Orrie Lashin and Milo Hastings - Class of \'29

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CLASS OF '29

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS

BY ORRIE LASHIN and MILO HASTINGS

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[Illustration: A Stage scene: Photograph by Lucas Pritchard Studio]

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)

KEN HOLDEN ...................... Jan Ullrich

TIPPY SAYRE ...................... Allen Nourse

TED BROOKS ...................... Ben Starkie

MARTIN PETERSON ...................... Robert Bruce

KATE ALLEN ...................... Helen Morrow

LAURA STEVENS ...................... Marjorie Brown

BISHOP HOLDEN ...................... Harry Irvine

LUCILLE BROWN ...................... Olive Stanton

STANLEY PRESCOTT ...................... Edward Forbes

A CASE WORKER ...................... Marjorie Dalton

MISS DONOVAN ...................... Edna Archer Crawford

POLICEMAN ...................... Jon Lormer

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.

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