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THE SCREEN WRITER
to the shrine. At the gates we were inspected for laced-up mosquito boots, ties, immunization records, and letters of introduction, and were finally admitted to the privileged circle, the first few leather-padded rows reserved for those who were officers and gentlemen by federal ukase. Behind sat the untouchables, the General Issues.
Well, to be brief, the picture was painful to see. It consisted of embarrassing jokes, convulsive dancing, impossible love-making, and many cliches. You would probably recognize the title if I named it, but fortunately I can’t remember it. Nobody hissed, however, and when it was all over everybody got up and went home as if nothing had hap¬ pened, which it hadn’t. Most of the theater-goers apparently considered it not so awful, or maybe they just didn’t give a damn.
My friend and I went over to the officers’ club and ordered a gallon of African beer, which was the way you ordered beer in those parts. I could see that my friend was brooding over some grave moral issue, probably searching around for a maxim.
“You’re from Hollywood,’’ he said finally. “I hold you indirectly responsible for this crime.’’
“Now, wait,” I said in my most pacific tone. “I had nothing to do with it. My influence is purely theoretical.”
“Explain,” he demanded. “Is it hidden symbolism? What was the significance of that girl diving off the bridge into the arms of the barge captain? Go ahead, tell me. You’re from Hollywood. You know what this sort of masochism represents. Or you should.”
My friend was positively vehement. He was angry with me, as if I had committed some unpardonable sin.
And so I must tell you something about my friend or you will think him mad. He is really far from mad. At one time, when he was in Brook¬ lyn College, he was a writer of plays. He also felt an inguinal rumbling which he interpreted to be The Call, but, alas, it was only the delayed reaction to an early life of malnutrition and poverty. He was born of wretchedly poor parents and he remained wretchedly poor until after he had left college, at which time he earned enough money to discover that there were more delectable foods than oatmeal gruel. My friend’s plays were never successful, in the professional sense of the v/ord, but they lead him to the Group Theater, which was then flourishing. He met