeping finger in place in book and looking at drawing briefly.]

TED. [Indifferently.] It's very nice.

[He goes back to couch and his book, KEN removes drawing and rolls it up. TIPPY finishes pants and cuts off iron, MARTIN'S voice heard in hall, singing.]

MARTIN. Belaya armeya chornee barone
Snova gotovyat nam tsarskee trone
[MARTIN enters, marching and singing.]
No ot tigee doe bretanskeye Morye
[Stamps and accents each syllable.]
Anneya krasnaya vsekh seelnaye.

TIPPY. Jesus, Martin, why don't you get Billy Rose to write a new song for the Red Army?

MARTIN. As soon as Ken learns Krasnaya Armeya I'll teach him the International.

TIPPY. I can bellyache the Armeya better now than he can.

MARTIN. Damned pity you won't study Russian with us. You have a natural gift for languages.

TIPPY. The reason Russian is easy for me is because I never learned the alphabet.

KEN. Boy, what an alphabet!

MARTIN. [Snapping his fingers.] Da, da, da--ah, be, ve, ge.

TIPPY. [Picking up book.] Ya, ya, ya,--vas ist das? Das ist ein buch.

KEN. Da, da, da,--chto etto takoye? Etto kneega.

MARTIN. Fine. Let's go. [Holds up pencil.] Chto etto takoe?

KEN. Etta karandash.

MARTIN. [Stands book on table.] Chto?

KEN. Kneega stoeet na stolom.

MARTIN. [Throws book under table.] Gdye kneega?

KEN. Kneega pod stalom.

MARTIN. Great! Now make a sentence of your own.

KEN. [Lamely.] Tovarisch Stalin ... [Stalls.]

TIPPY. [Cutting in smartly.] Krasnaya armeya pod stalom. [TIPPY hangs pants on chair back, and puts away ironing paraphernalia.]

[MARTIN goes to book shelf and gets Russian reader and dictionary.]

MARTIN. I've only a few minutes. But we can do half a page. We'll never get it unless we keep at it eternally.

KEN. For eternity you mean.

MARTIN. You're doing fine with the reading. It'll help you no end when you get to Russia.

KEN. God, what faith you have!

MARTIN. Sure you're going to Russia. They have millions of buildings to build, and they can't train architects fast enough. [Finds place in book.]

[KEN hesitates.]

KEN. I'm not kidding myself.--I've been doing this more to help you.

MARTIN. Listen, Ken. Even if you don't go, you should know Russian so you can read Soviet architectural journals. The years we wasted on dead languages!--Russia's alive. They're doing things, new things, big things! Russian is the language of the next great sweep in world progress.

TIPPY. Sez you.

MARTIN. You read the New York Times. Where does the real news come from?

TIPPY. That depends on who is shooting which.

MARTIN. Shooting isn't news. War isn't news. War is old--atavistic, a confession of failure, evidence of retrogression. News deals with new things: progress, science, art, invention, the conquest of nature. That's real news. And where is it coming from today?

TIPPY. All right, all right. When you have learned six thousand more verbs, each with a hundred irregular forms, then you can read it in Pravda.

[TIPPY carries board out to kitchen, MARTIN sits at table, KEN with him. MARTIN finds place in book and points to a word.]

KEN. [Slowly, pronouncing all syllables in monotone, as TIPPY enters.] Al-yek-tree-feet-see-row-von-nuim ...

MARTIN. [In disgust.] Stuck on the first word. [Starts thumbing dictionary.]

TIPPY. Word? It sounded to me like a derogatory sentence.

[Knock on the door, TIPPY sees envelope that was stuck under it and picks it up. He is opening envelope when knock is repeated. He opens door and KATE enters.]

KATE. Hello, Tippy.

TIPPY. Hello, Kate.

KATE. Hi, Ted.

TED. [Closing book.] Hello, Kate.

KATE. [Starts toward him but stops at table.] Hello, you bums. How's the Red Army?

KEN. [Rising, glad of chance to get away from book.] Tippy just put it under the table.

KATE. Good for Tippy! He's the only real American among you.

TIPPY. The only real American by conviction. Ted's American by innocence. He won't know there was a Russian revolution until it becomes a classic.

KATE. [Fondly] That makes him very English. [Takes TED'S book.] Is it Chaucer? Or just dear old Ben Jonson?

TED. No such luck. It's a first edition of Hemingway's "The Sun Also Rises." For a man who wanted it, it's worth ten dollars.

KATE. How much did you pay for it?

TED. Fifty cents.

KATE. Swell!

TED. As long as ignorant people go into the secondhand book business ... It's a tedious business, but if you look over enough stalls, you're bound to pick up something.

TIPPY. I'm sorry to be sordid in this literary atmosphere, but if you really have a book worth ten bucks, you'd better sell it.

TED. I will if I can find the right man.

TIPPY. Well--the landlord informs us that he has a more desirable tenant who wants these quarters. He gives us till tomorrow morning to raise the rent or he will out us kick.

[KEN turns away and putters with his drawing instruments, TED goes into bedroom.]

MARTIN. [Who has been absorbed in dictionary.] Hell, it means electrification!

TIPPY. Then would I shock you by telling you that the landlord means business?

MARTIN. Huh? Oh rent! All right, I have my share. Here, take it now.

[Hands TIPPY eight dollars, KATE takes money out of her purse, TIPPY takes it quietly, nodding understanding.]

KATE. [With gesture toward bedroom.] If he does sell his book, take his eight dollars and hold it. He may not find a ten-dollar book next month.

[TIPPY goes to put money in pocket and discovers he has no pants on.]

TIPPY. Hell. I have no pants.... Sorry, Kate. [He grabs pants off chair and goes into bedroom.]

MARTIN. Why don't you quit it, Kate? You aren't helping Ted. You're ruining him.

KATE. I'm only lending him the money. He'll pay it back.

MARTIN. Like hell he will! The man's been a deadbeat for years.

KATE. [Desperately.] Martin!

MARTIN. He borrowed off his prosperous friends till he exhausted that source.

KATE. He sold them books.

MARTIN. Sold nothing!--Disguised gifts. He made the mistake of naming prices. Fooled me for a while. Then I happened to meet a real second-hand books man.

KATE. [Angrily.] What business was it of yours, checking up on him?

MARTIN. None whatever, so long as it hurt only him and you.

KATE. You boys need his rent. As long as you get it, why can't you treat him like a gentleman? His pride is all he's got left.

[TED re-enters. Wears different tie, good fall topcoat, not new. His hat and book in his hand.]

TED. The man I think should have this book happens to be out of town. But I know someone else who might take it. I'll go and see him.

[TIPPY enters, bathrobe gone, pants on.]

MARTIN. Just a minute, Ted. I've just been told I'm butting in on something that's none of my business. So, having been accused, I'm going to justify it.

[TIPPY tries to gesture him to shut up.]

TED. Yes?

MARTIN. You've been imposing on Tippy here, who is too damned charitable to speak in his own behalf.

TIPPY. You're not speaking for me, Martin.

MARTIN. All right, then, I'm speaking for myself. Here is Tippy, a sanitary engineer, cashing in on his education by washing dogs. He's making a little money. But he could make a lot more if he had a place of his own.

TIPPY. I'll have it. I'll have it. Give me time.

MARTIN. You'll not have it so long as you let people sponge on you.

TIPPY. That's my business.

MARTIN. You paid Ted's share of the rent last month, [KATE looks surprised.] So this month, if Ted stays here he pays not eight but sixteen dollars. And you stick eight in the savings bank for that dog laundry.

TIPPY. Now just wait a minute. I can explain last month's ...

MARTIN. I'll not wait for you to think up another kind lie. God knows I don't enjoy hurting Ted. He was born and raised a capitalist and an aristocrat. Now he is a cast-off wreck of the system that made him. I hate the system, not the men it makes--and least of all the weak ones it throws into the scrap heap. [Sees that all are hurt and offended.] Damn it, I'm sorry. My infernal sense of justice got the better of me. [He goes out.]

TED. [With stolid anguish. To KATE.] I'm guilty. I took my rent money and bought this topcoat at a second-hand store.

KATE. You said a friend gave it to you.

TED. I haven't a friend left who'll even give me cast-off clothing.

KATE. But why did you have to lie about it?

TIPPY. That coat's an investment. You can't peddle books on Park Avenue without a topcoat.--Go along and cash in on your investment. Sell that book.

KATE. I hope you can.

TED. I probably can--by going through another half hour as pleasant as this one. [He goes, shutting door sharply. There is a brief silence.]

KEN. Well, I might as well tell you I haven't got my share of the rent, either.

TIPPY. What's the matter? Check late?

KEN. No.--I sent it back.

TIPPY. You what?

KEN. I sent it back.

KATE. Did your father lose his job?

KEN. Bishops don't lose their jobs.

TIPPY. So what are you talking about?

KEN. I've been living off dad for five years.

TIPPY. Starving off him.

KEN. Don't blame dad. I set the amount under Hoover. Bishops aren't economists.

TIPPY. You sent the check back and asked for a new deal?

KEN. No.

TIPPY. [Patiently.] Why did you send the check back?

KEN. I'm through letting dad pay me for piddling around here.

TIPPY. But Ken, be reasonable. The landlord must eat.

KEN. Then give him back this place. He can eat the cockroaches.

TIPPY. No tickee, no shirtee; no money, no housee. [Pause.] And there's the little matter of our own nutrition.

KEN. I don't expect you and Martin to feed me.

TIPPY. I doubt if we could.

KEN. Martin's right, Tippy. You ought to clear out of here and take that place you wanted.

TIPPY. Hell, that place has been taken. Bargains like that don't wait.

KEN. There are other places. But you won't get one as long as you stay here and we graft off of you. You've been buying half the grub for the four of us. You fudge the bills against yourself. You're a goddam fool.

TIPPY. Must you bring that up?

KEN. Listen, Tippy. Martin can take care of himself, anywhere. He loves flop houses and flop people.

TIPPY. And what about Ted?

KEN. Ted is Kate's problem.

KATE. Why do you feel so bitter toward him?

KEN. [Savagely.] If you'll recall, we only took him in temporarily because your mother was coming.

[Angrily, to TIPPY.] Why the hell do you have to plan for Ted? Or Martin? Or me? I'm not planning for anyone.--I'm clearing out.

TIPPY. Where are you going?

KEN. That's my affair. I'm packing tonight and leaving tomorrow. [He goes into bedroom.]

KATE. Lord, what a mess!

TIPPY. Katie, I'm afraid our children are showing too much spirit.

KATE. What's Ken planning? Going on Laura?

TIPPY. Lord, no.

KATE. I'd hardly think so with all that bluff at independence! [Pause.]

TIPPY. How much did you girls, as seniors, put down as your expectation of earning power in five years?

KATE. We didn't do such sordid things at Vassar. And besides, it's been six years, not five.

TIPPY. Class of '29. Six years, and six of us. Well, we've stuck together. In solidarity there is strength.

KATE. This looks like a bust up.

TIPPY. Look here, Kate, you'll take care of Ted, won't you?

KATE. Why should I?

TIPPY. [Snappily.] As an investment. Business is picking up. Stocks are going up. Culture is coming back. More dogs are being washed. Rare books will come next.

KATE. So what?

TIPPY. Ted was born a gentleman. The rest of us merely went to Harvard.

KATE. Believe it or not.

TIPPY. Katie, the coming revolution is poppycock. What's coming is the same damn thing we used to have. And when it gets back it'll take its old darlings back into its lap. Ted is one of them. So hold his hand a little longer.

[There is a hanging against the door with a foot. TIPPY opens door, and LAURA enters with a tall sack of groceries, which she shoves into TIPPY'S arms.]

LAURA. Hello. Where's the gang?

TIPPY. Some are in and some are out.

KATE. We speak of Fortune and Dame Fortune walks in.

LAURA. Bringing her own tea.

TIPPY. Fortune. Tea. Ceres. Cornucopia. [Drops bag on arm, posing as Goddess with the horn of plenty, and spewing groceries over the table, fruit rolling to floor.]

KEN. [Entering from bedroom.] What in ...?

TIPPY. Tea.

KATE. Thank God it wasn't eggs.

LAURA. [To KEN.] Hello, darling.

[TIPPY retrieves groceries.]

KEN. [Severely.] What's the idea, Laura?

LAURA. What idea, honey?

KEN. You promised to quit it. There's plenty of grub here.

LAURA. But darling, I can't eat canned baked beans. My ulcer, you know.

KEN. You haven't any ulcer.

LAURA. Nor any baby. But doctors say nervous girls must be careful, or they'll have both.

KEN. Don't be a fool.

[TIPPY starts with bag to kitchen, KATE following. At door he warns her back.]

TIPPY. The preparing of this tea must be a strictly masculine affair, [KATE gestures toward KEN and LAURA.] I'm sorry, but I want tea. If a woman enters that kitchen, there won't be tea. There'll be house-cleaning. [He goes in and bolts door behind him. She tries it and finds it locked. She pretends to be interested in drawings, KEN has turned away from LAURA and there is a pause.]

LAURA. [Casually.] Anything new, dear?

KEN. [Savagely.] No. You always ask me that.

LAURA. It doesn't mean anything. Just a little light conversation to kill that first awkward moment.

KEN. It means, have I got a job.

LAURA. Have you?

KEN. No.

LAURA. Well, you will have one. And more than a job. Some day somebody will accept your plans for fabricated houses. And you'll be rich and famous.

KEN. If I kid myself, you needn't.

LAURA. But all this work, Ken ...

KEN. Won't come to anything. I do it from habit. I do it to keep from going crazy.

LAURA. You do it because you know that fabricated houses are the coming thing.

KEN. Hell of a chance I'll get at them.

LAURA. There are going to be dozens of firms in the field, and they'll all want yearly models.

TIPPY. [Sticking his head in door.] Attention! Sergeant Holden, go at once to the nearest Commissary and requisition 454 grams of sucrose.

[KEN salutes and goes. The girls stare after him.]

KATE. Now what in the world!

TIPPY. Sugar, Katie. Sugar.

KATE. But how much?

TIPPY. One pound. He understood. A year in Paris, you know.

LAURA. Oh, I'm so sorry! I forgot sugar.

TIPPY. Sorry? It gives him a chance to buy something.--Your failure to understand the masculine nature is appalling.

KATE. I'll bet you had sugar.

TIPPY. Yes, we had no sugar.--Forget it. [Exits.]

LAURA. Oh these men!

KATE. You said it!

LAURA. [Turns on her suddenly.] Kate, what's the matter?

KATE. Matter? Why?

LAURA. You are grouched. Ken is touchy, he wants to quarrel. Tippy is too nonsensical, even for Tippy. Is something wrong?

KATE. Everything's wrong.

LAURA. Tell me.

KATE. Martin started it. He bawled Ted out for living off me.

LAURA. Oh, well--Martin!