Roger Bloomer: A Play in Three Acts

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Page 117 - I sweat with fear hurrying in tall streets among gray windows. [Shaking his fist up at the towering curtain] What do the windows hide, what people laughing among treasures? To be home, just to be home! Oh, City, oh, City of stone and steel. ... I belong to you now! Beaten and afraid I take my way hungrily among the living dead. . . . Give me bread, only bread! What are dreams? I came looking for golden women, I came from wide prairies. . . . Why does your stone splendor touch the sky? Oh, City, do...
Page 117 - In the gray pit of the streets pass the gray millions—and all these that pass are hungry . . . starving men and women, hungry . . . like me! like me! What doom will come on this place, what doom, oh, hungry City? Your thrones will fall and your buildings will crash together, Singer and Woolworth will go to dust. . . . Death will come in a whirlwind breaking your sky towers—and the hungry will shout for joy!
Page v - Something approximating a national theater is the most direct organ of group consciousness and will come into being, inevitable with the welding of our cities into living organisms out of the junk heaps of boxed and predatory individuals that they are at present.
Page vi - Roger Bloomer." Of this play one can say with John Dos Passos that it "is a raw, unlabeled attempt to use the emotional possibilities of the theater to their fullest extent for the expression of the commonest American theme — a boy running away from home to go to the big city.
Page 53 - Eugene: They don't advertise it. Just the same when I see a grass stain on one of those gingham dresses I know what I think. Roger: What about your own sister? Eugene [firing up violently]: You keep my sister out of it! Roger [excitedly] : It's your sister I want. ... I want the impossible, I want to change things, I want women's souls — and I'll never be satisfied with less ... I swear.
Page 28 - EUGENE Understand, it's like stepping into the world: competition! A man's got to make good, keep in right, learn when to keep his mouth shut, dress well, make useful friends . . . that's how college makes the American citizen! POPPIN That's the future talking: mark my words, Bloomer, the future's in the hands of wise guys, our sons! The young are wise guys! [They go out.] The stoutish blonde stenographer raises the window shade in BLOOMER'S office at the store, allowing the sunlight to jail'straight...
Page 117 - BLOOMER this place, what doom, oh, hungry City? Your thrones will fall and your buildings will crash together, Singer and Woolworth will go to dust. . . . Death will come in a whirlwind breaking your sky towers — and the hungry will shout for joy! Are these dead, these that pass with white faces? Will these men rise from their graves in the streets and subways, will they rise laughing to destroy the city of their shame? ... I am yours, oh, City of slaves. ... I am one of the millions, servants...
Page 7 - BLOOMER is comparatively narrow in any case—modern merchandising. Why should I, who built the store out of my sweat, I did, why should I be bullied into paying inefficient people more than they deserve? ROGER [Embarrassed.] But you have enough. ... I mean, you have money . . . enough money! BLOOMER [With almost passion.] Never enough money! Never enough. [MRS. BLOOMER agrees fatuously.] MRS. BLOOMER What's the world coming to? [A long dead pause.] BLOOMER [Across to ROGER, more confidentially.]...
Page 186 - ... think so, sir, your Honor. The Judge: Lucky for you ... a man of your age in a case like this! It's anarchical: where is our young manhood going? People have lost the old standards: where will these passions end? Have you any idea of right and wrong? Roger: No, sir; but, by God, I intend to find out. The Judge [hammering hard with his gavel as if a host of people were attacking him]: Not here; Order in the Court! Every crime or misfortune is due to disorganization of ideas: Organize your ideas,...
Page 5 - Roger: Yes, mother. [The MAID has passed the vegetables.] Bloomer: Lucky to be able to ... I tell you, there was a day when the food in my mouth didn't come easy. [They eat with clocklike regularity.] It came with sweat in those days . . . sweat . . . sweat! Mrs. Bloomer: I don't know how the poor manage to live. Bloomer: Poor! Who's poor? There's no poor in America. Roger: But you always tell us how poor you were yourself. Bloomer: That's different; times have changed. I was a poor boy, I sweated...

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